Archive of Our Own

"Special Agent Puckerman? I have Assistant Director Hacker for you."

Noah takes a sip from his coffee to help the last bite of his breakfast burrito to go down. He's only been here a couple of days. Surely he hasn't fucked up already?

"Thanks." The click on the line lets him know that the operator has gone, so it’s time to engage his brain.

"Puckerman! Settling in? Not missing the Rockies?" The voice is cheery, friendly - not what Puck has come to expect from the high-ups in the FBI.

"Yes, Sir. It's going well. Shenandoah isn’t that far away if I get lonesome for some mountains."

"Good man. I've got an interesting one for you."

Puck pulls his notebook out, clicking his pen in readiness.

"Okay Sir, gotta be more interesting than re-reading the orientation pack." Puck figures that they'd read his notes from his bureau chief back in Colorado, so no point pretending he’s a buttoned down G-Man. He finds most chiefs wanted a little backbone, a little badassery.

There’s a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Oh, I think it might just be. Say, did you get to meet Agent Booth?”

“No Sir, he’d already left before I got here but from what I hear he’s got a good rep.”

“When you two meet, I think there’ll be two ways it could go. Either you’ll be long lost buddies, or fight like tomcats in the same alley.”

Puck files that one away, determined to do some digging on the almost god-like Special Agent Seeley Booth. The guy gets a hell of a lot of praise and pulls the same kind of shit that Puck does - Puck is used to being the only maverick.

“Couldn’t say, Sir. I guess we’ll all have to wait.” Puck hears the shuffle of papers crackling over the line.

“Let’s see... Human remains were discovered by the park ranger service down in Fort Washington National Park. They’ve cordoned off the area but need someone from the FBI and I’ve decided that’s you. Grab one of the pool vehicles and head over there - shouldn’t take you more than half an hour. I’m going to contact the Jeffersonian and have them send someone down to meet you. Shame Temperance is on maternity leave, I guess it’ll be Dr. Chatterjee.”

“Sorry Sir, but why do we need to get the Jeffersonian involved? What have they got to do with crime scene forensics?”

“Human remains, especially those in unusual circumstances, are transferred to the Jeffersonian for examination. Their facilities and resources are way above our own and the team there are experts. They’ve gotten us plenty of convictions over the years.”

“If you say so, Sir. I’ll head out now.” Puck glances as his notes. “You said unusual circumstances. What’s so special about these?”

“The body is wearing a colonial era gown.”

Avoiding the Beltway means that Puck arrives in good time and without too much road rage. Thankfully it’s midmorning, so he’s missed the main commute into DC but it is way busier than Denver ever was. Getting used to this level of traffic is another part of the move that will take some adjusting to. Hitting cruise control when he gets to the freeway, he sneaks a few glances at the scenery - seems like green space isn’t rare for such a big city.

An over-excited Park Ranger leads him from the visitor center down to the crime scene. It’s okay until they leave the main path through the trees and undergrowth – it’s then that Puck’s wing-tips begin to suffer from the wet spongy ground. Gotta remember the right shoes for this kinda stuff. He should have realized that he’d need them; it isn’t like he hasn’t done his fair share of tramping around the Colorado countryside.

His escort soon shuts up once they reach the scene. Puck began to breathe through his mouth as soon as he caught the first scents of decomposing flesh; a trick he’d picked up early on in his career. That sickly sweet smell is unmistakable. He leaves the Park Ranger quietly ralphing into a bush while he edges forward. Yellow tape flutters between the trees so he ducks under one strand, Puck introduces himself to the stone-faced Park Ranger guarding the site.

“Any sign of the forensic guy?”

The Park Ranger doesn’t bother to answer just shakes his head. Puck turns and begins to walk around the body. Sure enough, the corpse is wearing a gown, which is messed up with all manner of shit; leaf mold, mud and the dark brown stains that mean dried blood. The corpse itself is pretty gruesome, decomp has set in, and flesh looks gnawed on. Naturally, he’s seen corpses before but nothing as far gone as this. He casts his eyes around, trying to see if there is anything else that might help; a handily dropped weapon, broken twigs with a scrap of fabric on them, a signed confession.

He is distracted from his observation by cheerful whistling coming through the trees, the tune nagging at him - something from his past back in Lima, goddamn Schue and his “expanding your musical horizons”. The volume increases until, through the trees, an overweight Indian man appears, navy blue jumpsuit tucked into knee high galoshes, a backpack and what looks like a doctor’s case. Following him is another guy, younger with curly hair and a beard, dressed the same.

Puck turns towards the newcomers just as the first guy stretches out a hand.

“Agent Puckerman?” Puck finds his hand being shaken very vigorously.

“We are from the Jeffersonian Institute. I am Dr Pratosh Chatterjee and this is my colleague...”

“Hodgins. Jack. Are you the new guy?” Thankfully Dr Chatterjee had let go of his hand before it became numb and he shakes Hodgins hand.

“Hi. Yeah, I’m Puckerman. I suppose I am the new guy.”

“New new, or just new to this?” Hodgins hand waves over the corpse.

“Just new to DC. Like arrived here less than a week ago new. How does this usually work?”

“Usually, huh?” Hodgins takes a step back and flashes Puck a quick grin, “Dr Chatterjee will whistle selections of Gilbert and Sullivan while taking a look at the body, mutter to himself, then reel off what could have happened.”

Chatterjee gives a good natured laugh and snaps on some latex gloves.

“I’ll be taking samples and bagging and tagging anything interesting. If you’re anything like Booth, then you’ll start asking questions and arranging for all of this to get back to the lab.”

Puck nods and turns around to the Park Ranger. He leads them off, away to the side, to let Chatterjee and Hodgins get on with their work. They may be from the Jeffersonian but he knows the science-y types like to have room to move. The Park Ranger doesn’t have much to offer beyond when the body was discovered, so he gets on his cell and calls for transport options.

“Agent Puckerman?”

“Yeah?” Puck muffles the mouthpiece of his phone with a hand.

“I can give you some preliminary findings, if you’d like?” Dr Chatterjee is still crouched over the corpse and Hodgins is scraping some soil into a jar.

“Sure, one moment.” Puck quickly finishes his call and walks over to Dr Chatterjee.

The scientist straightens up a little from his crouch.

“The corpse is fairly badly predated, so most soft tissue is gone from the face and other exposed limbs. Judging by the state of the body, I’d say time of death was approximately two weeks ago but Dr Saroyan can confirm once she’s finished her autopsy. Strictly speaking I deal with skeletal remains but this corpse is half and half.” Chatterjee gives a bright tight smile.

“Subject is male, based on the supraorbital margin and mastoid process.” Chatterjee points at the forehead and ears. Puck can see the dull sheen of bone through what remains of the skin.

“You sure? What about the dress?”

“I don’t deal with clothing, Agent Puckerman, just bone. And the bones are telling me the subject is male.”

Puck is getting the feeling that this isn’t going to be an easy case. Not like murder is ever easy but once you throw cross-dressing into the mix, then it gets a whole lot harder.

“I haven’t examined the pelvis thoroughly due to the clothing but it feels narrower than I would expect for a female of this size. Taking into account bloating through putrefaction and animal predation, I would suggest that the subject was between 5’10” and 6’ and weighed between 160-170 pounds. The subject has a narrowish frame but suggestive of good muscle tone. Skin tone and hair color suggest Caucasian but this will have to be confirmed.”

Puck has been scribbling all of this down in his notebook, going through his mental checklist.

“How old, Doc?”

Chatterjee smiles a little at the familiarity but shrugs. “Can’t say for sure right now, but roughly? I’d say between 20-40. Definitely beyond the teenage years.”

“Any chance of a cause of death?” Puck asks because he has to but isn’t holding out much hope.

“Sorry Agent Puckerman, not at this time.” Chatterjee gives an apologetic shake of the head. “We need to get the body back to the Jeffersonian. At what time will the transport arrive?”

“Should be here in about 10 minutes or so. I’ll have one of the Park Rangers lead the techs down.” Puck’s feet squelch as he turns to Hodgins. “You almost done? Anything else that you need?”

“Nah dude, I'm good - though I might claim your shoes as evidence.” Puck just rolls his eyes. “I’ve taken soil samples from around the corpse and taken some pictures for reference.”

“Good. I don’t think there’s much else here we can get. It’s been too long, so any evidence will have washed away from the rain this week. I’ll meet you at the Jeffersonian, after I've changed my shoes.”

Dry-footed and confused as hell, Puck stands in the atrium and looks around. He’s never seen anything quite like it. A cross between a museum and a science lab; which - duh! - it is. Like the shell was some old Federal building but yanked into the 21st century with the contents – plenty of doodads. It kinda puts him in mind of a Bond villain’s lair.

A polite cough claims his attention.

“Agent Puckerman, I’m Doctor Camille Saroyan.”

Puck shakes the hand of a very attractive woman, slightly put off by the gore splattered apron she is wearing.

“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am. Some setup you’ve got here.”

“Please, call me Cam. Ma’am makes me feel like someone’s grandmother.” There’s a work-with-me-here grin. “I forget how it looks to newcomers. I’ll give you the tour later but I suspect you want to know about John Doe?”

“If you could... Dr Chatterjee gave me some information this morning but I need a hell of a lot more to get this moving.”

“Sure. Just follow me.” Cam leads Puck off towards a room at the side, “Dr Hodgins tells me that you’re new to DC. How’re you finding it?”

“Not too bad, still finding my way around though. Hell of a lot bigger than Denver.”

“I’ll bet! We’re going to Autopsy, how do you feel about dead bodies?”

“I can cope. I was in the military for a few years and the FBI field office in Colorado for the past 5, I’ve seen my fair share.”

“Good. I’m not happy having to step over FBI agents who’ve passed out on my autopsy floor.” With that, she slides open the door. Thankfully, the air-con is going full blast and the temperature is cool so the stench of the corpse isn’t overpowering but it doesn’t look good.

“How much do you know about what we do here?”

“Not that much. The first I heard of you guys was this morning. The rest of it has been the usual scene of crime stuff - Assistant Director Hacker said you guys mostly got involved when it was unusual.”

“That’s about right. Though it does tend to be Booth that brings us in on cases.” Cam finishes snapping on a pair of latex gloves and picks up a large knife.

“So, Booth... Is he like your main man at the FBI?” Puck does his best to keep his exasperation out of his voice but given the quizzical look Cam gives him, he may have failed.

“Mostly... Over the years he’s become the go-to guy for the “weird stuff” in the FBI but we do get requests from other Agents.” She begins slicing into the corpse on the table between them, Puck takes a step back - she may be wearing an apron but he doesn’t want to have to get changed, again.

“I’m in overall charge of the lab and I’m a pathologist. The FBI cases tend to involve me doing the autopsy work, if there’s enough flesh left. Angela Montenegro works on facial reconstruction but she’s pretty sharp with technology too. Dr Hodgins is entomology and particulates which can be quite dull but tends to be crucial - he’ll probably be able to fix the time of death.” She gives a grunt and applies more pressure on the blade.

“Dr Chatterjee is here to cover for Dr Brennan. He’s a highly respected anthropologist on loan from Panjab University. He’s eccentric but meticulous.”

“And John Doe?”

The knife clatters into a metal tray.

“This is all preliminary; we’ll have more for you later. All the clothing has been handed over for further examination. I couldn’t get any prints as there were no fingertips left.” She raises one of the cadaver’s hands to show him what remains. “Judging by the ragged tearing, it’s rodent predation. I’ve taken a dental imprint and Angela’s going to see if there’s a match in any dental records.”

“Anything to indicate cause of death?”

“Take your pick. I’ve found evidence of petechial hemorrhaging and pressure marks on the neck suggesting some kind of asphyxiation. There’s also evidence of bruising on what’s left of the torso and the upper arms and multiple wounds to the abdomen. I’d say he’d been strangled, grabbed, punched and stabbed.” She gives a sigh and looks Puck straight in the eyes.

“He was in a lot of pain before he died - as to what exactly killed him, I can’t say. That’s where the rest of the team will help. We still need the results of blood and tissue samples.”

“Jeeze, what a way to go.”

“Going by the pattern and number of wounds, it suggests some kind of frenzied attack.”

“He looks well built, any signs of struggle?”

“The knuckles appear to be scraped so I guess he threw a couple of punches but not much more than that. I’ve swabbed them and Hodgins is looking at those too.”

“Okay, Dr Saroyan” A raised eyebrow halts him. “Sorry, Cam - thanks for this, anything else please give me a call.”

His cell rings just as he gets back to his office.

“Puckerman”

“It’s Cam, Dr Saroyan? I’ve got some more information on John Doe.”

“Gimme a sec, Cam, I'm nearly at my desk.”

Phone wedged under an ear, he pulls out his notebook.

“Shoot!”

“I’ve finished with the body, so Dr Chatterjee and Mr. Bray are now removing the flesh from the bones to start their work.”

At that, Puck tosses the sandwich he’d bought for lunch into the trash. Sometimes this job made him think Berry had the right idea going vegan.

“I’d say good but that’s kinda gross.”

A laugh crackles down the line. “Yes, I forget sometimes how that sounds. I’ve got some more on the vic.”

“What’ve ya got? My hands are kind of tied here.”

“Toxicology results are in; the vic had Ketamine in his system. Can’t tell if it was long term abuse or not. Given that he was found in a dress and Ketamine abuse is prevalent amongst gay men...”

“Yeah, well. Not every gay man goes down the K-hole and not every cross-dresser is gay.”

“Be that as it may, it explains why the body didn’t show too many defensive wounds.” Cam’s tone changes - fuck it, he’s pissed her off.

“Look. I’m not getting at you. Hell, I’m not making a good first impression here. It’s just... I got my ass burned as a rookie by making assumptions.”

“Sorry, I should know better myself.” She clears her throat. “We’ve agreed that the victim was around 30 years old, fair skin, mid brown hair, blue eyes. Dr Chatterjee is sure of his initial height. We’re going for 165lbs, based on the musculature. Despite the decomposition, I'd say he worked out but not overly so. We’ll get more from the skeleton.”

“Did Angela get any hits off the dental records?”

“Not yet, but she’s started working on the facial reconstruction. She should be done around 4 o’clock, do you want to come back then and I can introduce you and you can see what we’ve got so far?”

“Sounds good to me, see you then.”

Puck spends the rest of the afternoon building up his case notes but there isn’t much he can do until he has a name, so he pulls up the database and starts reading up on some of the Jeffersonian cases until it’s time to leave. Interesting reading, Agent Booth seems like his kinda guy - streetsmart rather than booksmart and they both have a military career in common, even if Booth’s was a little more glowing than his. Dr Temperance Brennan – Temperance (what kind of name was that?) – seems to be a bit of a Rachel, no concept of other people’s wants or desires but furiously loyal.

Puck’s standing in yet another room, this one is a cross between a computer lab and an art room, watching the “Angelatron” assemble a reconstruction of John Doe. It looks more like a kickass TV screen - he wonders if they ever goof off and play Super Mario on it.

Angela, who seems to have a head full of brains as well as being smokin’ hot, has to have given him the friendliest welcome and was quick enough to start in on the personal questions. He’d answered her, grinning at her chutzpah until he caught Hodgins glaring at him and then realized that he’d better tone it down. No use pissing off someone else.

Angela is now chattering on about tissue depth, eye orbits, and other science stuff. Puck just focuses on the 3D skull that’s floating in front of them on the see-through screen. He watches the skull get fleshed out with eyeballs, tendons, and muscles - pretty cool, like a really kickass horror movie – Hellraiser maybe.

As the skin and hair go on to the model, he starts to feel a bit creeped out and judging by the faces of Angela and Cam, they aren’t too happy either.

“Are you sure, Angela?”

“I am. That’s what the underlying bone structure is telling me.” she shivers “It’s uncanny how it looks so much like...”

“Kurt...”

“Hummel...”

There’s that “brain-fart” moment where everyone’s processing what they’re seeing and what they’ve heard. Puck’s derailed from thinking about what the fuck is he going to say to Mr. H about the FBI finding Kurt’s body, to staring at the two women who are staring right back at him.

“Wait a minute. Agent Puckerman, do you know Kurt Hummel?” Dr Saroyan’s now got her arms crossed in front of her and is staring intently at him.

“We were in the same grade in high school. How do you know him?”

Cam doesn’t reply but picks up the phone and after dialing a few numbers, she murmurs into the handset. Angela’s giving him the side-eye, not nastily, more in an appraising way. He’s still trying to work out what the hell is going on, when a voice he hasn’t heard in a dozen years cuts in.

“Cam?”

Puck pivots around so fast he staggers a little and has to grab hold of something. Thankfully it’s the back of a chair.

“Hummel?”

“Puck?”

“Thank fuck you’re not dead!”

“What?”

There’s an awkward silence while Kurt and Puck stare at each other, dumbfounded. Cam softly claps her hands together, eyes flicking from one man to another.

“Soooo... I guess you two really know each other.”

She’s rewarded with twin nods.

“And you’d like some time to catch up.” she stares at Angela, “Alone.”

Again both men nod; confusion gives way to appraising looks.

“Angela? Angela!” Cam moves over to the door and is jerking her head.

“What? Oh! Right.”

Angela carefully slides the door to her office closed and turns to her colleague.

“Wow! Did you feel the tension in there? I smell a whole heap of explaining to do.”

“Angela, keep out of it. Remember, a scientist observes and doesn’t interact.”

“Says you! I’m an artist. I can interact all I like.”

Cam just sighs and leans against the fencing of the raised platform; it just so happens that she now has a perfect view of both men.

“You know, he does strike me as a ‘Puck’…” Angela sounds contemplative.

“What? Who?”

“Kurt, he called him ‘Puck’. There’s an impish quality to him, don’t you think?”

“Angela, I’ve had a total of two conversations with him. Both times he’s been professional. Where are you getting this from?”

Angela doesn’t answer the question immediately. She’s engrossed in watching the two men in her office. After they’d left the office, Agent Puckerman moves forward and she is sure he’s about to embrace Kurt, but Kurt crosses his arms which Angela totally sees as a blocking move. Kurt’s mouth starts moving rapidly, his right eyebrow slowly rising as he speaks. Whenever there’s a pause in Kurt’s mouth movements, she flicks across to Agent Puckerman who seems to be responding in monosyllables. Not good.

“Have a look at Agent Puckerman. Didn’t he give me some sass when I was asking all of those deliberately personal questions? He answered me but I got the feeling he was playing with me. I think I’m gonna like having him around.”

Cam looks from her friend to the men in the office and back again. Sometimes she wonders about Angela’s grasp on reality but there’s certainly something there. Agent Puckerman seems to have a certain masculinity, similar to Booth’s action hero tendencies and he’s managing to suffer through one of Kurt’s tirades without getting angry or walking out. If she’s judging this right, then the look on Agent Puckerman’s face is more affectionate than anything else.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Catching up, I guess. Kurt’s got that ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this’ look on his face. You know, the one he got with that Aztec feathered cape that wasn’t.”

Kurt takes a few steps forward and a delicate finger is in the air, waggling gently from side to side. Agent Puckerman breaks out into a broad grin, grabs Kurt’s wrist to pull the finger out of the way and takes Kurt into a full body hug.

“Wow.”

Initially Kurt freezes, eyes wide and then they close. The two women see Kurt’s hands grip Agent Puckerman’s shoulders, the fabric wrinkling.

Cam lets out a low whistle. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is that Kurt Hummel reciprocating in bodily contact?”

“Looks like it to me. Maybe Agent Puckerman has the magic touch? Either way I don’t care. If he can get Kurt to relax a little, then I’m for it.”

“Y’know Angela, since Dr Brennan is on maternity leave, we don’t have anyone who’s partnered up with the FBI.”

“Oh, sweetie. I love the way you think.”

“Look”, the exasperation in Kurt’s voice is clear as a bell down the line, “Cam... Dr Saroyan... says that since we already know each other that I’m to be your liaison at the Jeffersonian.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why do you sound so pissy?”

“I don’t have one, not really. And I’m not pissy.” Puck knows for sure that there is a problem and just keeps silent.

“Fine. I do have a problem. There tends to be a higher risk for those Jeffersonian staff who are more involved with the FBI cases. My specialty is textiles and fabrics, I tend not to get consulted all that much but the others... sometimes it doesn’t work out so well for them.”

“Okay. I know nothing about any of this and I’ll be damned if we talk about it on the phone. How about dinner or something?”

“Dinner?” there’s a weird tone to Kurt’s voice, then the sound of a cleared throat. “Why? Don’t you just want to have a briefing?”

“No. It’s just I’ve been in DC for not even a week, I’ve not really unpacked and this case is way more than I bargained for.” Puck decides to try for Kurt’s sympathy. “I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and lonely and yours is about the only friendly face I’ve come across. The others have been fine but you know me and I know you. Have dinner with me and fill me in on all I need to know. I’ll even let you pay and claim it as liaison expenses.”

There’s a snort of laughter and a sigh.

“Pick me up at 6. I know a good restaurant in Georgetown.”

“There used to be an intern called Zack Addy. He’s from before my time. I was reading a report of his and went to ask Dr Brennan for clarification on something I didn’t quite understand. She got all weird about him and Angela told me not to bring him up if I could avoid it. I think he left under a cloud. No-one really speaks about him and I think he’s in a hospital.”

Kurt does that eyebrow waggle thing, so Puck guesses that it’s the kind of hospital where there’s a lot of white: coats, rooms and pills. Puck thinks he should spend a hell of a lot of time tomorrow going through the reports on the Jeffersonian staff, because what Kurt’s told him is worrying. Why the fuck is the FBI involving civilians so heavily if they end up dead or in a psych ward?

Puck takes a bite of the meatloaf and tries to turn the conversation around, something more upbeat.

“You hear much from the others?”

It takes Kurt a few seconds to grasp what he means.

“Finn, obviously. You?” Puck gives Kurt a rueful shake of the head; leaving high school and the choices Puck made afterwards meant that his friendship with Finn has fallen dormant.

“I get emails from Mercedes. Right now she’s in Europe. She won’t admit it but she’s become her mother – married a Doctor and having babies. He’s with the World Health Organization, so she’s in Geneva and cursing that she didn’t take French in high school.”

Puck just laughs at that, “Can’t picture ‘Cedes whooping it up in Switzerland. Always thought she’d make it as a singer.”

“Oh, she still sings. She finds the nearest church and bullies her way into the choir – they tend not to take no for an answer. You remember how forceful she could be.”

They drift on to the rest of the members of New Directions, filling in the blanks that they each know and speculating about the unknowns. Puck’s not sure how he feels about Kurt not asking about Beth. On the one hand he’s glad that Kurt seems to have the sensitivity not to bring her up but Puck’s still a proud Dad who wants to brag about his baby girl. They’ve both held off on asking more personal questions, like the relationship ones. Puck’s smart enough to realize that this is just the breaking-the-ice conversation, reestablishing links.

Somehow the meal is over faster than Puck expected – talking with Kurt was both familiar and refreshing – and they’re lingering over the coffee. The check has been paid and Kurt’s got the receipt in his wallet.

