Of Doctors and Detectives 1/?
Title: Of Doctors and Detectives 1/?
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Kurt, mention of Quinn/Rachel, hint of Mercedes/Finn, a bit of Matt, Mike, Schue
Type: Multichapter
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Warnings: AU (yes, yes, the obligatory AU)
Notes: I've been working on this fic for a month now and suddenly, all these cop!Puck fics pop up and I'm thinkin', "Shit! I have to post soon so I can be part of the cool crowd!" Lol, sorry. Anyways, cop!Puck AU fic!
Summary: Who knew that the best thing that could have happened to Detective Noah 'Puck' Puckerman was getting shot?
All Second Grade Detective Noah “Puck” Puckerman could feel was pain. He knew that getting shot wasn’t a walk in the fucking park, but this shit was ridiculous.
He read about guys getting shot before; the fucking pansies tried to be all flowery and shit and said that “Insert-body-part-here felt like it was on fire”. Oh, fuck no. Puck’s shoulder wasn’t on fire. It felt like some stupid, high-on-meth, lowlife scum got scared of getting busted again and shot the arresting officer. Oh, wait. That’s exactly what happened. In Puck’s opinion, the only way to properly describe the pain of getting shot was “I fucking got shot, motherfucker.” He was poetic like that.
“Oh, jeez, Christ! We need some help over here!” Through the haze brought on by the fucking pain, Puck could hear his partner and best friend panicking. He almost smiled. Finn Hudson was sentimental like that.
“Come on, buddy, keep your eyes open.” Puck really, really didn’t want to, unconsciousness seemed like such a good idea. His eyes were half shut when he opened them again, violently, “OW!”
“Sorry, man, but I got to stop the bleeding.” Puck was closer to crying than he’d ever been and that included the time CSU Tech Quinn Fabray kneed him in the balls for hitting on her at the annual NYPD Black and White Ball. How the hell was he supposed to know that she was dating some Broadway chick?
Puck heard the sirens of a wailing ambulance and, not long after, felt himself being placed in a stretcher and being loaded onto the ‘bus. Finn, the lovable but dim jackass, held his hand the entire ride, muttering threats that Puck was sure he would follow up on, had Puck done the stupid thing and died.
The ride wasn’t very long. St. Vincent’s was only twelve blocks away and with the crazy driving that accompanied most New York ambulances (“Chill the fuck out, Chang! There’s no chance he’ll make it if your pop-and-lock ass gets us wrapped around a streetlight pole!” “What the fuck ever, Rutherford! Just keep him alive!”), Puck was at the hospital in no time.
In accordance with the cliché sentiment, Puck hated hospitals. Most of the time, he was interviewing rape victims or talking to beat-up witnesses or, worst-of-all, waiting around to see if a fellow officer was going to make it or not. Crap, he hated those days. And fuck it if his stupid ass didn’t just put Finn in the same position.
The bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital reflected off of the stark white walls of the hallways, hurting Puck’s eyes and making it that much harder to keep them open. There was too much noise, from the wheels of the stretcher to the voices of the paramedics to Finn’s litany of threats. The last thing Puck saw, with half-lidded eyes, was a pair of beautiful green eyes and then he slipped off into unconsciousness, praying to a God that he half believed in, to let him live if only to spare Finn the pain and to see those eyes again.
When Puck came to, there were three things on his mind: food, pain, and more pain. Blinking his eyes to clear them, Puck could see the hulking frame of his partner scrunched up in a chair by his bedside, head tilted back as he slept. Puck smiled, he loved that tree of a man.
“He hasn’t left the room in two days.” Puck’s skin shivered at the sound of that voice. It was beautiful. Melodic and high-pitched, it immediately put him at ease only to get his pulse racing at the gorgeousness of it. Puck was sure that it was what angels sounded like.
Turning his head to greet the owner of the heavenly voice, the detective was shocked to see that it belonged to a man. A beautiful man, quite possibly the most effeminate man he’s ever seen, but a man nonetheless. The man smiled and Puck could feel his face stretching in an answering smile.
“I’m Doctor Hummel, Detective. I was the one to treat you when you came in two days ago.”
Puck shuddered at the way “Detective” sounded coming from the man’s (stunning, rosy) lips. He loved it when women addressed him by rank, but nothing could hold a candle to this.
“Thanks, Doc. You know, for saving my life and everything.” Smooth, Puckerman, real smooth.
Dr. Hummel let out a small, breathy laugh that got Puck’s pulse racing another 20 notches, “No problem, Detective. It was my pleasure. And, you know, in my job description.” Puck blushed a little at the gentle teasing. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”
“Some, but nothing too bad.”
