Fic: Saving Lucy
Title: Saving Lucy
Author: Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!verse AU. A call to a possible home invasion leads to McCoy’s first long-term relationship since he left Georgia. For Jim Kirk, the prospect of an otherwise occupied partner is downright frightening.
Author’s Notes: I have no good explanation for this fic other than it was something that seemed funny and begged to be written. This has a companion piece that I’m working on now (it’s a Star Trek Cop!Verse/NCIS crossover), so without giving too much of that story away, this one takes place about the same time as Accidentally on Purpose. Unbeta-ed for the most part, so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine. As always, comments are welcomed, but certainly not required. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable in this story, only the idea for its ‘plot’. Please don’t sue me.
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“What the hell, Jim?!” Len McCoy barely resisted the urge to jump out of his chair when a gigantic cardboard box came crashing down on the desktop about a foot from his face. The air displaced by the box sent a few of the papers on which the sergeant was so diligently working flittering across the floor and under Lieutenant Pike’s desk. With a mighty growl, McCoy rolled back in the chair and grabbed the documents off the floor and slapped them back on the surface. Resituating himself, Len willed his heartbeat to slow to a more acceptable level before he gingerly moved his coffee mug out of harm’s way. He glared up at his partner and said, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Hey good to see you, too, Bones. I see you’re moving up in the world,” Kirk replied cheerfully, motioning around the space that was their superior’s office. “Or have you just hijacked Pike’s office without his knowledge?”
“I’m not partial to delinquency. Use without permission is your department, not mine,” McCoy answered while he made a couple small notations on one of pieces of paper in front of him. “No, I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that I need to get my paperwork finished or my ass is toast. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to do all the damned stuff when I’m constantly out, you know, stopping crime or babysitting you, but the brass thinks that I can clone myself and have it finished in five minutes.”
“So you’re here early to get ‘er done,” Jim supplied.
Bones nodded. “Obeying under protest, I might add.”
Kirk propped one cheek of his ass on the corner of McCoy’s borrowed desk. Jim expertly ignored the death glare his sergeant was giving him when he grabbed the doughnut situated next to Bones’ coffee mug and took a big bite. Cringing at the oil practically dripping out of the pastry, Jim reached for the garbage can next to the desk and spit the treat into it. Wiping his mouth on the napkin, he added, “For the record: I’m not trying to give you a heart attack, but that doughnut might. Man, that’s a crime against breakfast right there.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow and peered over the side of the large cardboard box, shooting one of his patented death glares in Jim’s direction. Either Kirk was immune, or he simply didn’t care, because Bones received absolutely no reaction from the kid whatsoever. With a put upon sigh, he told Jim, “Were you told to report here just to piss me off? I have work to do, and you’re not helping.”
Kirk shifted fractionally and looked down at the mess McCoy had spread out across the desk. Tickets, logs, incident reports and about a dozen timesheets littered the surface. Jim picked up a couple of his partner’s time sheets, and squinting through McCoy’s nearly illegible scrawl, examined the date. “Bones, these are from two months ago. How are you getting paid?”
“Chapel told me she’s going to put a hold on my paychecks if I don’t get these sheets to her ASAFP. Damned woman is a slave driver,” he muttered under his breath.
Jim clapped his partner on the shoulder. “But we know you don’t do it for the money, right?”
Rolling his eyes, McCoy replied, “Yes, I get shot at, cursed out, spit on, puked on, punched, kicked, scratched and clawed all because I have some narcissistic need to play the hero. Oh yes, that’s exactly why.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Kirk asked half-jokingly, cringing in sympathy when McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “You have a migraine already?”
“Yes, dammit, and it’s not even your fault this time.” McCoy threw his pen down in disgust and rubbed his face. “I hate this shit. Why didn’t Pike tell me when he recruited me that I’d spend more time doing paperwork than actually working on the street?”
“Because I’d be a pretty horseshit recruiter if I told you about the parts of the job that sucked before you said ‘yes’,” a deep, commanding voice said from near the doorway.
Both Kirk and McCoy’s heads shot up when they heard the sound of their lieutenant’s smooth and steady tones. Pike was leaning casually up against the doorframe of his office, steaming coffee mug in hand and a goofy grin on his face. He took a couple of cautious sips of the station’s swill before he pushed off the wall and sauntered back toward his desk. When McCoy started to get up to relinquish the chair to its proper owner, Pike simply waved his hand and said, “Sit, McCoy. Finish up all that shit so I can stop hearing it from all sides.”
Len actually managed to look contrite, and Kirk noted the way his partner’s eyes flicked down and to the right, as if he were a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Busted,’ Kirk thought. ‘Guess I’m not the only one who never gets his paperwork in on time and gets scolded by the principal.’
Pike motioned toward the box. “What is this?”
McCoy shrugged while he scribbled away at his paperwork. “No clue. Jim brought it in, so be careful, Lieu. It’s probably a biohazard.”
The lieutenant snorted in reply and leaned forward in his chair to inspect the box Kirk plopped on the desk a few minutes earlier. He gingerly poked at the container, listening while he heard the contents rattling inside. Considering the source, the likelihood the box contained explosives tripled as soon as Kirk’s name was mentioned, and Pike had no desire to explain to the chief why he needed a new office to replace the one that just blew up. He grabbed the collapsible baton off his duty rig, flicked his wrist to extend the metal device and used the blunt end to gently peel the tabs on the top open. When no smells of rotting, dead animal or lethal weapons jumped out at him, Chris folded up the baton and placed it back in its holster. He stood and leaned over the box, carefully examining the contents.
McCoy shoved his paperwork aside and began searching right along with his former partner. Both men pulled out a half dozen paintball guns and a few thousand paintballs, all in assorted neon colors. Len raised one eyebrow at Kirk and asked, “You’re not planning on repainting the station with this stuff, are you Jim?”
