Chapter One: Where Kurt Breaks the Law

-Early September-

Deputy Blaine Anderson had worked swing shift – 1700hrs to 0300 – for almost five years.  At 32, he had enough seniority with the Allen County Sheriff's Office to be able to put in – and get – his most desired shift.  For Blaine, that meant working his 40 hours, Tuesday through Friday, on the third shift. 

At his age, even though he was still young, working midnights no longer held any appeal and day shift was usually filled with deputies looking to be visible for promotion purposes, or the older and married deputies who desired a more traditional schedule so they could be home with their families during the evenings and weekends.

Blaine wasn't looking for a promotion, though many had told him they thought he'd make a strong sergeant, and he wasn't married – or even dating anyone – so swing swift was his match.  He enjoyed having an actual weekend where he could meet up with friends, watch football or hockey, and run errands.  And Mondays off meant he could almost always make an appointment without a conflict.  Or pick up overtime when a holiday fell on a Monday and someone wanted time off with his or her family.

Everyone in the patrol division knew Blaine would shift trade if it involved someone's kids, although few had ever broken down his walls enough to learn that it came from his own upbringing with caring, but absentee parents.  The one time his father actually took time off to chaperone a field trip in second grade – it stuck with him; If Blaine could give that kind of memory to another child by trading a shift – he'd do it in less than a heartbeat.

Of course his family, and most of his friends, had thought he was certifiably insane for switching his major while in college.  But sometime between starting freshman year and the middle of his sophomore year, Blaine realized the classes that most interested him were criminal studies and psychology.  He graduated with honors and a double major and quickly signed up for the Allen County police academy.  He never looked back.

Law enforcement fit Blaine like a glove.  Every day was different and Blaine took a deep sense of personal satisfaction knowing he was making his community just that much safer.  Yes, there were days he went home convinced that the entire world was screwed up beyond any hope of redemption.  But talking with any one of his friends, Wes, David, Nick, Jeff or Sebastian, usually helped reassure him that it didn't matter what profession a person ended up pursuing, everyone had days where the prevailing opinion was ‘People Suck'.

Most of the time, most of the people, were charmed by Deputy Anderson, even while receiving a well-deserved traffic ticket. 

Of course, Kurt Hummel wasn't ‘most people'.

Deputy Anderson quite likely would have ignored the fact that the silver Lexus with New York plates was exceeding the speed limit by approximately ten miles an hour.  It was, in fact, fairly late in the evening, closing in on midnight and the road they were traveling on was a more rural highway that connected Lima to other nearby villages.  Plus, in all honesty, the driver was within the allotted ‘safe speed' per department policy.

However, when the Lexus pulled to a stop in front of the lowered flashing gates in front of the railroad tracks and then proceeded to drive around them – ignoring the dangers in this action – Blaine became angry.  People like this never saw the impact, literally, of their actions.  They never saw the twisted metal, the blood and gore.

Unfortunately, Blaine had.  More than once.  And this driver had just earned himself a ticket and a stern warning.  Flipping the switch to activate his siren and flashing lights, Blaine checked carefully for an oncoming train before proceeding after the idiot out-of-state driver.

“Control. Three Paul Twenty-One,” he radioed to dispatch.

“Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead,” came the immediate response.

“11-95.  Cleveland Highway, west of the railroad tracks.  10-29.  Break.”

“Go ahead, Three Paul Twenty-One.”

“New York plate.  Lincoln Lincoln Boy One Two Nine William.  LLB129W.”

“10-4.”

Climbing out of his dark colored cruiser, Blaine positioned the spot light so it would provide the necessary light to keep him safe.  Leaving the door open, he strode over to driver's side door of the Lexus, shining his flashlight into the car's interior, carefully looking for anything that might be used as a weapon or anything illegal but in plain sight.  Once that was done, he looked into the driver's face and felt his heart skip a beat.

He was the single most attractive man Blaine had ever met.

Swallowing around his suddenly dry throat, he asked automatically, “May I have your license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance?”

“Yeah … yeah, I … just let me find it, officer,” came the reply.  The driver leaned over to the glove compartment, fishing around for a while before coming up with the appropriate piece of paper.  “Here you go,” he said as he pressed the paperwork into Blaine's hands while staring numbly straight ahead.

“I'll be right back.  Don't go anywhere,” Blaine instructed.

