A/N: It's my birthday today. On a Monday no less. Still on a writing kick, and that's good for everyone! I can't guarantee how long this will last, but while it does. . . I'm kind of liking my Quinn so far. For the sake of clarity. Finn is arrested on Saturday February 11, 2012. They have the initial hearing on Monday the 13th. Finn meets Kurt then, Kurt meets Quinn then, Kurt calls Sam then, and Quinn bails Finn out then.

The first interaction between Kurt and Sam occurs this chapter. Next chapter will be them interacting. Let the UST begin. Let me know how I'm doing.

Mens Rea

Chapter 4: You Know That a Man Ain't Supposed to Cry

QuinnPOV February 13, 2011 (Monday afternoon)

Russell was hedging his bets, as he usually did. My husband was still on the ballot, but Russell was definitely in talks with the Nebraska GOP to figure out what to do. Karofsky wasn't doing us any favors by fast tracking the trial. It gave Finn irrational hope that the trial could be resolved and he could coast to victory. It also gave Karofsky a bigger profile. He had cash on hand from his re-election in 2010 to the DA's office. He was getting free press from the case coverage as well. Which was why I bailed my husband out of jail.

We didn't have a ton of money. Mortgage, car payments, health insurance, two kids, and you get the picture. I cashed out most of our 401k to make bail. It had taken a battering over the past couple of years, just like most people's, if they were fortunate enough to have one.

There he was. They were wheeling him out in a goddamn wheelchair. His knee had been bad for awhile, but it had gotten much worse since he slipped on some ice outside our house while getting the mail back in December. The pain had gone up, and his ability to cope with it had gone down. Since he was afraid of doctors, Russ got one of his doctor friends at his country club to write a prescription for him. At least there wasn't anyone from the press down here.

At home, we had a set of crutches for Finn to use to get up the stairs, when he wasn't self-medicating. When he was self medicating, he was usually too shit faced to get up the damn stairs. I had been spending quite a few nights alone.

I knew that I wasn't as pretty as I used to be. Twelve years of coaching debate translated into twelve years of pouring over evidence for the latest topic. Helping my kids understand the arguments. Helping them to craft them. Traveling with them to tournaments. Commiserating in their disappointments. Celebrating their victories. More than occasionally being surprised by their depth of understanding. Sometimes being exasperated at their lack of understanding. Twelve years of budget battles. Twelve years of being separated from my kids for almost every weekend between November and April. I wasn't as pretty as I used to be.

Here I was, dealing with my husband being accused of murder. I should be preparing my debaters for a tournament this weekend. The topic for this year was "Resolved: The United States Federal Government should promote gay marriages." Lovely, isn't it? The wife of a prominent homophobe reading the evidence that refuted the validity of his stance on gay marriage.

I had an idea that had been cooking for this topic since the start of the year. My team and I had meticulously wrote a case that adhered to an interpretation of the topic. There was just some fine tuning that needed to be done, and we would be ready for the National Forensic League's national qualifying tournament next week. Instead, my husband was found half naked, covered in the blood of a Jewish girl who was a decade younger than me.

"I'm sorry about all of this Quinn." He said, looking up at me.

"I'm sure you weren't when you were sticking it to her." Yeah, I was going to lord that over him for a moment or two.

"I didn't kill her."

"The evidence, on first glance, seems to contradict that. There's plenty to talk about though, we can do that on the drive home." I got behind his chair, and began wheeling him out to our car. He braced himself against the frame and gingerly slid inside the passenger seat. I pushed their chair back to the station, leaving it inside the lobby. Walking back out, I fished out my lighter, and got out my pack of Marlboro lights. I lit one, and took a drag, as I walked down from the jail back to the car. I was tempted to smoke inside the car, but I refrained and let Finn wait inside the car while I finished my cigarette.

I pitched it and got in. "Do you have to smoke around me?"

"Do you have to cheat on me?"

That shut him up.

"We need to figure out this situation, Finn."

"What does that mean? Do you think I did it?"

"No."

"But?"

Sigh. I turned the key and started driving. I flicked on the radio and kept it on low volume. "You have a trial in 2 months. Even if it gets over fast, that gives you a couple weeks between the end of the trial and the primary. After that, you've still got the general election to go through. On top of that, there's the issue of your knee. You can barely walk. If you continue self medicating you'll be too soused to actually campaign and it's a disaster waiting to happen."