“Me?” Jim replied dramatically. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Right,” McCoy drawled out sarcastically. “Now cough up the truth, kid.”
Kirk looked proud. “It’s collateral,” he answered.
“For what?” Pike asked, fiddling with one of the guns.
“Encouragement,” Jim replied. “One of my mom’s neighbors said that his barn has been a constant target of repeated paintballings, and she asked me to check it out. I figured out who they were and I just waited there last night for them to show after we were off shift.”
Pike looked suspicious. “Wait. So you were able to set up a sting to catch the kids in the act? I don’t buy it, Kirk. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
“You doubt my awesome, Lieu? They made it really easy for me, in all honesty. I heard about it through the grapevine at the school,” Kirk admitted.
“Oh. That makes more sense,” McCoy chimed in. “And you’re doing what with all this paintball crap?”
Kirk flipped the box closed. “I’m going to keep here in property until those kids pay the piper. I told them that they had to clean up the barn they kept using as a target, and when they did it to my satisfaction, I’d give them their stuff back.”
“Jim, it’s almost November. They won’t be able to get that done until spring,” Pike reminded the former rookie.
“That’s exactly my plan,” Kirk replied with a smirk. He tapped his right temple with his index finger. “See. Thinking.”
McCoy snorted while he signed off on the last of his time sheets with a dramatic flourish. “That’s a first.”
Pike chuckled under his breath before he checked his watch. “Well, as entertaining as you children are, you have work to do and I have a squad to run. So Len, out of my chair, and Kirk, get your ass off my desk. I don’t know where it’s been.” Chris took his seat and pulled his glasses from the drawer to the right. He picked up the stack of papers McCoy left and tossed them in his outbox for Chapel to grab later.
Jim hopped down and grabbed the giant box of paintball supplies from his lieutenant’s desk. Nodding to Pike, he said, “See ya, Lieu. Don’t work too hard.”
“With you two around? Slacking will never happen,” Pike answered while Kirk and McCoy walked toward the door. As they were about to exit, he called, “Be safe out there.”
“Always, Lieu,” McCoy replied. “Always.”
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“So,” Jim started. He thrummed his fingers against the dashboard of the car. “You and Chapel. Were you guys ever an item?”
McCoy executed a textbook double take hard enough that the cruiser nearly drifted in the adjacent lane. “Were she and I ever - no! For Chrissake, no. Where the hell did you get a crazy notion like that?”
“Come on, Bones! I’ve seen the way you look at her and how you two flirt hopelessly with each other. It’s almost cute,” Jim said without fully thinking. When he saw the epic glare on McCoy’s face, he amended his statement to, “…Not that you’re ever cute or anything.”
Len shook his head and pursed his lips, exhaling hard through his nose. “Christine and I were never an item. We are friends. Have been for years. She was one of the first people I met when I moved to this town, aside from the Pikes and AJ Harris. I respect her as a person and as a friend.” Shooting one more glare at Kirk’s expectant face, McCoy said, “And that’s all I’m saying about that. End of story.”
Jim nodded, accepting his partner’s silence, despite the fact he knew fully well McCoy was lying through his Georgian teeth. He saw how Bones acted around Gaila and Uhura, and the calm professionalism he showed both women was a far cry from the warmth he exhibited when Christine Chapel was in the same room. He went from crabby to mildly shy in less than half a second, and Kirk always wondered what exactly happened between the two to bring about such an abrupt change in McCoy’s demeanor. Jim thought it might be amusing, if it weren’t so damned frustrating to figure out.
He knew there was something else, another piece of the puzzle he was missing. Even if McCoy wouldn’t admit it, Kirk could see it in his partner’s eyes. Every once in a while when he saw Chapel, there would be a flash of longing mixed with…something he couldn’t quite place that would pass over Bones’ face when he thought no one was looking. But the older man would cover it just as quickly as it came. Kirk knew Christine was happily married and expecting her first child, and McCoy was way too much of a gentleman to ever pursue a taken woman. Still though, it remained difficult for Jim to watch such obvious emotions emanate from an equally closed off person like Leonard McCoy.
Jim filed the information away in his mental Bones database and focused on the road and his job as the car’s unofficial navigator. It was just after Halloween, and the ground was dusted white from a couple early snow accumulations. While it was far from cold (well, Jim’s definition of cold), it was definitely brisk, and it was just the time of year Kirk enjoyed. He whistled randomly, happily running license plates of the cars they pulled behind.
Serdeski’s voice broke the calm silence of the car’s interior. ‘Dispatch to Six-two.’
McCoy grabbed the shoulder mic and pressed the talk button. ‘Six-two.’
‘Emergency just got a call from for a possible home invasion. 1178 Sheridan,’ the desk sergeant informed the pair. ‘Advise when on scene.’
“Copy that. Six-two, one-one-seven-eight Sheridan,” McCoy replied. He turned his head briefly toward his partner while Jim wrote the address down.
Three minutes later, Kirk and McCoy pulled to a halt in front of a beautiful neighborhood of homes. Large, expansive, and worth their salaries spread out over their entire lives, the houses on Sheridan street looked like they belonged on the front pages of Better Homes and Gardens. The colonial style of design for the home they were about to visit made Jim feel like he was in an upper class neighborhood in Maryland instead of his home state of Iowa. Kirk let out a low whistle as he stepped up the brick porch toward the front door. “Nice pile of bricks,” he said.
“It’s worth more than your life. You’re not allowed to touch anything once we get inside,” McCoy hissed back as he raised his arm to knock on the door. “Police! We received a 9-1-1 call about a possible home invasion!”
