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 – Two chapters in one day because I'm awesome like that. :)

By the time Puck had made it back to the office there was a total of three cars waiting outside the building, one of which was Rachel's, a green convertible buggy was Santana's, and a big truck that belonged to none other than their good friend Mike Chang. But Puck honestly didn't have much time to worry about why Mike was visiting now because the ADA had just have his life threatened. Someone had just threatened another person's life and for some odd reason Puck fully believed that who ever was texting him – emailing him, sending him cases – would follow through on their threat.

He pushed open the glass door proclaiming: Noah Puckerman – Private Investigator in it's big black letters, ignoring Mike and Santana lounging across from Rachel and walked right over to her desk, planting his hands on it firmly. "Tell me you have something on that number, Berry or so help me I will curse you to Jewish hell."

"Christianity and Judaism have the same hell, Noah." Rachel pointed out sternly, a small glint of punishment in her eyes and her pen tapping against the keyboard in front of her. No doubt tapping out a tune to some obscure Broadway hit. "But, sadly, I couldn't find anything on your mysterious text message-er besides that they're very smart with electronics."

She sounded so disappointed in herself, her face falling a bit at the realization that she actually hadn't gotten as far as she had hoped. Rachel hated disappointing herself more than she hated disappointing others. Puck let his head drop, a loud sigh pulling from his lips and a swear falling from his mouth. "No worries." Mike chimed in, a smile in his voice despite the severity of the situation (which he obviously didn't know besides maybe the fact that Quinn was in jail for a crime she hadn't committed – hopefully hadn't committed). "That's why I'm here." He patted Puck's back, strolling around to Rachel's computer and pushing her out of the way with a gentle touch of his hand. "I need your phone."

Puck handed it over quick enough, staring as Mike accepted the phone with a determined hand, scrolling through until he found the text messages. He looked up at Puck as he read them. "Can you figure out who it is?"

"You should go to the police, Puck." Mike cautioned.

"Can you get what I need, Mike?"

"Yeah." Mike nodded slowly. "But it'll take awhile."

"You have until four." Puck turned on his heel, marching into his office and gesturing for Santana to follow him. The woman followed quick enough, her feet leading her into the small space, her body leaning against his desk as he fell into his chair and pulled out his camera, inserting the memory card and waiting for his computer to register the action. "Sit down."

"Do I take orders?" Santana asked dryly, an eyebrow raised at him, his brown eyes staring at her blankly until she sat down in the chair across from his desk. "How was Quinn?"

"Surviving." Puck supplied, his eyes glued to his computer screen as the file popped up with the pictures.

"What are you looking at?" Santana asked curiously, with a hint of frustration in her voice.

Puck left the file open, but turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest and his body leaning back in his chair. "Who has it out for Quinn?"

Santana blinked at him, taken aback for a moment. "Plenty of people. She's a defense attorney, no one particularly likes her."

"Who has it out for her enough to want her in jail?" Puck specified.

"No one." Santana answered seriously, her own arms crossing over her chest.

"She told me she was working this case. That it may have something to do with why she's been arrested. Any idea what case?"

"No." Santana bit on her thumb nail.

"I have twenty four hours to get evidence that someone else may have killed that cop."

They were silent for a long moment, echoes of Mike's typing filling the small room with some tones of noise. "I could have." Santana spoke slowly, looking up at Puck through her lashes.

"No." Puck didn't even spare it any thought. "Absolutely not."

Santana huffed, a devious smile forming on her face. "No, but think about it." Her hair fell in front of her eyes. "Say I started a relationship with Quinn before she broke it off with the guy. Say that I overheard one of his abusive rants. Say I got a bit protective and stormed into that office all Dean Winchester style and killed the guy."

"Santana..."

"There doesn't have to be evidence." Santana stressed, leaning even farther still, her breasts pressing against the wood on his desk. "Just reasonable doubt."

"And enough reasonable doubt can lead you to jail." Puck shot back. "I'm not doing it. It's a stupid idea and it will not end well."

"You don't then I will."

"Oh fuck you Santana." He ignored her indignant frown and stood up. "If you want to see Quinn again you'll stay as far away from this case as you can. You don't want to piss off the people trying her case. Get her a good lawyer. Be a character witness. But there is nothing else you can do."

"I can help you." Santana tried to no avail, sitting back in her seat with a frustrated huff when he shook his head no firmly before sitting back down. Silence descended again. "What are you making Mike do?"