He stared at me. "Well, what's your plan? Spit it out."

This is it. "If you end your senate campaign, the money just sits there. It can be donated to the party, or you can make a maximum contribution to candidates of $2000. That goes up to $5000 if Russell and you turn it into a PAC. I'm your wife. That means I could use the money in the campaign. Stand in for you."

"What if I say no?"

"Alright, you stay on the ballot. Some State Senator from the Western part of the state jumps in. Hell, someone from Omaha might jump in. He or she, probably a he runs a shoe string campaign criticizing your infidelity to me, not to mention the horrid press you're getting from being found covered in the blood of a dead girl. You have to use most of your money blanketing the airwaves against some fucker from ass scratch Nebraska. You narrowly win, or narrowly lose the primary. Either way, you're probably fucked come the general election. Especially if you're convicted Finn."

I continued. "Not to mention the issue of your knee. Your public defender had a reasonable recommendation that I think merits following up on."

He sighed. "What'd he have to say to you?"

"He suggested seeing a friend of his who's an orthopedic surgeon. Apparently he successfully operated on his father who had a knee injury left over from the war." A small lie. Mr. Hummel hadn't specified the nature of the injury. "They ran a half marathon together last year, so I guess this doc knows what he's doing."

He snorted. "Well. It also has the advantage of getting me out of the way until the trial. And, you get what you want too. You never wanted to be the wife of a politician. You never wanted any of this."

Pretty much. "Russell wouldn't have heard it. We both know that if you had went to DC, the family would have came with. I would have been the person writing your speeches, you would have been the unhappy bastard sitting in committee meetings every day pretending to listen to testimony that didn't interest you in the least. This way, I get to do all of that, and you get to do what makes you happy."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"We get your knee operated on so you can throw a baseball around with your son once the snow thaws. We push my candidacy to the Douglas County GOP meeting on Wednesday. Lastly, we fight this indictment with every fiber of our beings." That was lacking in tact.

Finn didn't notice. "What about Russell?"

I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. "Fuck him. He could choose not to support our (my) bid with additional cash. The money he and his friends have given is a sunk cost. I don't plan on giving them any reason to doubt my viability. Beyond that, I don't see him backing another candidate."

I pulled into the driveway of our house. I got out of the car first, and went around to the trunk. I opened it, and got out his crutches. I went around to his side, and helped him out of the car. He supported himself on his crutches as we made our way inside.

Finn collapsed into his chair, propping his leg up on the ottoman. "I can't keep doing this." he said, wiping the sweat that had beaded on his brow just from that short walk. "Call that damn doctor and schedule the meeting. At this point, if they decide to lose the fucking leg I'd be happy."

I brought him a glass of water with a couple of aspirin. I wasn't giving him any pills until we met with the doctor and figured out a plan. "Here. I'll call the doctor, you should call Russell and go over what we talked about. If he wants to talk to me, let him. Otherwise, we'll see him at the party meeting on Wednesday."

He took the glass and swallowed both aspirin. "I reckon there'll be a lot to talk about either way."

I went to the office that we shared and began making my calls.

SamPOV (Monday night-Tuesday morning) 13/14 February, 2012

"Ok, Baxter, put it down." He shook his head. "Put it down." I tried a more firm voice. Still nothing. "Fine." I grabbed the ball from his mouth and threw it again. Of course, he brought it back for another go around. "Gotta take you outside before I go to work." I said, fixing his leash to his collar.

Baxter was my 8 year old Beagle. I got him after I came back from Iraq, at the recommendation of a therapist that I saw. Dr. Pierce thought it would be a good idea for me not to be alone. I was. My brother and sister still lived at home with mom and dad, and I didn't want to move back in. I didn't have a significant other, and I didn't see that changing anytime soon. I was stressed out, and unsure of my place in the world. The VA set me up with her as my psychiatrist.

Dr. Brittany Pierce was. . . unconventional. At our first meeting, I was wearing a shirt with the Superman logo on it. This prompted a 30 minute discussion about deleted scenes in comic books. She wondered why it was that comic books never showed characters going to the bathroom. "Everybody poops right?"