“Wasn't planning on it,” grumbled the man.

Shaking his head, Blaine walked back to his cruiser and sat in the driver's seat, door open, looking at the computer monitor that would alert him to any wants or warrants issued for the driver.  Keying the radio on his shoulder, Blaine was all business.

“Control. Three Paul Twenty-One.”

“Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead.”

“I have the driver's information when you're ready, over.”

“Standing by, Three Paul Twenty-One”

“New York DL.  Last of Hummel.  Henry. Union. Mary. Mary. Edward. Lincoln.  First of Kurt.  King. Union. Robert. Tom.”

“10-4. Do you need units to fill?”

“Negative.  Code Four.”

“Three Paul Twenty-One. Your subject comes back with no wants, no warrants.  Registration current and valid.”

“Thank you, Control.”

Pulling out his ticket book, Blaine began filling in the required information to write up - Mr. Kurt Hummel – for violating Vehicle Codes 22348 and 22451 [a][1][b].  When his neat script filled all the appropriate boxes, Blaine climbed back out of his cruiser. 

Standing back at the window, he watched as the driver hurriedly placed his cell phone in the drink holder.  “Here's your license, registration and insurance card back, sir.  I've written you a ticket for excessive speed and,”

“Wait, what?” interrupted the driver.  “Speeding?”

“Yes, sir.  I clocked you doing 65 miles per hour.  This portion of the highway is zoned at 55.”

“Isn't that a bit … picky?  I mean, it's not like anyone was out here,” the driver complained.

Blaine took a breath, refusing to be pulled into an argument over the ‘letter of the law' versus the ‘spirit of the law'.  “I was out here.  And in all honesty, I would have let you off with a warning, if you had agreed to slow down.  But when you made the choice to drive around the railroad gate, putting your life, and the lives of others in danger, it was no longer a case of ‘officer discretion'.  The second violation listed is for that.”

Trying to hand the driver his ticket book, Blaine continued, “I need you to sign at the bottom.  Your signature is not an admission of guilt.  You are simply acknowledging you will appear at court on the date you are summoned.  Also, since you're not from Ohio, you should know that the summons will be sent to the address on your driver's license.  You will still need to contact the court to make arrangements to clear the ticket.”

The driver's eyes narrowed as he accepted Blaine's pen.  “What would happen if I didn't contact the court?  Hypothetically of course,” he sniped.

Blaine looked back towards his cruiser, not wanting to roll his eyes in front of the driver.  “The judge will issue a bench warrant.  That warrant will be entered into a national system.  The next time you get pulled over, regardless of what state you happen to be driving in, you will be pulled from your car, handcuffed and searched before being taken to jail, until such time as you can pay the amount of the warrant.

“Damn.  Not how I prefer to be handcuffed,” Mr. Hummel muttered under his breath as he scribbled a signature across the ticket.  Handing the pen back, he leaned forward to read Blaine's silver name tag.  “Tell me, Officer Anderson, what would happen if I went to the court and claimed I felt harassed by the officer who issued the ticket because of my minority status?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, I didn't understand the subtext to your question,” Blaine answered cautiously.

“I'm gay.  What would happen if I went to court to complain-” he stopped when the officer burst out laughing.  “I don't see what's so amusing.”

Blaine couldn't wipe away the smirk from his face as he stared hard at the asshole in front of him.  “Honey, I'd love to see you go to court here and try that.”

Kurt's eyes narrowed.  “Don't call me honey.  And as crazy hard as it was to grow up here in Lima because of the narrow minded idiots around me, I know things have changed.”

Leaning down, Blaine let his gaze soften.  “Things have changed, Mr. Hummel.  I sincerely apologize for calling you honey.  That was inappropriate and if you would like to report that to my supervisor, I can provide you with the phone number or you can just call the non-emergency number for the Allen County Sherriff Department.”

“That's not necessary,” Kurt admitted quietly.

“I laughed because any judge in Allen County would be thoroughly confused why I would be harassing someone for being gay.  Seeing as how I'm gay.  And out.  And no one cares.  Things have changed, Mr. Hummel.  For the better.”

Seeing the look of chagrin on Kurt's face, Blaine decided to press a bit further.  “Look, the thing is, you put your life in danger by driving around that warning gate.  It's my job, my sworn duty, to protect and serve.  I'd say I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm not.”