The young doctor smiled as he shook his head, “If I had a quarter for every time a macho-cop underreported their pain, we could build that new pediatric wing our director’s been salivating over.”
“Yeah, you get a lot of us bone-headed guys around here?”
Dr. Hummel raised a eyebrow and smirked, “Who said anything about them being men?”
Puck laughed, “Speaking from personal experience, I’m really shocked I made that mistake. All the chick cops I know are the toughest cops on the streets. And the most stubborn.”
“Yes, it also helps that women have a higher tolerance for pain. Now, let’s check your vitals.”
Puck shifted in an attempt to pull himself up to a sitting position. He had difficulty pushing up with the one free arm he had, his injured shoulder being in a sling.
“Here, let me.” And with that, the young doctor grabbed Puck around the bicep and used his other hand to support his back and together, they managed to situate the built detective. The doctor’s warm hands lingered on Puck’s bare bicep and Puck didn’t know if it was the meds he was on, the meds he should be on, or Dr. Hummel, but he could swear the warmth from the hand traveled all around his body and migrated to his soul.
When the doctor realized that his hand was still on Puck, he blushed and Puck had to recite the Bill of Rights in his head to prevent himself from attacking his lips with his own. A regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed. God, a blush like that should be illegal. Then again, if it were illegal, then Puck would have to arrest him and that introduced the concept of handcuffs and Puck’s mind couldn’t really handle that just yet. No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
The doctor hummed softly to himself as he maneuvered himself around Puck and the machines. Recognizing the song, Puck sang along, “Oh, wasn't the spring, whooo/ And spring became the summer/Who'd believe you'd come along”
Dr. Hummel smiled as he continued testing Puck’s knee-jerk reflex, “You have quite the voice, Detective.”
“I was in a band with this idiot over here,” nodding to Finn’s sleeping form, “all through college. We still hit up bars at Open Mic Nights from time to time. Wait, Sweet Caroline? Please, tell me you’re not a Red Sox fan.” Puck was going to cry if that were the case. Some things he could overlook, such as the fact that this person is male and Puck’s idea of “experimenting” in college dealt with the number of people in his bed, not the gender. Boston fans were out of the question, however.
For the first time that day, the doctor’s face transformed into something fierce, unlike the soft glances and warm expressions he’d been sporting earlier, “Oh, hell no. Furthermore, fuck no! Fuck the Red Sox.”
Puck was shocked. He’d known this person for twenty minutes, but he somehow knew that he was not the type of person to swear.
“The Red Sox are a God-less team!” The medic was on a roll, pausing only to gather breath, “How could you ever insult me like that?” Puck grinned and put up his hand in surrender, “Sorry, sorry! I had to ask! Now there’s only one question left: Mets or Yankees?”
The doctor huffed and turned around. Puck was about to apologize again when the doctor took off his lab coat and lifted the back of his green scrubs shirt, “Does this answer your question?” Puck leaned forward to look closer and gasped. On the pale (smooth and beautiful) hip was a small Yankees logo with a ‘2’ beneath it.
“Jeter?”
Replacing his shirt, Dr. Hummel replied, “Derek Jeter is a god among men. Not only does he play the sport better than anyone else, he’s a great leader and captain.”
“And hot.”
“And ridiculously hot,” the young doctor gushed. “If you tell me that you’re a Mets fan, I’m going to regret saving your life. If you like the Mets, you don’t like baseball.”
Puck was in love. Utterly and completely. “I could not have said it better myself.”
A strong female voice interrupted their (flirting) conversation, “Kurt! Kurt, where are you? Is it time to check on that and I quote, ‘Fine specimen of a human male’? Oh! You’re already here! And he’s awake! Damn, you are fine.”
Dr. Hummel, Kurt, blushed to the roots of his hair and Puck could only smirk, Score! He turned his attention to the voluptuous black woman who had entered the room, “Yeah, I’m awake and thank you for the compliment, Doctor -“ he trailed off.
“Jones. Dr. Mercedes Jones, and she’ll be leaving now.”
“Aw, hell naw I’m not! We’ve been waiting forever for him to wake up and I will not let you keep him all to yourself. Him or that cute partner of his!”
Puck could not help the laugh that escaped him, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“See that, he’s a gentleman too! Heroic, hot, and homely. Perfect!”
“Mercedes, will you please shut up!”
Puck loved seeing the well-put-together man flustered. It was adorable.
“Don’t you have rounds to do?”
