Point of Origin
By: RavenHeart101
Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.
Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.
A:N – WHERE DID YOU ALL COME FROM?
Puck wasn't usually one to jump to conclusions, it was against his nature and it was a trait that he learned a long time ago got no one anywhere. But he couldn't stop the way his brain automatically shot to the worst possible scenario when it came to hearing Quinn scream like that.
Puck hated screaming. He despised it. He despised doing it and he despised hearing it. He couldn't really tell anyone why that was so, it just was. It hurt his ears and he would, without a doubt, spring into action to help the person screaming. It was as though it was part of his muscle memory.
So when he heard Quinn scream – when he heard her scream like that – he couldn't help the way his heart quickened and his feet propelled him towards the room where the noise was coming from.
He pushed past the officers standing in front of the entrance, ignoring the indignant and forceful voices telling him that he was not – under any circumstances – allowed into the cell.
Quinn had scrambled into the corner of the small holding cell, her blue eyes wide and sparkling, a trembling hand suspended over her mouth as her cell mate convulsed in the middle of the floor. Her cell mate was familiar, but Puck didn't know from where, her eyes rolled back into her head, a small amount of foam forming at the corner of her lips. But Puck honestly didn't have time to worry about her, rushing over to Quinn, gripping her arms in his tight grip and hugging her tightly against his chest as though to shield her from the view.
"We need a bus!" Puck's head snapped up, his eyes settling on Evans, kneeling down beside the convulsing girl a safe distance away.
"What's going on?" He glanced to the right, noticing how Blaine stood off the side, Anderson blocking him from view, his hands gripping his arms tightly and his body moving to block each step the younger of the two took. So Puck wasn't the only one intent upon protecting someone from the view. Good to know.
Anderson didn't answer. Or at least he didn't answer in a way that Puck could hear. But he did see Blaine's eyes widen and his face grow pale in the dim police department lighting. He did see Blaine's eyes shoot over to the way Quinn was clinging to him in shock and worry and something close to devastation (because even if Quinn was cold hearted she did have a heart). He did see his gaze soften and he did see him turn away from the scene and stride down the hall with a determined step.
And he didn't know why but he made sure Quinn was okay before he ran out of the cell and down the hall after him. Blaine was pressing the button to the elevator when Puck skidded to a halt behind him. "You know something." Puck stated breathlessly (because Blaine sure as hell walked faster than Puck had expected).
Blaine glanced at him from the corner of his eye before his gaze fell centered on the elevator once more. "I have no idea what you're talking about." And if Puck knew the situation any better he would say that Blaine was being coy. Only he didn't.
The doors dinged, opening slowly and Blaine took a step into them, Puck following suit with only a small glance behind him at where Anderson was staring at him with something akin to warning. Puck smirked at him, waving as the doors closed. "You know what I'm talking about. The same way I know you know something."
"Of course." Blaine smiled a bit sardonically, turning to face him and, whoa... eyes. Puck blinked a few times, raising an eyebrow and allowing a cocky smirk to pull at his face. Blaine imitated the movement, his arms crossing in front of his chest. "And who are you?"
Puck's smirk stayed strong over his face as his hand reached into his wallet to pull out his business card. "Noah Puckerman. Private Investigator." He handed over the card, silently enjoying the curiosity on Blaine's face as he accepted it readily.
"I'm assuming you already know who I am." Blaine slid the card into his front pants pocket, crossing his hands in front of himself and staring at Puck for a long moment. It should have been unnerving – it would have been unnerving if it were anyone else – but all Puck could feel was a sort of relaxed curiosity. "Believe me I don't want your friend going to jail."
"My friend?" Puck said as Blaine turned back to the face the elevator door. "How'd you know she's my friend?"
"She mentioned you." Blaine shrugged, a small smirk on his face. "And you don't have a visitors pass. And Cooper didn't mention your name once so... I guessed."
"Cooper? Your brother?"
"Mhm." Blaine shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "What else would he be?"
"Bo-"
"And if you say boyfriend I'm going to have to sue you." Blaine spoke dryly, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "Everyone thinks we're dating at first. It's annoying."
"Why?" And didn't Puck have a legitimate reason for following him?
"Because he's really not my type."
"What's your type?"
Blaine looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Puck ignored the way his cheeks seemed to involuntarily redden. He didn't blush. Puck hadn't blushed since he was four and Santana's older sister had given them the sex talk using Barbies. "I would." Puck smiled at him and they descended into a mutual silence, the elevator playing some classical music in the background as a soft back drop. "Wait." Puck shook his head. How could he have forgotten? Stay focused Puckerman."That wasn't what we were talking about." Blaine raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you know?"
