Seems to me as though there's a lack of Aus….I don't know, I'll just keep writing until inspiration runs out, thanks for all the great reviews =) Yeah, the whole knowing each other bit sort of happened at the end because I really wanted to fit the last line in ^^
Btw., I know this might be slightly confusing, but I've decided to switch tenses, it just seems easier to write in simple past, rather than present…
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.
By the time, Puck got his act back together; Rachel was leading him towards the garage on their way to their first crime-scene in his first case as Rachel's partner. The file he's supposed to read was dangling uselessly from his hand and he felt a bit like a puppy, wandering after Rachel with no clue what's going on or how to get out of this twilight-zone.
Ten minutes later he finally felt as though he could open his mouth without the first word being a very intelligent "Huh?!?"
"So, Berry, how come you joined the boys in blue?" He studied her in his peripheral vision and saw her knuckles briefly tightening around the steering wheel.
"I look fantastic in blue." She quipped back, earning a scoff.
"Knee-socks ain't part of the uniform, though."
"Found that out, too, why do you think I became a detective." Abruptly she changed the subject.
"So, what do we know about the case?" He wanted to keep asking her; curious about how the girl who was dead-set on getting up on stage now spends her days trudging through the seedy sludge mankind has produced in New York. But there was something harsh about her jaw-line that made him back off. Puck turned back towards the file.
"Jason Stockton, 52, killed in his apartment on the Upper Eastside." He chuckled.
"Fuck's sake, dude was an Investment-Banker. We pick a random douche of the street he'll gladly take credit!" Rachel gave him an exasperated look, a little of the old crazy-girl shining through.
"Anyways, Daughter came home this morning, found Daddy lying on the floor, called the cops. Looks like a regular B&E gone south" He kept his eyes on the file, receiving only a non-committal grunt as reply.
"Wow, I thought I was the one doing the grunting 'round here. What happened to batshit-crazy rant-about-everything Berry?" His jab was intended to break the ice, instead he found himself pressed slightly into his seat, as Rachel sped up and swerved around the next corner aggressively.
"She grew up, and I suggest you do the same, Puckerman, and stay the hell out of my business." Her voice was harsh and he felt the temperature drop a few notches.
"Sheesh, calm down, sorry, didn't mean to piss you off…" He fell silent.
"You just seem different, n shit…"
"No shit Sherlock, you haven't seen me since graduation and I seem different. Your observational skills really are exceptional; no wonder you are a Detective." Her Sarcasm was biting and unfamiliar, but the five-dollar words he always made fun of were still there, buried somewhere beneath the shell. Somehow, that thought warmed him a little. Still, her joking about his job stung a little, he had worked hard to get where he was today.
"They must be almost as good as your singing, seeing as you are a big Broadway-star . . . oh, wait!" Her knuckles turned white and he had the inkling that he might just have pushed a little too far.
With screeching tires, Rachel turned into their destined street and slid into a parking spot a few houses down from the crime scene. The rapid maneuver had Puck clutching the hand-held tightly and he turned to her with rapid breathing.
"Fuckin' hell woman! You coulda hit a fucking tree!" She ignored his outburst and her eyes were burning into his, the fury in them enough to stop him from continuing to berate her.
"Listen up, Puckerman, and listen well! I got to where I am now by hard work, and I have no idea how you managed to do that, but hey, you're here and we both have to live with that. Now, you stay the fuck out of my business and we might actually get this case solved, after that, hell, I don't give a shit if you go back to busting your little pod-pushers down in the Bronx. I don't give a flying fuck about your feelings or what the hell you think of me, you stay out of my business, you don't get in my way and you keep the fuck to yourself or I'll have your ass doing admin-duty, got that? Good!" Without waiting for a reply, Rachel threw her door open and left him sitting there, staring stupidly after her. Rachel Berry just tore him a new one, this had to be fucking Twilight-zone!
He scrambled after her, but hell, for a midget she sure was fast. By the time he has caught up with her, she was kneeling down and conversing with a young-looking dude. Pretty much everything about the guy screamed geek, the slightly longish haircut, the pale skin and the frameless glasses…plus, of course, the vest which had M.E. written in bold white letters on the back.
". . .pretty much crushed his frontal lobe, so there was considerable force behind it. I will have more for you when I have him on my table."
"Thanks Mike. I'll stop by in the afternoon, then." Rachel smiled at the guy, who blushed and awkwardly pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"Ok, Rach. I should be done by then." They both got up and Puck couldn't help but let his eyes briefly drift to his ex's behind.
When they both made their way towards him, his eyes flew back to her face, but neither was looking at him.
Mike laid a hand on Rachel's shoulder.
"Be careful out there, I don't want to have to stitch you back up again."
"You are better than any doctor of the living, Mike." She gave him a grateful smile, causing Mike to turn even redder. Puck had to snicker at the obvious hero-worship Mike directed towards Rachel, causing both to turn to him. Rachel scowled automatically, while the M.E. regards him with curiosity and stretches out a hand for him to shake.
"Hey, Mike Delaney, M.E. I take it, you are Rach's new partner."
Puck took the hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. Nothing like making friends on the first day.
"Noah Puckerman, and yeah, that's me. Transferred up from Narco this morning."