The door cracked open and a very petite blonde woman greeted the two cops. She was young; probably no more than twenty or so, wearing an oversized grey hoodie with a set of workout pants. Wrapping her arms protectively around her middle, she said, “Please come in,” she said, stepping aside to allow both Kirk and McCoy through the threshold. She shut and bolted the front door behind her before she turned around to address her visitors. Clearing some hair from her face, she said, “I’m honestly not sure what’s going on. I came home from the grocery store today, put everything away, and changed to go work out. The treadmill’s in the basement, and when I went down there to use it, I kept hearing this strange thumping. I feel so stupid, because I shouldn’t have called since I’m sure it’s nothing, but I didn’t know what to do. I take care of my mother here and my father’s out of town and--”
In a move of surprising gentleness, McCoy laid his hand over the woman’s trembling fist and said, “It’s okay, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. Do you mind if we take a look?”
“No, not at all,” she insisted.
“What’s your name?” Kirk asked, pulling his notebook from his pocket.
“Lucy,” she said. “Lucy Evans.”
“All right. Where did you hear this noise, Ms. Evans?” McCoy asked, allowing the ‘S’ to sound more like a ‘Z’.
“Call me Lucy, please. I can’t be sure where I heard it from. All I know is that it was loud knocking and it scared me to death,” she said, leading the cops down the hallway to the door to the basement. Pointing, she said, “It’s right down there.”
McCoy turned and said, “Stay up here. We’ll check it out.”
The sound of boots thudding against the light colored wooden steps echoed off the finished walls of the basement. Sterile whites and bright lighting greeted the men as they reached the bottom. Situated in front of a plush, predictably white leather couch and glass coffee table was the biggest TV the cops had ever seen. Jim pointed. “Holy shit. I think that TV is bigger than the wall in your living room, Bones.” He walked over toward the table and plucked a remote that was the size of a hardcover novel. “It’s like being at Ozzy Osbourne’s house. What do these people do?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Now, put that down before you break it,” McCoy insisted. Motioning with his hand, he said, “Come on, Jim. We’re not here to admire the décor.”
Kirk smirked and chuckled. “Speaking of ‘admiring the décor’,” Jim said, using quotation fingers as he talked. “Do I sense that my partner is shamelessly flirting with Mizz Evans up there?” he asked, doing his best imitation of McCoy’s southern accent.
The sergeant’s step hitched momentarily. “She’s scared, Jim. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“That’s the point! You’re not nice!”
McCoy was taken aback. “I’m not nice around you because you never give me a valid reason. I can be if I wanted to try.”
“Which is never,” Kirk fired right back. “Unless you’re talking to Chapel.”
“Jesus, would you let that go? We were never anything more than friends!” McCoy insisted.
“Whatever, Bones. I still call bullsh--” Jim replied, only to be cut off by his partner’s shush.
“Do you hear that?” he asked. McCoy stopped short and turned his head toward the door on the other side of the family room/World’s Best Man Cave. He heard a set of hollow thumps coming from the other side of the door. Senses on high alert, Len crept forward past the treadmill and laid his hand on the knob of the threshold. He pulled out his flashlight, flipped it on and looked back over his shoulder towards Kirk. When he saw Jim at the ready, McCoy turned the handle slowly and flashed the light through the right side of the family’s laundry room.
Kirk moved in behind his partner and cleared the left side. They checked under and behind everything they could find, opened cabinets and drawers, but found nothing. The sound that McCoy heard was gone, and for a second, the sergeant thought he imagined it. But as they were about leave, both men heard the same set of thumps again. They looked at one another and moved toward center of the space.
McCoy pointed. “It’s coming from the dryer, Jim.”
“I know. I’ll open, you catch,” Kirk replied, moving stealthily over to the appliance. Jim waited for McCoy to open the baton he carried. Gripping the handle, Kirk stepped around to the right in order to give his partner the best vantage point when he pulled the door open. Mouthing out a count, Jim whispered, “One. Two. Three,” and then yanked the door open.
McCoy’s eyes widened in anticipation and his fingers squeezed the handle, ready for the source of the noise to launch its attack. When his eyes registered the threat, he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his posture. Folding up his weapon, he said, “It’s all clear. Come and have a look.”
Kirk walked around the door of the dryer, and it took every bit of self control and manliness to keep him from shuddering on sight. Perched in the tub of the dryer was a coral pink and white colored snake. Its body was coiled up, but the head was up and moving. A black tongue flicked in and out in front of the cops, almost curiously. “Okay. Great. Now what?” Jim asked.
McCoy set his fingertips on the top of his duty rig. “Now we catch it,” he answered confidently. The sergeant took one step forward toward the animal before a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head to look at Jim. “What?”
“Bones, shouldn’t we wait for animal control on this one?” Kirk asked. His voice was almost tentative, without its usual bravado and confidence.
The sergeant cocked his head to the side while his eyes narrowed. He spent a couple of long seconds studying Jim’s face and noted the increased breathing and the slightly dilated pupils. A broad, knowing smile spread across McCoy’s face as his brain put two and two together. “Well, I’ll be damned. So he is afraid of something.”
Jim ducked his head. “I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t like the things. That’s all.”
“Jim, last week, I couldn’t stop you when you went chasing after a drugged up wife beater. You damn near jumped off a building to catch the guy, none of which seemed to scare you at all. And now, you’re telling me that you’re afraid of a little, tiny snake?” McCoy asked, almost laughing through the question. “I’ve been saying it forever, but now I have proof. There really is something wrong in your head.”
Kirk grumbled quietly to himself. “I still think we should let animal control take care of it. That’s what they’re for. We can move on to some real crime.”
McCoy sighed. "Animal control is not going to help you right now. They’re spending a glorious day clearing out a trailer that belonged to a hoarder. Either we take care of that little problem right there,” he said, pointing to the snake, “Or you wait another hour for our dinner break and your damned chili fries. Your call."
“Son of a bitch,” Kirk muttered under his breath. He stared Bones directly in the eye and said, “Fine. But if that thing bites me, I swear I will kick your ass.” Kirk started to march out of the laundry room when McCoy’s voice stopped him.
“Where are you going?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m going to the car to see if I have any gloves in the trunk.”