“Okay, but it's just me.  Just my life,” Kurt argued quietly.

“Do you want to end your life?” Blaine asked, concerned that perhaps Kurt's maneuver indicated a deeper problem with depression.

“NO!” Kurt answered emphatically.  “No, I'm just exhausted.  Like so exhausted that you can't even see exhaustion from where I am.  I checked carefully before going around.  I just want to get back to my apartment before getting up for work again tomorrow morning.”

“Look, Kurt – can I call you Kurt?”  Seeing Kurt nod, Blaine continued.  “It's not just your life.  The train conductor.  Anyone on board that train.  The paramedics.  The firefighters.  All those people's lives were put in danger because of your actions.”

“You've never had to work an accident scene.  You don't know what it's like to see that.  You have family here in Lima?  How do you think they would have felt to have me show up on their doorstep to inform them your body was down at the County Morgue?  All because you didn't want to wait two minutes for the gates to raise?”

Kurt felt light-headed at the thought of his dad receiving that kind of news.  “Fuck, I didn't think,” he whispered to himself.  “I get it, Officer Anderson.”  Chewing on his lip, he wiped his face hard, trying to wake up just a bit more.  “Thank you – for making me consider more than just my own selfish ass.”

“You're welcome.”

“It is a nice ass, by the way,” Kurt added flirtatiously.

Blaine held out his hands in the universal sign of submission.  “I…”

“You were thinking it.”

Pursing his lips, Blaine knew he was flushing from the sudden shift of attention.  “Do you need an escort?”

Kurt's eyes grew wide, “Excuse me?”

“An escort home … what did you think I meant?”  Blaine was perplexed by Kurt's reaction to his offer.

“An escort.  Paid accompaniment with a happy ending,” replied an incredulous Kurt.

Blaine's eyes became as wide as saucers before he pinched the bridge of his nose.  “That's so not what I meant.  You said you were tired.  I'd like to make sure you got home safely.  I could follow you.”

Giggling quietly, Kurt shook his head.  “It's ten minutes down the road.  I'll be fine.  Although I give you credit for such a creative approach to finding out where a guy lives.  Can't say that I've ever had a cop try to pick me up before.”  He casually allowed his gaze to drift over Blaine's uniformed body.  “Can't say that I mind, Officer Anderson.”

“I'm not trying to pick you up,” Blaine protested.

“Oh.  That's entirely my loss then,” Kurt said, clearly more than a little disappointed.

“It's just … I … I'm on duty.  I don't.  I can't.”  Blaine's mind was all aflutter with the possibility that Kurt might be interested in seeing him again.  It prevented him from forming a more coherent response.  “I've kept you long enough.”

“So I'm free to go?”

“Yes.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Officer Anderson.  Hope to see you around.”

Starting his engine, Kurt disengaged the parking brake and put the car into drive.  Leaning out the window, he winked at the handsome officer.  “Maybe not under the same circumstances, but I definitely wouldn't mind seeing you in that uniform with those handcuffs … somewhere private.”

With a wave he was off, leaving Blaine confused and very turned on.

“Control, Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-8.”

“Three Paul Twenty-One, 10-4.”

Kurt Hummel's return to Lima, Ohio had been unexpected but, if he was completely honest with himself, not entirely unwelcome.  Fifteen years had passed in the blink of an eye – and the eighteen year old senior who dreamed of escaping to New York City and taking the Broadway stage by storm, had slowly morphed into a confident man who combined his love of theater and his love of fashion into an award-winning career in costume design.

But when Finn called in the middle of the night three weeks ago, everything that seemed important, suddenly, well, wasn't. 

Burt's health had taken an unexpected turn for the worse and while he was stable for the moment, Finn explained that the doctors at the hospital had insisted that Burt remove sources of stress from his life – forcing their gruff father into an earlier than anticipated retirement.

Which left Kurt and Finn to decide what would become of Hummel Tires and Lube.

Neither one of them felt comfortable selling the business outright.  But Finn, who taught music and P.E. at McKinley High School, could only balance the office work associated with running a small business during his evenings and weekends – time he usually spent lesson planning, grading papers, and coaching.  When he'd admitted to Kurt that he was scared he would make a mistake with worker's compensation or paying the business taxes that would cost them thousands of dollars, Kurt's decision came in four simple words, “I'm moving back, Finn.”