“Can I drop you home?”

“Why, Noah Puckerman, since when did you become such a gentleman with your dates?”

Puck thinks that Kurt’s just pulling his leg, since there’s a tiny smile lurking in the corner of Kurt’s mouth but he still can’t help a small blush.

“I’ve always been a gentleman. The Puckasuarus never left a date high and dry.” Puck’s deflecting and he’s not afraid to admit that to himself.

Kurt just laughs, a genuine smile creasing his face.

“God! I’ve not heard that for years. How did you ever get away with that nonsense?”

“Badass attitude and a Mohawk will get you really far.”

“Huh. Anyway,” Kurt trails his fingers through the spilled sugar crystals on the table, “a ride home would be appreciated, I’ve had best part of a bottle of wine and I don’t want to get busted for a DUI.”

“The victim is Paul Hoffman.” Angela’s voice is pretty confident.

Puck’s back at the Jeffersonian after a text from Kurt. Angela’s room smells of ozone from the computers and some kind of musky perfume – he’s not sure if it’s hers, Cam’s or Kurt’s since all three of them are standing with him looking at the screen as Angela clicks her keypad and brings up the drivers license and her reconstruction. Puck’s eyes flick between the two and it’s obvious that this is their dead guy.

“28, single, resident in Franconia.” Angela does some more clicking and brings up a security pass. “Oh. He works at Mount Vernon”

Kurt turns to Puck and mouths George Washington at him and Puck mouths back I know.

“He’s Assistant Education Program Manager, has been for the past 5 years, since leaving college really.” Puck’s pretty damn impressed with how much Angela has been able to get so quickly – he’ll have to ask Kurt later how the hell she does that because it takes him days.

“I’ll get the medical records and try and find out next of kin.” Cam gives Puck a nod and heads out.

“Good work, Angela. Can you email the details over to me? I guess we better head out to Mount Vernon.”

“Take your time Ms. Schafernaker. I understand that this has been a shock.”

Puck’s used to this by now, dealing with the messier side of bureau business but he can tell that Kurt’s uncomfortable. He’s shifting in his seat a little. Ms. Schafernaker is a washed out blonde, closer to 40, fussy clothes with lots of wispy layers and too many barrettes in her fine hair.

“I don’t understand.” She seems bewildered as much as anything else. “I mean… he was fine before he left for vacation. He was going to Puerto Vallarta.”

Kurt gives Puck a look that he supposes is meant to be significant but Puck doesn’t get it.

“When was he due back?”

“Next week, we have to get ready for the summer programs, that is… was Paul’s job.” She dabs again at her eyes. “How did he…”

Puck schools his face, knowing that the woman will react badly.

“I’m sorry Ms. Schafernaker but Mr. Hoffman was murdered.”

Puck just sits there as the woman gapes at him and then bursts into sobbing tears. He’s a little surprised, but not much, when Kurt gets out of his chair and gives the woman an awkward shoulder hug and feeds her more tissues until she’s got herself together again.

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm Mr. Hoffman?”

“No. No-one.” She swipes at her eyes. “He was such a sweetheart. Always with a smile and some nice gossip. He organized the secret Santa.”

Jesus, a saint – just what Puck didn’t need – so more likely it was a random killing.

“Has anyone made threats to Mr. Hoffman, or perhaps he mentioned something to you.”

“No, nothing that I can remember.”

“Does Mr. Hoffman have a girlfriend?”

Here, Ms. Schafernaker smiles at him. “Well he had girl friends. But he broke up with his boyfriend just after Thanksgiving.”

“Right. Was it a bad breakup?”

“Oh no. Paul said that Hector had to back to Puerto Rico, something to do with his family. “

Damn, there was that line of enquiry out of the window.

“Was Mr. Hoffman involved with the staff who wear the costumes? Did he wear them at all?”

Ms. Schafernaker looks puzzled.

“No, not much. He used to give them briefings on the education program, once the programs had been finalized but he never wore them – that wasn’t his job.”

Puck takes the details of the boyfriend and gives Ms. Schafernaker his card with a request to contact him if there’s anything else she remembers.

“Where next?”

Puck spares a glance to the passenger seat. Kurt’s sitting face forward, playing with the seatbelt.

“Back to the office. I’ll have to follow up on the boyfriend, make sure the story’s straight and then see what the forensics guys have got from the apartment.”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Act so cool and together when you’re telling someone about stuff like that.”

“Practice.” Puck gives a hollow chuckle. “It’s never easy but you get used to it, sometimes they’re faking it but most times it’s genuine. You learn to be professional, distant.”

Kurt sighs and continues playing with the seatbelt.

“It was a nice thing you did there. Giving her a hug and all.”

“The poor woman was obviously upset and I couldn’t not...” Kurt tails off and then sits upright. “It’s just… she obviously cared for him and he’s been yanked out of her life now, for no apparent reason.”

“Yeah. It sucks but it’s part of my job. Shit happens, you just have to get on with it.”

Kurt has no answer to that.

Puck’s wading through the piles of evidence that has been trickling in. Reports from Cam and Hodgins, summaries from the forensics guys, update requests from Hacker, transcripts of the interviews with family and neighbors. Looking at it all, sorting and sifting through, Puck can see there’s a gap in the information and because there’s so much of it, he’s struggling to pinpoint what the gap could be. He’s startled out of his thoughts by the insistent trill of his cell phone.

“Puckerman.”

“Agent Puckerman?” it’s a woman’s voice, “It’s Ms. Schafernaker… from Mount Vernon.”

“How can I help?”

“It’s just… I wasn’t sure if I should tell you about this, you probably already know. But I keep thinking of poor Paul. I need to ask you to treat this with respect, respect for Paul.”

“Ma’am, I’m an experienced FBI agent, I’ve been told things that would make your hair curl.”

“That’s not what I meant.” there’s a sharp tone in her voice, “I want you to be respectful about the information I’m going to give you.”

Puck’s starting to get a bit pissed off and a bit elated. Sounds like he’s going to finally catch a break but this lady has been withholding.

“Ma’am, if whatever you can tell me helps me catch whoever killed Mr. Hoffman, then I will be very grateful. Please, just tell me what you know.”

“Paul had a hobby, I guess you could call it.” There’s a beat, “He was ‘Virginia Hamm’.”

“I‘m sorry Ms. Schafernaker but I don’t know who that is.”

“Paul was a drag artiste; his alter ego was Virginia Hamm. He performed all over the DC area.”

“Thanks for the information but I don’t quite understand the significance.”

Ms. Schafernaker’s voice gets softer over the phone, as if she’s frightened of being overheard.

“Paul used to say that drag was a cut-throat business and then he’d laugh. He’d tell me stories of what went on, where they would try and sabotage each other, like putting ex-lax in a water bottle, or superglue instead of eyelash glue, and the rivalries and jealousies. It was never anything really harmful, they kissed and made up. But lately he wasn’t laughing so much, he seemed kind of nervous.”

“Did he name anyone in particular?”

“Not for why he was worried but there was one girl that he seemed fairly friendly with, FiFi Titzling.”

“I’m guessing that’s a stage name. You don’t happen to know a real name?”

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“Well, thanks for calling. I’ll see what I can do.”

Puck hangs up from the call and drums his fingers against his desk.

“Dr Kurt Hummel speaking”

“Shit, Kurt. I’m never going to get over the fact you’re a doctor.”

“Noah, it’s not that funny. Some of us stayed on in college. I have a doctorate degree, get over it.”

“Awww, does that mean we can’t play Doctors and Nurses then?”

Puck hears a spluttering noise from the end of the phone and then he has to yank the handset away from his ear. After a few seconds he gingerly puts the headset back to his ear, just in time to catch the last of Kurt’s rant.

“…inappropriate while we’re working Noah Puckerman. Understood?”

“Jesus Kurt, lighten up a little.”

“I’m under a deadline Puck, what was it you wanted?”

“I gotta pick your brains, where are you? I rang the Jeffersonian but Cam said you’re not in today.”

“I’m working from home today. I’ve got to finish off a paper. What information could I possibly have that you would need?”

“Gimme your address, I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Plus I’d like to see the ivory tower where my Princess lives.”

“So help me Puck, I’m going to give you such a slap upside the head when I see you.” Puck can hear a hint of humor in Kurt’s tone as he rattles of his address, somewhere called Kalorama Heights – Puck doesn’t think it’ll be like Lima Heights.

By the time Puck’s finished typing up his notes it’s getting close to 4pm, so he fires off a quick text to Kurt saying he’ll be round after work. He gets a text back asking for Puck to pick up a six pack and Puck is strong and doesn’t reply back with some wiseass comment about his abs.

Kurt’s on Wyoming Avenue North West, not far from Rock Creek Park. Puck’s pissed that Kurt failed to mention he’s in some fancypants townhouse opposite the frigging Syrian Embassy. Brick built, three stories, nicely kept front yard, white trim and a red front door. This gig at the Jeffersonian must pay damn well. Parking’s a bitch but he’s now hammering on the door, having failed to spot any sign of a knocker or doorbell.

His fist on the door sets off a ferocious barking from somewhere in the house. Sounds like one nasty beast and Puck’s checking his cell phone to make sure he took down the right address or his GPS hasn’t half-assed it and sent him to the wrong side of town.

Puck’s reassured by the sound of Kurt’s voice coming faintly through the sturdy looking door but he’s taking a few steps back because there’s snarling and barking and the sound of something heavy hitting the door repeatedly.

Kurt’s voice is coming closer but Puck doesn’t recognize what the hell he’s saying but he’s obviously shouting at something – hopefully the hellhound behind the door.

Puck hears a whine and the sound of claws scrabbling on the wooden floor.

“Puck? Is that you?” there’s the sound of locks being undone “Shut UP! I’ll let you in but when you walk in the door you’re going to have to keep very still.”

Puck’s seriously considering booking it and just meeting Kurt at the Jeffersonian but the door’s opening and it’s too late.

Kurt’s half crouched over, one hand on the door latch and the other hanging on to the thick collar of a growling lump of muscle on four legs.

“Come on, get in!”

Puck slowly takes a few steps into the house, eyes glued on the dog and stands absolutely still as Kurt kicks the door closed.

“Sorry. I forgot to mention the dog.” No shit. “I’m going to let him go in a bit, just crouch down a little and put your hand out, fingers curled in.” The last is said with a tone that suggests Puck better comply.

“Pirate!” the dog tears its gaze away from Puck and looks at Kurt “Noah är en vän. Vän!”

Puck takes that as his cue and slowly crouches down, hand out, as Kurt releases his grip on the collar. The dog shuffles forward, chuffing and sniffing at Puck’s hand and then Puck nearly jumps as the dog licks his hand.

There’s a sigh of relief from Kurt. “Oh good. He likes you. You’re fine – you can breathe again. Come on in.”

If Puck had ever wondered before about what kind of place Kurt Hummel would have, he’d maybe have gone for either really froufrou and over decorated or so modern it hurts. Puck’s pleasantly surprised. Kurt’s house is big but nicely done out. Kurt gives him a guided tour of the ground floor. Wood flooring throughout, neutral walls and lots of light. There’s flashes of color to stop it being too bland but only in a few pieces; a peacock blue lampshade, burnt orange cushions, a tartan throw. The furniture is well chosen, big and comfy and a mix of modern and antique.

The best thing about it is that it’s not a show home. There’s mail and keys and Pirate’s leash on the hall table, a collection of framed photos in the living room – Puck’s pleased to see a large frame of New Directions after winning nationals all posed around the trophy, happy and sweaty and so damn young. There’s some spilled kibble on the kitchen floor and unwashed dishes in the sink. A pile of chew toys on a dog-haired floor cushion in the living room. The remains of lunch are still on the dining table. It’s all the usual elements of someone who lives alone, enjoys his home and doesn’t have anything to prove. Pretty much like Puck.

They’re reclining out back in a couple of Adirondack chairs after a pretty decent steak dinner, catching the last of a mild Spring evening.

It’s been good, building on the last time they’d had dinner together. There’s something to be said for someone who’s known you a long time, less shit to explain. They’d covered their career choices and more:
“Fashion was too cut-throat but academia seems like it might be too”
“Either the army or jail, though I did end up arrested when I was in the service.”
“Overseas travel but not for the collections. Darkest Peru isn’t known for high-end retail opportunities”
“Got me through college, I have letters after my name, stop laughing”
“Doesn’t pay that well, you asshole. It’s just that when Aunt Mildred passed, I got something from her. That’s why I can afford my “crib” as you so charmingly call it”
”I did die. 3 minutes on the table until they could restart my heart”
“Not really, not since Blaine. College kinda killed my romantic life”
“She’s 14, on the track team and in glee – I get emails every so often from them; Shelby uses me to intimidate Beth’s boyfriends”
“Only one term in Congress but he’s chair of the School Board, so I’m pretty hopeful”

Puck rubs his finger tips through the short, surprisingly soft fur of the dog who’s got his muzzle resting on his thigh. The dog just sighs. Turns out the dog used to belong to some Swedish friend of Kurt’s called Magda and he’s a white Staffordshire Bull Terrier with a black patch of fur over one eye. Because Magda is a little eccentric, she called him Pirate and only taught him Swedish, so Kurt now has some handy Swedish phrases like “Shut up!” and “Dinner” and “Stop chewing my shoes, you damn mutt!”. It’s obvious the dog loves Kurt but he’s also taken a shine to Puck too. Kurt feels safer with Pirate around, because he’s a guard dog and what with all the embassies in the neighborhood, security round here is pretty high priority.

They’ve made good progress on the beers and Puck pops the cap on their third of the evening.

“What did you come here for again? Apart from a free meal and a risk of losing your junk to my dog?” Kurt’s kind of fuzzy round the edges and is all wrapped in the tartan throw against the chilly evening breeze.

Puck laughs just before he takes a pull from the bottle. It’s funny seeing Kurt totally relaxed. Even back in Lima, when he’d be round the Hudmel’s, Kurt always seemed to be on his guard.

“Intel.”

“Oh-ho, Mr. Puckerman. And what could that be?”

Puck starts playing with the label on his beer bottle.

“The gay scene in DC. Turns out the vic was a drag queen called Virginia Hamm.”

Kurt’s not so fuzzy when he looks across at him; the man has pulled himself in and is looking at Puck warily. Puck can’t help sigh inside at that.

“Look Kurt, I’m not the asshole I was in high school, don’t give me that look.”

Kurt’s assessing him, a speculative look that means he’s processing. He lets out a sigh.

“Contrary to some of my fashion choices in school, I’m not actually a big fan of drag. It’s not a scene that I’m all that familiar with. Just because I’m gay, you shouldn’t assume I’ll leap into a Bob Mackie gown.”

“Christ Kurt, I’m not assuming anything. I know you’re gay and you’ve lived in this town for a few years. I just thought you’d be able to give me a better picture of the DC gay scene than I could get from Google.”

“I… I don’t go out that much. Maybe once every couple of months.” Kurt gives a short laugh. “I tend to socialize with the people I work with and my work means long hours and not a lot of time for fun.”

Puck thinks that’s kind of sad. Kurt was always a social butterfly back in high school, especially in senior year. Puck wonders what happened.

“There’s a few drag bars but then again there’s also a couple of leather bars too. It’s a big city Puck, so there’s something for everyone. I tend to go to the mainstream ones where there’s a mixed crowd.”

“But have you heard of Virginia Hamm?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I get the Metro Weekly but to be honest I don’t really pay attention to all that stuff. There’s always photos of some drag queen or other.”

“Oh well, worth a shot.” Puck starts to stand up and lurches slightly.

“You okay?”

“’m good. Gotta think about heading home.”

“I don’t think so, Buster. Not until you’ve sobered up a little.” Kurt gets up smoothly and pads back inside, Pirate following him. “At least let me make you some coffee.”

“Sure” Puck’s feeling a little woozy and sags down into the sofa once he’s shuffled through to the living room.

Puck wakes up with a start. Someone is lovingly pressing a piece of wet liver against his cheek. He cracks open an eye to find himself eyeball to eyeball with Pirate – black nose twitching. He sits up and takes in the fact that he’s still at Kurt’s. The sound of a radio and the smell of bacon frying waft through to him. Rubbing his eyes and testing his dry mouth he sees two Tylenol and a glass of OJ on the coffee table, sitting right next to his gun and cell phone.

Puck groans after downing the pills and the juice, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders pop. He gives his head a shake and stands up. Looks like Kurt took off his shoes and tucked him in on the sofa. He can’t remember the last time he passed out at someone’s place and he’s a little embarrassed because he only had 3 beers. What a wuss!

Following the scent of bacon, he and the dog head towards the kitchen to find Kurt freshly dressed with slightly damp hair and doing things with eggs and a cast iron skillet. There’s a pile of bacon draining on a kitchen towel and a full pot of coffee on the counter.

“The sleeper awakes. Good morning Noah. Still take your eggs sunny side up or you want them over easy?

“Sunny. Coffee. Morning.”

Kurt just laughs and pours him a cup of strong black coffee, plunks it in front of him on the breakfast bar and turns back to the stove.

“Coming right up.”

There’s just the sound of Kurt humming along to the radio and birdsong drifting in from the open windows. It’s quietly domestic and soothing; it takes him back to the days of stumbling into the Hudmel kitchen on a Saturday morning with a tequila hangover, Mrs. H doling out sausage and biscuits.

By the time he’s finished the coffee, he’s feeling close to human and Kurt’s plating up the eggs and bacon. Kurt sits down and starts shoveling down his own breakfast.

“It’s turkey bacon by the way.” He chews another mouthful of eggs and reaches for the ketchup. “It’s only 7am, you might have time to head home to change but I don’t know where you live.”

“Alexandria.”

“Ah. Then I don’t think you’ll make getting there and get into work on time. I’ve got plenty of towels and spare toiletries. Not sure about a change of clothing.”

“’s okay. I’ve got a spare shirt in my desk.” His jaw cracks with the surprise yawn he gives.

Kurt’s eyebrows rise at the sound. “You must’ve been tired. By the time I came through with the coffee you were out of it on my sofa. I couldn’t rouse you at all.”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…”

“Noah, it’s not a problem. I was a perfect gentleman.” Kurt’s got a little smirk on his face.

“Ha.” Puck scrapes the last of the eggs from his plate. “Where’s the shower?”

“First floor, door on the left.”

By the time Puck steps out of the guest room shower, his suit has been pressed and there’s a pair of shorts and socks lying on the bed. He just shrugs and puts them on, figuring that Kurt’s being a good host, as always, and at least they’ll be freshly laundered.

By the time he makes his way down the stairs, Kurt is at the front door, jingling his keys in his hand.

“Hurry up, sleepyhead. I’ve got to lock up and get to work myself.”

Puck pats himself down, he’s got everything.

“Thanks Kurt.”

“Don’t mention it. Now get the hell out of my house.”

Puck is having another frustrating day, trying to track down this FiFi Titzling. He’s scoured the online version of Metro Weekly to see if there are any photos but nothing with a caption. He also takes the time to jot down a few numbers and addresses of places to follow up later.

By the time he’s finished with a briefing meeting, it’s into the early afternoon and the bars should at least have some staff on the premises. Time to get moving.

“Hey Kurt. Wanna tag along while I play big bad FBI agent?”

“Are you suggesting some kind of good cop/bad cop scenario here?”

“You said it, not me. And if you ask nicely, I might let you play with my ‘cuffs.”

“Dammit Puck. Are you ever going to lay off?”

“Never with you, Kurt”

“I can’t, I’m in the middle of something here. Is that okay?”

Puck could pull out the FBI liaison card and force Kurt to help but if Kurt found out then he’d get snitty with him. It’s not worth the bother.

“Nah, I’ll just hit the phones.”

By the time it gets to six o’clock, he’s managed to speak to all but one of the main drag bars in DC and not one of them has heard of FiFi, he really hopes the last one will be a winner.

“Good Evening Sir. My name is Agent Puckerman from the FBI. I was wondering if you could help me?”

Yet again the voice at the other end of the phone is suspicious. “Yeah? What do ya want?”

“I’m trying to get information on someone called FiFi Titzling”

“What’s the little tramp done now?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Sir. But do you have a name or a number?”

“Sure, gimme a sec.” there’s the sound of ruffling papers, “Are you sure you can’t tell me what she’s got herself into now? I bet it’s mail fraud.”

“Just a name and a number please.”

“FiFi’s, or should I say Roger’s number is 555-125-8951

“Thank you for your time Sir. Have a good evening.”

Puck’s in the conference room across from Roger Talmont. Roger had been a little reluctant to come in but as soon as he’d mentioned the vic, he agreed to come in that afternoon. He’s dark haired, plucked eyebrows, a slight frame and very well dressed. Puck can tell he’s nervous but trying not to show it.

After dropping the bomb on Paul’s murder and letting Roger get it out of his system, Puck tries to get Roger to open up but he’s wary and cagey - it’s not until Kurt is shown into the room, a little flustered from being late, that Roger warms up.

“We were getting ready for the show and I looked over and he should have been finishing his lips but he’s just sitting there twirling the lip pencil in his hands, back and forth. And then Luanne Luau slams the door to the dressing room and he jumps about a foot in the air.”

“Did he say anything?” Kurt’s leaning forward and Puck can’t help but grin a little, because (a) Kurt is getting hooked on the investigating and (b) he’s not sure he’d’ve got anything out of Roger without Kurt.

“It wasn’t ‘til after the show and we’re getting changed. He asked me if he could get a ride home. So we’re on the way back to the car and Paul kept looking over his shoulder. I didn’t say anything until we were in the car.”

Roger dabs his eyes again.

“You have to know that Paul was an absolute sweetheart – one of those Midwestern boys without a vicious bone in his body.” Roger turns to Kurt and gives him a steady look. “You know, when you walked in, I thought you were Paul.”

Kurt looks sympathetic. “I’m a Midwestern boy too – Ohio. Though I’m not as nice as Paul must have been. I’ve been told I have HBIC tendencies.”

Roger laughs at that and fiddles with the tissue in his hands.

“I don’t think that Paul had the greatest time growing up. Nothing he said outright, but honey, we can read between the lines, we’ve all trodden that path. But in the car, he told me that he thought that he’d seen someone in the audience, someone who looked like a guy he knew from way back when.”

“Did he give you a name, or a description?”

Roger looks over at Puck.

“I’m sorry Agent Puckerman, he didn’t. He kind of changed the subject and that was it.” Roger sighs. “I can’t believe that’s the last time I saw him.

Kurt’s in the middle of examining some fibers which have been plucked from an alleged 16th century Flemish tapestry. He’s trying to prepare some samples for the mass spec, when he’s interrupted by two looming presences behind him.

Turning, he sees Cam and Noah standing there with determined looks on their faces.

“Kurt, can we go to my office?”

“Sure Cam. Let me finish this up.” Kurt teases the fibers from the forceps into the test tubes and slides them into a rack and pulls off his gloves.

It’s not until he’s in Cam’s office and they’re all sat down that either of them speak.

“Kurt, Agent Puckerman’s got a request to make and he’s run it by me first. I’d like to you to think long and hard about it before you answer”.