McCoy shrugged and turned back towards the dryer while Kirk slammed the door shut to the utility room with more force than was necessary. Jim walked up the stairs and met Lucy at the top. Schooling his face to impassivity, he said, “Ma’am, we found your intruder. It’s a snake, curled up in the dryer.”
Lucy shuddered. “I hate snakes. They give me the heebie-jeebies. What are you guys going to do about it?” she asked, visibly shaking her hands as if something scary were touching them. “I’m sorry - I can’t pull a snake out of my dryer.”
“I would tell you to call animal control, but my partner is convinced he can take care of the problem by himself,” Kirk said. “Whatever, man. I’m not going to stop him.”
She grinned. “Don’t like snakes, either, do you?”
“Not at all,” Jim concurred. With a hopeful smirk, Kirk added, “Personally, I hope it bites him. It’d be poetic.”
Laughing lightly, the woman replied, “He doesn’t seem that bad, but then again, I’ve only known him for five minutes.”
Kirk nearly rolled his eyes. As a distraction, he pulled out his notepad and jotted down the rest of Lucy’s information. Satisfied he collected what he needed to make out the report, Jim trotted out to the car and started digging through the trunk to find the gloves he knew he stashed there a couple of months earlier. Everything from road flares to a 12 gauge shotgun was Tetris-ed into every available nook and cranny of the trunk, and by the time Jim found the gloves he was searching for (wedged between the rain gear and the spare tire), he’d unpacked almost the entire storage space. As quickly as his hands would work, Kirk tossed all the gear back into the trunk. Slamming the top shut, he turned back towards the house when McCoy’s voice wafted from the doorway.
“If you need a copy of the report, you can call the precinct in a couple of days. They’ll have it transcribed by then,” McCoy said. He had one foot out the door with half of his body in the home and half out, but it was enough clearance for the conversation to be audible in the street. He stepped out of the house, and with a, “Have a good day, ma’am,” Len walked down the steps toward the car.
Kirk’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and then widened in shock as Bones came closer. Wrapped around the sergeant’s arm was the Evans’ unwanted visitor. The snake looked completely happy and at home perched on a stranger’s arm. Even stranger was McCoy’s relaxed and aloof demeanor. Jim took a couple of cautious steps backwards. “Bones…” he said, drawing out the vowel in McCoy’s cherished nickname.
McCoy’s attention was focused on the snake, but he registered his partner’s presence long enough to say to Kirk, “I think she was someone’s pet. She’s really friendly. Want to hold her?”
As Bones extended his snake-clad arm towards Jim’s head, Kirk’s expression dipped dangerously into the range that would best be described as both insulted and revolted. Putting his hands out in front of him, Kirk practically hollered, “Oh, HELL NO!” in reply to McCoy’s askance. “You are crazy, Bones. That thing is disgusting!”
The sergeant responded not with words, but with a simple motion. He pressed a button on the camera option of his cell phone and the simulated shutter sound gave a little ‘click’ while it registered the photographic proof of Jim’s phobia. McCoy turned his phone to the pictures option while he viewed his latest masterpiece. “Oh, this is one for the scrapbook,” he said smugly before he saved the picture and pocketed his phone.
Kirk’s jaw dropped. “Bones, you are an evil bastard. Have I ever told you that?”
“Jesus, Jim. It’s a corn snake. It’s completely harmless. Not poisonous, won’t constrict you to death, and it probably wouldn’t even bite you, even though it should.” Rolling his eyes, McCoy walked straight past Jim while he muttered something about pansy ass partners and fear of creatures three feet long. He popped the trunk, and with one hand, began searching through the contents. “What the hell happened here? I had this thing all organized!” he growled.
“How do you call that organized?” Jim asked, pointing to the offensively full trunk.
“It’s organized because I knew where to find what I was looking for,” McCoy replied while he rooted around toward the back of the storage space. His fingers hit paydirt when he felt the tip of a cardboard box, and wiggling it out through the space made by the floatation device and the tow ropes, he pulled out his bounty. He reached in and grabbed the roll of duct tape sitting mercifully on the top of the organized entropy of the trunk, slinging it around his left wrist for safe keeping. McCoy used his foot to brace the box and popped the container open. He gently dropped the snake into it and sealed the top, using the duct tape to cover the holes and the seams. The sergeant picked up the box and stuck it gently in the back seat of the car. He looked at Kirk before he asked, “Ready to go, kid?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jim said with another shudder. Kirk climbed into the passenger seat of the car, and before McCoy opened his door, Jim sneaked a peek back at the box sitting harmlessly in the back seat. He immediately snapped his eyes forward when Bones slid into the driver’s seat, but he couldn’t help but look back just one more time to make sure the snake hadn’t escaped McCoy’s makeshift carton.
“Is there something wrong, Jim?” Bones asked innocently.
Kirk’s eyes darted to the back of the car, then forward, and then back to the rear. Pointing, he stated matter of factly, “There is a snake in our back seat.”
“Very astute observation, Sherlock,” Bones snipped out while he started the engine of the cruiser.
Kirk shook his head. “Why is there a snake in our back seat?” Jim asked again, this time adding more emphasis to his question.
McCoy snorted and rolled his eyes. He was, admittedly, having fun teasing Jim, and he couldn’t help but drag it out just a little longer. In his default snarky, cranky tone, he replied, “Because the thing isn’t going to walk itself to animal control, numbnuts!”
Jim finally abandoned all pretenses of manliness when he asked, “Well, can we at least go signal three with it? I’d like to make sure that when we get there, the snake is still in the box so we can sign it over to animal control!”
McCoy drove the speed limit the entire way across town.
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Two Weeks Later
“No, we are not talking about the Falcons, Kirk. It’s bad enough that I torture myself watching them every Sunday, but to have to hear about it from you on Monday is insult to injury. Bring their record up one more time, and I’ll break your fingers,” McCoy growled out.
“Jeez. Touchy,” Jim replied, pursing his lips as he tried not to laugh.