Puck was hoping that the curiosity that Santana naturally had wouldn't show up before he had the answers. "Just a case I'm on."

"You never call Mike in if it's just a case." Santana pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "The last time you called him in you were in some hot water... so why did you call him in? Are you in trouble?"

If Puck hadn't known Santana for so long her concern would be unseen. But since he had he noticed the small uplift of her voice as she examined her nails in a mask of boredom. "Not yet." He said seriously, turning back to his computer and staring at the pictures in worry.

Why did they want him to take pictures of this? There was nothing special about this. They were simply three friends meeting up for a quick hello. They probably hadn't even meant to run into one another.

"Puck!" They jumped at Rachel's concerned voice – overly dramatic per usual, the two of them nearly flying out of their seats.

"What?" Puck almost ripped the door off it's hinges, his eyes darting from Mike to Rachel to Mike again until his phone was tossed to him. He caught it easily, startled at the message that was staring up at him.

"You got a new one." Mike said, his hands stilling over the keyboard and his green eyes raising to Puck. All occupants were silent as Puck read the message with a shaking hand.

Outside the court house. 2:30pm. Today. Be there.

He read it aloud, ignoring Santana's Spanish curse and Rachel's rapidly paling face. "Do you have anything concrete yet?"

"No." Mike shook his head slowly. "This guy's good. But I'll get him. I just need some time."

"Get it done before four Mike." Puck glanced up at the clock, cursing under his breath when it showed him that it was already eleven thirty. He grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and turning to run out the door.

"You're going?" Rachel shrilled, her eyes wide.

"I'm coming with." Santana made to follow but Puck's stern look stopped her.

"Get Quinn a damn good lawyer, Santana." He grabbed the door handle. "I'll call you as soon as I can, Rachel." He nodded at his secretary (business partner, fellow Jew... office girl...), running out the door and down to his car.

The court house was a good half hour away and traffic was pretty bad for this time of day.

God he hoped he got there on time.

For whatever the hell it was they wanted him to be there for.

By the time Puck made it to the court house it was 2:28 in the afternoon and a case must have just been released because a swarm of people were filing down the stairs. Reporters stood off to the side, one of whom was talking to Shelby Corcoran, another who was talking to who Puck assumed was the defense attorney.

Why here?

Puck stepped out of his car, staring at the people passing by him in apprehension. Something was going to happen. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you stalking me, PI?" He jumped a bit at the familiar voice, turning around to face the ADA. A curious smile was on Blaine's face as he made his way to stand in front of Puck, his arms crossed over his chest and his briefcase clutched tightly – and yet lazily – in his hand. His hazel eyes sparkled and Puck couldn't help the smile that crossed over his face at the same time.

"Do you want me to stalk you?" He asked in way of answered, his stomach gaining a small tingle when Blaine simply smiled wider at him, a small laugh falling from his lips.

"I've definitely had less attractive stalkers before." Puck filed that information away from later, smirking at Blaine and nodding at the crowd leaving the court room.

"What case just finished up?" He asked absentmindedly (what what he hoped seemed absentmindedly), toying with the sleeve of his thin jacket.

Blaine followed his gaze, shrugging and moving to lean against Puck's car - his crappy car – and sending him a sideways glance. "The American Museum of Natural History case."

Puck remembered seeing that on the news. "Someone had stolen some..."

"Really historical piece of history, yeah." Blaine teased, nodding as the two of them descended into silence. He laughed a little, rubbing at the back of his neck and turning his head to look at Puck. "It was actually your friend's case."

Quinn's case? Puck allowed momentary confusion to cross over his face as his brain rushed to connect all of the pieces as well as they could. So far he was pulling up a lot of blanks. "Quinn had this case?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. She had a great case." He shrugged. "She dropped it a few months ago, though. So her client had to get a new lawyer but he didn't seem all too worried about it."

Puck leaned back against his car door in thought. Something seemed so completely off with this case... "How'd the court rule?"

"Mistrial." Blaine shook his head slowly. "I swear if Quinn didn't back out she would have had this case in the bag."

"You talk like you know her."

"We went to law school together." Blaine smiled a bit sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders and squinting at the sun. "And she's great at her job. I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed more often."

Puck made a noise in the back of his throat as his phone vibrated once more in his hand.

Get in your car. Go home.