"Nothing that I can, or would, tell you." Blaine supplied unhelpfully, sighing when the doors slid open to allow him to leave. "Listen... Noah I don't believe your friend killed that man in anything more than self defense – if that. But it's not up to me if we prosecute or not. And the longer we spend in here talking the more time the police have to find evidence that she did." He stressed and Puck knew where he was going with this. "Now if you somehow manage to find anything that could reasonably implicate someone else I am all ears." And now he was pulling out a business card and handing it to Puck before turning on his heel and strolling out into the parking garage, his suit jacket blowing in the wind, his dress shoes banging on the concrete, and the wind picking his hair up a bit before dropping it back onto his head.
Puck let the doors close and pressed the button for the floor he had been previously on, running his thumb over the plain business card in his hand.
Blaine Anderson, Assistant District Attorney for the State of New York
He slid the card into his pocket. So the very person who was supposed to be prosecuting the case didn't even believe that the police had enough evidence to arrest Quinn. So why was she arrested? Puck had a feeling that this had turned into something bigger than he had ever expected.
Quinn had been relocated to another cell by the time Puck had managed to convince one of the higher ups into letting him speak with her. He only had ten minutes, but, if anything, that was all Puck needed.
She was curled in on herself, running her finger over the tattoo she had on the inner of her left wrist. Beth was written in curling letters, a flower hanging over the name. Puck knew the significance, and he also knew that it was a rough thing to bring up at a time like this so he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Her short blonde hair was a mess and her makeup was a bit runny but Puck thought she looked beautiful and real. "Hey." He nodded at her, walking over to the bed she was curled on, placing his hand on her foot and watching as she visibly made herself presentable.
She straightened and smiled at him, her lips wobbling for a moment before settling on her face with a strength that Puck wasn't sure anyone could have in that type of situation but Quinn Fabray. "Hi." She looked down before her eyes found his and a frown pulled at her lips. "Be honest... how screwed am I?"
"Pretty screwed." Puck sighed, standing up and crossing over to the other side of the cell, his arms planted firmly over his chest and thoughts racing through his mind. "What evidence do they have on you?"
"Nothing that they can build a case on." Quinn said expertly.
"So why are you here?"
"I don't know." Puck narrowed his eyes at her.
"Why do you think you're here?"
That seemed to be the right question. Quinn tilted her head to the side, her short hair brushing in front of her eyes for a moment before her hand moved the locks behind her ear. "I may have pissed some people off with my newest case."
"What's that case, Q?"
Her mouth drew into a tight line and she licked at her lips, her eyes falling away from his gaze. "I can't tell you."
"Quinn-"
"Not here." She shook her head, glancing out at the officers standing not too far away, leaning close, her perfume assaulting Puck's nostrils. Something fruity. Something distinctly Santana. "Get me out of here and I will tell you everything."
Puck pulled back with a frown. "I can't just get you out of here Quinn."
Quinn's eyes searched his for a moment. "They don't have enough evidence. If they don't get it within twenty four hours I'm released. It's protocol." Her hand grasped his for a moment, and it was soft and cold and small and dainty. "Twenty four hours, Puck. Just keep them off my trail for twenty four hours."
Against his better judgment he nodded, squeezing her hand in his larger one and letting her pull him down for a hug. Puck didn't usually do hugs - at least not voluntarily. But this was a special occasion and Quinn looked like she really needed one. "I'll bring Santana around later this afternoon, okay?"
"Thank you, Puck." She held him tighter for a moment – and her embrace was so much like that of a mother that it nearly shocked Puck (and made him realize how much he missed his own mother back home in Ohio) – before letting him go, staring at him with shining eyes and patting at them delicately.
He smiled sadly at her, turning around and allowing himself to be lead out of the cell by Detective Hudson. "We still on for dinner next week, man?" Hudson asked half way down the hallway and, even though Puck had been having a pretty intense day, he agreed, fist bumping the officer before he walked out into the sunshine. He had a pretty good relationship with many of the Detectives in the NYPD. Maybe it was because he had gone to school to be one of them, or maybe it was because he had yet to have a case that really involved any of them (besides Smythe, but that was a long time ago). The only one that seemed to actively have a problem with him was Anderson but that was only about half the time and was a result of that one time where Puck out shot him one of the cases where the two groups (PI's and cops) mixed.