Kurt’s eyes flick from Cam and over to Puck. Cam looks a little annoyed and concerned but Puck looks hopeful and worried, maybe. Kurt wishes sometimes that he could understand facial expression better.

“Kurt, the investigation’s stalling and I’m worried that we’re not going to catch whoever did this. I’ve got approval from my boss for this but I need to ask you something.” Puck looks down at his hands and then looks up directly into Kurt’s eyes. “His colleagues know nothing, his neighbors know nothing, and his family knows nothing. The only lead I’ve got is from Roger and even that is vague. I’ve asked the Wisconsin field office to send me through details of Paul’s classmates throughout his school years but it’s a lot of records to go through.”

“Okay, that’s all well and good but I still don’t know what it is that you want me to do?”

“We need to get someone into the drag scene so we can observe what’s going on. I can’t wait for something to turn up from Wisconsin. And… well…”

Kurt didn’t get his degree because he’s a genius; he got his degree by being just smart enough and applying himself diligently. He shuffles all the data around and doesn’t like the conclusion much.

“You want me to go undercover.” Kurt’s voice is flat.

Puck blows out a breath and gives Kurt a shaky smile. “You always were a smart cookie, Kurt.”

“And somewhere a village is looking for its idiot, Puck” Kurt has to bite down on his tongue at the hurt look on Puck’s face – fleeting but there – and relents a little.

“Sorry. That wasn’t called for.” Kurt looks up at the ceiling, admiring the ironwork, and then looks back at Puck.

“If - and it’s a pretty strong if - I consider taking part in this insane scheme of yours, what are my guarantees? Do I get a gun?”

Puck’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “You’re actually considering this?” then his brain catches up and he frowns. “No, no gun for you. I remember you with that BB gun.”

“Look, I said I was sorry and my dad did pay Sam’s medical bills. And for new windows”

“Kurt, is there something I should know about?” Cam is looking worried.

“There was an incident in high school, nothing was damaged beyond repair.”

A mutter from the other side of the sofa shoots him down “Two windows and someone’s ass.”

“Shut. Up.”

Cam’s looking between the two men and sees that this isn’t as big a deal as they’re making out, more like they enjoy baiting each other. Oh boy.

“Anyway” Cam drags their attention away from their argument. “Kurt, are you really considering this? You don’t know any of the details.”

“Cam, for all we know I could end up in a whorehouse in Shanghai” he gives a fake shudder, “but I suspect that Agent Puckerman hasn’t gotten so far in his career by being incompetent.”

Kurt really has to memorize this moment – twice in the same conversation he’s shocked Puck but in a good way.

“I’m hoping that Agent Puckerman has a plan, a well thought out plan. So, do you?”

“I do. We’re going undercover together, because I’m sure as hell not letting you go into this on your own. Your dad would skin me alive if I let anything happen to you.”

“That’s reassuring, kind of. Have you even done this before?”

“A couple of times, mostly on my own though.” Puck’s eyes cloud as a memory flickers, “We need to come up with a back-story and decide on the game plan. I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Kurt, are you sure? I know that Dr Brennan does this, you’re not out to prove something?”

“Cam, I’m sure. As Puck says, he’s got little to go on and it’s a fairly tight knit community, so they’d be able to pick up straight away if something didn’t ring true.” Kurt rubs his hand across his face. “I want to help and if this is the only way then I’ll try it. Do you think I can do it?”

“I think you’re extremely competent Kurt but this is field work not lab work. It’s hard.”

Kurt looks at Cam, remembering the stories of back when she was a detective.

“Cam, if you don’t think I should do it then let me know. I trust your judgment on this.”

Cam takes a minute to consider.

“I think that I give my tentative approval. I want to know the plan, Agent Puckerman, before I can agree to release Dr Hummel from his duties.”

“Of course. I’ve got to do the same for my own boss.”

“Well gentlemen, I’ll let you get on with your planning.”

Kurt's eyes narrow as he takes in the man in front of him. Biker boots, leather pants so tight they could have been sprayed on, thick belt, a faded and torn McKinley t-shirt (Kurt gives Puck a point for the irony), and finally a smug grin. A spring breeze catches Puck's T-shirt, making it flutter and flatten against the broad chest – a snatch of a treasure trail and what looks like piercings in both nipples. A faint shading of pink creeps across Kurt's cheeks.

"What are you wearing?!" Kurt's voice is higher than normal and a series of expressions flit across his face.

Puck sighs and rolls his shoulders easing out some of the tightness. "We're going undercover in a gay bar Kurt; you know I'm not a feather and sequins kinda guy."

Kurt snorts at the thought of Puckerman in a feather boa, but still...

"Couldn't you find a fake handlebar moustache? Such a cliché. What's wrong with a Henley and a good pair of jeans?"

"What kind of boyfriend would "Miss Demeanor" have, hmm? Boring preppy or a badass?" snaps back Puck, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

Trust Puck to turn it all back on him. Since he was taking on Sally Bowles for this evening, he'd hoped for a Maximilian von Heune but what was he thinking? Of course Puck would use the chance to get out of a suit and into something more unsuitable.

Kurt's professional curiosity short circuits his rant.

"And what are your pants made from – it doesn't look like cowhide, the grain is wrong".

"They're lambskin, thin and soft for tonight because I want to look like a babe but they're not tough enough for play."

Kurt picks up his garment bag and beauty case. He’ll ask about that comment later, when he’s calmed down and Puck can’t escape.

"Where's the SUV?" He looks up and down his street, searching for the black monster. "This stuff is heavy."

"Not got it tonight." Puck angled away from Kurt and waved an arm towards a sleek black muscle bike parked haphazardly on the street. "Behold the Hammer!"

"Who are you? Thor?" Kurt’s stressing out and he only shut his front door less than a minute ago. "What the hell, Puck? I'm not getting on the back of that with you."

"Kurt. The secret of a successful undercover operation is looking the part. If we turn up in what is obviously a government vehicle, then no-one is going to believe us."

"But why a bike? Why not have an SUV?" Kurt’s well aware of how whiny he sounds but he’s nervous enough about this undercover thing, never mind doing drag and Puck’s not helping to reassure him.

"It's my bike, I know how to handle it and it's quick enough to power through gridlock. If we have to get away, I'd rather be on a bike than in a vehicle. Now shut up and follow me, you'll be fine."

Kurt pauses for a couple of seconds, open mouthed, before marching down the steps and standing on the sidewalk. It’s a good looking bike and Kurt would probably enjoy riding it at any other time.

"Puck", he tries for a placating tone, "I don't think this is going to work. How am I supposed to carry my stuff?"

"Give it here." with that Puck takes the vanity case and straps it down onto a teeny chrome platform at the back of the bike and then straps the garment bag on top of it.

"Puck, you'll crush the clothes."

"Goddamit Kurt, you're really beginning to piss me off. It's a dark club, no-one will notice if your costume is wrinkled."

Puck has his back to him and Kurt sees the release of breath as Puck tries to calm down. It’s only then that Kurt realizes that perhaps Puck is nervous too. After all, he’s the experienced agent having to take a civilian out in the field.

"Sorry, Puck. I'm a bit nervous tonight. I've never done anything like this before. You could say I'm an FBI virgin." Kurt titters nervously, hoping Puck picks up on his pitiful excuse for innuendo.

Puck gives an exasperated chuckle and turns around. "Me too. This is my first big case in DC and I don't want to fuck it up. You were such a perfect little actor in school, how can you fail here?"

Puck takes the two steps to stand in front of Kurt and grips his shoulder. Kurt can feel the weight and warmth through his jacket.

"I've got your back Kurt. I'll have my eyes on you and I'm packing tonight" Puck sticks out his free arm - a helmet dangling from the end.

"Put this on, it'll be snug so you'll have to yank hard, and yes, your hair will get flattened, but since it'll be under a wig in less than an hour, keep the bitching down to a minimum, eh? Just watch me."

Kurt copies Puck's movements and pulls the helmet on, feeling his face and hair getting squashed. Thank heavens he's done minimal styling.

He jumps as he hears Puck's voice right in his ear.

"There's a built-in Bluetooth, so we can talk to each other rather than yelling." The purr of Puck's voice makes him shiver. "I'll get on first and then swing your leg over."

Kurt watches as Puck straddles his bike, smooth movements from long practice and sees a gloved hand beckoning him.

Here goes nothing. Kurt gingerly raises his leg and hops over the saddle, coming to land on the tiny passenger seat.

"You've got two options, there's a strap to grab hold of but it's better for me if you hold onto me."

"I get it, my Dad explained to me once about being a pillion. You won't accuse me of trying to cop a feel?"

"Hey, at least I know you know what to do. And if you want to have an explore, then feel free, it's all good. I know that the bike can cause a reaction in some folks."

Not being able to see Puck's face is frustrating, as Kurt can't be sure if Puck is just being chilled out in having Kurt cling on to him, or if he’s genuinely flirting. In the end, Kurt decides to just hang on and hope.

Kurt startles as Puck turns the key, the engine rumbling and the vibration passing right through the frame of the bike. He feeds his arms under Puck’s and grabs hold of Puck's torso, not exactly sure of where his hands are but hoping they are somewhere appropriate.

"Tighter" Puck's voice in his ear makes him jump and he instinctively pulls himself closer to Puck, "Better, but don't grab and don't tickle, or we'll both come off."

With that warning, Puck pulls out into the street and they rumble off.

By the time they pull up outside of Ziegfeld’s, Kurt's grin is almost from ear to ear. What a rush! The first few minutes are nerve wracking and he keeps trying to anticipate Puck but after a warning, he just hangs on and moves when Puck does.

They don't talk much during the journey; Kurt doesn’t want to distract Puck, while Puck concentrates on remembering how to ride with a passenger. But Kurt loves it, the feel of the wind against them, the rumble and roar of the engine, Puck's sure and steady handling of the bike.

There’s one awkward moment where Kurt has the beginnings of an erection and he really hopes that Puck doesn't notice.

The silence is deafening as Puck kills the engine and Kurt scrambles off as elegantly as he can. He can still feel the vibration of the engine through his body and hopes it will somehow fade off in time for his performance.

He unclips the helmet and jigs from foot to foot, shaking his legs awake after the ride and the unusual position. Try as hard as he can, he can’t seem to pull the helmet off and turns around to find Puck leaning against the bike, legs crossed at the ankles, helmet resting on the seat and grinning at him.

"Need a hand?" Kurt stills as he stares at Puck. He looks sexy, brimful of swagger and charisma. For all that Puck had annoyed him through high school his bad boy persona had always been attractive. And now that the boy has matured into a man, there’s a confidence that had been lacking in school. Thankfully, the visor is still down, so Kurt can stare but he emphatically nods.

Puck's boot heels click on the sidewalk and he reaches across to pull the helmet off, one hand on the back of Kurt's neck to angle him and the other levering off the helmet.

Puck laughs at the sight of Kurt; sweaty, creased face, flattened hair with sparkling eyes and a genuine smile.

"Looking good there, Kurt!" He can't help himself and ruffles his fingers through Kurt's hair.

"Wait! What?" Kurt looks slightly dazed but still manages to worm out of Puck's grasp, smoothing his own hands over his hair and face.

"Enjoy the ride?"

"God yes!"

"Certainly felt like you enjoyed it." Puck's smirk and raised eyebrow cause Kurt to flush with embarrassment.

"Um... Sorry, Puck..." Kurt flounders but Puck doesn't seem all that bothered.

"Dude, chill. Everyone gets a boner on a beauty like this". Puck slaps his hand on the tank of the bike. "Though part of me wants to know if it was the Hammer or Puckzilla or both that got you hot and bothered."

The use of Puck's old high school nickname makes Kurt laugh. Puck does have a way of defusing the situation down a few notches.

"Right, time to work." Puck's face slides from playful to serious. "We don't know who's going to be here so we're both going to have to be on the ball. No alcohol, no distractions."

The knot in Kurt's stomach flares up again, though Kurt determines not to let nerves get the better of him. Four years in public school in Bumfuck, Ohio mean that he is the master of not letting his feelings show.

"I'm ready, are you?" Kurt gathers up his bags and starts to head in to Ziegfeld’s.

A hand wraps around his bicep pulling him to a stop. "Not so fast. You sure you're up for this? We can still pull out." There is something in Puck's tone that Kurt can't quite identify.

Turning around, Kurt looks directly into Puck's eyes. "Noah, I'm perfectly capable of keeping my eyes and ears open and performing at the same time. I'm going to leave all the heroics up to you."

"Don't pull the bitch queen act with me, Kurt. I know you."

"Yes, I am nervous but I have to trust that you've got my back, right?" Kurt sighs a little. "Are you worried about me?"

"A little, and yeah, I've got your back. You got mine?"

"Of course, first sign of trouble and McKinley's star kicker will swing into action."

Puck gives a gruff laugh, "Stick to the cover story, keep it simple, ask questions but don't be too nosey."

"Puck, it's a bar full of gay men watching drag. They're all going to be gossiping like hens, especially when fresh meat walks in the door." Kurt's face takes on a hungry cast, his lips pursing as he gives Puck the thrice over.

Puck shudders as he remembers those looks the first time he hit the bars.

"Okay, Xander. We're all set. Let's get you in there and make sure you get the grand prize, babe." With that, he swiveled Kurt under his arm.

"Oh, Danny honey, you do treat me right."

It hasn't been that difficult to get themselves set up. The door could have been a magic arch. Kurt has turned into a slightly hysterical twink, all arched eyebrows and fluttering hands. Puck digs into his Neanderthal and puffs himself up, a rough trade to compliment Kurt's twink.

Puck stands at the bar, nursing a bottle of club soda as the patrons move around him – checking out the audience, trying to see who doesn’t fit right. After Kurt introduces himself, he's whisked backstage. Puck tries to go backstage once but the chorus of shrieks from the “girls” make him hot foot it out of there. He just has to hope that Kurt sticks to the plan.

There’s a bit of commotion at the back of the bar and Puck turns to follow it. The gauzy curtain twitches and some greasy haired guy fiddles with a mic stand. A few breaths to test the levels, then he starts in on introducing the MC.

Puck watches the gravitational pull of the stage, it’s a well publicized drag night and if it hadn’t been for Roger vouching for Kurt, then they wouldn’t have gotten a foot in the door. Puck’s tuning out the MC and focusing on the audience for patterns, watching for something hinky – he can’t think of a better word for it. He adopts a heavy lidded cruising look so he won’t look out of place – but arriving with Kurt under an arm and chatting up the bar staff had helped embed their cover.

The acts come and go, like Kurt he isn’t all that fussed by drag, so doesn’t think he’s missing much. Sometimes it’s funny or well done but it just isn’t his thing, much more the opposite. Really, he isn’t there for kicks but for work. So far there isn’t anything that he can see that’s out of the ordinary.

“And now Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Miss Demeanor, or should I say Fraulein Sally Bowles.”

That gets a bit of a laugh from the crowd and then Puck realizes that this is Kurt’s cue. He’s never seen Cabaret so has no idea what the significance is but Kurt had been adamant that this was something that he could do well – Puck doesn’t doubt it.

There’s a blast of trumpets and a rinky-dink piano riff and then some chick is flouncing out in front but holy shit it isn’t some chick, it’s Kurt….

He’s got one hand on a chair and, well, Puck’s not the only one who’s staring.

The followspot is tight on Kurt and Puck’s taking in an expanse of creamy white skin. Kurt’s in hot pants and a backless vest, hooker boots and fucking fishnet stockings and to top it off a Bowler hat.

“You have to understand the way I am, mein herr.
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb, mein herr”

Puck knows that Kurt is nailing the song because the audience laps it up but to be honest he’s too distracted by the performance. The hot pants have a sequined heart right over where his junk should be but Puck sure as hell can’t see a bulge or anything, not even a camel toe. How did he do that?

The song picks up the tempo and Kurt sails through it but he throws himself about in the chair and contorts himself into all these poses as he sings and Puck’s a little disturbed, frankly.

“But I do what I can
inch by inch
step by step
mile by mile
man by man”

Puck’s in trouble. Objectively he always knew that Kurt was a great guy, he was a gleemate and he had Blaine and that was all fine and dandy, but Puck’s not the fuckup he used to be and he’s developed an appreciation for men just as much as women since he got out of Lima. Having said all that, he’s never seen Kurt as a sexual being but the guy in front of him is hot. It’s not because he’s in drag, although the heavy eye makeup and the whore lips aren’t hurting.

“Du kennst mich wohl, mein Herr.
Ach, lebe wohl, mein Herr.
Du sollst mich nie mehr sehen mein Herr.”

It’s the way that Kurt’s moves, like he’s comfortable in his skin and he’s doing all these sexy teasy things with his hands and his face and his thighs and there’s not a trace of nerves in him and Puck’s almost hypnotized by the play of Kurt’s muscles under the lights, because as authentic as the costume may be, there’s absolutely no doubt that Kurt’s male. He’s filled out in the shoulders and there’s a clear definition to his guns and forearms and it’s just the kind of tight lithe body that Puck likes on a man and oh God he’s getting hard and what the fuck.

“You're better without me
bye bye
mein herr“

There’s a roar of applause and cheers when Kurt finishes the song. He’s splayed out over the seat of the chair and his chest is heaving and Puck just feels a curl of want down in the pit of his stomach. This is not a good thing. This will fuck everything up. Puck pulls himself together and joins in on the applause, gets back into character and wolf whistles a couple of times just for the show of it. He’s Danny, Xander’s doting boyfriend, he’s not Puck who shouldn’t really be thinking of having his friend and colleague underneath him.

Kurt drags his chair offstage as the MC introduces the next act, so Puck thinks what the hell and orders a shot of whiskey, he needs to settle down and get back to work.

About 15 minutes later Puck feels someone sidle up to him and sling an arm around his waist. He nearly throws the fucker off until he realizes it’s Kurt and at least Kurt is a professional and is sticking to the plan.

“Hey babe”

“Hey yourself stud, how was I?” Kurt’s all wide-eyed and glowing and Puck can tell that he enjoyed himself up there. He wonders how often Kurt gets to perform these days. There’s still a trace of eye makeup and Kurt’s lips are redder than normal.

“Damn good, babe. You showed those bitches how it’s done.”

Kurt ducks his head and snuggles in to Puck’s side and giggles.

“Danny! Stop that. Be nice.”

“If ya wanted nice, then what the hell are ya doing with me?”

Kurt leans in as if he’s murmuring sweet nothings in his ear but he’s checking the crowd out over Puck’s shoulder just as much as Puck is checking them out in the mirror over the bar.

“Anything? I’ve been stuck back there all night with a room full of bitchy drag queens.”

Puck huffs out a laugh at that but Kurt’s whispering into his ear and his breath is wet and warm and he smells of cologne and sweat and that’s doing things to him. Again. So he turns his head and whispers back.

“Nothing to report but let’s save the debrief for later.” Puck can feel Kurt nod and then pull away.

He turns to see Kurt standing there with his vanity case in his hands and pouting demurely at him.

“Danny, baby’s tired. Pwease take me home?”

Puck has to stifle a laugh because he knows that Kurt is not that kind of gay. Kurt’s pretty good at undercover work so far. Any nerves he had before seem to have gone and he’s relishing the role.

“Okay, babe. Let’s blow this joint.”

With that, he signals the barman to hand over the helmets and tugs Kurt out into the night.

The bike is ticking slowly after Kurt dismounts and grabs his gear off the back. Puck doesn’t want to get off the bike, because then Kurt would invite him in and that’s a whole mess of “no” that can’t happen.

Kurt stands on the sidewalk, bouncing a little and Puck gets that it’s just the adrenaline, the thrill of performing. And here it comes…

“Do you want to come in? Do the debrief now?” Kurt’s face looks eager and a little bit adorable.

“Kurt…” Puck’s trying to do this right, “I’d love to but I’m nearly dead on my feet. Can we meet at the Hoover Building Monday morning? Say 10?” He tries to take the sting out of the rejection by smiling as best he can.

Kurt’s face falls a little and then rallies. “Sure. I just….”

“It’s okay. Monday is better for the debrief, gives a chance for everything to settle.” And for horny FBI agents to rub one out and get their shit together over the weekend.

“Well, I’ll see you Monday then.”

“Night, Kurt.

Kurt makes his way up the walk with all his stuff, opens the door to an eager Pirate and gives Puck a wave as he closes his front door. Puck lets out a long sigh and turns the key in the ignition, the engine sounding so damn loud in the quiet of the night. He pulls out and heads back to his cold bed, down in Alexandria.

Ten o’clock comes round sooner that Puck would like. Despite a surprisingly quick and dirty jackoff in the shower when he got home on Friday, he’s not had a restful weekend – too many unremembered dreams of Kurt; a workout and a walk round his new neighborhood didn’t take the edge off.

Kurt’s shown in to the meeting room looking as cool and collected as he always does, no dark circles under his eyes, no sign of any sore muscles from the routine. Damn him.

The meeting lasts for a good couple of hours, surprising given that Puck hadn’t all that much to feed back on but Kurt seems to have got much more out of the other performers. Seems like they’ve all got stories to tell of unwanted attention but Kurt’s a sneaky bastard and managed to turn the conversation round to Paul. Turns out that not everyone has the same opinion about Paul as Roger does but on the whole they back up what Roger told them. Paul seemed to be leery of someone in the audience but as to who, none of them know - ‘some creepy guy’ is the best description they’ve got.

They agree that the night hadn’t been a complete failure but there’s obviously a need to go back again. Kurt suggests that the man they’re looking for wasn’t there Friday night and might be back again but Puck’s not even sure it is someone who’s connected with the drag scene. By the time they’ve finished, it’s lunch time, so they walk over to the Royal Diner.

Kurt thinks there’s something suspicious about the way that Cam and Angela smile at them when they walk in but doesn’t have the chance to find out more as the women are paying the check as he and Puck sit down.

Kurt’s halfway through his Cobb salad when Puck starts hemming and hawing, which is so unlike Puck that he puts down his fork and takes a sip of his iced tea.

“Spit it out Noah, it pains me to see you floundering like this.”

Puck’s eyes widen slightly in surprise and he flashes a half smile.

“I just wondered… That routine…”

“Yes….” Kurt can’t wait to find out where this is going.

“Was that something you came up with or something…?”

“Multiple viewings of Cabaret and I may have worked out the costume and routine between agreeing to the undercover work and you roaring up on that ridiculous motorbike.”

“I kinda wondered. I gotta ask this, and don’t kill me, but with the hot pants and your junk… How did you…” An index finger twirls arabesques in the air.

Kurt just busts out laughing at Puck’s face – it’s a cross between curious and not wanting to hear the answer. It’s pretty sweet how he’s being all eager but not wanting to offend.

“Duct tape”

“Wait, what?”

“Duct tape – and that’s all I’m saying. Use your imagination. Or Google.”

Kurt smirks at the pained look on Puck’s face as he works out how and what the duct tape was used for. Kurt waits a beat.

“So never tell me I don’t make sacrifices for this partnership.”