McCoy shifted in the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat belt when the plastic buckle caught on the lip of the protruding high capacity magazine in his Sig. He checked his watch. “We need to swing by Petco before they close.”
Kirk scoffed. “What the hell for? You don’t have any pets.”
“I need to pick up a couple of mice for Lucy,” the sergeant answered simplistically.
Jim’s eyebrows ran up his forehead to meet his hairline. He put his notepad away and ticked off the points he was making on his fingers. “Okay, not cool, Bones. First: when did you start dating someone, and why didn’t you tell me, and second? What kind of kinky-ass shit does she have you into that requires the use of mice? I mean, I’ve heard of some things, but I never pictured you as the type.”
McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. Regripping the steering wheel, he replied, “Lucy is my snake, you idiot. You know - the one you refused to hold a couple of weeks ago?” Bones turned one eye from the road while he waited for Jim’s reaction.
Kirk responded with the predictable outburst. “You kept that?!” he practically shrieked. “What is wrong with you, man?!”
“She needed a home, and I seem to attract the strays,” he answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. “Dude, that’s just wrong. You don’t need to feel sorry for every homeless animal you see.”
This time, Bones laughed out loud. Turning toward Kirk, McCoy fired out his reply of, “I adopted you, didn’t I? At least the snake won’t give me lip back.”
Jim crossed his arms over his chest and pouted almost petulantly. “Fine. But I am never coming over to your place again, you know that?”
“That was the idea.”
Damn it all.
--FIN--
Author: Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!verse AU. A call to a possible home invasion leads to McCoy’s first long-term relationship since he left Georgia. For Jim Kirk, the prospect of an otherwise occupied partner is downright frightening.
Author’s Notes: I have no good explanation for this fic other than it was something that seemed funny and begged to be written. This has a companion piece that I’m working on now (it’s a Star Trek Cop!Verse/NCIS crossover), so without giving too much of that story away, this one takes place about the same time as Accidentally on Purpose. Unbeta-ed for the most part, so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine. As always, comments are welcomed, but certainly not required. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable in this story, only the idea for its ‘plot’. Please don’t sue me.
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“What the hell, Jim?!” Len McCoy barely resisted the urge to jump out of his chair when a gigantic cardboard box came crashing down on the desktop about a foot from his face. The air displaced by the box sent a few of the papers on which the sergeant was so diligently working flittering across the floor and under Lieutenant Pike’s desk. With a mighty growl, McCoy rolled back in the chair and grabbed the documents off the floor and slapped them back on the surface. Resituating himself, Len willed his heartbeat to slow to a more acceptable level before he gingerly moved his coffee mug out of harm’s way. He glared up at his partner and said, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Hey good to see you, too, Bones. I see you’re moving up in the world,” Kirk replied cheerfully, motioning around the space that was their superior’s office. “Or have you just hijacked Pike’s office without his knowledge?”
“I’m not partial to delinquency. Use without permission is your department, not mine,” McCoy answered while he made a couple small notations on one of pieces of paper in front of him. “No, I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that I need to get my paperwork finished or my ass is toast. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to do all the damned stuff when I’m constantly out, you know, stopping crime or babysitting you, but the brass thinks that I can clone myself and have it finished in five minutes.”
“So you’re here early to get ‘er done,” Jim supplied.
Bones nodded. “Obeying under protest, I might add.”
Kirk propped one cheek of his ass on the corner of McCoy’s borrowed desk. Jim expertly ignored the death glare his sergeant was giving him when he grabbed the doughnut situated next to Bones’ coffee mug and took a big bite. Cringing at the oil practically dripping out of the pastry, Jim reached for the garbage can next to the desk and spit the treat into it. Wiping his mouth on the napkin, he added, “For the record: I’m not trying to give you a heart attack, but that doughnut might. Man, that’s a crime against breakfast right there.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow and peered over the side of the large cardboard box, shooting one of his patented death glares in Jim’s direction. Either Kirk was immune, or he simply didn’t care, because Bones received absolutely no reaction from the kid whatsoever. With a put upon sigh, he told Jim, “Were you told to report here just to piss me off? I have work to do, and you’re not helping.”
Kirk shifted fractionally and looked down at the mess McCoy had spread out across the desk. Tickets, logs, incident reports and about a dozen timesheets littered the surface. Jim picked up a couple of his partner’s time sheets, and squinting through McCoy’s nearly illegible scrawl, examined the date. “Bones, these are from two months ago. How are you getting paid?”
“Chapel told me she’s going to put a hold on my paychecks if I don’t get these sheets to her ASAFP. Damned woman is a slave driver,” he muttered under his breath.
Jim clapped his partner on the shoulder. “But we know you don’t do it for the money, right?”
Rolling his eyes, McCoy replied, “Yes, I get shot at, cursed out, spit on, puked on, punched, kicked, scratched and clawed all because I have some narcissistic need to play the hero. Oh yes, that’s exactly why.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Kirk asked half-jokingly, cringing in sympathy when McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “You have a migraine already?”
“Yes, dammit, and it’s not even your fault this time.” McCoy threw his pen down in disgust and rubbed his face. “I hate this shit. Why didn’t Pike tell me when he recruited me that I’d spend more time doing paperwork than actually working on the street?”
“Because I’d be a pretty horseshit recruiter if I told you about the parts of the job that sucked before you said ‘yes’,” a deep, commanding voice said from near the doorway.
Both Kirk and McCoy’s heads shot up when they heard the sound of their lieutenant’s smooth and steady tones. Pike was leaning casually up against the doorframe of his office, steaming coffee mug in hand and a goofy grin on his face. He took a couple of cautious sips of the station’s swill before he pushed off the wall and sauntered back toward his desk. When McCoy started to get up to relinquish the chair to its proper owner, Pike simply waved his hand and said, “Sit, McCoy. Finish up all that shit so I can stop hearing it from all sides.”
