Point of Origin

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.

Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.

A:N – Thank Tumblr people. You all better review your asses off.

Three Years Ago

The car was crap. The suit was crap. Generally, everything that came with the job "Private Investigator" was crap up until a PI would get a good case. And, up until now, Noah Puckerman had yet to get a good case.

His job was usually trailing after cheating husbands or cheating wives or the occasional cheating prostitute. There really wasn't anything dazzling about his job.

Not yet, anyway.

Puck sighed and threw his jacket over the back of the bar chair, collapsing into it unceremoniously and, letting his head fall into his hands.

Sometimes Puck honestly couldn't help wondering what life would have been like if he had taken that job offered to him by the NYPD back in the day instead of going for his Private Investigator License. Surly his job would have been more entertaining and fulfilling than the one he had now.

He snorted, looking over at the cops huddled in the corner of the bar over the top of his drink, his eyes narrowing at one Detective Sebastian Smythe and his "date" of the night. Or what seemed like his date of the night. There was his mark (the Detective not his so called date).

Puck didn't really make a habit of getting to know why he was tailing the people he was hired to tail. He just did it. Maybe that was why those were the only jobs he got but he figured he was good at it. And it honestly wasn't the worst job in the world so he wasn't about to complain.

The cop corner let out a loud barking laugh, and Puck felt his eyes narrow just a little bit more at them as the bartender, a good friend of his actually, sauntered over to him with a scowl on her face. "Which one you tailing?" Santana asked with a snap of her gum, wiping the rag against the counter top in front of him.

Santana was a gorgeous woman, truly. Sadly, Puck was no where on her radar, what with her being lesbian and all. They had been a thing back in their high school years but it really was no surprise to him that they hadn't worked out. All Santana had talked about when they were together was her current girl on the side, Brittany Pierce. And then she came out and was publicly dating Brittany and Puck was narrowing his sights in on getting the hell out of small town Ohio and into somewhere he could make it.

He hadn't exactly made it yet but he was working on that.

"Meerkat." He nodded in the direction of Detective Smythe as the guy leaned forward and placed his hand dangerously high to his "date". Who didn't seem as interested as the good Detective seemed to want him to be, pushing the hand off his leg and rolling his eyes, shuffling closer, almost blindly, to Detective Cooper Anderson. Wasn't that an interesting find.

Not as though it wasn't everyday that people turned down Detective Smythe for his better looking (at least in Puck's eyes) partner on the force. But it was still interesting.

Detective Smythe had come to the bar with his "date", not Detective Anderson. So why was it that he would come to the bar, put the moves on, and then the guy totally blow him off as though it was an everyday occurrence?

Santana let out a chuckle, slapping him with her towel and leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "I can assure you that Meerkat isn't getting any from that front anytime soon."

He looked at her for a moment, raising an eyebrow as she leaned back and winked at him, her gum snapping in her mouth. She nodded in the direction of the cop corner again, and Puck's eyes wandered back over to where Detective Smythe's "date" was saying something to Detective Anderson in a quiet manner, his eyes constantly shifting back to Detective Smythe almost cautiously. He noted the protective arm that Detective Anderson had over the back of the date's chair and the way that he leaned his head close but not close enough to really bother anyone. And he also noted how none of the other cops in the cop corner besides Detective Smythe were giving them any notice. "So the date's with Free Credit?"

Santana smirked at him. "Better." She leaned closer again, sliding a business card towards him. "Date's a lawyer."

"And dating Free Credit when Meerkat wants him?" Puck couldn't help the small smile of triumph that came over his face. He hadn't been doing this job for long but he still loved every second things started to fall into place. There was some sort of cheep thrill that he got whenever he got to witness what was sure to get him paid. "Guy sure knows how to get around."

Santana shrugged, taking the glass of the guy sitting next to him and refilling it with a flick of her wrist, casually ignoring his attempt to come onto her. She leaned her elbows back against the bar to talk to him, knowingly giving the guys on the other end of the bar a nice view of her ass. "I don't blame him, you know." She rolled her eyes as Detective Smythe made another move. "Meerkat doesn't seem to know when to lay off."