“Fuck Kurt, never. Doesn’t it hurt? Coming off?” Kurt can see that Puck’s already regretting the question. “No, you don’t have to answer that. I don’t want to know.”

“All truly great artists suffer for their art. I’m one of them”

That gets Puck to stop wincing and start laughing.

“I’m sorry – you’re going to have to go through that again next week.”

“Hell no, I’m changing the costume so I don’t have to.”

Puck laughs and stretches and his foot slips so that their ankles are touching. Kurt is surprised that he’s comfortable with that. He normally doesn’t like casual touches but it’s Puck and Puck’s always been touchy feely.

“I don’t blame you, dude. Not one bit.” Puck looks out the window for a second and then looks back at Kurt, his expression softer, more hopeful. “Say, are you up for going out a couple of nights this week, maybe do some more recon?”

Kurt’s startled by the request. He’s got a load of work to catch up on back at the lab but he can see the merit of them establishing their cover more deeply. He didn’t realize that the FBI work would start to consume his personal life too. But then again, it’s Puck not some random FBI agent and Kurt’s social life has been somewhat dire for the past few months, plus if they call it work then they can claim it all as expenses.

“I don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a couple of nights we’d go out for dinner and drinks. And maybe clubbing on Saturday?”

“You mean dating.”

“Well yeah, obviously. But as Xander and Danny, though.”

Kurt thought it was odd that Puck had to put in the qualifier. As far as he was concerned this was just for the job and he was fairly sure that Puck was straight – Puck’s positive reactions to the drag bar and to Kurt’s proximity were just the sign of a more mature Noah Puckerman, weren’t they?

“Fine, have Danny pick Xander up tomorrow at 7. Danny can decide where they’re going.” Kurt looks at the wall clock. “Shit, I’ve got to get back. I’ve got time booked with the Electron Microscope and I’m gonna miss my slot. See you later, Noah.”

With that, Kurt pulls a twenty out of his wallet, sets it on the table and heads out of the door.

Kurt curls up on his sofa with the lights low and the sound of Pirate slurping out of his water bowl. It’s been a long day and while his dinner is in the oven, he’s taking the edge off with a vodka-tonic. He hops through the channels, not settling, until he finally gives in and turns the TV off. Swirling the ice in his glass, he actually lets himself think over the day.

The labwork he can discount, nothing conclusive today but he’s still got a few things he can try. But Special Agent Puckerman confuses the hell of out of him and that’s what’s been preying on his mind. What did he mean by the dating thing?

Since Puck blundered back into his life, Kurt’s been trying to figure him out. There are still flashes of the jerk he was back in high school but it’s the lovable badboy, not the dumpster tosser. The stories of what he’s been up to over the past 12 years have been funny for the most part but he knows there’s stuff he hasn’t been told. Puck gets a faraway look in his eyes sometimes. The sad thing is that Puck did fulfill his prediction for what he’d be doing by the time he was 30. He’s been dead and in jail but thankfully is still here to tell the tale.

Kurt actually likes this Noah Puckerman, rather than the miscreant who was friends with his step-brother and a team mate in glee. By the time high school ended, they’d reached an amicable truce – not best buddies but enough to spend time together willingly. Kurt supposes that in the end they spent so much time together that they eventually saw beyond the surface.

Kurt can acknowledge that he was a slightly histrionic teenager, obsessed with fashion and boys and gossip. Senior year was filled with Blaine and getting ready for college. Still, he could appreciate Puck’s aesthetic charms in school. He was a handsome boy, especially when he smiled. Hot, until he opened his mouth to give a dumb opinion or a smutty remark and then the hotness waned the more of a douche he sounded. Nowadays Kurt can also see that Puck was loyal to those he valued and struggled to do the right thing.

Noah’s improved with age. The stupid Mohawk is gone and his body is leaner and tighter than it had been over a decade ago. Kurt imagines that this is part growing older but also the physical nature of being in the army and the FBI. He’s not complaining, he realizes that as wonderful as Blaine was, his preference is more for the solidly built man, a little rough around the edges. Unfortunately, Noah falls into this category. He fills out his cheap suits well and Kurt can’t deny the thrum of lust he felt seeing Puck in his gear on the bike – ranting has always been his default diversionary tactic.

For all that’s happened to him, Noah now seems happier in himself. There were times when Kurt could see the barely contained fury coming off Puck in waves, along with those moments where he seemed so sad and frustrated. The one reliable thing about Puck was that he always wore his heart on his sleeve. The lines on Puck’s face are more from laughter than anything else.

If circumstances were different and Kurt had met Puck without their history, he could quite easily see himself agreeing to dates with Puck and more - but you don’t poop on your porch as his Dad would say, so he’s not going to try. Besides Puck’s not into guys but girls; there’s another thing, since when did Noah Puckerman not object to being thought of as gay, or even vaguely not-straight?

Kurt has an epiphany – that’s what’s been niggling at him all day – and then the buzzer goes off in the kitchen. Kurt concentrates on sorting out dinner for himself and Pirate – lasagna and green salad and kibble with minced liver - before he’ll devote time to the Puckerman conundrum.

He lays in bed later, lotioned and potioned with the light off and Pirate snoring at his feet, when he decides to list his observations and posit a hypothesis. He’s a scientist, after all.

Puck has not mentioned anyone he’s dated since high school.
Puck is comfortable around gay people.
Puck is comfortable about being thought gay.
Puck is happy to engage in flirty banter with him.
Puck has referred to “playing”.
Puck had been odd towards the end of the drag night.
Puck made sure that Kurt knew that the dates were for their cover, not themselves.

Hmmmm, time for some testing on Tuesday.

The Jeffersonian team convenes in the Bone room ready to give Agent Puckerman an update on what they’ve found so far. Kurt’s the only one absent but he’s waiting to escort their visitor.

The sound of Kurt’s laughter floating through the hallway causes different reactions in the group; for some they try to work out the last time they heard Kurt laugh and others share grins over the noise but by the time the two men enter, everyone is back to normal.

Angela turns to the plasma screen and brings up a short animation.

“Okay, this is pretty awful. We know Paul was drugged with Ketamine, which would have made him pretty sluggish and woozy but even still there’s evidence of strain put on the shoulder joint as he tried to fight. We’ve got trauma to the jaw, skull and upper chest, which indicate that there was a lot of punching going on.”

The animation shows a pair of disembodied hands punching at the version of Paul on screen – the punched areas remain highlighted in red and Puck can see that Paul was beaten savagely.

“We checked the mouth and teeth to see if there was any trace evidence from the murderer but nothing.” Hodgins sounds pretty annoyed. “The only thing I found was a tiny piece of leather, which I handed over to Kurt.”

“Generic glove leather I’m afraid. The hide comes from Pakistan and the tanning process and chemicals indicate Eastern Europe, so I’m guessing it’s a cheap import.”

“You got all of that from a tiny piece of leather?” Puck’s amazed but Kurt just rolls his eyes.

“This is the Jeffersonian, Puck, they don’t let idiots work here.”

“Sorry.”

Some blonde guy in a grey coat takes over, must be the Mr. Bray they keep talking about.

“Bruising on the neck and the way the hyoid bone was broken indicate that he was put into a choke hold, from behind, rather than a pair of hands wrapped around his neck.”

Again the animation changes to show one of the arms tight around the neck, this time in blue.

“Judging by the angle of the bruises and the way the bones have been damaged, the victim’s assailant was taller and heavier. Approximately 6 feet tall and about 210-230 lbs – we’re thinking this is a big guy, a lot of leverage used here.”

The animation is filled in with a big guy – Angela’s kept the shape vague because they don’t know yet if the guy is muscular or fat but it’s obvious now how Paul could have been overpowered.

“I took some alginate moulds of the stab wounds on the victim’s torso, to try and work out the weapon.” Cam points to some bluey-grey knife points on a tray. “Mr. Bray has examined the ribs and sternum – there’s a couple of points where the knife nicked the bone. Unfortunately, Angela tells me that the knife is probably a common hunting knife and the moulds don’t show any particular distinctive marks.”

Cam sighs and continues.

“Going by the pattern of the stab wounds and the bruising, the stabbing took place post mortem. Angela?”

“I took the angles of the cuts, the bruising and the depth of the wounds and ran it in – there’s no way that all of these were done while the victim was standing. The only scenario I could find was the victim on their back on the ground and the murderer over them and stabbing downwards.”

The animation changes to show the victim on the ground and the other figure straddling the guys crotch and the knife plunging in –this time the wounds in green.

“Angela, is this a made up pose?” Puck’s looking at the screen, brows wrinkled.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you just put the perp there for show-and-tell, or is that where you think he actually was?”

“That’s where he was – I tried different positions but this is the only one with the highest probability.”

“It’s pretty intimate, don’t you think?” Puck’s gesturing at the screen. “Aside from the fact he’s stabbing after he’s killed the vic, he’s not to one side or the other but on top of him.”

“Maybe he’s there to stop Paul from struggling.” Kurt’s head is tilted as he looks at the screen.

“I get what you’re saying but if that was the case, he’d be sitting on the thighs, not the crotch.”

“Angela, can you shorten and lengthen the arms to see if he could be sitting somewhere else?”

Angela follows Kurt’s request and the animation fluctuates between different arm lengths and there’s no match. The murderer was sitting on top of the victim’s crotch.

Cam gives a shudder. “That kind of intimacy comes from knowing your victim. Random murders are rare and this looks like the attacker knew the victim. Sounds as if the creepy stalker guy is the murderer.”

“So what killed him?” Puck’s looking around the room.

“Strangulation.” Cam gives Puck a sharp nod, “He was dead before the first stab.”

Puck frowns at the screen, “I’m going to talk to Dr. Sweets about this, see if he can work up a profile.”

Yet again, Puck is on the club soda. He’d kill for a beer but he’s on duty, so he’s just going to have to suck it up. He could have had a light beer but that’s a travesty in a bottle. This is the first time all evening he’s had a chance to relax. He’d had to rush home, shower and change into Danny and then floor it to pick Kurt up at 7. He didn’t bother shaving, just pulled on a Pantera t-shirt, his tightest jeans, a wristlet and his bike jacket. Looking in the mirror before he heads out, he acknowledges he looks damn hot.

They have dinner in another diner, side by side at the counter, and Puck is damn sure that Kurt is fishing for information on his sex life. That just wasn’t part of the plan so he decides to stay as Danny. Kurt eventually gets with the program and eases off a little.

Kurt’s touchy-feelyness doesn’t help; resting his head on Puck’s shoulder when laughing at a joke, or putting a hand on his forearm and squeezing a little. A little too much PDA for the Kurt he remembers but Puck is hoping to hell that Kurt is just playing Xander. His body however, can’t tell the difference, so every sly touch just ramps up his arousal and it’s all Puck can do to get off the stool and walk to the bike, hoping that his boner would subside. Kurt’s appearance is killing him too. Fussy boots, skin tight red pants and a checkerboard tux jacket – with nothing on underneath – Puck keeps getting glimpses of that porcelain skin and that almost makes him groan.

Now they’re into hour two at the bar he’d earmarked earlier, his research and Kurt’s confirmation that this is a bar where on- and off-duty drag queens hang out. He’d suggested that Kurt be Chatty Cathy and talk with everyone and he’d be the silent brooding one – that way he could act as point, while Kurt gathered information. The first hour isn’t so bad, since he and Kurt just stand near the bar and allow themselves to be noticed. Kurt has the genius idea of talking a little too loudly about his performance at Ziegfeld’s. This pays off as he’s now watching Kurt gossiping with a couple of guys – well a guy and a “gal” to be more accurate. Kent or Clint – Puck didn’t hear the introduction properly over the noise in the bar, so he’s gonna go with Clint – is a 30-something hanger on and has been gushing about Kurt for the past 20 minutes or so. Vonda is dressed as Grace Kelly, if Grace was 7ft tall and had shoulders like a longshoreman and a voice to match but there’s a precision to the way that Vonda moves that Puck can’t help but admire – she glides like silk. He looks out over the crowd when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches Vonda take a sip of her drink and shudder.

“Ugh, there’s Walt again.”

He looks over in the direction that Vonda’s facing just as Kurt says, “Who?”

“Weirdo Walt.”

“That’s a name with a story…” Kurt just looks up at Vonda through his eyelashes, eyes imploring for Vonda to continue. Damn, but Kurt is good at this.

“Honey, I have no clue what his real name is. We just call him Walt.”

“And Weirdo.”

Puck’s not even looking at them now, he’s checking out Walt, taking a mental note of his stats so he can try and run his description through the database.

“He comes to the shows every couple of weeks or so. Doesn’t smile or clap or sing along, just stands there and stares. It’s creepy.” Clint takes a step closer in to Kurt as he speaks. “Bertha says she tried to call him out on it but she said he’s real polite and says that he’s appreciating them properly, not like the rest. Bertha said that Walt was telling the truth about that.”

“Bertha’s a two-faced bitch.” Seems there’s no love lost between Bertha and Vonda.

“Maybe, but Bertha’s also an ex-cop so she knows what she’s talking about.” Clint rolls his eyes.

“But what does he appreciate?” Kurt’s gaze moves from Clint to Vonda and back again.

“Clint’ll know better than me.” Vonda takes another sip of her cocktail, “I’m normally backstage.”

“He arrives just before the show’s about to start and stands in the middle of the crowd just watching every girl perform. Doesn’t do anything but stare like he’s filming them all with his head.” Clint shimmies his shoulders in distaste. “As soon as the last girl’s done, he leaves.”

Kurt gives a flickering look over to Puck, looking for guidance – he gives Kurt an imperceptible nod.

“Doesn’t he speak to anyone? What about talking to the girls? Any favorites?” Kurt does his best to sound more gossipy than interrogative.

“No-one that I could see. I mean, he doesn’t seem to be paying more attention to one girl over another and he’s not there long enough for anyone else to talk to him.” Clint frowns as he tries to remember.

Kurt steers the conversation over to the new Fall fashions and how shocking they are, which the other two lap up and chime in with their own opinions.

Puck completes his assessment of Weirdo Walt. He’s not got a lot going for him. He’s about 40 or so, 6 feet of going-to-seed muscle, poorly dressed in khakis that are too short and a button-down that’s too tight in the belly, his balding sandy hair is combed over. Puck needs to get a name though.

“I’m heading to the can, babe.” He just pushes himself off the bar and works his way through the crowd, slipping past Walt on his way. In the men’s room cubicle he ignores the frantic sounds of making out from the next stall and flicks through Walt’s wallet until he finds the drivers license. Eugene McCartney, 38 years old and living in Maryland. Puck tucks the driver’s license back in the wallet and heads back into the bar.

“Hey.” He’s at the other end of the bar, away from Kurt. “Found this in the john. Looks like nothing’s missing.”

The bartender takes the wallet and sticks it next to the register. “Thanks dude. If no-one claims it soon, then I’ll give a shout out later.”

Puck nods and heads over to the others.

“Babe, we’re going. I got an early shift and I want a little something-something before I hit the sack.”

Kurt’s eyes widen a little in shock at Puck’s statement and then he whaps Puck on the shoulders.

“Fine. But do you have to be so crude in front of these nice people?”

Puck just shrugs and mutters “Later” and tugs Kurt away, barely giving Kurt the chance to put down his drink, forcing him to say his goodbyes over his shoulder.

Once they’re out on the street, Kurt tugs his wrist out of Puck’s grip.

“Do you mind telling me why we had to get out of there in such an ass-burning hurry? Even for Danny, that was pretty rude.”

“I lifted the Weirdo’s wallet about 5 minutes ago. Didn’t want him to discover that while we were still there.”

Kurt just stares at Puck, seemingly making up his mind about something.

“Well, I didn’t realize being light fingered was part of FBI standard operating procedure.” Kurt tries to sound all arch but there’s a note of admiration in his tone.

“That’s all me.” Puck keeps on walking to the bike. “You must remember how I wasn’t always the fine upstanding citizen I am now. Just don’t tell my boss.”

Kurt laughs and settles himself behind Puck on the bike.

“My lips are sealed.”

Kurt watches the clock hit 10am and then speed dials Puck’s cell. He can’t wait any longer.

“Well?”

“Good morning to you too, Kurt. Yes, I’m fine and how are you?” Puck’s laughing at him.

“Dammit.” He drags in a breath to calm down. “Hey Puck.”

“Just give up, Kurt. There’s no point in a do-over.”

Kurt debates about whether or not to apologize but he’s pretty sure Puck understands. Plus he’s not certain if this is all he should be apologizing for. On reflection, his downright blatant interrogation of Puck left him feeling a little ashamed. Caught up in his eagerness for answers, he didn’t stop to think that perhaps Puck wasn’t comfortable and it took him a while to pick up on Puck’s reticence.

“Fine. You’ve got me. Guilty as charged.”

He shivers a little at the low rumble of Puck’s laughter down the line.

“You’ve got the bug, Kurt. We’ll make a detective of you yet.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, not really. I’m guessing that you want to know about Weird Walt?”

“No, I called to get the name of your tailor so I can drum him out of business.” He deadpans.

“What?”

“Seriously Noah, those suits you wear don’t do anything for you. You need a better cut.” Kurt can’t believe he’s just said that but forges on anyway. “One of these days, I’m going to take you shopping.”

“Uh-uh. I remember Mercedes and Tina complaining about you frog marching them around the mall.”

“Moving on swiftly. Is the lovable Walt our guy?”

Puck’s tone shifts from playful to disappointed.

“Mr. Eugene McCartney from Bowie, Maryland. The reason that he only shows up every few weeks is that he’s a trucker. I checked with his company and turns out he was in Kentucky when Paul was murdered.”

“How can you be sure?”

“His rig is fitted with a lojack tracker. It puts him in Prestonburg the weekend we think Paul was killed and then he headed west to Louisville. There’s no way he could have been in DC.”

“What if he took Paul with him and then dumped the body later?”

“You think I hadn’t thought of that? No, we’ve got footage of him at various truck stops en route. There’s no sign of any passengers – willing or unwilling – and he physically wasn’t in DC or Virginia the whole time.”

“Crap. So what do we do now?”

“Get back in the saddle. Miss Demeanor performs again on Friday with Danny in attendance. Speaking of which, you up for another ‘date’ on Thursday?”

Kurt’s not sure about this dating thing. Last night had almost gone badly but he’s determined that he’s not going to pry any more but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to watch Puck like a hawk either.

“Sure. Same time same place?”

“Works for me. I gotta run, see you Thursday?”

“Bye, Puck.”

Kurt returns to the results of the testing he’s being doing on the gown that Paul was found in. He’d had to prioritize the fragment of leather and the Flemish tapestry had been easy enough to authenticate but he’s going over the dress again. It’s a standard dress pattern from the 1780s but the fabric and dye are modern, he’d been thorough about that, not relying on the label sewn onto one of the back panels. Measuring the dress, he’s concluded that it’s a size 12; even though it’s for a bigger woman, it would have barely fitted Paul. It would have been uncomfortable and restricting. It’s obviously not one of Paul’s costumes.

He asks Puck to check with Mount Vernon to see if one of their costumes is missing, but that seems to be taking longer than it should. They both think it’s pretty likely that it is, which makes Kurt think that Paul and his killer must’ve been in Mount Vernon before Paul was killed.

He’s had the dress laid out on a worktable under a cloche for a couple of days, letting it dry out. He’s got a few trays laid out so he can sort through the debris and muck. The tray with soil and leaves has the most amount of material but he’s laid a quadrant marker over the dress and is examining each 5x5 square with the magnifying lens, checking each particle, hoping to find something vital that he can pass on to Hodgins for identification. He’s even sorted out the plant material from animal, a small dish with insect wings and feathers. He’s got the magnifying glass in as close as he can, trying to look for other fibers or hair – hoping against hope that something from the killer transferred on to the gown.

Given Angela’s reconstruction, he focuses on the section where the killer rested over Paul’s crotch and above. The ragged slits in the front of the gown are distressing, rusty colored from the blood, and Kurt realizes that the killer must have been truly savage because he managed to force the knife through layers of cloth, wadding and boning – the dress is stiffer than modern clothing by its construction.

Kurt leans back from the worktable and pinches the bridge above his nose trying to ease some of the strain. He’s used to this work but it does take its toll. Given the nature of the examination, he can’t afford to overlook anything.

Going back in again, he spots something. He brings the lens in closer and takes a pair of forceps. It looks like a few strands of fiber are meshed into one of the slits but the color is wrong for the gown. Not drastically wrong but wrong enough for him to notice. He takes the fibers delicately in the forceps and not daring to breathe, knocks them into a Petri dish by his side. He looks over the rest of the slits and finds a few more lodged in another one. Kurt tamps down on the excitement that bubbles up – if he’s right, then these fibers must have come from something that the killer was wearing.

Friday night comes round sooner than Puck thinks it should. Yesterday’s date had been better than Tuesday’s. Kurt was more his normal self, not so forward, not so blatant – nothing out of the ordinary at the bar, beyond Kurt making some more new friends. Puck wonders what Kurt’s going to do when this case is over and Xander has to disappear.

He’s in his usual spot at Ziegfeld’s, his usual club soda and his usual scowl. He’d demanded that Kurt give him a head’s up on tonight’s performance - Doris Day and “Move over, darling” – he can’t see that he’ll have a problem like he did last week.

He’ll never admit it but he likes those old movies, the screwball romantic comedies, mostly because his Mom forced him to watch them – no need to guess why she wanted to watch them.

Walter’s there tonight and the weird vibe he gives off means there’s an invisible buffer zone around him. He discounts Walter and focuses on the rest of the room. Most of the faces are familiar from the whole of last week, either at Ziegfeld’s or the bar they’ve been hanging out in. There are a few new faces and Puck focuses on them. Most of them are with people he’s already familiar with but there are a few loners. Regular looking guys but still worthy of his attention.

It’s the same format as last week, though tonight the MC looks like some old movie star, the fruit-covered turban seems familiar. He checks out each of the performers as they begin their act, seeing how they’re reacting to the crowd but if there is anything amiss, these ladies are professionals and keep going and he’ll give them that – the quality is the best he’s seen.

The MC introduces Kurt and he can’t not look, after all it’s his boyfriend Xander up there, he’s gotta. Just keep telling yourself that, comes a voice sounding like Santana, denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. Kurt’s got a hellacious blonde beehive wig on and a primrose yellow dress and jacket - he swears that Ms. Pillsbury had one just like it back in the day.

Kurt cradles the mic on the stand, crooning through the song; whatever innocence the song may have had, Kurt blows that out of the water. He lays on the innuendo with a goddamn trowel and gives Puck goo-goo eyes whenever he can. He’s gonna kill him when this is done. Puck really doesn’t need to watch Kurt turning the words, “make love to me,” into, “fuck me six ways to Sunday,” just by the tone of his voice, so he looks out at the crowd.