“No, we have rounds to do. You just spent half-an-hour on one patient! Schue is going to be mad.”
Kurt snorted, “As if that man could express anything but optimism. I love him, but he is too happy. Not a great quality in an attending.”
“Especially with us misfits underneath him.”
“I wish I was underneath him.” Kurt and his friend both cracked up and Puck could tell that this was a running joke.
“Come on, boy, we have to go. Wrap this up.”
Kurt turned to the detective, “Alright, I’ll be back to check on you later. Make sure to call for the nurse if the pain gets to be bad. Try to eat, you’ll need your strength. Unfortunately, you are going to be spending at least a week here.” Puck groaned. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but that is a small price to pay for the fact that you’re going to make a complete recovery. There will be no lasting damage.”
“That’s because my boy is the shit.” Kurt glowed under the praise and Puck couldn’t help but smile.
“Do you need anything else, Detective?” Just your hand in marriage. “No, thanks, Doc.”
“I’ll see you later.” And with a smile and wave, the doctor was gone.
Puck sighed contently and threw his head back against the pillows, “You’re lucky that you can act like a drug-dealer better than a sleeping dude, because otherwise, we’d both be dead shit on the side of the road.”
His partner sat up and grinned at him, “Enjoy your checkup, Puckerman? Too bad doctors don’t give sponge baths.”
Puck tossed some ice-chips at him, “Shut up! We were having a conversation.”
Finn laughed long and loud, “Puck, you don’t know what a conversation is! Dude, you were totally flirting!”
Puck groaned, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! But he’s the prettiest dude I’ve ever seen.”
“Puck, take it from me. If you like him, ask him out! It doesn’t matter if he’s a dude or a chick or a plant! ‘Cuz you’re a stud and that’s never going to change.”
Puck could see that his best friend meant it, “So it wouldn’t be weird?”
“If you were into dudes, you would’ve done me by now.” Puck grimaced at the mental image, “It’s obviously him. Do something about it!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll ask him out.”
“That’s the spirit! And, while you’re at it, get me his friend’s number. She’s smokin’.”
Puck laughed, “Sure thing, partner.”
“And Puck?”
“Yeah, dude?”
“Thanks for not dying.”
“Anytime dude.”
As Puck went back to sleep, it occurred to him that those beautiful green eyes belonged to Doctor Kurt Hummel.
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Kurt, mention of Quinn/Rachel, hint of Mercedes/Finn, a bit of Matt, Mike, Schue
Type: Multichapter
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Warnings: AU (yes, yes, the obligatory AU)
Notes: I've been working on this fic for a month now and suddenly, all these cop!Puck fics pop up and I'm thinkin', "Shit! I have to post soon so I can be part of the cool crowd!" Lol, sorry. Anyways, cop!Puck AU fic!
Summary: Who knew that the best thing that could have happened to Detective Noah 'Puck' Puckerman was getting shot?
All Second Grade Detective Noah “Puck” Puckerman could feel was pain. He knew that getting shot wasn’t a walk in the fucking park, but this shit was ridiculous.
He read about guys getting shot before; the fucking pansies tried to be all flowery and shit and said that “Insert-body-part-here felt like it was on fire”. Oh, fuck no. Puck’s shoulder wasn’t on fire. It felt like some stupid, high-on-meth, lowlife scum got scared of getting busted again and shot the arresting officer. Oh, wait. That’s exactly what happened. In Puck’s opinion, the only way to properly describe the pain of getting shot was “I fucking got shot, motherfucker.” He was poetic like that.
“Oh, jeez, Christ! We need some help over here!” Through the haze brought on by the fucking pain, Puck could hear his partner and best friend panicking. He almost smiled. Finn Hudson was sentimental like that.
“Come on, buddy, keep your eyes open.” Puck really, really didn’t want to, unconsciousness seemed like such a good idea. His eyes were half shut when he opened them again, violently, “OW!”
“Sorry, man, but I got to stop the bleeding.” Puck was closer to crying than he’d ever been and that included the time CSU Tech Quinn Fabray kneed him in the balls for hitting on her at the annual NYPD Black and White Ball. How the hell was he supposed to know that she was dating some Broadway chick?
Puck heard the sirens of a wailing ambulance and, not long after, felt himself being placed in a stretcher and being loaded onto the ‘bus. Finn, the lovable but dim jackass, held his hand the entire ride, muttering threats that Puck was sure he would follow up on, had Puck done the stupid thing and died.