Len actually managed to look contrite, and Kirk noted the way his partner’s eyes flicked down and to the right, as if he were a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Busted,’ Kirk thought. ‘Guess I’m not the only one who never gets his paperwork in on time and gets scolded by the principal.’
Pike motioned toward the box. “What is this?”
McCoy shrugged while he scribbled away at his paperwork. “No clue. Jim brought it in, so be careful, Lieu. It’s probably a biohazard.”
The lieutenant snorted in reply and leaned forward in his chair to inspect the box Kirk plopped on the desk a few minutes earlier. He gingerly poked at the container, listening while he heard the contents rattling inside. Considering the source, the likelihood the box contained explosives tripled as soon as Kirk’s name was mentioned, and Pike had no desire to explain to the chief why he needed a new office to replace the one that just blew up. He grabbed the collapsible baton off his duty rig, flicked his wrist to extend the metal device and used the blunt end to gently peel the tabs on the top open. When no smells of rotting, dead animal or lethal weapons jumped out at him, Chris folded up the baton and placed it back in its holster. He stood and leaned over the box, carefully examining the contents.
McCoy shoved his paperwork aside and began searching right along with his former partner. Both men pulled out a half dozen paintball guns and a few thousand paintballs, all in assorted neon colors. Len raised one eyebrow at Kirk and asked, “You’re not planning on repainting the station with this stuff, are you Jim?”
“Me?” Jim replied dramatically. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Right,” McCoy drawled out sarcastically. “Now cough up the truth, kid.”
Kirk looked proud. “It’s collateral,” he answered.
“For what?” Pike asked, fiddling with one of the guns.
“Encouragement,” Jim replied. “One of my mom’s neighbors said that his barn has been a constant target of repeated paintballings, and she asked me to check it out. I figured out who they were and I just waited there last night for them to show after we were off shift.”
Pike looked suspicious. “Wait. So you were able to set up a sting to catch the kids in the act? I don’t buy it, Kirk. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
“You doubt my awesome, Lieu? They made it really easy for me, in all honesty. I heard about it through the grapevine at the school,” Kirk admitted.
“Oh. That makes more sense,” McCoy chimed in. “And you’re doing what with all this paintball crap?”
Kirk flipped the box closed. “I’m going to keep here in property until those kids pay the piper. I told them that they had to clean up the barn they kept using as a target, and when they did it to my satisfaction, I’d give them their stuff back.”
“Jim, it’s almost November. They won’t be able to get that done until spring,” Pike reminded the former rookie.
“That’s exactly my plan,” Kirk replied with a smirk. He tapped his right temple with his index finger. “See. Thinking.”
McCoy snorted while he signed off on the last of his time sheets with a dramatic flourish. “That’s a first.”
Pike chuckled under his breath before he checked his watch. “Well, as entertaining as you children are, you have work to do and I have a squad to run. So Len, out of my chair, and Kirk, get your ass off my desk. I don’t know where it’s been.” Chris took his seat and pulled his glasses from the drawer to the right. He picked up the stack of papers McCoy left and tossed them in his outbox for Chapel to grab later.
Jim hopped down and grabbed the giant box of paintball supplies from his lieutenant’s desk. Nodding to Pike, he said, “See ya, Lieu. Don’t work too hard.”
“With you two around? Slacking will never happen,” Pike answered while Kirk and McCoy walked toward the door. As they were about to exit, he called, “Be safe out there.”
“Always, Lieu,” McCoy replied. “Always.”
========
“So,” Jim started. He thrummed his fingers against the dashboard of the car. “You and Chapel. Were you guys ever an item?”
McCoy executed a textbook double take hard enough that the cruiser nearly drifted in the adjacent lane. “Were she and I ever - no! For Chrissake, no. Where the hell did you get a crazy notion like that?”
“Come on, Bones! I’ve seen the way you look at her and how you two flirt hopelessly with each other. It’s almost cute,” Jim said without fully thinking. When he saw the epic glare on McCoy’s face, he amended his statement to, “…Not that you’re ever cute or anything.”
Len shook his head and pursed his lips, exhaling hard through his nose. “Christine and I were never an item. We are friends. Have been for years. She was one of the first people I met when I moved to this town, aside from the Pikes and AJ Harris. I respect her as a person and as a friend.” Shooting one more glare at Kirk’s expectant face, McCoy said, “And that’s all I’m saying about that. End of story.”
Jim nodded, accepting his partner’s silence, despite the fact he knew fully well McCoy was lying through his Georgian teeth. He saw how Bones acted around Gaila and Uhura, and the calm professionalism he showed both women was a far cry from the warmth he exhibited when Christine Chapel was in the same room. He went from crabby to mildly shy in less than half a second, and Kirk always wondered what exactly happened between the two to bring about such an abrupt change in McCoy’s demeanor. Jim thought it might be amusing, if it weren’t so damned frustrating to figure out.
He knew there was something else, another piece of the puzzle he was missing. Even if McCoy wouldn’t admit it, Kirk could see it in his partner’s eyes. Every once in a while when he saw Chapel, there would be a flash of longing mixed with…something he couldn’t quite place that would pass over Bones’ face when he thought no one was looking. But the older man would cover it just as quickly as it came. Kirk knew Christine was happily married and expecting her first child, and McCoy was way too much of a gentleman to ever pursue a taken woman. Still though, it remained difficult for Jim to watch such obvious emotions emanate from an equally closed off person like Leonard McCoy.
Jim filed the information away in his mental Bones database and focused on the road and his job as the car’s unofficial navigator. It was just after Halloween, and the ground was dusted white from a couple early snow accumulations. While it was far from cold (well, Jim’s definition of cold), it was definitely brisk, and it was just the time of year Kirk enjoyed. He whistled randomly, happily running license plates of the cars they pulled behind.
Serdeski’s voice broke the calm silence of the car’s interior. ‘Dispatch to Six-two.’