It’s a damn good thing he does, Weirdo Walt is standing stock still and watching intently - but then he’s behaved the same way for all of the previous acts, so at least he’s consistent. Puck’s eyes are drawn by the only other contradiction in the room. Everyone else is playing along and whooping it up which is just egging Kurt on to be even more outrageous; there’s a guy on the other side of the bar, half in the shadows, whose staring at Kurt a little too intently. His face is shading through shock, disbelief, appraisal and what could be determination. Before Puck gets the chance to head through the crowd, Kurt’s wrapped the number up and the crowd is going wild. In the commotion and having to acknowledge Kurt’s blown kisses, Puck sees the guy just slide his way out the bar and into the night. By the time he makes it to the door, the guy is long gone. Fuck it.

Kurt feels a little guilty about last night, so first thing on Saturday morning he invites Puck to come over to watch some baseball, eat some barbecue and drink beer. At least it isn’t football, so he can sit and watch a game without fidgeting too much, the uniform isn’t stirrup pants after all. If memory serves, Puck played baseball in the off-season and was pretty good at it. Those shoulders must have helped knock a few out of the park.

He can tell that Puck’s still pissed – the monosyllabic grunts and eventual grumbling can’t completely be blamed on an early morning phone call - and this is his olive branch. He’s adamant that it’s not his fault that they finally caught a break for it only to slip out of their hands. At least they have some kind of a lead.

He’s just laying a bowl of chips and some dips on the coffee table when the doorbell chimes. Pirate is off the sofa and clattering to the door but the lack of barking and the excited whines tell Kurt that it must be Puck. He smoothes his hands over his hair in the hall mirror – not bad – artfully tousled, tight white shirt and navy linen pants.

Opening the door, he finds Puck wearing flip-flops, board shorts, wraparound shades and a tight t-shirt. Kurt squints a little in the sun at the image, double checking that, yes, it is two unicorns fucking. While he’s agog at the t-shirt, Pirate leaps up and down, dying for Puck’s attention. Kurt opens the door wide for Puck to enter, grabbing the beers out of his hand so he can crouch down to say hello to Pirate. By the time Kurt comes back from the kitchen, Puck’s got Pirate in a headlock and giving him a noogie and judging by the lolling tongue, Pirate loves it.

“You two want to get a room?”

Puck’s head shoots up and he lets go of the dog before sitting back on his heels and laughing. Good, things aren’t that bad in Puckermanland.

“Jesus Kurt, how kinky do you think I am?” Puck’s still grinning as he straightens to walk through to the living room.

“I don’t know. Is there time for me to administer a questionnaire before the game starts?”

Puck just flops down on the sofa, settling his feet on the table and reaching for the chips.

“Hey, Kurt? What rhymes with ear and starts with a B?”

“Very funny, Jimmy Kimmel. One beer coming up. Here’s the remote, you find the game.”

By the time Kurt comes back with the beer cooler Puck’s settled in with the game on the plasma TV. Kurt knows better than to try and talk during play but by the time the first ad break rolls around…

“You know, trying to sneak potato chips to my dog would work so much better if he wasn’t so damn loud crunching them.”

“Damn, we’re busted, bro.” Puck jiggles Pirates neck, leaning in to fake-whisper, “We’ll take a nice long walk later. Just you and me.”

“I don’t want to know what unspeakable plans you have for my pet.” Kurt slides another beer along the table with his foot. “I just want him back before curfew with no hickeys.”

That gets Puck throwing his head back and laughing deep and loud. Kurt smiles; it’s nice to see Puck so uninhibited and relaxed. He watches his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down the strong column of his neck, resisting the urge to reach out.

“God, I’ve missed that so much. You were always funnier when you’d had a drink.”

Kurt’s not sure that this is a glowing recommendation. He remembers a couple of parties where his “smart mouth” would have got him in a whole mess of trouble; having a bevy of Glocks on his side meant he got hauled out of some tricky situations. Strangely it was Puck that did the hauling, more often than not.

“Hmmph. You were always a cuddler when you were shitfaced.” Kurt narrows his eyes, “I distinctly remember getting manhandled into your lap at Sugar’s party two weeks before we graduated. Every time I tried to get up you growled. I had to wait until you needed to pee before I could escape.”

Kurt gets no answer as the adverts are over but Puck sprawls a bit looser and closer on the sofa. Kurt just tucks he legs under himself and plays with the label on his beer bottle. To be honest, the game is more boring than usual, so when the next ad break rolls around, he gets up and starts looking out the food for the barbecue. Puck’s got the game and beer and a dog, plenty to keep him occupied.

“Kurt, we’re outta chips here.” Puck’s bellow carries right through to the kitchen.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he yells back; he’s elbow deep in a teriyaki marinade for the chicken wings.

“Bring more chips, dummy!”

“What did your last slave die of? Get your ass in here and get your own chips.”

He turns as Puck flick-flacks into the room, a funny look on his face. Hmmm. He turns back to the bowl of marinade and jerks his head.

“In the pantry, top shelf.”

“Wow.” Kurt can hear the sound of packages being moved around. “You’ve got Ruffles AND Funions back here. Why are you holding out on me?”

“I got those for the last time Finn was in town. Eat them at your peril though, they might be expired.”

“I’ll live a little.” Puck hops up onto the counter, despite there being at least four stools to choose from. “Whatcha making?”

“Chicken wings and ribs, potato salad, corn on the cob. Sound okay?”

“Sounds delicious. When are we eating?”

“I thought I’d fire up the grill when the game was over?”

“Sweet. Should be done in an hour or so.”

“Perfect timing. The wings and ribs will be marinated by then.”

By the time the sun is goes down, Puck knows that he’s had far too much to drink. They ran out of beer after the barbecue and moved on to shots, bypassing the wine when Kurt sang out “Bine and weer makes you queer,” which got both of them laughing their asses off. The dregs of a bottle of Limoncello went pretty fast and now they’re on the bourbon. Kurt’s refrigerator is full of snacks so it’s not like they’ve been drinking on an empty stomach. He’s on the way to comfortably numb.

The gorgeous day has led to a chilly evening, so Kurt drags them both inside to the living room. The coffee table is strewn with empty chip packets and ring marks from their glasses. Kurt turns on a couple of table lamps, so there’s a nice cozy glow in the room. Pirate sprawls out in front of the fireplace, snoring like a buzzsaw.

Puck’s always been a tactile person, even more so when he’s had a few and he’s had more than a few today. What with his alcohol intake and the quasi-romantic mood lighting, it’s no surprise to him when he reaches out to grab Kurt’s wrist and literally drags him across the sofa. Once he’s got Kurt pressed up tight against his side and an arm curled across Kurt’s shoulders he lets out a contented sigh and lets his head lean against the sofa back.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before Mr. Snuggles came out to play”

Puck just snorts through his nose and lets his hand blindly stroke/paw at Kurt’s head in what he hopes is a dismissively affectionate way.

“Ugh, get off of me if you’re going to do that.”

“Make me.” His head is still back and his eyes have somehow closed themselves. He can smell bourbon, wood smoke and Kurt; all things he likes.

A sharp elbow in the ribs startles him out of his stupor and into reacting instinctively, he pounces on Kurt, grabbing hold of him and pinning him down.

“Dammit Kurt, don’t do that to someone who can kill a man with his bare hands.” He feels Kurt shiver under him, the other man’s eyes widening.

“You know how to do that?” Kurt’s voice is a little hoarse from the neat bourbon and he can smell it on Kurt’s breath. He has an idiot notion that he wants to taste.

“Yeaaaah” he lets the word stretch out. “But I know better things I can do with my hands…” He tails off, belatedly realizing the situation he’s put himself in.

Kurt’s eyes widen even more and he gulps audibly.

“Noah….” He’s looking down at those blue-green-brown eyes, eyes that are searching his face, realizing that he’s caging Kurt in under his body. They’re not really touching but it’s so very intimate. He’s got Kurt’s wrists pinned to the sofa cushion and that feels right and good. He’s hanging on to propriety and professionalism by a gossamer thread.

Shaking his head, he slowly lets Kurt go and gets back up into a sitting position, rubbing his hands down his head until he’s covering his face.

“I’m sorry Kurt. I’ve had too much to drink. I’ll call a cab.”

There’s the lightest of touches on his thigh and he parts his fingers to look at Kurt.

“Noah,” Kurt’s voice is as light as his touch, “You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to.”

He’s having trouble parsing what Kurt’s just said and lets his hands fall into his lap.

Kurt's perched himself on the edge of the sofa, his right hand still resting on Puck's thigh; his face is a mix of drunken slackness, flirtation and apprehension.

Puck reaches up and cradles Kurt's jaw with his hand, his thumb sweeping across the planes of Kurt's cheek.

"I want to but we shouldn't."

Kurt's eyes narrow, reaching up to mirror Puck. The feel of Kurt's hand is soothing, the warm skin against his stubbled jaw.

"We're both adults, Noah," he puffs out a frustrated sigh. "If you want to and I want to, then what's the problem?"

"For one, we're both drunk. For two, we work together. Jesus Kurt, I thought you'd get that."

"I do, but c'mon... It's not like we're in the same office or something."

"But..."

Kurt places a finger over Puck's lips.

"No buts. We're working on a single case together. When it's over we'll probably not work together again. I want this. I want you." Kurt’s voice drops down to a growl.

Puck last shred of resistance melts at the touch of Kurt's finger on his lips and it seems like Kurt has rationalized this into submission. Kurt's made a pretty big leap of faith, given that Puck hasn't mentioned anything at all about who he likes to fuck or how.

He prays that this won't get awkward and maneuvers his lips around Kurt's finger tip, sucking it into his mouth. His lips twitch as Kurt moans a little and that's all it takes. He tugs Kurt's head towards his and lets the finger drop from his lips.

He must have tugged harder than he thought or something because Kurt overshoots and rather than the soft pillowing of lips on lips, he's cracking Kurt's skull against his own. Damn.

"Oww."

"Sorry!" He leans forward to try again.

This time their lips meet, warm and soft, his hand rises again to cup the back of Kurt's head, angling him for a better fit. He automatically parts his lips to nibble on Kurt's lips to deepen the kiss. It's gentle and tentative, he's not sure why but it feels good so who cares?

Kurt slides his tongue through Puck's parted lips, an exploration – just swiping the inside of the lip and no more. Puck moans at the sensation and brings his tongue into play. The flavors of bourbon and Kurt stimulate his taste buds and he wants more so dives into Kurt's mouth.

Kurt hiccups and the judder of his body snags one of his teeth on the underside of Puck's tongue. They jump apart, Kurt apologizing and Puck wincing in pain. There's a slightly awkward pause and then Kurt reclines on the sofa, a come-hither look on his face. Puck comes hither pretty damn quick. He braces his hands on either side of Kurt's head so he can swoop in and steal kisses from Kurt, tease him a little. This goes fine until it doesn't. Kurt's giggling at the hungry little pecks but wants more and stretches his neck to meet Puck halfway. A pained yelp and Puck discovers that he's been leaning on Kurt's hair. Kurt pushes Puck off and sits up again, rubbing his scalp.

"Perhaps we better take this upstairs? I swear this sofa is jinxed."

"Thank God you said that, I was beginning to wonder." Puck tries to give a sexy grin. "Lead the way…"

Somehow they manage to get off the sofa and Kurt takes Puck's hand leading him upstairs. They reach the bedroom, Puck's trip on the stairs notwithstanding. He had hoped to back Kurt up until they both fell on the bed but he's still rubbing his bruised shin.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kurt sounds genuinely concerned. "It sounded painful."

"Nah, I'm good. I've bounced back from worse." Puck tries again to set the mood, "Speaking of bouncing…"

Kurt rolls his eyes at the terrible come-on and walks backward towards his bed, beckoning Puck with a crooked finger. Kurt settles on his back, the coverlet creasing under his weight, as he leans up on his elbows to watch Puck. He decides that Kurt deserves a bit of a show so starts stripping off where he stands. One of his flip-flops almost takes out a vase on a bureau as he kicks it off and he has to have three tries before he can pull down the zipper of his shorts – apart from that it seems to have gone fine. Judging by the appreciative look on Kurt's face, his performance wasn't too bad.

"Like what you see?" He pulls a fake bodybuilder pose, just to see the reaction.

"In the words of Janet Weiss, 'I'm a muscle fa-an!'" Kurt sings the last out falsetto.

"Does that make me Rocky? Nice."

"Shut up and come over here." Kurt sounds a little sloppy and slurry.

"I would but you're wearing too many clothes."

"You could help me with that." Kurt gives a drunken smirk and begins to unbutton his shirt,

Puck clambers onto the bed, kneeling at Kurt’s feet and starts trying to tug Kurt’s pants down, but nothing seems to be happening so he tugs harder. All this does is pull Kurt down the bed.

“Undo the ties first!” Kurt’s starting to sound a little snappy, the unspoken you moron hanging in the air.

Puck knee-walks further up the bed, forcing Kurt’s to spread his legs wider, which makes Puck grin in anticipation. He must have been more drunk than he thought, because his fingers are thick and slow and he can’t seem to get the knot of the tie around Kurt’s waist to loosen.

Kurt slaps his hands away with an exasperated sigh and deftly loosens the tie.

“Now you can rip my pants off!”

Puck doesn’t need to be told twice, shuffling down the bed and grabbing hold of the hems and pulling hard. Too hard. Before he can work out what’s happening he’s tumbled head over heels off the bed and onto the floor.

Kurt’s head appears like the moon rising over the end of the bed, wearing what Puck hopes is a fondly exasperated look.

“What the hell, Puck?”

“I… Um… Nevermind.”

Kurt’s pants end up in a heap and Puck’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking down on an entirely naked Kurt Hummel. The naked version more than lives up to the glimpses he’s seen.

“You got stuff?”

Kurt nods, twisting to reach into a drawer in his bedside table, Puck marvels at the contortion of Kurt’s body, how limber he is, the curving line of ankle to calf to thigh to ass to ribcage to shoulder to arm. Kurt seduces him with his curves.

Kurt throwing the slick and condoms onto the coverlet snaps Puck out of his reverie. He grins and leaps onto the bed, crawling up Kurt, pressing as much of his skin against Kurt’s, reveling in the silky-satiny feel.

They fall back into making out, tongues and arms and legs all entwined. It’s sexy and sensual and it’s helping Puck build an erection again and he can feel an answering hardness poking at his abs. Time to take it up a notch.

He flails around on the bed for the lube and can’t find it. Grunting, he disentangles himself from Kurt and leans over to check the bedroom floor. There it is! He hauls himself around and he must’ve moved too fast because the room starts to spin so he holds still for a second. When he opens his eyes, Kurt’s turned on one side, passed out and fast asleep.

Puck just groans in frustration and briefly considers rubbing one out. The booze has caused his hardon to fade and Kurt’s bed looks pretty comfortable. Maybe a little nap and then wake Kurt up?

Kurt snaps awake. Something’s wrong. He’s too hot and his comforter is heavier than normal. His mouth is bone dry and it feels like someone is poking a needle in his brain, repeatedly.

The comforter starts moving and that’s when the situation smacks him in the face.

Jesus H Christ.

He slowly turns his head to regard Exhibit A, Noah Puckerman, fast asleep next to him. Puck’s got an arm around Kurt and one of his meaty thighs is pressing down on both of Kurt’s. He can see a strand of drool on his chin and crease marks on his face from the pillow. Puck’s mouth is partly open; the blast of morning breath issuing from his mouth is rancid. Puck’s half-breathing, half-snoring and it shouldn’t be adorable to watch him all unguarded, after last night’s disaster, but it is.

That thought is soon banished as Kurt’s bladder makes itself felt. He pushes at Puck until he has enough room to wriggle out of Puck’s embrace and slips out of the bed. Puck doesn’t even wake up, just rolls onto his back, limbs spread wide. Kurt narrows his eyes; these are indications of a bed-hog and cover-stealer.

He scuffs his way to his en-suite and spends what feels like half an hour pissing before he turns to look at himself in the mirror. Ouch, not pretty. He’s just as messed up as Puck – extreme bedhead, creases, drool stains, crusty eyes. He squints at his reflection in the too bright bathroom light and the car crash of last night comes back in all its awful glory. He can’t help but flush in embarrassment in the way he pounced on Noah but if push comes to shove, he’s going to blame it on copious amounts of alcohol and hot men being sexy near him. Though it does seem as if at least some of his suspicions about Noah were right.

He roots around in the bathroom cabinet for some Advil and pops two caplets dry. Clutching the rest of the pack and a glass of water, he makes his way back into the bedroom to find Puck seemingly awake if the dazed look on Puck’s face is anything to go by. Once Puck spots him, he sees a look of relief on Puck’s face.

“Thank fuck it’s you. I woke up and didn’t know where the hell I was. Is that for me?” Puck’s voice sounds rough as hell and his hands are making gimme-gimme motions at the pain meds.

“Here, I’m gonna feed the dog and get some water. Just stay there.” Turns out that Kurt’s voice is just as deep the morning after.

By the time Kurt trudges his way back up the stairs, his bedroom is neat and tidy, the bed made and Puck is sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel round his waist.

“So… I guess we should talk.”

“Yes, Noah. Later though, please.” Kurt thinks that the please did it. “I’m going to shower and then I’m going back to bed. You’re welcome to join me.”

“But I already had a shower.” Puck’s smiling but there’s a tightness around his eyes. He’s nervous.

“Jackass. You know what I meant.”

There’s a feeling of some kind of hurdle being overcome in the air. There’s still an amount of awkward to get through though.

“Yes. Go have your shower, I promise I’ll be here.”

Kurt uses the time in the shower to sort through his feelings. Last night was diabolical to say the least but it wasn’t all bad. Kurt supposes that it’s their shared history – they’ve both seen each other at their worst before so no point in pretending otherwise. He’d enjoyed what he could remember of it and would like to try again. He’s not the scared little boy he used to be, frightened of his desires, frightened of being intimate, frightened of going after someone he wants. He’d sure as hell like to know what Noah thinks though.

While he’s brushing his teeth he decides that all he can do is just tell Puck how he feels and see what happens. Either they’ll walk away with a little bit of dignity intact, or it could be something interesting.

Puck is back in the bed, propped up on some pillows with the sheets pooled in his lap and nosing through Kurt’s copy of “Pride and Prejudice”. He’s absorbed in reading and hasn’t noticed Kurt standing in the doorway so Kurt takes the opportunity to look at Noah, really look at him. Noah’s still got the shoulders and the arms he had in school but for the first time Kurt’s noticing the details. The pierced nipples, a dusting of hair swooping to cup his pecs and leaving a trail downwards, there’s some scarring on his shoulder, the white of it showing up in contrast to his tanned skin. Kurt thinks, but isn’t sure, that he can just about see the outline of a tattoo on Puck’s hip. Noah’s face is so familiar but not. He tries comparing it to the boy he remembers but it doesn’t quite work, he can’t superimpose one face on top of the other. The underlying structure is still there but this Puck has less puppy fat and is leaner faced but with a stronger jaw. There are laugh lines and worry lines and a healthy dose of stubble. There’s also the obvious signs of a hard night’s drinking. But like he’s always known, he likes them a little rough around the edges. He must’ve moved, because Noah turns to face him, giving him a shy smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Enjoying the read?”

Puck carefully tucks the bookmark back where he found it and places the book on the nightstand. He looks warm and inviting and yes, hot, but also a little nervy. It’s that vulnerability that Kurt finds reassuring.

“Kinda. I don’t get half of what they’re saying to each other.”

“It’s an acquired taste; once you get the language it’s pretty funny. Bitchy too.” Kurt knows that they’re putting off the inevitable so he bites his lips and hops into the bed. Puck’s obligingly holding the sheets open for him.

Kurt turns to face the other man, propping himself up, Puck scoots down a little until they’re face to face.

“Hey.”

“You already said that.” Kurt can’t help but reach out to stroke Noah’s handsome face. He can have this. The touch seems to shift the mood, the nervousness dies down.

Puck’s hand reaches out and grips Kurt’s shoulder, tugging him closer. His hand falls from Noah’s face to land on Noah’s chest, he can feel the scratch of the chest hair and the warmth of skin, he shifts his palm across to center it over Noah’s heart. He can feel the thump of Noah’s pulse picking up, the chest rising and falling as he breathes. He stretches his palm wide and the tip of a finger brushes against Noah’s pierced nipple. Noah lets out a light groan. Emboldened, Kurt moves his hand so he captures the ring in his thumb and index finger, tugging ever so lightly. Noah falls backwards, opening his arms and thighs in invitation.

“Kuuurt.” It’s part plea and part want and it spurs Kurt into action.

He gets up onto his hands and knees and clambers over Noah, fitting himself so he’s between Noah’s splayed legs. He looks so good; the nipples have pebbled and are sitting proud. Kurt’s eyes travel down Noah’s body, taking in the scars, the hair, the definition of pecs and abs. His hand reaches out and stills as he looks at Puck’s crotch.

Noah’s eyes look to where Kurt’s hand is hovering. “Oh that? Got that while I was on my first rotation.”

There’s an abstract tribal tattoo about the size of Kurt’s hand, one end points to Noah’s crotch and the other end trails out towards his left hip bone. Kurt traces the swirls and swoops of the design – blood red and dark black.

Kurt gulps. “What is it?”

“Screw your eyes up and look again.”

Kurt does as he’s told and then he sees the pattern. “You got a shark tattoo?”

Puck’s grin is a little sheepish. “Yeah, well, I was 19 and still thought I was a sex-shark.”

“At least it’s a handsome one, it could have been worse.”

“Check out the other side.” Noah obligingly cants his hips.

Kurt’s finger traces the other tattoo. It’s smaller but again just on the hip - strong color and clean lines.

“Carpe Noctem?”

“Seize the night. Made sense at the time and, well, it’s something I like to do.” Noah’s leaning up on his elbows and as he speaks, his voice becomes richer, thicker. Kurt looks up and he stutters at the almost feral smile on Noah’s face. “It works both ways too.”

Kurt can’t even begin to work out what Puck’s trying to tell him. He’s always thought tattoos were ugly but these ones, they suit Noah, they’re not too big and he’s got them where not everyone could see them, provided he’s not naked.

“Keep going.” Puck’s still up on his elbows, an excited grin on his face.

Kurt lets his eyes drop and catches a flash of silver. He wonders how the hell he missed all this last night and then remembers exactly how much he’d had to drink.

“You’ve got a PA?”

“Why Kurt, I’m surprised you even know what that is.” Puck is laughing at him, he look so damn pleased at shocking Kurt.

Kurt just gives Noah a withering look. “I’m not as innocent as you seem to think.”

“Really?” there’s a speculative tone buried in Puck’s drawling voice. “Can’t wait.”

Puck brings himself up to a sitting position and hooks his ankles together behind Kurt’s back. “Touch me.”

They’re face to face. Kurt looks into Noah’s eyes, the smirk is still in place but Noah’s pupils are dilating, so Kurt can tell he’s turned on. Noah reaches up and rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, the thumbs sweeping across his collar bones. Kurt can feel the roughness of Noah’s skin and the catch of his fingernails.

Emboldened, Kurt dips one hand to gently stroke down Noah’s cock, it’s neither hard nor soft but there’s that pleasing potential. He feels Noah’s cock lurch in his hands.