The ride wasn’t very long. St. Vincent’s was only twelve blocks away and with the crazy driving that accompanied most New York ambulances (“Chill the fuck out, Chang! There’s no chance he’ll make it if your pop-and-lock ass gets us wrapped around a streetlight pole!” “What the fuck ever, Rutherford! Just keep him alive!”), Puck was at the hospital in no time.
In accordance with the cliché sentiment, Puck hated hospitals. Most of the time, he was interviewing rape victims or talking to beat-up witnesses or, worst-of-all, waiting around to see if a fellow officer was going to make it or not. Crap, he hated those days. And fuck it if his stupid ass didn’t just put Finn in the same position.
The bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital reflected off of the stark white walls of the hallways, hurting Puck’s eyes and making it that much harder to keep them open. There was too much noise, from the wheels of the stretcher to the voices of the paramedics to Finn’s litany of threats. The last thing Puck saw, with half-lidded eyes, was a pair of beautiful green eyes and then he slipped off into unconsciousness, praying to a God that he half believed in, to let him live if only to spare Finn the pain and to see those eyes again.
When Puck came to, there were three things on his mind: food, pain, and more pain. Blinking his eyes to clear them, Puck could see the hulking frame of his partner scrunched up in a chair by his bedside, head tilted back as he slept. Puck smiled, he loved that tree of a man.
“He hasn’t left the room in two days.” Puck’s skin shivered at the sound of that voice. It was beautiful. Melodic and high-pitched, it immediately put him at ease only to get his pulse racing at the gorgeousness of it. Puck was sure that it was what angels sounded like.
Turning his head to greet the owner of the heavenly voice, the detective was shocked to see that it belonged to a man. A beautiful man, quite possibly the most effeminate man he’s ever seen, but a man nonetheless. The man smiled and Puck could feel his face stretching in an answering smile.
“I’m Doctor Hummel, Detective. I was the one to treat you when you came in two days ago.”
Puck shuddered at the way “Detective” sounded coming from the man’s (stunning, rosy) lips. He loved it when women addressed him by rank, but nothing could hold a candle to this.
“Thanks, Doc. You know, for saving my life and everything.” Smooth, Puckerman, real smooth.
Dr. Hummel let out a small, breathy laugh that got Puck’s pulse racing another 20 notches, “No problem, Detective. It was my pleasure. And, you know, in my job description.” Puck blushed a little at the gentle teasing. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”
“Some, but nothing too bad.”
The young doctor smiled as he shook his head, “If I had a quarter for every time a macho-cop underreported their pain, we could build that new pediatric wing our director’s been salivating over.”
“Yeah, you get a lot of us bone-headed guys around here?”
Dr. Hummel raised a eyebrow and smirked, “Who said anything about them being men?”
Puck laughed, “Speaking from personal experience, I’m really shocked I made that mistake. All the chick cops I know are the toughest cops on the streets. And the most stubborn.”
“Yes, it also helps that women have a higher tolerance for pain. Now, let’s check your vitals.”
Puck shifted in an attempt to pull himself up to a sitting position. He had difficulty pushing up with the one free arm he had, his injured shoulder being in a sling.
“Here, let me.” And with that, the young doctor grabbed Puck around the bicep and used his other hand to support his back and together, they managed to situate the built detective. The doctor’s warm hands lingered on Puck’s bare bicep and Puck didn’t know if it was the meds he was on, the meds he should be on, or Dr. Hummel, but he could swear the warmth from the hand traveled all around his body and migrated to his soul.
When the doctor realized that his hand was still on Puck, he blushed and Puck had to recite the Bill of Rights in his head to prevent himself from attacking his lips with his own. A regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed. God, a blush like that should be illegal. Then again, if it were illegal, then Puck would have to arrest him and that introduced the concept of handcuffs and Puck’s mind couldn’t really handle that just yet. No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
The doctor hummed softly to himself as he maneuvered himself around Puck and the machines. Recognizing the song, Puck sang along, “Oh, wasn't the spring, whooo/ And spring became the summer/Who'd believe you'd come along”
Dr. Hummel smiled as he continued testing Puck’s knee-jerk reflex, “You have quite the voice, Detective.”
“I was in a band with this idiot over here,” nodding to Finn’s sleeping form, “all through college. We still hit up bars at Open Mic Nights from time to time. Wait, Sweet Caroline? Please, tell me you’re not a Red Sox fan.” Puck was going to cry if that were the case. Some things he could overlook, such as the fact that this person is male and Puck’s idea of “experimenting” in college dealt with the number of people in his bed, not the gender. Boston fans were out of the question, however.