"Well, I hope Homicide is making you comfortable…well, no that came out wrong." The awkward blush came back, coupled with a sheepish look.
Puck smirked.
"A-ok so far. Really a pleasure, specially seein' Berry here again." Puck slung an arm around Rachel's shoulders, ignoring their previous spat. Delaney looked confused for a minute.
"oh, you two know each other?"
"Hellyeah, Berry and me used to be like this!" he crossed his fingers. "There was even this one week – off!" he bent over when her elbow hits him hard.
"Thanks Mike! We'll see you later!" With a last smile at the geek, Rachel walked off, not even caring of Puck follows or not.
"See ya later, Rach!" With a cheerful wave, Mike disappeared down the stairs, black body bag in tow. Puck had always wondered why it's the only people who spend more time with the dead people than the cops on the case, who are also always the happiest.
"Puckerman! Get your ass back here!" The bark startled him back to reality.
With a huff, he joined Rachel where she was standing in their Vic's living room, calmly talking to a young woman. The Vic's daughter, he assumed. She looked to be about 23, blonde hair, and dressed in expensive looking clothes. Her blonde hair was kept in a tight pony-tail, and her fingers, topped with pink nails, were playing with the pearls studding her neck. Real ones, he deduced from the D&G label of her stylish pink coat. Everything about her screamed money. Her face had only slight mascara-stains; the rest of her make-up seemed to have remained in place.
"Noah Puckerman, this is Mrs. Stockton, our victim's wife. Mrs. Stockton, my Partner, Detective Puckerman." To Rachel's credit, she only blinked when she says wife. Obviously somebody got the file screwed up. Puck gave their witness a solemn nod.
"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am." She delicately dabbed her eyes with a pastel-pink handkerchief. Puck spotted the stitched-in monogram in the bottom corner.
"This is just so devastating. . . I mean, Jason had no enemies; he was such a friendly and lovable man. Always generous!" She hiccupped. "We had been married for four years, just last week we flew to Paris to celebrate my 26th birthday and our anniversary. He seemed so . . . happy!" More delicate eye-dabbing. Rachel was a picture of sympathy, while Puck put a solemn mask on his face, never stopping the studying of her body language or considering the fact that Stockton must have been a god in the sack to bag a 22-year old who looks like a slightly bitchier version of Heidi Klum.
"Mrs. Stockton, can you really not think of anyone who might hold a grudge against your husband? As I understand, in his profession it is not uncommon to have enemies. . ." she trailed off suggestively.
Hell, this woman even blew her nose delicately, Puck thought. The words "Trophy-wife" and "Gold Digger" sprung to his mind, but his mask was kept carefully in place.
"Mrs. Stockton" his soft baritone caught her attention easily. "How was your husband dealing with the economy these days? Any change in his behavior you noticed? Did he work longer hours, did he seem more stressed?" She looked at him with big blue eyes (he felt eerily reminded of a doll).
"Well, now that you mention it, he was a bit more short-tempered lately. And he was often on the phone, with Brian, his business partner…they seemed to fight a lot." A fresh batch of tears cut her off. Rachel did her best to console the poor woman.
"Do you by chance know the full name of said business partner?"
Hiccups, coupled with a loud wail were her answer.
"Aaaah, right…" Rachel looked lost for a minute, before waving at a Uniform.
"Bakers, stay with Mrs. Stockton here, Puck and I have to get going." She turned to the spluttering woman before her and calmly gave her a white paper-rectangle. "Mrs. Stockton should you need anything or remember anything else, please call me."
Without further ado, Rachel strode out of the apartment and back to the stairs.
For a few minutes, Puck followed her in silence, before he could no longer bear it.
"Soooo, what's the next step?"
"I thought that would be obvious…"
"I spent the last ten years chasing perps who were still alive. . . I'm not quite sure what do when one of them ends up dead. . ."
Rachel shot him a smirk.
"Noah Puckerman, admitting he has no clue what to do. Somebody call the Post, we need a billboard on Times Square, quick!"
He huffed.
"Berry, anyone ever tell you, you're really not all that funny?"
"Puck, I'm disappointed. Ten years of not seeing me and THAT is the entire comeback you can muster? Ah, wait, I forgot, they were bad in high School as well, silly me, I actually thought you learned something during the last decade or so." Somehow, this banter felt different, almost friendly. The tension of the morning seemed temporarily on hold.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up while you can, Berry." After a few more seconds in which they had reached their car and gotten in, Rachel driving naturally, he asked again.
"So, what's the plan, Berry?"
"Why, Puck, it's not all that different from what you do in Narco…" she drawled.
"We find the bad guy and arrest him!" He groaned. Great, somebody had turned Rachel Berry into a wise-ass . . . this was gonna be fun.
So, whaddaya think? I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes, english is not my mothertongue, I was merely educated in it for the past four years ^^
I noticed a lot of you guys liked this scenario, and I am thinking of putting up random one-shots, slightly different universe.
in addition, I am afraid I have to apologize for not replying directly to reviews. To be honest, I usually have a few chapters written in advance, so I tend to just post them whenever I get the time. Doesn't mean I don't read your reviews though, I do, and I try my best to incorporate as many suggestions as possible, just replying directly is kinda tricky =)
this story though is right now coming along fine =)
read and review, as always,
PB