“That’s it Kurt, take a hold of the ring, play with it.” Noah’s hands slide down and rest over Kurt’s chest, cupping his own pectorals. He can feel the fingers digging in slightly, Puck grabbing hold.

Kurt cups the head of Puck’s cock in the tips of his fingers and drags them to a point, until his thumb and pointer are somehow hooked into the ring. He tentatively tugs on the ring and feels an answering lurch. He tugs again, looking down, and sees Puck’s cock lengthen a little more. Kurt knows that Puck wouldn’t have had these piercings if they didn’t do something for him. It’s almost like neon signs advertising Puck’s pleasure points.

Puck’s thumbs begin to sweep across Kurt’s nipples, just the catch of rough skin. It makes Kurt’s nipples harden and the golden feeling of arousal zap through his body to end in his balls. He keeps hold of Puck’s PA and slides an arm around Puck’s back, fingers splayed wide to hold Puck in place. He ducks his head down and licks at a pierced nipple, the tang of the piercing clearing his palate; he lets his tongue swab the nipple and then pulls back, blowing gently, watching the cool air hit the moist skin, watching the gooseflesh make Puck’s nipple tighten and harden. He repeats the same action on the other nipple and then ducks and weaves between the two, gripping the barbell with his lips and tugging and twisting, all the while working at Puck’s cockhead, milking it.

It feels like Puck’s crowding him, Puck’s hands don’t stop moving on Kurt’s chest but the pressure is firmer, more decisive. It’s only when gives a sharp tug on the PA and a tit-ring that Puck finally growls out and Kurt then feels Puck pinching his nipples, which makes him answer Puck with a growl of his own.

Puck’s hands shift to scoop him under the arms and pull him upright, Kurt lets out a whimper of loss; Puck can’t help letting loose a soft breathy chuckle.

“Okay. I believe you, not as vanilla as I thought.” The feral smile comes out to play again, as he flops back down on the bed. “C’mon, Kurt.”

It’s like living porn in front of him, Puck’s naked and hard, one hand playing with the root of his hardening cock, the other playing with a nipple. His eyes are narrowed to slits, “Kiss me, you horny fuck.”

Kurt closes his eyes at the words, it’s the right thing to say, he is feeling like a horny fuck, so he tips himself forward, arms coming out to brace himself, hovering just above Puck, basking in the heat radiating out and up and then just diving into Puck’s mouth. It’s minty and clean but there’s a residual trace of the bourbon from last night and buried under that is a taste which has to be pure Puck. Room for thought is soon disappearing as Puck’s tongue is exploring his mouth – it’s almost a duel, tongues squirming and fighting as they slurp and moan around each other’s mouths.

Puck’s arms come up and Kurt can feel the weight and breadth of them sweeping down his shoulders, along his spine to swoop away when they reach his ass. He’s on his hands and knees over Puck – lowering himself down and he lets out a gurgling moan when he finally feels his skin kissing Puck’s, the feel of Puck’s chest hair tickling his skin, the metal in Puck’s nipples rubbing against his own. They’re still making out furiously, there’s a steady rhythm, not frantic but certainly intense. As Puck’s arms sweep down Kurt’s back again, he sharply nips Puck’s lower lip and shifts his legs wider apart. Puck gives and exhaled hiss and inhaled suck of breath and then Kurt feels rather than hears the chuckle.

“Oh yeah babe, I hear ya.” The feel of Puck’s words teases Kurt’s lips just as much the sound of them buries into his brain.

On the next sweep down, Puck’s hands grip the back of his thighs and he uses Kurt as leverage to push Kurt up the bed and scoot himself down. Puck’s hands are still on his ass and his mouth is on Kurt’s nipples. Kurt just straightens his back and leans down to give Puck easier access, those full lips are put to good use teasing and playing with Kurt’s nipples – pulses of arousal zinging around his body, Puck’s hands are kneading at his ass, just the right side of painful, every once in a while one of Puck’s fingers slides across his assring and it just twitches at that. Kurt’s fully hard now and he’s sure he’s leaking precum but he doesn’t care. Puck’s underneath him and god the noises he’s making! There’s the slurp of his lips but underneath is a low level murmur that Kurt swears is a purr. He’s nearly mewling himself, shuddering at the sensations.

As hot as this is, Kurt’s arms are beginning to tremble with having to bear his weight for so long; he oh-so reluctantly falls to one side, into the middle of the bed and lies there panting.

Puck leans up onto one side, propping his head on a hand, the other hand trailing invisible patterns across Kurt’s chest, his hand fluttering to tug at Kurt’s cock and nipples keeping him keyed up, while Kurt tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t tell me I’ve worn you out already, babe?” Puck’s voice is a bass rumble, “We’ve barely started."

“Asshole. I need a break, some of us are a little out of practice.”

“Coulda fooled me. You’re damn hot.” Kurt feels the flush spread down from his cheeks to his chest but it’s not embarrassment, it’s arousal.

“I want to suck you off.” Kurt sees Puck’s eyes widen at the thought and then the grin reappears.

“I wanna suck you too.”

Kurt has a light bulb moment and almost laughs out loud. He’s going to prove his credentials in one fell swoop.

“Hold that thought.” He sprawls himself over Puck to reach the drawer, knowing full well Puck would appreciate it, Puck’s moan making him smile.

Lube in one hand, he kneels up and looks down at Puck. “Move further down.”

Puck gives a slightly quizzical look but does as he’s told. Kurt swings himself about and around until he’s facing Puck’s hard cock, precum glistening on the PA and he can feel Puck’s hot breath on his ass.

“Oh you sweet, sweet, wonderful man.” Kurt smiles at the appreciation in Puck’s tone.

“I’ve wined you.” Kurt bobs to take Puck’s cockhead in his mouth and then quickly pulls off.

"I’ve dined you.” Kurt takes a lubed finger and teases Puck’s ring.

“Now 69 me!” Puck’s chuckle chokes off into a low moan as Kurt takes Puck’s cock into his mouth again, he wiggles his ass to get Puck to catch up. He’s getting used to the piercing in his mouth, hoping it doesn’t chip a tooth and he’s surprised at how accommodating Puck’s ass is. He’s down to the first knuckle.

He yelps around Puck’s cock as he feels Puck’s hands spreading his cheeks wide open and he feels the flat of Puck’s tongue swipe a broad lick against his ring. How the fuck is he doing that? Puck must be more supple than he’s given him credit for. He groans in appreciation and another inch of Puck’s cock disappears into his mouth.

He’s being expertly rimmed and his cock is achingly hard. His mouth is stuffed full of Puck’s cock and he’s got a finger buried deep in Puck’s ass. He doesn’t know what to concentrate on more – himself or Puck.

He’s never been quite so in sync with a bed partner before. They both seem to know what to do and what to try with each other and Kurt gets the feeling that however high he raises the bar, Puck is going to meet him every time.

Logical thought flies out of the window as Puck begins shallow thrusts into his mouth. He hollows out his cheeks and starts breathing more through his nose to accommodate the length and the girth. The PA is an unusual sensation but not an unpleasant one. He positively growls when he feels Puck wrap a hand round his engorged prick, slurping deeply into his ass. He shifts a hand and tugs gently on Puck’s balls, just as Puck swipes his finger over Kurt’s cockhead.

Kurt can feel the tingle of his orgasm building in his balls and he can feel Puck’s balls churning in his hand, they’re so close. Kurt decides to ramp it up and deep throats Puck – his mouth and throat have warmed up so he can take it, provided he can pull off long enough to take a snatch breath. Puck’s going wild on his ass, probing deeply with the point of his tongue and jacking Kurt off furiously.

He can feel the tingle of his orgasm and all sense of rhythm and coordination fails him, he wants to cum so badly. His mouth stills around Puck’s cock and he can feel shot after shot blasting out of him, splattering onto Puck. This seems to have tipped Puck over the edge and he can feel Puck shouting his name into his ass as his mouth is flooded with Puck’s cum and swallows on reflex.

Once the shudders and tremors die down, he falls down completely onto the bed. He’s surrounded by the sight and smell of sex – musky and male and it makes his cock give a last twitch.

A few minutes later, Puck has actually recovered enough to speak. He flops over the bed until he can tuck himself into Kurt’s side and gather himself together. He’s hot, sweaty, sticky and satiated.

“Best. Hangover. Sex. Ever.”

Kurt’s voice is wrecked as he laughs and Puck can’t help but thrill at the thought that he did that.

“I’m not going to disagree.” Kurt tilts his head and kisses Puck’s face. “But I’m gonna need a few more minutes before the next round.”

“Hot damn. I like the way you think.”

“Of course you do.” Kurt disengages himself from Puck and stumbles into the bathroom; Puck can hear the sound of the WC flushing and water running.

He reaches for the tube of lube and opens a drawer in the night stand to put it away and his eyes are caught by what he can see deep in the drawer - his face lights up. Kurt Hummel, you kinky mofo!.

Just as Kurt comes back with two washcloths, Puck throws the doubleheader onto the bed.

“That,” he points at the dildo, “is going to get you into so much trouble.”

There’s a beat where Puck thinks he might have actually fucked it up and then Kurt gives him such a tarty smirk.

“I fucking hope so, ya perv. But we’re still talking later; you don’t get out of it by being a good lay.”

Sweet Jesus and all his angels, Puck is so glad that he’s met Kurt again, he could weep for joy.

“Noah, I’ve got some fibers.” Kurt doesn’t even wait for him to say his name when he hits the answer button.

“That’s great, Kurt. But I think you missed out the first half of this conversation.”

Kurt flushes at his overexcitement. “Sorry. I got some trace fibers from the gown, I meant to tell you on Friday but well, we had an eventful weekend.”

Puck can’t help smiling as he whispers. “Yeah, babe. We did.”

“So… Anyway… The fibers are wool. I’ll know more on which kind later. Chemical analysis confirms the dye as an mid-blue, in use from 1988 up to 2000. Angela is searching to see who used that dye and what for. Given it’s late spring, I think they’re from a jacket or sports coat.”

“How do you know it’s not something that was just laying on the ground?”

“The fibers were in the tears in the gown. They must have been transferred from the killer to Paul.”

Puck is feeling a kernel of hope. Seems like the first piece of solid evidence. Not enough to hang a case from but it’s a start.

“Good work, Kurt. Speak later?”

“Sure.”

Puck hangs up and turns back to the boxes of materials that the Wisconsin office sent over. He’s got an encrypted USB full of academic records for all the schools in Paul’s area, plus a pile of yearbooks. He’s not looking forward to having to wade through the data. By rights, the data analysis team should be doing this but they’re short staffed and snowed under. Spreadsheets and he do not play well together; he’s seriously considering pulling his big brown puppy eyes into play and asking Angela to wave her magic wand and come up with the answer. However, this is the grunt work that the FBI can do, so time to nut up and shut up.

After some frantic Googling, two trips to the cafeteria and a lunchtime jog, he’s a little further forward. He’s discounted all of the women and managed to get a list of names and dates of birth and compared them against the Social Security Death Index, so he’s beginning to narrow the list of possibles down. He thinks about asking his old pal Marcia at DMV to let him have access to their database, just to see how many Wisconsinites reside in the Greater DC area, when the alarm on his phone goes off.

Shit. Time to get moving. Danny and Xander are off out tonight.

It’s easier now, faking being boyfriends, Kurt thinks. This is the first time that he and Noah have been together since the weekend. Work and pets and long days have taken their toll. The weirdness of working together plus the strain of having to maintain their cover plus their newly found intimacy is making Kurt tread very, very slowly. He doesn’t want to leap to conclusions or to rush things but he would really like to go on a proper date – Noah Puckerman and Kurt Hummel rather than anyone else – and find out more.

But for all that, it feels right to be tucked in at Puck’s side. They’re still of an equal height but the breadth and bulk of Puck makes him seem bigger and taller. Kurt’s never wanted anyone to fight his battles for him but there’s something reassuring about Puck, kind of like the reassurance he got from his Dad when he was a boy. They’re just chatting, talking quietly about their day when he feels Puck stiffen next to him.

The temptation is to ask what’s wrong or to turn around but he’s not that foolish. Puck’s obviously on alert and that would just be a distraction. He’ll just bide his time, Puck always keeps him on point about what’s going on.

Puck’s grip on his shoulders tightens imperceptibly and he ducks down to whisper.

“I’m going to go to the toilet. Act coy and see what happens. I’ll be five minutes. Tops.”

Puck disengages his arms, plants a wet kiss on Kurt’s lips and saunters away to the back of the bar.

Kurt turns so he’s side on to the bar, playing with the straw in his drink, for all the world looking like a little boy lost. He feels a presence at his back and knows that it can’t possibly be Puck. He turns, ostensibly to put his drink down on the cocktail napkin, to look at the man standing next to him at the bar. He’s roughly the same age as Kurt, a few inches taller, thick hair the color of wet sand parted to the side, big built but neither fat nor muscular, an average face saved from being plain by a pair of startlingly green eyes.

“Hi. Good night?”

Kurt turns completely to face the man and gives an encouraging smile. “Not bad, you?”

“It’s got a whole lot better.” The man is grinning at him but it looks forced. Kurt remembers to duck his head and look up through his eyelashes. Mr. Bambi is in the house.

“Oh?” Kurt gives another shy smile and puckers his lips around the straw in his glass, watching the other man’s eyes landing on his lips. “I’m Xander.”

“Good to meet you. Joshua... Josh.” A hand comes out and Kurt takes it, keeping his grip weak. It’s oddly formal for a gay bar and Josh’s hand is clammy.

There’s an awkward pause, Kurt is aware that Josh is staring intently at him.

“Would you like a drink?” It’s almost blurted out.

Kurt waggles his glass at Josh, letting the ice clink in the liquid. “I’m fine for just now.”

“Listen, I know you’re here with your boyfriend,” there’s such intent behind the way Josh says the word, “but I was wondering if maybe we could have a drink sometime, together, alone.”

Kurt’s a little shocked at how hard Josh is coming on to him and can’t help but let that show. Josh looks so closely at him that he has to have noticed. Time for some damage control.

“Gosh, you’re quite forward - aren’t you?” Kurt plasters a teasing look on his face. “I’m with Danny tonight but there’s nothing to say we can’t have a few drinks together.”

Josh looks inordinately pleased by this, like something he’s been thinking about has been proved right.

Kurt follows it up. “Between you and me, I don’t think Danny’s being exclusive. What’s good for the goose, maybe?”

Josh clears his throat before he can speak. “That’s a real shame, a good looking guy like you. Can we swap numbers?”

Kurt nods, reaching into his manpurse for a pen and scribbles the number of the burn phone onto a napkin and holds it aloft.

“And yours?” Josh flushes and takes the pen, scribbling his own number down. By the time they’ve done this, Kurt can see over Josh’s shoulder that Puck returning.

“Danny’s coming...”

Josh grits his jaw and leans away from Kurt again.

“Babe, who’s this?” Puck angles himself in so that he’s crowding in on Kurt and giving Josh a dirty look.

“Sweetie, this is Josh. Josh, meet Danny… who I was telling you about.” Kurt’s damn pleased on how that sounds – sly and placating at the same time.

Puck just nods at Josh and turns so that his back is to Josh – every inch the possessive rude bastard.

“I wanna fuck you. We’re going. Get your shit together.” With that he heads off.

Kurt’s embarrassed flush is natural, he shoots Josh an apologetic glance and scuttles after Puck.

Puck walks quickly away from the bar, one ear out for Kurt’s footsteps, but mostly he’s trying to settle himself down. For all that he knew he’d asked Kurt to flirt with another guy, he really hadn’t expected his own reaction. It’s been a long time since he’d felt a wave of jealousy like that.

He stops next to the bike, ostensibly trying to fish out his keys from the tight jeans but giving himself a moment to pull himself together. This is why it isn’t good to mix business with pleasure. He’s lost his focus on the job, too worried for and about Kurt. The question is, is it worth shutting down this thing they’ve started and re-focusing?

“Well, that was Josh. He was creepy. Waaay creepy. I’ll speak with Angela tomorrow and we’ll work up a sketch or a facial composite or something… Noah?”

It’s the firm touch of Kurt’s hand on his arm that snaps Puck out of his reverie.

“What?” he blinks at Kurt a few times, “Sure… Sounds like a good idea.”

“You okay?”

“Just couldn’t find the keys.” Puck fishes them out of a pocket and straddles the bike.

Mercifully, Kurt doesn’t call him out on that poor excuse but swings himself up and pulls himself in tight. That settles Puck down. For now.

Puck and Kurt have spent so much time away from their usual workplaces, that Puck finds it a little odd to see Kurt in his lab coat, up in the rafters of the Jeffersonian. He came in earlier to meet with Angela, to see if there was anything he could add to the sketch but Kurt had pretty much got it right, all he could do was give a more accurate description. The guy was certainly tall enough and big enough to be the perp but Puck was wary of jumping to conclusions. He’d just wait and see what they could get from a search.

Now, they all sat in what Puck assumes is a break area, given the sofas. Doesn’t stop it from being business as usual. He and Kurt sit on one sofa, the only place they’re touching is the very tips of their knees but Angela smiles over at them from across the table like they’ve just set up a registry at Nieman Marcus. Kurt had warned him about this, asking Puck that they be discreet around the others and it looks like he was right to ask.

“I finally tracked down that dye. It’s called Prussian Blue 17 and it was used mostly as a commercial wool dye. Uniforms mostly but once Kurt gave me the type of fibers, that narrowed it down for me.” Angela’s looking pretty pleased with herself and so she should be.

“It’s a Melton cloth, the fibers I could extract were spun, woven and then fulled, so pretty hard not to mistake. It’s not widely used for sports jackets, more like Mackinaws or…”

“…Varsity jackets.” Puck filled in the blank and caught Kurt’s eye. His very own WMHS varsity jacket was still knocking around somewhere. “How much further did you get?”

“It took a while but we’re pretty confident that it’s from Holloway.” Kurt winces at this, “They are one of the biggest suppliers of varsity jackets but that particular shade of blue wasn’t all that popular given the quantities produced. Can you get them to give us a list of who they’ve supplied to?”

“Sure, I’ll do some FBI leaning.”

Puck could quite happily wind up the meeting right there and then but Cam nixes that plan.

“How’s the undercover work going? Kurt really hasn’t said that much about it.”

“It’s slow going but Kurt is making some good contacts in the community. We’ve got a tentative lead on a person of interest from last night; Angela’s helping us out.”

“Puck’s the strong silent type when we’re out, so I can concentrate on being a gossip. To borrow a phrase from Puck’s military days, he’s on point and I’m on intel. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Puck just nods and laughs along with everyone else. “I’m wading through data from Wisconsin, cross checking against any other database I can get my hands on. I’m not a nerd but I’ll get there in the end.”

“Angela, if you find you have some free time, perhaps you could assist Noah?” Cam looks around the group, “Anything else? No? Good, I have a tuna salad with my name on it.”

Everyone breaks up for lunch and if Kurt Hummel just so happens to be leaving for lunch at the same time as Noah Puckerman, then Angela isn’t going to say a word. Yet.

“Hi Noah” He’s a bit startled because the caller ID on his desk phone said it was the Jeffersonian but it’s not Kurt.

“Oh, hey Angela.”

“Just wanted to let you know that whatever you did, the stuff from Holloway came through. It might not have been all that popular a color but there’s a hell of a lot of schools to go through. Should I be looking in at a particular state?”

“Hmmm… Go for DC, Maryland, Virginia and Wisconsin. We can’t rule out that the perp is a local, or someone from Paul’s home town.”

“Okay. That should make my life easier. I’ll get a list over to you later today.”

“Thanks Angela, I know you’re busy. Did you get anywhere with the facial composite?”

“Yeah,” there’s a clattering sound as Angela switches the phone over to speaker, “It’s not good news. I mapped key topography from the face, gave a fairly wide range for height and weight and keyworded both Josh and Joshua and I’ve had too many hits for anything meaningful. He’s a fairly average guy, which means there’s a lot like him.”

“Damn. I was hoping we could catch a break on this.”

“Sorry it’s not better news. If I had more to work with I could narrow it down.”

”What about the number he gave Kurt? Throw me a bone here.”

”Nothing. It’s a disposable. None of us want Kurt to call the guy unless he really has to.”

“Them’s the breaks. Just have to keep plowing that furrow.”

He can hear the tinny sound of a snort of laughter. “I forgot you come from rural Ohio, you just don’t strike me as the type.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried to wipe that stain outta my life.”

“You and Kurt both. I hear you’re going out with Miss Demeanor again tonight. Kurt was mentioning something about a blast from the past.”

“And then some. You need to ask Kurt about his high school football career.”

“His what now?”

“You heard. And tell him if he doesn’t, then I will.”

There’s a pause and Puck can’t quite tell if the line’s disconnected or not.

“Tell me if I’m totally out of line, sweetie, but are you and he….”

“A gentleman never tells, Angela.”

“Don’t give me that crap, I can tell you’re only a gentleman when it suits you.”

Puck sighs; he knew that Angela had a spidey sense for this kind of thing. Hopefully, Kurt doesn’t kill him.

“Kurt and I are kind of dating but not.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We’re out together every night, pretending to be boyfriends, and yes, we’re also exploring the idea of dating as ourselves.”

“Riiiight. It’s hard to work out what’s an act and what’s real.”

“Something like that. Look, I gotta go, I’ve got another call coming through.” He doesn’t but he wants to get out of this conversation before he says something he shouldn’t.

“Okay sweetie, I’ll keep you posted.”

Puck hangs up and closes his eyes. Yet another night at Ziegfeld’s. He wants to wrap this case up so he can get his life back.

It’s the usual crowd at Ziegfeld’s. Puck’s been coming on Friday nights for the past three weeks now and he’s known by the staff and some of the clientele. The bar staff know that he’s a club soda guy and he gets friendly enough nods from the guys that Kurt’s been talking too but his asshole persona means they’re a bit wary of him. He’s never really talked much when they’ve been out in the bars, so they don’t come over for a chat like they would if Kurt were at his side.

Tonight though, he’s on alert, looking for good old Joshie. He’s completely tuned out whatever’s happening on stage, focused on the door and the men milling around. This time he’s in a dark corner himself and giving off stay-the-fuck-away vibes.

Given what Josh did and said earlier in the week, he’s pretty sure that he’s going to make an appearance tonight and he’s not going to let Kurt out of his sight if he can help it. Backstage is fine as they don’t allow non-performers back there – Kurt says there isn’t the room to swing a cat.

It’s not until the second act is just finishing up that he spots Josh. The guy is frustratingly on the other side of the crowded room and an out of town act is appearing, which has swollen the numbers. Puck’s going to have to work damn hard to get close enough to him.

Josh scans the room as well and when he clocks Puck, he tenses and then juts out his chin. Puck would laugh if it was funny but the posturing is eerie. What kind of guy thinks he can square off with him? Puck doesn’t retaliate; he just gives Josh a long cool look and then dismissively turns his head.

The intro for Ray of Light starts blaring out and Kurt starts prancing and dancing in front of the microphone. He’s rocking the full Madonna, blue satin blouse, tight black velvet pants and a long blonde wig – the crowd is enjoying the performance again. The groundwork that Kurt’s been doing means that he’s got himself a little fanbase who are singing along with him. Puck finds that his body is doing the routine along with Kurt and that’s a kick because they only used that routine for football warm-ups.