Puck shrugged, throwing back a sip of his drink and eying the cop corner again. "Either way I'm getting what I need to get tonight, getting paid and buying a new couch."

"I can drink to that." Santana raised a glass in his direction, their glasses clinking and the two of them taking a long sip before Puck slammed the glass back onto the counter, threw a twenty on the wood and saluted in a goodbye, making his way over to cop corner.

He walked with an arrogance that came from being a star football player and one of the only few to make it out of shit town Lima, Ohio. Puck kept a cocky smirk over his face as he walked towards his mark, fishing in his coat pocket for his ID and preparing himself to flash it in Detective Smythe's face.

It wasn't that he hated Detective Smythe or anything. He had nothing against the guy – as far as Puck was concerned the guy did his job and it honestly didn't interest him how many guys the good Detective bedded in a week. But it did interest the person who hired him and Puck really needed that new couch in the office.

"Well if it isn't Fuckerman." One of the other detectives - Detective Karofsky - with a tiny laugh once he noticed Puck walking towards them. "I'm sorry I mean Puckerman." Detective Karofsky winked at him, patting him on the back roughly and making his way over to the bar with a raunchy laugh.

Puck winked back at him, nodding in his direction and raising a hand in the general area of the cop corner that was actually occupied by people Puck liked – people he may have even respected and considered friends once-upon-a-time. People like Detective Rutherford, and Detective Evans, and Detective Hudson, and stunning Defense Attorney Quinn Fabray. "How can I help you, Puckerman?" Detective Smythe asked him evenly, a small predatory glint in his eye as Anderson whispered a bit frantically with the guy who was so obviously not Smythe's date. Hand motions and all.

"You can tell me how many guys you've done in the passed week." Puck decided to try the most forward way he knew how to investigate, simply asking the question.

Smythe studied him for a moment before letting out a chuckle and swinging back his drink, placing a finger on Puck's chest. "I've been as dry as a desert this week, PI."

Puck raised an eyebrow at him, smirking at bit and noting the small twitch on the good detective's face, marking the fact that he was bluffing. "Well I know you haven't bed him." He nodded in the direction of Anderson and the guy he was... hugging tightly now, a wide smile on his face.

Smythe rolled his eyes. "I just haven't broken him yet." He winked at Puck, leaning back against the bar. "So I'm your newest target? Who hired you?"

"Beats me." And it honestly did beat Puck. This person had been anonymous all the way. "How many have you bedded?"

"More than you have in your life time." Smythe crossed his arms over his chest, laughing at the unamused look on Puck's face. "Seriously, who wants to know?"

"Seriously, I have no fucking clue." Puck retorted with a dry voice, noting how Smythe's eyes were floating back to Anderson and the guy that were now drinking what Puck could have only guessed were celebratory drinks. "Who's he?" He tried another tactic, nodding at the guy who had come to the bar with Smythe and Anderson.

Smythe's face soured for a moment. "A prude lawyer with a stick up his ass." He sighed wistfully. "But damn is he hot." He didn't bother hiding when his eyes settled on the guy's ass when he bent over to get his phone from his jacket pocket on the back of Anderson's chair. "I bet he'd be a great lay."

People seriously talked like that? Cops seriously talked like that?

Puck rolled his eyes, shaking his head slowly, before clearing his throat and regaining Smythe's attention. "What's he to you?"

Smythe shrugged. "A one nighter."

"Why not settle down?"

"Why settle down when I can spread the love?"

"Because you have HIV and aren't using a damn condom." And sure Puck hadn't exactly known if he was right or not but he figured if he was wrong than he would get the punched in the face or some odd look. Instead he got a face full of meerkat and a hand fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer. So he had guessed right. Awesome.

"How the fuck did you know?" Smythe's voice was deathly quiet and his eyes blazed with anger and fear and Puck actually felt for the guy.

"You just told me." And then Smythe's face fell into something short of shock and he dropped his grip on Puck's shirt. "That's all I needed."

Now was when Puck really hated his job. Because, really, he didn't want to ruin Smythe's life, and seeing the way he had sunk into the bar stool all dejected like only proved to him that his job sucked sometimes. Most of the time.

Being a Private Investigator didn't always rake in the honestly good money like television and movies and books made it seem. Sometimes it really fucking sucked.