He'd given notice to everyone who needed to know he was leaving New York, packed up and shipped his things home to his dad's house, had a tearful farewell dinner with his very good friends, and climbed in his car to make the very long drive home.

Home.

Lima, Ohio.

Who would have thought?

He'd spent three days at his dad and Carole's house before finding a decent sized two bedroom apartment to rent.  Finn, Noah and Jake Puckerman had spent an afternoon moving Kurt's possessions and unpacking, after which they ordered take-out, watched sports on television and talked about how much had changed, and how much had stayed the same in Lima, Ohio.

It was late afternoon as Kurt sat across from Finn at The Lima Bean going over staffing schedules for the next month.  Sitting close together, heads nearly touching, Kurt pulled up the appropriate spreadsheets on his laptop.  “What do you think?” he asked.  “Did I miss anything?”

Finn chewed on his lower lip as he read over the information that Kurt had been able to quickly organize into understandable bits.  If it had been left to Finn, he knew he'd still be pulling out his hair trying to figure out how to rotate the twelve employees.

Sighing, Finn shook his head.  “Nope, not really.  Just, Kenny's kid started soccer last week and Kenny is coaching.  He needs to be off by four on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Dad had already okayed that before…well before.”

Pursing his lips, Kurt's fingers flew across the keyboard making a few swift changes.  “How about now?”

“Yeah,” Finn nodded, his face brightening, “yeah, I think that'll work.  God, Kurt, I don't know how you did that so quickly.  Thanks so much.”

Kurt snorted quietly, “I've managed to track multiple costume changes with multiple costume pieces for multiple actors.  This is cake.  Anything else that needs our immediate attention?”

Finn looked towards the ceiling, thinking.  “You said you'd run the invoices this weekend while I'm taking care of inventory.  So I think that's it.  The bookkeeper and accountant are meeting with us next Tuesday night after the shop closes.  Other than that, I'd say we're good.”

Shutting his laptop, Kurt slid it into his satchel and stood up.  “Okay then.  We still on for dinner Friday night?”

“Dude, of course,” Finn said incredulously.  “Can you pick up some wine?  You'll know better than I will what my mom would like.” 

Smiling affectionately, Kurt nodded.  “No problem, Finn.”  Opening his arms, he gave Finn a long hug.  “Love you,” he added quietly.

“Love you too, Kurt.” 

Finn waved at his brother from the door as Kurt rejoined the line of customers for a refill.  He was running through a mental list of things he needed to accomplish in the next few weeks, attempting to prioritize them when the sound of a throat clearing drew his attention.

Golden honey eyes, chocolate curls, and a dark blue uniform.  Looking at Officer Anderson literally made Kurt's mouth water – in all the best ways.  Without permission, his mouth pulled up in a flirtatious smirk.  “Officer Anderson,” he drawled, allowing his gaze to wander slowly over the shorter man's athletic form.

Holding out his hand, Blaine fought to keep the friendly grin from widening.  “Blaine,” he offered.  “I'm impressed you remember my name, Kurt Hummel.”

Shaking hands, .Kurt chuckled softly.  “You wrote it on the ticket.”

Blaine felt himself deflate just a bit.  “Oh.”

Reaching his hand up, Kurt traced the points on the silver badge Blaine wore on his uniform.  “Don't take it like that,” he said softly.  “I would have remembered.  You cut quite the striking figure in your uniform.”

Shrugging, Blaine motioned to Kurt that the line had moved forward a bit.  “Come to The Lima Bean often?” he asked.

“All the time when I was in high school,” Kurt replied.  “Now that I've moved back, I decided to try it again.  Still a decent cup of coffee.  Not what I'd be buying if I was still in New York, but I can't complain.”

Blaine's eyebrows rose at the mention of New York.  “Wow, you were living in New York?”

“Since I was eighteen,” Kurt nodded.  “Things here were … tough.  I just really needed to get away to somewhere where people would … appreciate me – for being me.  I was lucky enough to be accepted to Parsons and my dad totally supported my decision to go.”  Wordlessly, Kurt tugged Blaine's elbow so the officer would stand next to him in line, instead of behind him.

“Kurt, can I – hold on a sec,” Blaine cocked his head to the side, causing Kurt to realize he was wearing an ear piece.  Keying the radio attached to his shoulder, Blaine said, “Control, 10-4.  I'm 10-7 at The Lima Bean.  Does he need fill?”