She got me to open up. Over our next few sessions, we talked about random stuff. Why there weren't flying cars yet, my hopes for the new Batman movie, etc. For the first 9 months I avoided talking about anything having to do with the circumstances surrounding my discharge. We talked about Sin City, and a ton of other movies. We talked about the Office, and the brilliance of Steve Carell. We talked about her cat, Lord Tubbington. She showed me pictures. I talked about my siblings, Stacy and Stevie, and showed her pictures.

Finally, she talked about seeing a trailer for Brokeback Mountain. She said that she was looking forward to seeing it with her partner. That's when the tears started to flow. She knew. She knew that I had been holding this all in, for all this time.

I went and saw it. I bought a ticket for another movie that started at the same time to see it, but I saw it. There were all sorts of people in the theater. Couples, other people who were in the closet like me who probably bought a ticket to Aeon Flux which started a few minutes after it.

It was a sad movie. However, it left me wanting what those couples, both straight, and gay had. Somebody to love. Somebody to fall asleep with, to wake up with, to cuddle on the couch with while watching a movie. I had no idea where to look.

The online stuff was a disaster. Most of the pictures on some of the sites left nothing to the imagination. Talk about laying all your cards on the table. It also didn't appear that anyone was looking for a relationship either. When there was someone who was remotely interesting and didn't just post a picture of their cock, inevitably they thought I was a fake. Or kept the pic I sent, (of my abs, of course) without replying. My abs became the picture that many an internet douche would post as their pic to get replies. Lord. I guess I should be flattered.

Next stop was the clubs. I was in good shape. I didn't dress in the latest fashions, or style my hair with product. I was rarely without a person to dance with though. When it came to actual conversation though, there wasn't much to be had. The community was shallow, obsessed with appearance, and into drugs. The kicker was that the ones I talked with couldn't care less about Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith.

I voiced these concerns to B, and she suggested that if I needed companionship, the best bet would be a cat. I told her I was allergic, so she suggested a dog instead. That's how Baxter found me.

There were moments where I would have a wave of emotions go through me. Regrets over how things ended with Jesse. My inability to find anyone. My parents desire to see me have grandkids. Getting outed in the military. The tears would spill over, and Baxter would be there, licking my face, making me laugh through the tears. Best damn investment I ever made.

Brittany and I still kept in touch, getting coffee, or lunch once every few weeks. I resigned myself to being alone for the time being, at least until I could find Mr. Right.

We went out in the back yard where Baxter obligingly lifted his leg a couple of times. It was balls freezing cold outside, of course, so he hurried. Thank God.

We went back inside, and I released him from his leash. He ambled about the house before settling in front of the stairs.

I stepped over him, climbing the stairs. I approached one of the doors that was shut. I knocked. "Yeah Sam?"

I walked inside. "Stevie, I'm gonna head to work. Could you take Baxter out again before you call it a night?"

He was looking over materials for the MCAT. He was a junior at Creighton, on the Pre-med track. "Sure, Sam. I'll probably be up late looking over this stuff."

"When's the test?"

"March 10th."

"You'll be fine."

He looked up from his book. "What about your classes?" I was a part time student at UNO, taking evening classes. Art and criminal justice stuff.

"We have a guest lecturer coming in from the Innocence Project in a couple of weeks to talk about why we should coddle criminals and not execute them."

Stevie rolled his eyes at me. "Might be good to get some perspective."

I let him have the last word, as I went to my room to get dressed. I got my police uniform out of the closet, and put it on. I went over to the small gun safe in my room and turned the combination. I pulled out my gun and holster, and put those on too.

I went downstairs. Baxter got up and let me pet him. I opened the door, and went outside to my car. It was a 2002 Ford Taurus. Nothing extravagant, and it had seen better days. I started it up and drove to work.

I lived on the North side of Dodge right off of 35th street. It was a working class neighborhood, close to Creighton. During the school year, many of the houses were filled with students going there. Stevie chose to live with me because it was close to the university, and he could save money doing so. Creighton was private, and tuition was pricey, but going there for undergrad was an in for getting into med school there.