"Sorry." A soft, breathless voice said as a shoulder bumped into his own. Smythe's date was standing behind him, his jacket slung over his arm, Anderson's arm over his shoulders. Puck was momentarily frozen in amazement because Smythe hadn't been lying when he said that he was hot. He was certainly something else.

All prim and proper and not really the kind of guy Puck would have gone for. His hair was too busy struggling to get free of gel helmet, his blue bow-tie was tacky, his white dress shirt was pristine, and his black dress pants just added to the ensemble.

It was the eyes that did it for him.

Sparkling, kind, unique hazel. They stunned him to no end and Puck could have sworn his breath ran out of him for a moment.

"It's okay." He said in a daze, offering Smythe's date a smile. A real, honest-to-God smile, dimples pulling a bit at the corners of his chin.

Smythe's date smiled back at him, yelling a thank you over his shoulder when Puck held the door open for him and Anderson. Puck couldn't help the small fall of his heart when he noted the arm that was around Anderson's waist as they walked down the street.

No one like that would ever make it with him.

Now

"Good morning, Noah." Rachel smiled perkily at him, her brown eyes sparkling and her voice way too energetic for seven in the morning.

Puck grunted a response at her, throwing his jacket in her general direction and pushing the door to his office open with a dejected sigh. He had gotten next to no sleep the night before, thanks to the case he had just finished up. He collapsed into his chair, thankfully resting his head on his crossed arms as Rachel pattered into the room, her heals clinking against the hardwood.

A steaming cup of tea found its way in front of his face and Puck sniffed at it gratefully, pushing head up to stare at the foam container, willing it to go towards his outstretched hand. When that didn't work he was more than happy to stare at his secretary until she placed it in the limb herself with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel plopped down on top of his desk and he glared at her for a second before remembering that it was something that the two of them did to each other's desks all the time and if he made her stop than she would surly make him stop. And that wasn't what Puck wanted at all because it was sort of fun to sit on Rachel's desk during their lunch break.

"What have you got for me, Rachel?" He mumbled, swinging back a gulp of the hot tea, wincing at the taste. Rachel was up to her experimenting ways again, it seemed.

Rachel stared at him for a moment, judging his reaction. "Too strong?"

"Too... minty." He put the cup back onto his desk trying to ignore the way his stomach reeled at the thought of taking another sip.

Her face fell for a moment before perking up again and she reached down to pick up whatever she had left on the ground. Because Rachel always seemed to be leaving stuff on the ground. Something about "dramatic effect". "Here." She placed another Styrofoam cup on his desk and Puck resisted the urge to run as far away from the offended cup as possible.

"Rachel-"

"This one's relatively normal. Promise."

"It's the relatively that worries me." Yet he still accepted the cup, taking a small sip from the cup and sighing happily when he realized that it was simply green tea with a hint of vanilla. Just the way he liked it. "So what have you got for me?" He kicked his feet up onto the desk, leaning is chair back on two legs and Rachel put down her own cup and picked up a file, opening it to the first page.

"Well you have this case from Mister Sandy Ryerson asking you to stalk Josh Groban." Rachel looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Again? What the fuck." Puck took the file from her throwing it in the recycle bin near the door.

Rachel let out a tiny cluck of amusement and annoyance before opening the other file in her hands. "Then you have one from an... anonymous." Rachel blinked down at the page, flicking it open so that Puck could see it. "Looks more interesting than scary Sandy's case."

Puck leaned forward, eagerly gripping the file she handed out to him. "Yes... yes it does."

His eyes scanned down the email hungrily, the tea in his system and the fact that he had received yet another anonymous case energizing him more than he would care to admit:

10:45am. Starbucks on Central. Fifth table to the right.

Take pictures.

$5,000 will be yours if done right.

Puck remembered the last time he had gotten a message like this. He had exposed a child smuggling ring. It was that case that had been his big break in the Private Investigator career. And it was the only break he had ever gotten during his career and now that the luxury of that case was wearing off Puck needed to get some more groundbreaking cases if he wanted to stay open.

And if he wanted to keep Rachel and himself employed.

"You going to do it?" She asked apprehensively, absentmindedly scrolling through her contacts on her phone.