Puck looks over to Josh and there’s such a look of longing on his face that Puck almost turns away from the intensity; he doesn’t though, trying to look deeper, see what else is going on. The light level is piss-poor but he can make out that Josh’s hands are balled into fists but Puck can’t work out why.

Puck’s distracted by a fistfight kicking off right next to him. Trouble is, it isn’t a bitch fight but a couple of husky guys duking it out. His instincts kick in, so he tries to intervene and gets a split lip for his trouble. By the time security arrives to break it up, Josh is long gone. Puck’s left cursing himself and dabbing at his lip with a cocktail napkin. Another fucking washout.

Puck wakes up pissed off and to an empty bed. The sheets are still warm so Kurt can’t have been up for long. He ambles into the bathroom, scratching his balls and looking at his morning wood. The bathroom mirror tells him he’s tired, the long days and nights are taking their toll. He leans his hardon against the cold porcelain of the wash basin to get it to deflate enough so he can piss in comfort and once he’s done, he pulls a cotton robe off the back of the door and heads downstairs.

Pirate’s ambling about and gives him a quick sniff and lick as he walks past on the way to the kitchen. Kurt’s got his head in the refrigerator; barefoot, barelegged and wearing Puck’s cowboy shirt from last night.

The morning wood cranks up a little at the sight and he opens the robe, sneaking up behind Kurt and plastering himself against Kurt’s back, his erection nudging against Kurt’s thighs.

“Mmmmm,” Kurt leans back against Puck’s chest, “Morning.”

Puck isn’t in a fit state to talk yet, so he leans down and kisses the patch of skin on Kurt’s neck, just where the collar finishes. Because he’s still cranky, he bites down at the spot he’s just kissed and hearing Kurt’s muffled yelp, he soothes the hurt with the flat of his tongue.

“Oookay. Like that is it?” Kurt shoves back hard, forcing him to step back. Kurt quickly closes the refrigerator door.

Puck’s still being a morose bastard, so he pulls Kurt back onto his chest and snakes a hand down the shirt, popping the snaps open.

“Puck, the drapes are open.”

Puck ignores him and carries on moving his hands down Kurt’s chest, one hand stroking the taut skin and firm muscle, the other cupping Kurt’s crotch. He gives Kurt’s junk a firm squeeze, enough to distract Kurt from his suburban prissiness.

He uses his bulkier frame to barge and nudge Kurt across to the central island, silently he puts a hand on the back of Kurt’s neck and forces him over the counter, his other hand flipping the shirt tails out of the way and exploring Kurt’s ass.

Kurt starts to protest at the treatment, so Puck grips the back of Kurt’s neck forcing him flat and still, expecting Kurt to get with the program already. Puck does not want bitching, he does not want to work hard - he just wants an uncomplicated fuck. He feels Kurt relax under his hands. Good.

Puck looks around for something to use as lube and spies some oil on the countertop, amongst the ingredients for waffles. Sweet. Waffles might cheer him up some more after he’s thrown a fuck into Kurt.

He reaches across for the oil making sure to press against Kurt as he does and drizzles some of on his fingers. He returns his dry hand to Kurt’s neck, keeping him still and uses his slick hand on Kurt’s ass. He’s not going for teasing; he just wants Kurt wet and open for him. He quickly moves from one finger to two to three. There are a few disgruntled moans from Kurt as he does so but no real protests. He briskly works his fingers inside Kurt, hunting for Kurt’s prostate and ruthlessly working it until Kurt’s moans change their tone and he starts pushing back.

Puck pulls his fingers out with an audible squelch and then just fists his hardon with his wet fingers, shuddering as his fingers wrap around his cockhead. He shrugs off the robe, letting it fall at his feet and grabs hold of Kurt’s hips, tilting them till Kurt is at the right angle.

He dips his hips and slides up and into Kurt, Kurt’s just the right side of too tight and Puck wiggles his hips once he’s balls deep inside Kurt – making sure he’s securely. He stays still for a moment, letting Kurt adjust and once Kurt’s breathing has evened out he starts pumping. This is about getting off, so Puck fucks like an animal; short thrusts keeping his dick deep inside Kurt’s heat. He’s not a complete bastard so once he’s got a good rhythm going and Kurt’s working with him, he reaches around to fist Kurt’s cock. At his touch, Kurt lets out a cry – it’s now that he finds his voice.

“So good baby, so good and tight. Keep on squeezing my cock. Make me feel fucking good. You know how hot you look right now? All bent over and taking it? Right in the middle of your kitchen, some hot stud fucking your sweet ass. Oh, yeah, that’s it babe, milk my cock.”

Puck’s close to cumming and he thinks that Kurt is to.

“Gonna cum for me, sweetcheeks? Cum for me and let me feel your ass twitch around my cock? Spunk for me, all over the kitchen. If you’re good, I might make you lick it all up.”

Puck’s learnt that Kurt gets turned on like fuck by filthy talk and that’s all it takes. He can feel Kurt’s ass palpating around his cock and hears the wet slap of Kurt’s cum hitting the kitchen cabinets.

“Jesus fuck, sweetcheeks. So damn hot.” Puck pulls out of Kurt and starts pulling on his cock. It only takes three tugs before he’s painting Kurt’s thighs with his jizz. His cock is still dribbling out the last of his cum as he hunkers down and starts lapping at Kurt’s thighs, slurping up all of his cum. He can feel Kurt trembling under his tongue as he finishes up. Standing up, he gives Kurt a couple of taps on his ass as a signal that whatever this was, it’s done and pulls Kurt up and round to face him.

Kurt’s face is flushed and Puck can’t quite tell if it’s rage or arousal or both. He holds Kurt’s shoulders and leans in for a kiss. Kurt meets him halfway and Puck can feel their wet dicks touching as they kiss. Arousal then.

“Thanks, Kurt,” Puck pulls back to cradle Kurt in his arms running a soothing arm down Kurt’s back, “for letting me let go like that.”

Kurt pulls away a little, cocking his head to one side, scrutinizing Puck.

“I trust you.” Those three words cause something to shift inside Puck, something fundamental has just changed.

He’s struck dumb this time and Kurt must be able to read him like a book. He opens his mouth to speak but Kurt just shushes him with a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t say a word: go upstairs, shower, put some clothes on and then come back for waffles.”

Kurt quickly sanitizes the area and starts on the waffles. The shirt is buttoned again and his ass aches and burns but in a good way. He’s a little frightened by how well he understands Puck, reading his moods and knowing how to respond. He’s not normally so submissive but there was something in the air, something in the mood Puck brought downstairs, that he had to be careful in how he reacted.

The batter sizzles in the waffle iron while Kurt looks out syrup and fruit. He’s operating on autopilot while he’s fixing breakfast, as he considers just what happened. He let Puck fuck him roughly, no protection, but he damn well knew that Puck wasn’t going to really hurt him. Puck needed to get something out of his system and Kurt helped. Though what does it mean for him, for them? He’s a little afraid of how he reacted so strongly to the rough treatment.

The sound of a stool scraping across the floor drags him out of his introspection and he turns to give Puck a smile. In a quick flash, he sees Puck’s expression change from wariness to warmth, perhaps relief. Kurt quickly flips the waffles out of the iron and onto two plates, pushing the plates across the counter.

He hops up onto the stool next to Puck’s and starts eating. He carefully slides his bare foot so it entwines around Puck’s ankle and then gives Puck a nudge in the side.

“Go on, eat. I know better than to come between you and plate full of waffles.”

Puck laughs as he reaches for the syrup, drenching the waffles until they’re almost afloat.

“Feeling better?” Kurt’s careful to keep his tone fairly steady.

“Much. Much better.” He turns to give Kurt a thankful smile, a strand of syrup caught in one corner. “Do you want to head out and do something today? See the sights maybe?”

Kurt knows there’s more going on than just a sightseeing trip but he’ll buy Puck’s diversion for now.

“Sure.”

Puck’s out of the SUV as soon as Kurt pulls to a stop, he feels like he’s got all this excess energy that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He looks around and spots that they’re at the bottom end of the National Mall, near the tidal basin. Coming full circle he can see Kurt wrestling with Pirate on the tailgate. Pirate does not look happy – Kurt’s clipping him into a thick sturdy harness.

“Overkill much?”

Kurt throws him a dirty look. “It’s not for him. You know he’s a big softy. It’s for other people. They take one look at him and they think he’s going to rip their throat out or eat their children.”

Kurt gets the leash clipped to the harness and Pirate jumps down.

“If I don’t have him on a strong leash then all I get is comments about being irresponsible.”

“It sucks but if it makes life easier…”

“Take this.” Puck grabs the messenger bag and opens the flap. There’s a roll of plastic bags and a scoop, a longer leash, a chewed up ball and a gnawed Frisbee. “If there’s no-one around, we might take the chance of letting him off the leash to run around.”

“I’ve got one of those.”

Kurt boggles at the non-sequitur and then looks at Pirate; he finally sees what Puck is pointing at.

“You have a harness? You never said you had a dog.”

“I never said it was for a dog, Kurt.” Puck smiles at the way Kurt’s face pinks up.

“Riiight. You’ve got a leash and collars too, haven’t you?” Kurt’s tone is verging on the sarcastic but there’s a morsel of interest in there too.

“Yup. I thought I better get some of my cards on the table.” Puck blows out a lungful of air.

“I think that admitting to that is more than just cards on the table.” Kurt bristles a little and then lets Pirate lead him off; the dog is making a bee-line for the nearest tree, nostrils flaring.

Puck falls into step alongside Kurt.

“Noah, you got some ‘splaining to do.” Kurt cocks a sideways look at him.

“I am not calling you Ricky.”

They come to a stop as Pirate dances around a sapling, snorting and snuffling until he cocks a leg. Kurt just looks at him; Puck can almost see the pout coming.

“Fine. I’ll talk, you listen.”

Kurt mimes locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Puck scrapes a laugh from somewhere and then tucks his arm through Kurt’s as they move off down the path.

“Right. This is going to be word vomit I’m spewing out, so it might be jumbled. I know that you’ll unpick it.”

Puck takes a deep breath and lets it all out. He tells Kurt of exploring his sexuality whilst in college – the length and the breadth and the depth of the people he slept with. He tells of realizing that he’s probably not even bi but pan - he points out to Kurt his girlfriends in high school weren’t all the same type.

He talks of the Army, the pressure of being a good soldier but having to conform to DADT, the blessed release of anonymous hookups in towns with a gay bar that were far away enough away from base. He confides in Kurt how lonely he felt there, how many risks he took that could have ended his career. Having to pretend to be straight, be untrue to himself.

He describes the relief of leaving the army and joining the FBI, a better fit. Being able to put down roots in Colorado and build a life for himself there. He tells Kurt of the night he stumbled into a leather bar and how at first he felt like he was back at square one but learnt the ropes (ha ha!) and learnt what he likes and dislikes.

He tells Kurt of his last serious relationship - a Denver Sheriff’s deputy, Carmela Spinosa - all fiery Latin temper and a sizzling body. He tells Kurt of the way the relationship exploded when he confided in her – no Spinosa woman would be caught dead with a deviant like him.

He tells Kurt of the way his trust was bruised, the way that for the first time he felt ashamed of who he was, the way he went back to anonymous one offs, giving fake names. Momentary pleasure that does not last.

He then tells Kurt of how stumbling upon Kurt in his first week in DC was nice, it was great, meeting a friend again. He tells Kurt of how it’s come to mean more for him; how he can see that Kurt is a solid guy. He can appreciate Kurt for the man he is as much as the hot body. Kurt knows him from when he was a fuckup and still wants him and calls him on his shit.

“This morning, when you just took my mood and transformed it, when you said ‘I trust you’ – that was it, man. I can’t back out now; I have to see this through with you. I want to. I can be a kinky fucker, Kurt, but I’d never do anything to hurt you. I don’t play that way. I like snuggling as much as I like bondage; if it’s a turn off then fine but I think maybe you’re not that against it...” Puck trails off, mentally exhausted.

They’ve walked all the way round to the Jeffersonian Memorial, the line of the cherry trees round the edge. Kurt’s kept his promise and been silent all the way through. Puck’s not so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t notice Kurt’s face has been communicating throughout; he’s watched Kurt’s reaction to everything he’s said and he’s hopeful.

“You’ve permission to speak, boy!” Puck tries to give his voice the bark of a drill instructor but ends with a nervous laugh. It certainly pulls Kurt out of his thoughts.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare!” Puck’s not sure what’s got Kurt so angry. “You don’t get to tell me all this and then belittle yourself.”

Kurt’s so mad that he’s hopping from foot to foot, a little dance. Pirate’s ground to a halt, sitting on the grass and looking up at Kurt, ears cocked. Kurt thrusts the leash into Puck’s hand and starts pacing up and down.

“Noah Puckerman, you are surprisingly one of the deepest and most complex men I know. And one of the most honest and frustrating.”

Kurt huffs and sits down on a bench.

“You’re getting a list here and then we’re done talking about feelings until we have to.”

Puck stands there in silence as Kurt uses his fingers to list off a series of points. Anyone who makes Puck feel inadequate is a fool, anyone who can’t accept the whole of him isn’t worth the bother and anyone who doesn’t trust him is a fool to themselves. Kurt is in awe of how Puck puts himself out there. Kurt thinks that Puck is braver than he gives himself credit for. Kurt’s a lot more open minded about sexuality and sex than he used to be and he trusts Puck.

“And yes, yes, YES. I’m willing to see where we can go with this. It might be a disaster but what doesn’t kill you and all that jazz.”

Puck forgot how loyal Kurt could be, once you became someone he cares for, then that’s it. He grabs hold of Kurt and pulls him up into a bone crushing hug – he feels the same intensity coming back from Kurt. He buries his face into Kurt’s shoulder and they stand there silent until Pirate whines.

“Aw buddy, you feeling left out?” Kurt’s voice is thick and he swipes at his eyes. “C’mon, let’s head home.”

Puck sees the look in Kurt’s eyes and reaches out to take his hand. Something light, like peace, settles over Puck.

Puck is still smiling after the weekend, it really is so much more than he thought it could ever be. Kurt doesn’t judge him (not about the important stuff anyway). They’ve got enough interests that overlap and they’ve gotten over their teenage selves, they’ve agreed to take things further. The complete switcheroo is that this is about the least complicated a relationship he’s been in for a long while.

His grin gets even wider after he checks his inbox. Angela’s emailed with the words “CALL ME!!!1!” in the largest font size he’s ever seen, he can almost hear her yelling.

“I’m calling…”

“About time. I think you owe me a martini, in fact I think you owe me an exceptionally dry martini with three olives.” Angela’s voice sounds gleefully smug.

“That good, huh?”

“The bestest.”

“You’re killing me here. What’s the news?”

“I was trawling through that list of Holloway customers last night and one of the schools was niggling away, but for the life of me, I couldn’t work out why. Then this morning it hit me.”

“What hit you?”

“The name of the school. Where I’d seen it before. It just so happens that one of the schools is the same high school that Paul attended.”

“Shit! That is excellent.” Puck’s quietly humming with satisfaction, another solid lead. “I’ve got a stack of yearbooks here from Prairie Lake.”

He tucks the handset under his chin and rifles through the box of yearbooks until he finds the 2000 edition for Prairie Lake High School. He flicks through the pages until he hits the sports section and there, in all its glory, is the Varsity football team – beaming away proudly in dark blue jackets.

“Jackpot. I’m assuming that the Prussian blue is a dark blue?”

“That’s it. What do you want me to do?”

“Could you keep working through the list? This ain’t a coincidence but I want to make sure we’ve covered everything. I want the case tighter than a gnat’s ass.”

Angela’s laughing as she agrees. “Sure, I’ll do it, but that’s two martinis you owe me.”

“You’re gonna empty my wallet! Listen, I’m sending across all the yearbooks that could cover anyone who could have been at the high school the same time as Paul. I might need you to work some computer magic on a photo or two.”

“Send them over. I’ll wait to hear from you before scanning anything. Sounds like we’re getting somewhere.”

“That we are, Angela. That we are.”

Puck spends most of the day checking the school records from Prairie Lake High School against any databases he can get his hands on. He’s not ignoring the other schools in the area but he’s got a good feeling about this. He’s got his head down so far that he doesn’t realize he has a visitor, until he hears a throat clearing.

“Kurt!? Hey. How’d you get up here?”

“I shimmied up a drainpipe.” Kurt rolls his eyes at Puck’s dazed expression. “I flashed my pass and rode up in the elevator like normal people do.”

“Sorry. Dumb question.”

“You’re in the middle of something. I know how that works. I was wondering if I could drag you away for dinner?”

“Jeeze, I’d love to Kurt but I’m onto something here.”

“I thought you’d say that, that’s why I’m here in person. How can you say no to a face like this?” Kurt pulls the poutiest, winsomest face possible – all big eyes and trembling lips, an over-the-top pleading face.

“Knock it off, Kurt.” There’s no irritation behind the words, just appreciation that Kurt’s managed to get him smiling after a rough day.

“No harm in trying.” Kurt pulls his bag strap up onto his shoulder and Puck has a flashback to the same move from high school. Kurt’s feeling a little vulnerable so he’s armoring himself. “Do you want me to bring you something?”

“It’s cool. I’ll grab a snack from the vending machine.” He gives Kurt a steady look, trying to telegraph reassurance. “Babe, I’ll call you tonight. We can catch up.”

That earns him an affectionate grin in return, Kurt heads off to the elevator while Puck sighs and clicks his mouse to reactivate his computer.

Kurt’s on his own in their bar tonight. He’s not completely alone, since Puck is sitting in a U-Haul truck on the other side of the street.

He’d spent the best part of the afternoon with a techie from the FBI being fitted for a wire. He’d thought it odd that Puck asked him to bring in his spider brooch but Dale the tech guy got out a soldering iron and fitted a tiny device to the body of the spider. Because Puck is super scrupulous he’s also wearing a traditional wire as a backup.

Dale had showed him how to fit the thing and it’s not that different from a lapel mic but he’s squirming a little as the wire is tickling his chest and the tape fixing it to his back is now getting itchy.

He can’t hear Puck, as there wasn’t time for him to get a suitable earpiece but they’d tested the levels before he went in so he knows that Puck can hear him clearly. Puck was very serious in briefing Kurt, no jokes or innuendo, just stating how things would work and what to do if things looked like they were going wrong. Kurt thought that he could see a hint of worry in Puck’s eyes but the other man was masking it well.

Overall it’s been a fun night. He’d spotted Vonda as soon as he got there and after Kurt brushed off enquiries as to where his “fine piece of rough trade arm candy” was, they’ve been together all evening. Kurt’s quite glad of it because though Vonda may project the image of a lady; she’s also built like a line-backer so if anything goes wrong, he’s reasonably sure that Vonda will step in.

It’s not until the second hour that Kurt starts to feel a little antsy. He’s never held to the belief of hunches or gut feelings but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being observed. He tries to subtly scan the room but there’s nothing he can immediately see.

Still, he doesn’t like feeling like this so he makes his goodbyes and leaves. He’s parked round the corner from the bar and makes sure to pass by the U-Haul, checking over his shoulder as he crosses the street. Nothing.

He’d feel a whole lot safer if he could have banged on the side of the truck and be let in. But that wasn’t part of the plan; it’s about trying to draw out whoever targeted Paul. Sighing, he fishes his car keys out of his bag and heads off for home.

“Cam, is Kurt there? I’ve called his cell and it’s going to voicemail.”

“Ummm… Let me check his calendar.” Puck can hear a few mouse clicks echoing down the line. “No, he’s got the morning booked out as personal leave. I think he said something about Pirate?”

“Hell.” Puck remembers now. Kurt had mentioned that Pirate was a little off, sleeping too much and not eating as much. “His dog’s at the veterinarians. He’s supposed to pick him up this morning.”

“Why not try him at the house? He’s probably fussing over Pirate.”

“Yeah, thanks Cam. If you see him, get him to call me. I think I’ve got a couple of likely suspects.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll pass your message on.”

After hanging up on Cam, Puck dials the house phone which just rings out and rings out. Odd.

Playing a hunch, Puck fires up Google searching for vet clinics in Kurt’s neighborhood.

“Good morning, Dupont Veterinary Clinic. How may I help?”

“This is Agent Puckerman from the FBI. Do you have a patient under the name Hummel? White Staffie by the name of Pirate?”

“Oh…. Let me check the roster.” Puck drums his fingers on the desk top. “No, no we don’t.

“Thanks for your time.” Puck doesn’t even wait before hanging up and redialing.

“Adams Morgan Animal Hospital. How may I direct your call?”

“This is Agent Puckerman from the FBI. Do you have a patient under the name Hummel?”

“Yes we do. Pirate. What’s the problem, Agent?”

“I’m trying to track down his owner. Has he been there?”

“No and we really need to speak to Mr. Hummel.” The voice on the other end sounds pissed. “He failed to attend the appointment this morning and that’s causing us concern. We’ve found barbiturates in the dog’s system; ones for humans. We think Mr. Hummel may have been mistreating his dog.”

Puck can’t think for a moment. There’s no way in hell that Kurt would hurt Pirate and Puck really doesn’t like the way his thoughts are going right now. He slams the phone back into its cradle, grabs his keys and sprints for the elevator.

Ten minutes later and he’s racing on his way to Kurt, sirens blaring and lights flashing. He’s forcing himself to stay calm, falling back on his FBI training. He’s on the hands free with the local dispatcher, asking for cops and ambulance to head for Kurt’s address. They’ll do what they can but there’s an auto wreck near Lanier Heights which is taking priority over a suspected home invasion.

Five minutes after that, he’s turning down Kurt’s street. He’s turned off the spinners and sirens now but still roaring down the road. It’s not worth tipping off anyone who might be there but he’s got such a bad feeling about this.

He pulls up two houses away from Kurt, trying to keep the SUV out of sight. His heart is pounding and he’s doing his damndest to keep his breathing still and to force down the fear. He checks his weapon, clicking off the safety and starts to walk as casually as he can past the house, a quick swivel of his head to check out the front of Kurt’s property. It all looks so fucking normal. The front door looks like it normally does but the drapes along the front of the house are still closed.

He jogs round the corner and starts heading down the narrow road that runs down the back of Kurt’s property. It’s not a proper road, more like a service alley and Puck skirts the rear fences until he comes to Kurt’s.

He does not like what he sees. Kurt, like the rest of his neighbors, has a high wall on his boundary, with a garage and a gate let into it - the gate is open and the lock has obviously been forced, he can see the fresh splinters of wood. Careful not to brush against it and disturb any evidence, he uses his elbow to open the gate wider and slips in as stealthily as he can. He’s thankful that Kurt has a lot of shrubbery in his garden and he slides along the rear wall, sneaking a peek into the window of the garage door. Kurt’s SUV is still there. That’s not as encouraging as he’d hoped, since it means that Kurt is still on the property.