A moment later, he said, “10-4, Control.”  Glancing back at Kurt, Blaine shrugged his shoulders.  “Sorry.”

“Everything alright?” asked Kurt

“For now.  Um, so I was going to ask you – if it's not too personal, why'd you move back to Lima?”

Kurt sighed heavily.

“Look, Kurt, I'm sorry.  Forget I asked,” Blaine backtracked quickly.

“No.  No, it's fine.  It's my dad.  He's having issues with his health and I need to be here right now.  My stepmom is taking care of him and still working full time, so my brother Finn and I said we'd handle running his tire business for the duration.”

They took two more steps forward before Blaine asked quietly, “So was that your brother you were with earlier?”

“How long have you been here, Officer Anderson,” Kurt asked with a teasing lilt.

Cheeks flushing pink, Blaine cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “I came out of the restroom and might have noticed you hugging another guy.”

Kurt pursed his lips, letting Blaine know that he knew Blaine had been checking him out.  “Would you be disappointed if it was someone I was seeing?”

Blaine searched Kurt's eyes for a very long time.  Finally he said, “It's not any of my business who you … date.  Or hug.”

“That's not what I asked, Officer Anderson,” Kurt dropped his voice to a whisper.

They were interrupted by the barista.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.  Sir, what can I get you today?” she asked Kurt, sliding a large coffee across the counter towards Blaine.

“Nice service, Officer Anderson.  I'll take a grande pumpkin chai latte.  No water and no whip, please,” Kurt replied.  Turning to Blaine, he saw the faraway look that meant Blaine was listening to the dispatcher, his wallet in hand.  Suddenly Blaine's expression hardened.  “Control, Code 3 fill in four,” he barked.  Throwing a ten dollar bill on the counter he began running for the door.

“Blaine?” called Kurt.

“Gotta go.  That's for our coffee.”  Shoving the door open, Blaine glanced back.  “Hummel? Yes.  Yes I would be,” he blurted before dashing out to his patrol car.  Moments later, siren blaring and lights flashing, Blaine flew out of the parking lot.

“That's unfortunate,” lamented the barista.

“What's unfortunate?” asked Kurt.

“He didn't get a chance take his coffee.”

Kurt reached out and put his fingers on the lid.  “I think I'll take that with me,” he said.  “Maybe I can track him down.”

The young girl smiled at Kurt.  “He takes it with two raw sugar packets and cinnamon sprinkled on top.  Won't let us do it for him.”

“Thanks.  Keep the change.”

Dropping down into the driver's seat of his patrol car, Blaine closed his eyes, trying to settle his nerves.  His beat partner had initiated a car stop that had seemed routine at first.  Until it wasn't.

By the time Blaine arrived, Dave Karofsky – Three Paul Twenty-Three – had two suspects spread-eagled on the ground at gunpoint with two more passengers in the backseat.  One at a time, Blaine ordered the last two passengers out of the car and down on the ground.  They had three of the suspects handcuffed and in the backs of their patrol cars when the fourth decided to fight Blaine.

It had been over almost as soon as it started. 

Blaine hadn't stopped boxing since he'd taken it up sophomore year of high school, and since deciding on law enforcement as a career, he'd added several different martial arts.  Through other people's eyes he might appear on the shorter side and slight, but he knew how to handle himself.

Unfortunately, John Q. I'm-Being-Arrested-For-Assaulting-A-Cop assumed otherwise.

Well, maybe now he'd remember what they say about assuming.

Other units had arrived, and the arrestees had been transferred to other cruisers for their journey to county jail.  Blaine had declined EMT treatment.  What he needed was a couple extra-strength Tylenol, some ice, and some caffeine.

Sitting up straight, Blaine turned on the engine of the cruiser and put it in drive.  Looking over at his computer he realized there was a cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder.  Except he knew he didn't leave The Lima Bean with coffee.

Turning on the overhead light, Blaine picked up the coffee cautiously, spinning the cup in his hands.  A piece of paper fluttered into his lap, so he put the coffee down and unfolded the note.

Forget something? You looked after me the other night – this is me returning the favor. Hope it's not too cold by the time you find it.  Until we meet again, stay safe. – Kurt 

P.S. That was my brother.

Just that simply, Blaine's night got a whole lot brighter.