"Sure." Puck shrugged. "It's probably just some guy wanting me to spy on their wife or husband. Or some shit like that."

Rachel rolled her eyes at him, flopping off his desk and dancing, legit dancing, out of his office. "I'll leave you to your beauty sleep then, Puckerman." She winked at him as she closed the door to his office. And, now that she had said it, sleep seemed like a wonderful idea.

Puck leaned forward and let his eyes drift closed, willing himself into the land of oblivion. Especially since he apparently had a night out with Santana today that he had never been told about.

His phone beeped, and Puck jumped. Who in the world would be emailing him at this time of the day? It was probably some spam message but he fished his phone out of his pocket anyway. It could be his mother for all he knew. Or Santana canceling. Oh how much he wanted her to cancel.

A picture message from a number he didn't recognize planted itself on his screen. Puck's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, picking up the file on his desk and scanning the email address listed on the vague directions. He glanced back at the email on his phone, realizing in a fast moment that they were the same email.

Something was telling him this wasn't a simple "spy on my wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend" case like he had originally thought.

Briefly Puck considered calling in Rachel but he dismissed that idea quickly enough, pressing the picture file open with a deep breath, preparing himself for what was there.

His eyes widened in confusion at the picture. A blurb from a newspaper was photographed, certain words highlighted and a man circled in the picture above the text. He scrolled down, wondering if the picture was one of good enough quality to zoom in, jumping when his phone dinged again, another message from the same email address filtering in.

B2.

That must be the newspaper article. Or they were playing some weird game of Bingo. He figured the newspaper article was the most likely option. "Rachel!" He called out, standing up and pushing his way through his office door as she perked up from her spot at her own desk at the front of their small business space. "Do we have a newspaper anywhere?"

Rachel nodded slowly, passing him the paper she had been reading earlier. "Why? What's going on?" He tossed her his phone, realizing almost a second later that Rachel had little to no hand eye co-ordination and would probably drop his phone. But he was must too distracted at that moment to honestly pay her any mind, flipping open the newspaper to the page that was designated and nearly gagging on his own tongue.

Defense Attorney Charged With Murder!

Defense Attorney Quinn Fabray was brought in by the police the other day to be brought up on charges of the murder of rumored boyfriend Daniel Lounder. "He was abusive and homophobic," says close friend bartender Santana Lopez. "Quinn didn't do anything but defend herself." The police report seems to say otherwise, however.

The case is scheduled to be brought up in court later this week.

"Shit." Puck grabbed his phone out of Rachel's outstretched hand, ripping his jacket off the hook and running out the office door, all the while pressing speed dial 4 for Santana's number.

"Hola." Santana answered quick enough, but her usual snapping voice sounded drained of all emotion.

"Hey." He walked over to his car door, throwing it open and sliding into the front seat with ease. "I just read the news. Q was arrested?"

"Yeah." He heard Santana throw something in frustration. "I don't get it, Puck. She didn't do shit! There's no evidence against her!"

"How do you know that, Santana?" And he really really hoped that she had some sort of concrete answer because there was no way that Quinn had killed anyone. That was just all types of crazy insane.

He threw his car into drive, pulling out on the busy New York streets with a practiced ease. When he had first moved here he wouldn't have dared drive in fear of his own life, but with age came wisdom and Puck had somehow learned all the tricks to living in a place like New York. "I just do."

"How? Was she with you?" Because Puck wasn't stupid and he knew Santana and Quinn had a thing going on but he wasn't about to shove it in their faces when they weren't ready for the whole fucking world to know. Too bad it might be too late for that.

"No." Santana muttered, sighing loudly, the springs on her couch bouncing underneath her body weight. "I'm just telling you Puckerman. She wouldn't do this."

"I know." Puck said softly, turning onto a side street and then pulling back onto the main road, closer to the police station than he would have gotten had he stayed on the cluttered streets. "I'm going to be at the station in two minutes. Tell her to rela-"

"She's meeting with the District Attorney." Santana said dryly and with a bit of malice in her voice. "Apparently the case is huge because Lounder was a state police officer."

"Damn it." Puck cursed under his breath. "I'll call you the moment I get out, Santana. I'll try my best to... do something."