Hidden in the trees, Puck takes a quick reconnaissance of the rear of the building. All of the drapes at the rear are closed, including the kitchen ones, which Kurt never closes. Puck stays still for a minute, scanning to see if there is any sign of movement. Nothing. He’s painfully aware that he’s just about to storm a building single handed and should be waiting for back up but that’s Kurt in there!

The sun moves behind a cloud and that galvanizes Puck into heading to the building. He’s hoping like hell that he won’t cast a shadow. He looks through the corner of the dining room window but can’t see anything, not a chink in the drapes, the same of the kitchen windows and the back door – the back door which is locked securely. His only chance now is the little window to the utility room just off Kurt’s kitchen.

It’s not got any drapes so Puck can see into the room, which is empty but the door to the kitchen is shut. Puck takes a few seconds to weigh up his options and decides to try sneaking in through the utility window – there’s a need for stealth over brute force – shooting the lock out might be satisfying but could more than likely endanger Kurt.

He gives the window a shove but it won’t budge, so he takes the handle of his gun and gives it a good tap until the pane nearest the catch shatters as quietly as he can make it. Some of the broken glass tinkles onto the cabinet but most of it is still in the wood frame. He taps enough of the glass away until he can reach in and undo the catch.

It’s a bit of a struggle working his bulk through the small window but with a bit of writhing he’s in the room. Remembering the wooden floors he toes off his shoes, keeping a wary eye and ear on the door and the room beyond. Stockinged feet are not the best but he doesn’t want the sound of his footsteps to carry.

The ground floor is clear. The only signs of disturbance are a spilled canister of coffee grounds on the kitchen counter and an open cupboard door. Puck’s about to climb the stairs when he hears movement from above and pauses. He can make out the sound of a male voice which isn’t Kurt’s – he’s not close enough to make out any words that might give him a clue. For safety’s sake he ducks back into the living room to wait and listen.

He holds his breath as he hears the sound of someone coming down the stairs and leans forward to look through the crack between the door jamb and the door itself. If it’s Kurt, he’s going to yank him into the room and give him hell for frightening the shit out of him. Unsurprisingly, it’s not Kurt but Josh that steps past him, turning at the foot of the stairs to head for the kitchen.

Puck’s torn; Josh or Kurt? Logically, rationally, professionally he should go after Josh. Fuck that noise! He steps quickly up the stairs, one hand on the banister, an ear out for the sound of Josh returning. He makes a bee-line for Kurt’s bedroom, trying to second guess the sick fuck downstairs.

His hunch is right – as he opens the door he sees Kurt on the bed. Kurt’s bound with rope and looking a bit woozy, for all he can tell from the bruising on Kurt’s face – looks like that rat bastard punched him into submission. There’s dried blood on his lips and his right eye is almost swollen shut. Puck’s stomach twists and he grips his gun tighter – no-one touches what’s his and gets away with it.

Kurt slowly turns his head to look at Puck out of his good eye and relaxes for a millisecond when he realizes that he’s not Josh. The expression changes to concern and he opens his mouth to speak. Puck makes a “quiet” motion, bring his pointer finger to his lips. Puck’s relieved to see that Kurt isn’t that out of it, as he nods in agreement. Puck moves quickly to the bed, leaning in close to whisper in Kurt’s ear.

“Shit, Kurt. Gimme a minute and I’ll get you out of here.” He’s surprised to hear the fear in his voice.

“Knife.” Kurt’s voice is a hoarse whisper; like he’s been yelling or screaming and then Puck notices the bruising on Kurt’s neck and his vision whitens out for a second.

“What?”

“Noa’…” Kurt has to lick at his lips, “…gone for one. Hurry!”

Puck looks down at the ropes binding Kurt and the knots are tight and complicated – it’ll take too long to untie them. This is a pro’s handiwork. He reaches for his switchblade and with a quick flick of the wrist; he’s sawing through the ropes, cutting strategically to give Kurt freedom of movement. They can get the knots off later.

“Can you move?”

Kurt nods and tries to swing his legs over the bed but hisses in pain.

“Fuck it. How bad are you?”

“Peachy.” Kurt winces as he tries to stand up.

Puck looks at Kurt and rolls his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that’s built up. “Cops should be on their way. I’m gonna go downstairs and sort this fucker out. Stay put, get in the bathroom and lock the fucking door.”

Kurt’s tries to roll his eyes but Puck just leans down and gives him a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Stay safe for me, please.”

“’kay.” Kurt sits back down on the bed as Puck leaves the room, leaving his knife with Kurt.

Puck pads back down stairs, weapon drawn, all senses firing. He wants to get the drop on Josh. He’s passing the open door to the living room when a kitchen knife slashes down out of nowhere onto his gun arm. It’s sharp as hell and has some weight behind it – cutting right through his jacket and shirt and slicing into the skin and muscle underneath. Crying out in shock and pain, he fumbles and drops the gun.

Josh follows up with a body slam that sends him careening into the wall and it’s all Puck can do to brace himself and let the wall take the force. He raises his arm to ward off the knife that’s slashing towards him and kicks out, hitting Josh on the shin.

That gives him a second to push himself off the wall and turn to Josh. The guy looks rabid, his eyes bulging, flecks of dried foam in the corner of his mouth. For a second Puck thinks the guy is tweaking but he hasn’t got the time for this shit, he’s gotta get a weapon.

A quick glance at the floor and his gun is on the other side of Josh who’s standing there, knife in a tight grip, getting ready to jump Puck.

Puck fakes a lunge at Josh and then high tails it off towards the kitchen. He’s running as fast as he can; his arm is hurting like a sonofabitch and his socks have no purchase on the wooden floors, causing him to crash to the ground. Seconds later, the full weight of Josh is pressing down on him.

Puck has no idea where the knife is but starts to struggle, kicking and wriggling as best he can. There’s a grunt from Josh as one of his kicks lands on a kidney but Josh is a fucking psycho and it’s going to take more than that to subdue him and get him off.

He sees stars as Josh delivers a rabbit punch to the back of his head and that split second is all Josh needs to flip him over, trapping his arms underneath him.

Josh is sitting on his thighs, his forearm under Puck’s windpipe, bearing down as hard as he can. Josh’s face is mere inches from Puck’s and no matter how hard he struggles he can’t seem to get the fucker off. He strains his neck upward, trying to snap his teeth and catch the soft tissue of Josh’s nose but the asshole is too quick for him and tilts back just enough.

The weight on his neck is making him dizzy and his eyelids flutter – he wishes he could fake passing out but throws that idea out. Josh is too bat-shit crazy to take his eyes off Puck until he has to.

Puck wonders if the motherfucker is going to start talking but all he does is reach around for the knife. Puck looks up at Josh, a strangely calm expression settling on the other man’s face.

“I’m going to kill you and then kill him.”

Sorry Kurt. Puck’s aware that he’s failed; he’s too weak to fight. He feels the slide of the knife into his ribcage and screams out.

He’s dully aware of the sound of something heavy hitting flesh and bone and then the weight on his neck goes limp and he’s got the deadweight of Josh on top of him and he looks up to see Kurt standing with the skillet in both his hands and god but it hurts and the pressure on his chest is agony and he can’t tell if the knife is still lodge in his side and Kurt is hauling Josh off of him and crouching down and Kurt is sobbing and panting and Puck’s vision is starting to dim at the edges and it’s not hurting as much now and he’s having trouble breathing and he’s so tired.

“Noah! NOAAH!” Kurt’s leaning on him pressing against his side; Puck can feel the weight of his hands on his ribs. “Don’t you dare die on me, you asshole!”

Puck can see Kurt’s face, one side all swollen, tears streaming down his face. He tries to speak but breathing is really hard and he’s so very, very tired.

It’s been a bit of a blur for Kurt – a chain of activity that he’s been swirled up in but had no control over. First the paramedics, then the cops, then the FBI, then Cam and now Angela. He really wants his Dad.

The emergency room nurse had looked him over and found nothing broken, so he’d had his wounds dressed and been given an icepack and some pain meds and sent home. Kurt being Kurt, did not go home but marched himself off to harangue the emergency room receptionists for information about Puck.

Kurt is now sitting in a waiting room at the hospital. He’s barely controlling his simmering anger at the stupid hospital rules. Apparently, because Kurt isn’t family, he can’t even get any information about Puck, never mind see him. The fact that Puck saved his life and he saved Puck’s is neither here nor there.

Angela is sitting next to him, her hand loosely clasped in his. They’re both waiting. Angela doesn’t speak, just a silent presence; Kurt supposes that she’s been through this before so knows when to push and when to keep quiet. He’s talked enough today, interviewed by the police and then by the FBI, and all he wants to do is see Puck, dammit.

A brightly dressed woman carrying a briefcase ambles round the corner and comes to a stop right in front of him.

“Kurt Hummel?” the tone is more confirmation than enquiry.

He nods warily, he’s never met this woman in his life and she knows exactly who he is.

“Just you wait a little longer, Cher. Imma gonna get this all straightened out for you.” With that, she ambles off to the desk and starts talking.

“Who the hell was that? And why did she call me Cher. I don’t have to put up with this shit.”

Angela snorts, “That is Ms. Julian. You don’t cross her, she only call people Cher or Cherie when she likes them. Consider yourself honored.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“She’s with the US Attorney’s office. She’s awesome.”

“I’ll wait to be convinced.”

Kurt is aware he might be gushing but he doesn’t care. Ms. Julian is as awesome as Angela said. Five minutes after she’d entered the hospital and Kurt now knows where Noah is and he’s being escorted there by the woman herself.

“Cher, you gotta stop thanking me. And no more of the French, I’m from Louisiana.”

She drops Kurt off outside a standard hospital room.

“I gotta run along before someone does something foolish that upsets me and the list of foolishness is loooong.” She gives Kurt a smile. “You get in there and take care of him; he’s one of my boys.”

“Your boys?” Kurt’s a little incredulous; she can only have known Puck for a month, tops. Puck must have worked his charms pretty quickly.

“He’s cut from the same cloth as Booth; big, manly and badass.” She rolls her eyes but her expression is fond. “They’re damn loyal and that type of man is a keeper. You hang onto him, you hear?”

He just gives her a big grin.

“I’ll ask someone to bring you some fresh clothes, you look terrible.”

Kurt looks down and realizes that he’s covered in dried blood; he’d feel nauseous if he had the capacity for it.

“I’ll ask Angela to get me some things; can you ask her to come up later?”

“I will.” With that, she pats him on the shoulder and head off to the elevators.

Kurt takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. After a pause to wait for an answer, he turns the handle.

Puck is lying on the bed, eyes closed and breathing normally. He’s pale and hooked up to monitors. Kurt can’t help but think back to the last time he visited a loved one in hospital and hopes the outcome will be the same.

And that’s when it hits him; he’s in love with Puck. Not like, or lust, but love. He stumbles and flops down into a chair in the corner of the room, staring at Puck but not seeing him.

How did this happen? How did it go from teasing and making out and sex to this? Kurt supposes that its shock and distress and his emotions are all over the place. It can’t be love, not this quickly. He comes to realization that it’s not been quick. There was the acquaintanceship and eventual friendship in high school; then a decent enough gap for both of them to grow up and now a whirlwind romance. Kurt gives a half-hearted laugh into the quiet of the room. Go figure.

The noise causes Puck to stir and Kurt’s over there in a flash, grabbing hold of Puck’s free hand and holding it gently. Puck has a bandage round his forearm and another around his chest. Another scar in the line of duty.

Puck’s eyelids flutter as if he’s in deep sleep and he murmur’s Kurt’s name.

He gives Puck’s hand a light squeeze “Shhh, Noah. I’m here. I’m fine.”

The sound of Kurt’s voice eases something in Puck and he quiets down. Kurt sinks into a chair and, not breaking contact with Puck, he settles in for a long wait.

Puck feels like he’s been run over by a truck. He aches all over and his mouth is so damn dry. His hand feels nice though, warm. He shifts a little and his eyes open.

“Hey” Kurt’s there and he’s all banged up. What the fuck? Then he remembers. He tries to speak but his throat feels like someone’s made him swallow a bucket of sand. Suddenly there’s a cup and a straw right in front of him.

“Sip.”

He does as he’s told and there’s blessed relief. He tries again.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He can’t stop the relief in his voice.

Kurt looks like him like he’s gone insane.

“You’re worried that I’m okay? You were stabbed in the chest. I’m the one that should be worried about you!” Kurt visibly calms himself down and slaps Puck on the shoulder. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“Ow. What the fuck?”

“Sorry, but you almost died on me. I don’t react well to that.”

“Again?” Puck slumps back on the pillows, Kurt’s mouth presses into a flat line.

“There was so much blood and you were making these awful noises so I kept pressing down like they do on the TV shows and then you passed out. The cops had to break down the door and by the time the paramedics got there, you’d stopped breathing. I could barely feel your heart beating.” Kurt’s voice is tight, thinking of the horrible wet sucking sounds until the paramedics had done their job.

“Hurt’s like hell. What’s the damage?”

Kurt sits on the edge of the bed, his hand like a vice around Puck’s.

“Severe blood loss to start with. He missed an artery in your arm but it’s a deep wound. You’ve got stitches and you might scar. You’re lucky that he missed a vital organ when he got you in the ribs. There’s bruising from the knife wound but your ribs turned the angle of the blade. He missed your spleen and stomach but he nicked your lung. That’s why you passed out – not enough oxygen to that moronic brain of yours.”

Puck can tell that it’s shock and relief that are causing Kurt to be so bitchy; it’s his way of coping after all.

He grips Kurt’s hand tighter. “I don’t care. He fucked you up; that doesn’t fly with me, at all.”

“Jesus Puck! You almost died. Why are you being so fucking macho about this?”

He can see that Kurt is almost on the verge of tears; despite the black eye he’s sporting, Puck can see the red rims – Kurt’s already done some crying.

“Kurt... Babe... You’re my boy. You’ve been my boy since high school. No one touches what’s mine.”

“You’re so ridiculous.” Kurt looks up at the ceiling, blinking furiously. “I am not a boy and since when did I become yours?”

“Since I fell in love with you.” Puck can’t quite believe he said that out loud and if it all goes to shit then he’s going to blame the pain meds.

“You… you… what?” Kurt’s staring at him, emotions churning through his face. “You can’t love me, you barely know me.”

“I do know you and you know me. And yeah, it’s only been a couple of weeks but it’s been good, hasn’t it? Not just the sex but all of it…. The thought of what he could have done to you…. Kurt, man, I would’ve killed him if I could.”

Kurt calms down as he speaks and he brings his hand up to Puck’s face, the knuckles barely dragging across Puck’s jaw. Puck leans into the touch.

“I could have lost you.” Kurt’s voice is almost a whisper. “I could have lost you, just after I’d found you.”

Puck realizes that this is the nearest he’s going to get as a declaration right now. Kurt’s always had to process things but it’s not a flat-out rejection and given Kurt’s reaction since he woke up, he can tell that Kurt is feeling something pretty deep too.

“I’m here. Fucked up but I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere Kurt, not without you.”

Kurt gives a weak smile and leans down to give Puck a kiss; it’s not a long one but it’s careful and full of intent.

The kiss is broken when he gives a huge yawn. Kurt backs away, laughing lightly.

“You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Puck nods and falls back against the pillows, just as he’s about to drop into unconsciousness he hears a quiet whisper.

“I love you too, you big lug.”

Puck’s feeling twitchy. He’s been off work for a couple of weeks and although his colleagues have said that they’ll keep him in the loop, he’s pretty sure that there’s more than they’re telling him. Now they’ve called both of them in to the FBI. He and Kurt are sitting in the conference room, waiting.

He wasn’t able to say no to Kurt after the hospital discharged him. He was about to head back to his place in Alexandria but Kurt casually announced that he was coming home with him and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

It’s been a good couple of weeks. Kurt installed him in the master bedroom and made sure he had everything he needed. Despite Kurt having a banged up face, there was nothing to stop him from going back to work and Kurt’s diligent, so he left Puck with Pirate, the remote, some water, his pills and strict instructions to follow Doctors orders.

In the evenings, Kurt has made sure that Puck does his exercises and is a bastard when it comes to making him do the work. He doesn’t let Puck get away with being too tired or too much in pain, he just pulls a bitchface and makes Puck get on with it.

They’ve yet to have a major row but they’ve sniped at one another; Puck’s sore and he’s allowed to lash out, it doesn’t help that Kurt’s lived on his own for so long and is not a natural nurse. Puck’s glad that they aren’t pussy-footing around one another and he knows that he and Kurt will have their bust-ups. They’re too damn stubborn not to.

They’ve talked about that day; Kurt telling him how Josh forced himself in the house and incapacitated Kurt before he got the chance. It still makes Puck sick with rage at the thought of it and sick with fear about what might have been. Kurt’s anger at finding out about Pirate being drugged was something to behold. His fury at the idea of someone hurting his dog was almost as bad as his anger at someone hurting Puck.

His thoughts are interrupted by someone coming into the conference room.

“Agent Puckerman, good to meet you at last. I’ve heard some good things.”

Puck takes the hand that’s offered to him and gives it a decent shake. He can feel himself being sized up and does exactly the same back. His hand is dropped in favor of Kurt’s.

“Good to see you again, Kurt. How’s one of my favorite squints doing?”

“Very well, Booth. Nice to have you back.” Ahhhh, so this is the famous Seeley Booth.

Booth pours himself a mug of coffee and sits down at the head of the table. “I thought that you guys would want to know what’s going on.”

Puck sure as hell would like to know, he’s tried pumping Kurt but Kurt’s been kept out of the loop since he became a victim - hauled off the case and not allowed to touch any of the forensics.

“How’s the case going?”

“Pretty much all sewn up. Andrew Haverstock Peterson is in custody, no bail. Caroline’s ready to throw the book at him.”

“Wait. Andrew? Not Joshua?” Kurt sounds confused.

“Joshua was the name of an uncle.” Puck can see Kurt realizing that he’d been fed an alias.

“And what was the sicko’s excuse?” Booth gives an alarmed grin at the venom in Kurt’s tone.

“Mostly it’s been babble about Paul. How Paul deserved it by being so happy, and out, and slutty, and living up to what Andy had always thought.” Booth shakes his head. “Sweets has sat in on a few interviews. He says the guy’s a psycho and I’m not disagreeing. Sweets says that you were targeted because of your similarity, he says you probably triggered another psychotic break.”

“Go me.” Kurt waves an invisible flag in the air but looks like he doesn’t give a shit. “What do you mean about “always thought”?”

“They were in high school together. Same grade. Paul was into music and drama, Andrew was into sports and trucks. There are a few notes on their school records. Accusations of bullying, denials, notes from faculty about class disruption.”

He and Kurt share a look; sounds awfully familiar.

“Don’t tell me. When you spoke with classmates, they said it seemed like Andrew was particularly singling out Paul.”

Booth does a double take at Kurt. “How the hell did you know that?”

“I had my own Andrew in High School.” Puck reaches over and clasps Kurt’s hand in his. His eyes flick up to check out Booth’s reaction but there’s nothing there but understanding of what Kurt’s not saying.

“Right. Turns out that Andrew stayed in Wisconsin after high school but his marriage failed about six months ago and he lost his job not long after. He snapped and headed after Paul.”

“But why kill him, why the dress, why not just fuck with his head some more?” Puck’s always been trying to work that one out.

“He cornered Paul at Mount Vernon. He couldn’t take it anymore, seeing Paul up on that stage. Forced him to take the sedative, to put the gown on, made him sing a few songs – a private show.” Booth looks sickened. “Then he punched him out, took a rowboat across the Potomac, and butchered him in the woods. Apparently, Paul rejected his advances and if Andrew couldn’t have him then no one could. Andrew’s pretty adamant that it’s all Paul’s fault.”

“So that’s it?”

“Pretty much. Caroline’s got a list of crimes he’s going to be charged with, murder down to animal cruelty. What with his confession, your testimonies and the evidence, I think we’ll get something to stick.”

Puck levers himself out of the chair, wincing at the pull on the stitches in his side, to shake Booth’s hand. Booth gives him a frank look and pitches his voice so only Puck can hear, “Well done. You gotta bend the rules to protect the important people.”

Puck nods; Booth would have done the same as him. That makes him the kinda guy Puck can be friends with.

“So, are you and Doctor Brennan back at work?” Kurt’s got that bright no-nonsense tone back. He’s ready to move on.

“Pretty much, the pickle you two got yourselves into just made us come back a little earlier than planned.”

“I’m not that sorry,” Kurt gives him a brazen smile, “I don’t think I’m cut out for this kind of work. I’m going to leave it to the professionals.”

Booth just laughs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You did well for a rookie. Don’t write yourself off either, there may come a time…”

“We’ll think about it.” interrupts Puck; the thought of Kurt being back in the field is just something that he can’t think about right now. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

Booth takes the hint and nods, leaving them alone in the room.

They’re both lost in their thoughts.

“You know anything about what Karofsky’s up to nowadays?” Puck needs reassurance that this won’t happen to Kurt again.

“He’s in Montreal. Some kind of manager in a printing company. Happily married to Jean-Paul and hoping to adopt.”

Puck’s amazed. “How do you know all that?”

Kurt looks a little defiant. “We’re not the only ones who got out of Ohio and realized there was something better. We chat sometimes on Facebook. It’s the past, Noah. He’s not that boy anymore and neither am I.”

“True.” He slings an arm over Kurt’s shoulders. “Take me home, baby.”

“What happens now?”

It’s the night before Puck is due back at work. A pretty momentous weekend really; he’s moved permanently into Kurt’s place. His pad in Alexandria had no special associations and Kurt’s place has more space, plus it’s got Kurt as well, and how can Puck say no to that?

It’s something they’d discussed while he was convalescing, all that time alone gave him time to think and to be honest, he’s used to living with Kurt now. Kurt makes no demands on him, well not anything too heavy, doesn’t bitch him out over laundry or anything petty. Kurt made some changes to the house and there’s room for all of Puck’s stuff, even down to space in the garage for the Hammer.

Puck’s pretty sure that their brush with death made Kurt wise up to a few things and he’s gone all carpe diem. Puck’s not stupid enough to try and probe for more; Kurt’ll tell him his reasoning when he’s good and ready and not a second before.

“I go back to work, you’re at work. I hunt down the bad guys; you find the evidence to put them away.”

Kurt throws a cushion at him.

“I know that!” Kurt crawls across the sofa and puts his head in Puck’s lap, facing the fireplace. “I meant us.”

Puck thinks about this. He’s not one for planning too far forward but he knows a good thing when he sees it and he’s going to hold onto this for as long as we can.

“We work, we live, we love. We come home and have dinner, we walk the dog, we argue over what movie to watch. We go bowling, we make music. We do what everyone else does, one day at a time.”

Kurt sighs as Puck starts carding a hand through his hair.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot. We have awesome sex twice a day and three times on Sundays.”

Kurt turns in Puck’s lap and looks up at him.

“Well, Mister, you’re behind on your quota.”

“Best do something about that.” He leans down and captures Kurt’s mouth in a kiss.