For the first time that day, the doctor’s face transformed into something fierce, unlike the soft glances and warm expressions he’d been sporting earlier, “Oh, hell no. Furthermore, fuck no! Fuck the Red Sox.”
Puck was shocked. He’d known this person for twenty minutes, but he somehow knew that he was not the type of person to swear.
“The Red Sox are a God-less team!” The medic was on a roll, pausing only to gather breath, “How could you ever insult me like that?” Puck grinned and put up his hand in surrender, “Sorry, sorry! I had to ask! Now there’s only one question left: Mets or Yankees?”
The doctor huffed and turned around. Puck was about to apologize again when the doctor took off his lab coat and lifted the back of his green scrubs shirt, “Does this answer your question?” Puck leaned forward to look closer and gasped. On the pale (smooth and beautiful) hip was a small Yankees logo with a ‘2’ beneath it.
“Jeter?”
Replacing his shirt, Dr. Hummel replied, “Derek Jeter is a god among men. Not only does he play the sport better than anyone else, he’s a great leader and captain.”
“And hot.”
“And ridiculously hot,” the young doctor gushed. “If you tell me that you’re a Mets fan, I’m going to regret saving your life. If you like the Mets, you don’t like baseball.”
Puck was in love. Utterly and completely. “I could not have said it better myself.”
A strong female voice interrupted their (flirting) conversation, “Kurt! Kurt, where are you? Is it time to check on that and I quote, ‘Fine specimen of a human male’? Oh! You’re already here! And he’s awake! Damn, you are fine.”
Dr. Hummel, Kurt, blushed to the roots of his hair and Puck could only smirk, Score! He turned his attention to the voluptuous black woman who had entered the room, “Yeah, I’m awake and thank you for the compliment, Doctor -“ he trailed off.
“Jones. Dr. Mercedes Jones, and she’ll be leaving now.”
“Aw, hell naw I’m not! We’ve been waiting forever for him to wake up and I will not let you keep him all to yourself. Him or that cute partner of his!”
Puck could not help the laugh that escaped him, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“See that, he’s a gentleman too! Heroic, hot, and homely. Perfect!”
“Mercedes, will you please shut up!”
Puck loved seeing the well-put-together man flustered. It was adorable.
“Don’t you have rounds to do?”
“No, we have rounds to do. You just spent half-an-hour on one patient! Schue is going to be mad.”
Kurt snorted, “As if that man could express anything but optimism. I love him, but he is too happy. Not a great quality in an attending.”
“Especially with us misfits underneath him.”
“I wish I was underneath him.” Kurt and his friend both cracked up and Puck could tell that this was a running joke.
“Come on, boy, we have to go. Wrap this up.”
Kurt turned to the detective, “Alright, I’ll be back to check on you later. Make sure to call for the nurse if the pain gets to be bad. Try to eat, you’ll need your strength. Unfortunately, you are going to be spending at least a week here.” Puck groaned. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but that is a small price to pay for the fact that you’re going to make a complete recovery. There will be no lasting damage.”
“That’s because my boy is the shit.” Kurt glowed under the praise and Puck couldn’t help but smile.
“Do you need anything else, Detective?” Just your hand in marriage. “No, thanks, Doc.”
“I’ll see you later.” And with a smile and wave, the doctor was gone.
Puck sighed contently and threw his head back against the pillows, “You’re lucky that you can act like a drug-dealer better than a sleeping dude, because otherwise, we’d both be dead shit on the side of the road.”
His partner sat up and grinned at him, “Enjoy your checkup, Puckerman? Too bad doctors don’t give sponge baths.”
Puck tossed some ice-chips at him, “Shut up! We were having a conversation.”
Finn laughed long and loud, “Puck, you don’t know what a conversation is! Dude, you were totally flirting!”
Puck groaned, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! But he’s the prettiest dude I’ve ever seen.”
“Puck, take it from me. If you like him, ask him out! It doesn’t matter if he’s a dude or a chick or a plant! ‘Cuz you’re a stud and that’s never going to change.”
Puck could see that his best friend meant it, “So it wouldn’t be weird?”
“If you were into dudes, you would’ve done me by now.” Puck grimaced at the mental image, “It’s obviously him. Do something about it!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll ask him out.”
“That’s the spirit! And, while you’re at it, get me his friend’s number. She’s smokin’.”
Puck laughed, “Sure thing, partner.”
“And Puck?”
“Yeah, dude?”
“Thanks for not dying.”
“Anytime dude.”
As Puck went back to sleep, it occurred to him that those beautiful green eyes belonged to Doctor Kurt Hummel.