"You better, Puckerman." He knew that was Santana's way of saying thank you so he didn't bother saying anything else, hanging up his phone and throwing it in the passenger's seat as he pulled up to the building.

It was graying building, showing it's age well through the coloring of the walls. A large statue of an eagle sat in the middle of the staircase and Puck wasted no time, pushing his way through the clear glass doors. "Fuckerman." Detective Karofsky said with a smirk in his direction. But Puck paid him no mind, strolling right up to the service desk.

"Quinn Fabray. What room is she in?" Puck demanded, knowing they put the rookies on this sort of job just because it was easier for them.

The rookie stared at him blankly for a moment before recognition clouded his eyes. "I-I'm sorry mister Puckerman, sir, but I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

"You don't understand, kid." Puck stressed, leaning closer. "I need to make sure she's okay."

"I can check with my superior, if you'd like sir."

"I'd like that very much." Puck spit out. God he hated rookies.

He turned around when the kid typed in the phone number for his superior officer, stuffing his hands in his pockets and running a hand through his nearly non-existent hair. The elevator dinged and an old lady waddled out, a scowl on her face as she sneered at Detective Karofsky before stomping out the doors.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Puck turned to face them unintentionally. "Jackpot." He muttered under his breath when his eyes landed on the District Attorney Shelby Corcoran waltzing down the stairs, her ADA falling into step beside her with purpose. Puck kept a safe distance back, far enough back so that he could hear everything that was being said, but not close enough where he would be noticed easily as anything more than a bystander. "All the evidence is pointing towards her." Shelby said with a shrug, her dark hair rippling down her shoulders as they stepped off the staircase.

Her ADA frowned and gripped the case he was holding in her hand tighter. Puck couldn't stop the jump of his heart when he recognized him from a night in Santana's bar not three years ago. Detective Smythe and Anderson's little boy toy. Or something. He was pretty sure that didn't make sense anymore since Anderson was married to a woman but his point still somewhat stood. This man... that man that he had maintained some sort of fantasy about was standing right there. Was the Assistant District Attorney. Worked for Shelby Corcoran.

Yeah Puck never would have had a chance with him. "None of the evidence is pointing towards her and you know that Shelby." The ADA stressed, frustration clear in his voice.

Puck froze, his eyes narrowing. It was obvious they were talking about Quinn. Who else would they be talking about? "You know what the evidence says, Blaine."

"And the evidence is bogus! It will never hold up in court and you know it. Why are you following through with this?" They stopped at the elevator, the ADA – Blaine – standing in Shelby's way of pressing the button to get on the metal contraption. "What do you know that you aren't tell me?"

Shelby studied him for a moment, a long moment, before her features hardened. "You don't get to have a say in whether we prosecute or not, Anderson. It'd be best that you remember that if you want to keep your job."

Puck watched as Blaine's mouth set into a thin line and he slowly backed down. He watched as Blaine stepped away from the elevator and Shelby pressed the button and walked in herself. She turned back to face him. "Are you coming with me?"

"No." Blaine shook his head, looking away from her gaze and down the hallway for a moment. "Cooper's taking me out for breakfast."

Shelby smiled brightly at him. "Well have a good time. Be back before eleven. We have case files to go over. Especially if you are to bring this case to court." She stared at him a moment longer, her hand keeping the elevator doors from closing. "This could be the case to make your career, Blaine. Don't screw that up."

The elevator doors swung shut and Puck opened his mouth to call out to the ADA. "Hey!" And then Blaine was snapping out of whatever stupor he was in, turning towards Detective Anderson with a smile on his face. "You ready for breakfast, little brother?" And why hadn't Puck seen it before? They were related. Of course they were related. He felt like smacking himself in the face until it struck him that it was odd that it mattered whether they were related or not.

Anderson's arm slid over Blaine's shoulder's, leading him down the hallway at the same time a loud scream filled the air. A scream that Puck could really only connect to one person.

Quinn Fabray.

A: N – Uh... yeah. New challenge fic. Be on the lookout for chapter two some time tomorrow/later today. READ AND REVIEW? What do you all thiiiink?

Pleeeeeeease?