McCoy grabbed the shoulder mic and pressed the talk button. ‘Six-two.’
‘Emergency just got a call from for a possible home invasion. 1178 Sheridan,’ the desk sergeant informed the pair. ‘Advise when on scene.’
“Copy that. Six-two, one-one-seven-eight Sheridan,” McCoy replied. He turned his head briefly toward his partner while Jim wrote the address down.
Three minutes later, Kirk and McCoy pulled to a halt in front of a beautiful neighborhood of homes. Large, expansive, and worth their salaries spread out over their entire lives, the houses on Sheridan street looked like they belonged on the front pages of Better Homes and Gardens. The colonial style of design for the home they were about to visit made Jim feel like he was in an upper class neighborhood in Maryland instead of his home state of Iowa. Kirk let out a low whistle as he stepped up the brick porch toward the front door. “Nice pile of bricks,” he said.
“It’s worth more than your life. You’re not allowed to touch anything once we get inside,” McCoy hissed back as he raised his arm to knock on the door. “Police! We received a 9-1-1 call about a possible home invasion!”
The door cracked open and a very petite blonde woman greeted the two cops. She was young; probably no more than twenty or so, wearing an oversized grey hoodie with a set of workout pants. Wrapping her arms protectively around her middle, she said, “Please come in,” she said, stepping aside to allow both Kirk and McCoy through the threshold. She shut and bolted the front door behind her before she turned around to address her visitors. Clearing some hair from her face, she said, “I’m honestly not sure what’s going on. I came home from the grocery store today, put everything away, and changed to go work out. The treadmill’s in the basement, and when I went down there to use it, I kept hearing this strange thumping. I feel so stupid, because I shouldn’t have called since I’m sure it’s nothing, but I didn’t know what to do. I take care of my mother here and my father’s out of town and--”
In a move of surprising gentleness, McCoy laid his hand over the woman’s trembling fist and said, “It’s okay, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. Do you mind if we take a look?”
“No, not at all,” she insisted.
“What’s your name?” Kirk asked, pulling his notebook from his pocket.
“Lucy,” she said. “Lucy Evans.”
“All right. Where did you hear this noise, Ms. Evans?” McCoy asked, allowing the ‘S’ to sound more like a ‘Z’.
“Call me Lucy, please. I can’t be sure where I heard it from. All I know is that it was loud knocking and it scared me to death,” she said, leading the cops down the hallway to the door to the basement. Pointing, she said, “It’s right down there.”
McCoy turned and said, “Stay up here. We’ll check it out.”
The sound of boots thudding against the light colored wooden steps echoed off the finished walls of the basement. Sterile whites and bright lighting greeted the men as they reached the bottom. Situated in front of a plush, predictably white leather couch and glass coffee table was the biggest TV the cops had ever seen. Jim pointed. “Holy shit. I think that TV is bigger than the wall in your living room, Bones.” He walked over toward the table and plucked a remote that was the size of a hardcover novel. “It’s like being at Ozzy Osbourne’s house. What do these people do?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Now, put that down before you break it,” McCoy insisted. Motioning with his hand, he said, “Come on, Jim. We’re not here to admire the décor.”
Kirk smirked and chuckled. “Speaking of ‘admiring the décor’,” Jim said, using quotation fingers as he talked. “Do I sense that my partner is shamelessly flirting with Mizz Evans up there?” he asked, doing his best imitation of McCoy’s southern accent.
The sergeant’s step hitched momentarily. “She’s scared, Jim. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“That’s the point! You’re not nice!”
McCoy was taken aback. “I’m not nice around you because you never give me a valid reason. I can be if I wanted to try.”
“Which is never,” Kirk fired right back. “Unless you’re talking to Chapel.”
“Jesus, would you let that go? We were never anything more than friends!” McCoy insisted.
“Whatever, Bones. I still call bullsh--” Jim replied, only to be cut off by his partner’s shush.
“Do you hear that?” he asked. McCoy stopped short and turned his head toward the door on the other side of the family room/World’s Best Man Cave. He heard a set of hollow thumps coming from the other side of the door. Senses on high alert, Len crept forward past the treadmill and laid his hand on the knob of the threshold. He pulled out his flashlight, flipped it on and looked back over his shoulder towards Kirk. When he saw Jim at the ready, McCoy turned the handle slowly and flashed the light through the right side of the family’s laundry room.
Kirk moved in behind his partner and cleared the left side. They checked under and behind everything they could find, opened cabinets and drawers, but found nothing. The sound that McCoy heard was gone, and for a second, the sergeant thought he imagined it. But as they were about leave, both men heard the same set of thumps again. They looked at one another and moved toward center of the space.
McCoy pointed. “It’s coming from the dryer, Jim.”
“I know. I’ll open, you catch,” Kirk replied, moving stealthily over to the appliance. Jim waited for McCoy to open the baton he carried. Gripping the handle, Kirk stepped around to the right in order to give his partner the best vantage point when he pulled the door open. Mouthing out a count, Jim whispered, “One. Two. Three,” and then yanked the door open.
McCoy’s eyes widened in anticipation and his fingers squeezed the handle, ready for the source of the noise to launch its attack. When his eyes registered the threat, he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his posture. Folding up his weapon, he said, “It’s all clear. Come and have a look.”
Kirk walked around the door of the dryer, and it took every bit of self control and manliness to keep him from shuddering on sight. Perched in the tub of the dryer was a coral pink and white colored snake. Its body was coiled up, but the head was up and moving. A black tongue flicked in and out in front of the cops, almost curiously. “Okay. Great. Now what?” Jim asked.
McCoy set his fingertips on the top of his duty rig. “Now we catch it,” he answered confidently. The sergeant took one step forward toward the animal before a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head to look at Jim. “What?”
“Bones, shouldn’t we wait for animal control on this one?” Kirk asked. His voice was almost tentative, without its usual bravado and confidence.
