Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Ok, so you know how they say one person's trash is another person's treasure? Well, what is my procrastination is your present. I have so many assignments to complete and instead of doing them I'm posting this because, combined with your reviews, private messages, and other forms of amazing support, I JUST COULDN'T KEEP IT TO MYSELF ANY LONGER. So here. Enjoy. Let me know what you think!

Oh and please note that the line breaks denote a change in scene/location.


"Someone's at the door."

"I know."

The two sat in silence until another knock sounded.

"…Can you get the door please?"

"Sure I can, but I'm choosing not to."

"But you're right there."

"And you're the one who wanted pizza even though we had it last night."

With a frustrated grunt Kurt tossed his magazine to the side and rose from the couch.

"I don't know why I put up with you," he mumbled as he stepped over his friend's sprawling legs. "And get your feet down. That's a coffee table, not a foot stool."

Santana blew him a kiss in response to the chastising, smiling when he swatted the air kiss away.

Kurt walked over to the door and opened it with one hand as he used the other to reach into Santana's jacket which was hanging on the wall. After feeling around for a few seconds, he retrieved some loose bills from her pocket.

"Here," he said, turning his attention to the door, "I think this shou-." Kurt stopped short, the sentence disappearing in his throat. "You're not pizza."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, well we're not interested in what you're selling. Thank you though," Kurt said with a polite smile as he started to close the door.

"Mr. Hummel, I think you'll be interested in hearing what I have to say."

Kurt looked at the man on the other side of the door in shock. How did he...

"Is there a problem here Kurt?" Santana asked as she joined Kurt's side.

"Ms. Lopez, you're here too. Great. I'd like to talk to you both about Mercedes Jones."

Kurt felt Santana squeeze his arm as the blood drained from his face.


"Do you know where we are?" a deep voice inquired from the shadows.

Jacob Ben Israel swallowed hard, his eyes shifting nervously around the room. "Yes, sir."

"And do you know why I brought you here?"

"Yes, sir," he forced out, his throat dry and voice shaking.

"Tell me then. Explain to me why you're here."

Sweat dripped from the young man's forehead and landed softly on the concrete floor. He closed his eyes.

"Because I don't have an answer for you yet."

His interrogator tisk tisked. "And why is it, Jacob, that you don't have an answer for me?"

Jacob opened his eyes, his pupils dilated with fear.

The man continued. "Am I not paying you enough?" He turned to look at one of the men standing guard at the door. "Do you think I'm paying him enough?"

"You are boss," the burly man grunted.

"I thought so too," he nodded. With a sad shake of his head he turned back to face the poor excuse of a man in front of him.

"You have two days. Two days before I demote you from employee to enemy. Do you understand?"

Jacob's eyes widened and he nodded.

"No." The man tilted his head contemplatively. "I'm not sure that you do. Because if you did," he kept his eyes trained on Jacob's as he beckoned his guards over, "we wouldn't be here would we?" He paused and looked at Jacob with disgust. "I could have chosen anyone, but I chose you. And now I'm disappointed." He nodded.

Jacob cried out as his left hand was placed on the table in the center of the room.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mitchell! Please," he begged. "I'll do anything you want. Anything!"

Klauss Donovan Mitchell looked into Jacob's eyes and smiled at the terror he saw.

"I have no doubt that you will," he said calmly. "Consider this an incentive."

In the next instant the only sounds coming from the warehouse were screams and retching.


"Mercedes? What's happened? Is she alright?," Kurt asked.

"Yes, she is for now, but I need your help to keep it that way."

"Listen, you little shit. If you hurt her I'll – "

Kurt put his hand over Santana's, which was still painfully clutching his arm and took a deep breath. "Mr. …"

"Evans. Sam Evans."

"Mr. Evans, -"

"Please call me Sam."

"Mr. Evans," Kurt said ignoring him, "I'm sure you're a very smart man and have some inkling of what's happened or else you wouldn't be here, so it shouldn't come as a surprise when I ask - who the hell are you and how do you know Mercedes?"

There was a pause. "Can we discuss this inside?"

Kurt and Santana looked at him pointedly. When they didn't step to the side, Sam nodded.

"Ok then. I run a security firm in Nashville, Tennessee and have been brought in as a consultant by Artie Abrams, the lead officer on this case."

"What security firm do you work with?," Santana asked.

"EPC Security."