What? No orders to take pictures this time?

"Listen, I-"

"Too forward?" Blaine blushed a bit, biting his lip, his hazel eyes looking away from Puck's face and down at the concrete.

Puck stared at him in confusion. Too forward? "What?"

"I'm being too forward again, aren't I?" Blaine laughed, scratching at his neck, his blush intensifying. "Kurt's told me that it's a problem. I'm either too forward or completely oblivious."

"To what?"

"To people that I... like?" His voice turned up a bit at the end and realization dawned on his face, a blush forming even farther than before. "Oh my God. I am so sorry."

So he had been flirting before? Puck hadn't just made that up in his mind? "Don't be."

"But you don't even like me do you? I'm just that odd person who keeps showing up where ever you are." Blaine closed his eyes in an almost devastated manner. "Oh God I am so sorry. I always manage to do this."

"To work yourself into a craze?" Puck teased lightly, all thoughts of the text message out of his mind at the thought that this guy – this guy who Puck was still convinced he had no chance with – thought he was attractive enough to try and pull out some moves.

"Make a fool of myself and assume things where they shouldn't be assumed." Blaine blushed even more. "I mean we just met today so who am I to even claim to like you." He turned to walk away. "I am so sorry. I won't bother you again. Unless it's, like, case related or anything."

Puck laughed, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face him. "Dinner Sunday?"

A wide smile come over Blaine's face, his blush softening on his cheeks into something that could be called a natural glow. "Great. Perfect. Sounds perfect."

Puck smiled back, wanting so very much to ignore the pounding of his heart against his rib cage. "I'll call you to set it up." Puck pat the pocket with Blaine's business card, enjoying the smile and blush way too much to be considered normal as Blaine nodded, thanked him, and turned away to find his car.

He couldn't help staring after him as he went, noticing the way that his pants hung on his hips and the way his jacket fit him perfectly, and the way his ass looked and...

The vibrating of his phone brought Puck back to reality with a sharp tug.

Get home. Or he gets hurt.

Puck's face flushed for a moment, glancing up and staring as Blaine sat down in his car across the street, his body twisting backwards to put his briefcase in the backseat. He didn't want to risk it.

Puck sat back in the drivers seat of his car, turning on the engine and flicking on his turn signal to turn back out onto the road.

Only traffic was horrible and wasn't allowing him to do anything besides sit idle for two minutes straight.

His phone vibrated.

Get home. Now.

Puck looked over at Blaine, noticing how the ADA was sitting in his car, the vehicle not running and his phone pressed to his ear as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing the piece of clothing onto the seat beside him.

His phone vibrated again.

Ten seconds to pull out.

He saw his chance, and he began to ease out, waving a wordless thank you to the driver who let him turn. Puck let out a relieved sigh, pushing back the urge to let his head collapse onto his folded arms and keeping up with the flow of traffic.

A car behind him beeped and, on instinct, Puck glanced out the rear view mirror, slamming on his breaks.

It was as though it happened in slow motion.

The car wasn't even moving.

It was stationary.

Blaine had just reached over to turn on the ignition of his car.

And then out of nowhere a black sedan was slamming into the side.

Glass pressed in on the right side, the passenger side door caved in from the impact. Blaine was lucky he had just put his seat belt on.

Puck didn't see what happened to him physically but he could easily have guessed. His head probably slammed against either the window or the steering wheel. Either way by the time the smoke had cleared it was obvious that he was not awake.

The car behind him beeped loudly for him to move but Puck threw his car into park, grabbed his keys, and was sprinting over to the car.

His pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1, ignoring logic that there were probably plenty of other people calling the very same number already. A crowd was forming around the accident site, people screaming, news casters rapidly giving a report on what had just happened, no doubt showing replay footage at a faster rate than the internet picked up clips from television shows. The smoke was literally heard and not just seen. It could be heard as it poured out of the cars. If Blaine had been one second quicker...

His phone vibrated in his hand, alerting him to a new text message half-way through his conversation with the 9-1-1 operator. He flipped it open, silently thanking whoever it was that invented the possibility of texting and talking at the same time.

He dropped his phone in shock and stopped running, all breath pulling itself from his lungs. His eyes were wide, staring down at the words in bold faced type on his phone's screen, the operator's voice asking him if he was okay.

Too late.

A: N – UNTIL TOMORROW/LATER TODAY DEARIES!