He squinted in the sunlight, maneuvering his way through the busy crowds, a hand over his eyes and his other hand fishing through his pocket for his car keys. The scent of coffee wafted towards him carried by the wind and his head snapped up, his eyes wide.
The email.
His case.
Puck turned on the spot, looking for the street sign. Where was he supposed to take pictures from? Seventh? Central?
His eyes narrowed in on the fading blue street sign advertising that he was approximately a quarter mile from Central Street. The clock on the police station told him that he had two minutes to make it to the designated spot and he didn't pay it any second of thought before he was sprinting towards where the smell of coffee was coming from.
People on the street eyed him oddly for a moment before going back to their usual routines. It wasn't exactly out of the norm for people to be running down the sidewalks in New York (not that it was completely normal either but it was normal enough but people only spared him a passing glance). He skidded to a halt outside the tightly populated Starbucks, his eyes immediately falling onto the only familiar face in the crowd.
They were just settling down at the fifth table to the right, their briefcase down at their feet, their jacket resting over the back of their chair, a file open in front of them, and an almost relaxed and concentrated pose to their body.
Puck didn't know what to do because who ever the hell had hired him wanted him to spy on this man.
On the ADA for fucks sake.
Puck must have paced around the Starbucks for a total of ten minutes before his phone was vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frustrated grumble, flicking it open and gaping at the message that stared at him.
Every minute you put off your job the closer she gets to putting your friend in jail.
Puck's heart quickened and he glanced around himself at all the unsuspecting pedestrians elbowing passed him. Not paying him any mind.
Who in the world could be sending him this?
Absentmindedly he forwarded the message to Rachel, knowing that she'd understand that what he wanted was for her to use all of her charm to get the name of the person behind that number.
Blaine stood up, waving at someone on the other side of Starbucks, a wide smile on his face.
Puck's phone vibrated in his hand again.
Do your job or he dies.
Puck's face flushed and for a moment he wondered who "he" was. And then his brain caught up with him and holy shit they had just threatened to kill the ADA.
"Okay... I'll play along." For now. He made a show of slipping the digital camera he kept in his pocket out into the open and placing his phone in his jacket, stepping closer to the Starbucks and wandering over to the group of tourists on his left, pretending to be part of their group.
He was at the perfect vantage point, his body hidden behind a large statue of some hometown hero, tourists making him seem as though he weren't from the city. His sunglasses covered his eyes, making people around him unsure of exactly where it was that he was looking. It was perfect. And so it worked spectacularly to help Puck capture probably some of the most uneasy pictures that he had ever taken.
Blaine was sitting at the table with two other men, one of whom Puck recognized as Detective Rutherford, and the other he felt he should know. He was leaning close to the one he didn't remember, his hand on his wrist and speaking in what seemed like determination, a wide smile spreading across his face. Puck couldn't help wondering what it was they were talking about because Blaine had a wonderful smile. But he shook that thought off quickly enough, raising the camera again to flash a few more pictures.
The man he didn't recognize stood up after a few more minutes, the light blue summer scarf he was wearing blowing a bit in the spring wind, his light gray jacket almost see-through now that Puck had a good view of it, his hair done in a perfect coif at the top of his head. He looked like a fashion model.
Blaine stood up, allowing the other man to hold onto both his hands for a second, looking down at the concrete, a bashful smile on his face, a blush painting his cheeks. They hugged (and Puck flashed a few dozen more pictures), the other man's arms around Blaine's neck and Blaine's arms around his waist.
It was a comfortable hug, and then they pulled away and Detective Rutherford was hugging Blaine for a few seconds one armed before letting go, the man Puck didn't recognize turning around and giving Blaine a kiss on the cheek (Blaine returning the favor), before walking away.
Puck lowed the camera slowly, watching as Blaine slumped back into his chair, staring forlornly at the closed file on the table in front of him.
"Hey, squirt!" Puck jumped at the familiar voice, but Blaine brightened. Anderson jogged over to his table, pulling a chair over next to him, his arm pulling Blaine into a tight (familial now that Puck really took the moment to look at it) hug. He knew Anderson noticed the way Blaine pushed the file off the side, his coffee cup finding it's way to sit on top of it to keep it from blowing away.
Puck's phone vibrated against his side, and he slipped it out, replacing it with his camera in his jacket.
Email them by 5 to the email the case was sent in by.
Just who did this person think they were? Puck didn't do orders like this. He didn't simply follow them blindly. They had nothing on him to make him do anything.
Any later and the threat still stands.
Besides that.
A: N- And that is chapter two. Chapter three will be up, hopefully, later tonight. Be on the lookout! :D