Santana narrowed her eyes slightly and pulled out her phone. After a quick Google search, she nodded at Kurt. The two stepped to the side and Sam entered the apartment.

"Have you been in contact with Mercy?," Kurt asked after he closed the door.

"Yes, I have."

"How is she?," Santana asked, the suspicion in her tone replaced by anxiousness.

"She's doing well," Sam answered reassuringly. He paused. "I know that my being here is out of the blue and you don't trust me, but believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to keep Mercedes safe. I'll answer whatever questions you have, but it's imperative that you do the same."

Santana and Kurt glanced at each other before turning their attention back to him.

"How did you find us? And why contact us now? It's been months since 'Cedes left town."

"I looked into you two after Mercedes told me how she spent time with you the night she left. I'm here now because the police are hitting some dead ends and the man responsible for this may walk. I'm hoping you can provide some information that can stop that from happening."

The two continued to stare at him, sizing him up, before Kurt broke the silence. "Does she know you're here?"

"No. I was brought in off the record."

After a few more seconds of silence, Santana took a deep breath and sat down on the couch. "What do you need?"


Klauss smiled as he looked at the man writhing on the ground, his hand clutched to his chest.

"It always amazes me the various pain thresholds people have. For some it's high. For others it's low…" He crouched down and placed his hand on Jacob's shoulder. "But did you know that there are several locations on every body that can illicit unbearable pain with the slightest touch?" He pressed his thumb into the flesh, causing Jacob to cry out. "My friend, I don't promise many things, so listen," he increased the pressure, "very closely. Fail again and I promise that you will become intimately familiar with each and every one of them."

He kept his finger digging into the screaming man's flesh before releasing his hold and standing. He looked at his men.

"Get him cleaned up and back to work."


As their conversation drew to a close, Sam thanked Kurt and Santana for the information they provided.

"Don't thank us," Santana said bluntly as they rose from the couch and walked over to the door. "I don't give a damn about this case or your role in it. What I do care about is Mercy and her wellbeing." She narrowed her eyes. "If you let anything happen to her, if you hurt her or let her get hurt in any way, no amount of security in the world will keep me from kicking your ass."

Kurt watched as Sam smiled slightly at Santana's words, almost as if he was impressed. "Us asking you tell her we love and miss her is pointless, isn't it? Cuz you won't tell her we spoke?" Kurt sighed. "Look Mr. Evans... Sam... it's clear that you care about her, so why haven't you told her the truth?"

Sam looked at him. "I could give you the professional answer and say that I'm bound by confidentiality, but that would be bullshit. I play by my own rules. Always have. Always will." He looked from him to Santana. "Right now when I look at her, everything I feel is reflected back at me and I don't want to lose that. To make her lose that. It's a huge risk and I'm going to have to deal with the consequences when this is all over, but don't for a second think I won't fight like hell to keep her safe. To make it right." He opened the door. "Let me know if you think of anything else."

With a final nod he walked out and Kurt and Santana stood staring into the space he had occupied.

"Well…," Kurt said, his voice trailing off as he thought over everything they'd just heard.

"He's got it bad."

"Yeah he does."

"Mercy's gonna kill him when she finds out."

"She sure is."

"Might kill us too."

"She certainly won't be happy."

The two were silent for another moment before Santana turned to look at him.

"He's legit though."

"Yeah he is."

"And I did tell her to get it in."

"You sure did."

"This is gonna be interesting."

"Get the popcorn ready."


"Rookie," Artie called out into the squad room.

The officer in question walked into the captain's office with a deep breath.

"Where are we wi-" Artie stopped midsentence, surprised by the sight in front of him.

Officer Jacob Ben Israel took in his supervisor's expression and looked down at what captured his attention. He let out a shaky laugh as he lifted up his bandaged hand. "Oh this, sir? Went home for my lunch break and cut myself working in the garage."

Artie looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What were you using, a chainsaw?"

Officer Israel let out a choking sound and curved his lips into what he hoped could pass as a smile. Artie looked at him for a few seconds and shook his head.

"Well, were you able to run through those files I gave you before hacking off your pinky?"

"Yes, sir. I expect them on your desk by tomorrow afternoon."

"Make it tomorrow morning. This Mitchell case needs to be closed yesterday. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Jacob said as he all but ran from the room.

Artie stared at the door after him, his mind struggling to decipher the interaction. The kid was clearly lying. What the hell had he gotten himself into?