I made it into work with a few minutes to spare. Puckerman was back. "Hey. Good to see you back. Feeling better?"

"Yeah I am. Weekend thing, you know."

"If it were 75 out, I'd accuse you of playing hooky, but its not, so you're probably on the level."

"Yeah. Chang said he's hosting a poker game Saturday afternoon if you're interested."

"Want me to invite my brother?" Bastard was the luckiest little shit on the face of the planet.

"Hell no. That little fuck took $50 off me by hitting a goddamn 4 on the river."

I laughed a little at that. "Chang and Rutherford like him."

It was his turn to laugh. "Matt and Mike are trying to corrupt him. Eventually they think he'll break down and go to Vegas with them for a weekend."

"Lord. I'm going to check my inbox."

I went over there. For once, there was a message. It read: Kurt Hummel, defense attorney Hudson case wants to talk with you at your convenience. It listed his number, and address. Heart, Terri.

"Heart, Terri. She's not bad lookin'." Matt said, looking over my shoulder at the note.

"Oh, hey Matt. Hudson down at the jail?"

"Nah, his wife bailed him out this afternoon."

"The fuck?"

"I guess the defense attorney's a miracle worker."

I recognized the address from previous interactions with the defenders office. "He's a public defender man."

"Wings of Angels, dude. Fuck if I know."

I shrugged. "Well, now I'm curious."

"Well, call him when you get off."

I clocked in and went back over to Puck, who had the keys for our squad car. Of course he'd want to drive. We went out to our car and I buckled myself in, and we began combing the mean streets of Omaha.

Relatively uneventful night. It was a Monday, so everyone had let off steam during the weekend. No major sports events either.

"How's your Grandma doing, Puck?" She was like 95 and in the process of being moved into hospice.

"Mom's taking it rather hard. The bills are stressing her out. Medicare only covers so much."

I could sympathize. He wouldn't hear of it though. Before I had the chance to mumble some platitude a call came in on the radio. "Motorist reported a one man accident, car hit a light pole on 45th and Center street."

Puck got the hand set, "We'll go check it out."

He drove us there. The car was a wreck, and the guy was in there. His door wouldn't open. Puck broke the window on the car and got the guy out through it. He was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound.

"Smells like my old man on payday. Call fire and rescue and a tow truck."

I went back to the car and got on the radio. "Evans here, requesting Fire and Rescue. We'll need a tow truck too to take the vehicle."

The dispatcher responded, "Over and out."

We waited at the scene until they arrived. They would be able to blood test him at the hospital to confirm our theory that he was soused.

They arrived, and we left. "So, the Hudson case, huh?"

"Yeah. Found him covered in blood, holding a bloody knife."

"World's dumbest criminal eh?"

"Pretty much."

"How'd it feel, arresting him? Not every day a cop gets a collar like that."

"It was just routine." I wasn't going to think about the hesitation I had. I didn't want to think about our history together. I certainly didn't want to think about my dark thoughts of shooting him and claiming self defense. Maybe I should schedule a session with Brittany.

The rest of the night was calm and uneventful. We made our way back to the station and Puck parked the car. We got out, and he turned the keys in at the front desk. I got out my phone and called the cell number that was left on there. He picked up on the first ring.

"Kurt Hummel speaking."

His voice, through the phone was breathy. Maybe he had finished his morning exercising or something. "Hi, Mr. Hummel. This is Officer Sam Evans. You called me yesterday about the Hudson case."

"Oh! Yeah! Umm. . . I actually have some extra time this morning, because my 9am is in the hospital. His wife called me, apparently he got into an accident after the bars closed. So I have some extra time if you want to grab breakfast, perhaps?"

On cue, my stomach rumbled. "Sure, do you know where Lisa's Radial Cafe is?"

His voice sang out again. "Of course! On 40th."

I smiled to myself. "What time would you want to meet there?"

"It's 7:32 now. I need to shower and get dressed for the day. How about 8:30?"

"Sure."

"Excellent. I'll see you then, Officer Evans."

"Sam, you can call me Sam."

"Only if you call me Kurt."

"Alright, Kurt. I'll see you in an hour."

"Sounds great. See you then."

I ended the call. I walked out of the station with a smile on my face. Perhaps he'd be my Valentine?