The sergeant cocked his head to the side while his eyes narrowed. He spent a couple of long seconds studying Jim’s face and noted the increased breathing and the slightly dilated pupils. A broad, knowing smile spread across McCoy’s face as his brain put two and two together. “Well, I’ll be damned. So he is afraid of something.”
Jim ducked his head. “I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t like the things. That’s all.”
“Jim, last week, I couldn’t stop you when you went chasing after a drugged up wife beater. You damn near jumped off a building to catch the guy, none of which seemed to scare you at all. And now, you’re telling me that you’re afraid of a little, tiny snake?” McCoy asked, almost laughing through the question. “I’ve been saying it forever, but now I have proof. There really is something wrong in your head.”
Kirk grumbled quietly to himself. “I still think we should let animal control take care of it. That’s what they’re for. We can move on to some real crime.”
McCoy sighed. "Animal control is not going to help you right now. They’re spending a glorious day clearing out a trailer that belonged to a hoarder. Either we take care of that little problem right there,” he said, pointing to the snake, “Or you wait another hour for our dinner break and your damned chili fries. Your call."
“Son of a bitch,” Kirk muttered under his breath. He stared Bones directly in the eye and said, “Fine. But if that thing bites me, I swear I will kick your ass.” Kirk started to march out of the laundry room when McCoy’s voice stopped him.
“Where are you going?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m going to the car to see if I have any gloves in the trunk.”
McCoy shrugged and turned back towards the dryer while Kirk slammed the door shut to the utility room with more force than was necessary. Jim walked up the stairs and met Lucy at the top. Schooling his face to impassivity, he said, “Ma’am, we found your intruder. It’s a snake, curled up in the dryer.”
Lucy shuddered. “I hate snakes. They give me the heebie-jeebies. What are you guys going to do about it?” she asked, visibly shaking her hands as if something scary were touching them. “I’m sorry - I can’t pull a snake out of my dryer.”
“I would tell you to call animal control, but my partner is convinced he can take care of the problem by himself,” Kirk said. “Whatever, man. I’m not going to stop him.”
She grinned. “Don’t like snakes, either, do you?”
“Not at all,” Jim concurred. With a hopeful smirk, Kirk added, “Personally, I hope it bites him. It’d be poetic.”
Laughing lightly, the woman replied, “He doesn’t seem that bad, but then again, I’ve only known him for five minutes.”
Kirk nearly rolled his eyes. As a distraction, he pulled out his notepad and jotted down the rest of Lucy’s information. Satisfied he collected what he needed to make out the report, Jim trotted out to the car and started digging through the trunk to find the gloves he knew he stashed there a couple of months earlier. Everything from road flares to a 12 gauge shotgun was Tetris-ed into every available nook and cranny of the trunk, and by the time Jim found the gloves he was searching for (wedged between the rain gear and the spare tire), he’d unpacked almost the entire storage space. As quickly as his hands would work, Kirk tossed all the gear back into the trunk. Slamming the top shut, he turned back towards the house when McCoy’s voice wafted from the doorway.
“If you need a copy of the report, you can call the precinct in a couple of days. They’ll have it transcribed by then,” McCoy said. He had one foot out the door with half of his body in the home and half out, but it was enough clearance for the conversation to be audible in the street. He stepped out of the house, and with a, “Have a good day, ma’am,” Len walked down the steps toward the car.
Kirk’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and then widened in shock as Bones came closer. Wrapped around the sergeant’s arm was the Evans’ unwanted visitor. The snake looked completely happy and at home perched on a stranger’s arm. Even stranger was McCoy’s relaxed and aloof demeanor. Jim took a couple of cautious steps backwards. “Bones…” he said, drawing out the vowel in McCoy’s cherished nickname.
McCoy’s attention was focused on the snake, but he registered his partner’s presence long enough to say to Kirk, “I think she was someone’s pet. She’s really friendly. Want to hold her?”
As Bones extended his snake-clad arm towards Jim’s head, Kirk’s expression dipped dangerously into the range that would best be described as both insulted and revolted. Putting his hands out in front of him, Kirk practically hollered, “Oh, HELL NO!” in reply to McCoy’s askance. “You are crazy, Bones. That thing is disgusting!”
The sergeant responded not with words, but with a simple motion. He pressed a button on the camera option of his cell phone and the simulated shutter sound gave a little ‘click’ while it registered the photographic proof of Jim’s phobia. McCoy turned his phone to the pictures option while he viewed his latest masterpiece. “Oh, this is one for the scrapbook,” he said smugly before he saved the picture and pocketed his phone.
Kirk’s jaw dropped. “Bones, you are an evil bastard. Have I ever told you that?”
“Jesus, Jim. It’s a corn snake. It’s completely harmless. Not poisonous, won’t constrict you to death, and it probably wouldn’t even bite you, even though it should.” Rolling his eyes, McCoy walked straight past Jim while he muttered something about pansy ass partners and fear of creatures three feet long. He popped the trunk, and with one hand, began searching through the contents. “What the hell happened here? I had this thing all organized!” he growled.
“How do you call that organized?” Jim asked, pointing to the offensively full trunk.
“It’s organized because I knew where to find what I was looking for,” McCoy replied while he rooted around toward the back of the storage space. His fingers hit paydirt when he felt the tip of a cardboard box, and wiggling it out through the space made by the floatation device and the tow ropes, he pulled out his bounty. He reached in and grabbed the roll of duct tape sitting mercifully on the top of the organized entropy of the trunk, slinging it around his left wrist for safe keeping. McCoy used his foot to brace the box and popped the container open. He gently dropped the snake into it and sealed the top, using the duct tape to cover the holes and the seams. The sergeant picked up the box and stuck it gently in the back seat of the car. He looked at Kirk before he asked, “Ready to go, kid?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jim said with another shudder. Kirk climbed into the passenger seat of the car, and before McCoy opened his door, Jim sneaked a peek back at the box sitting harmlessly in the back seat. He immediately snapped his eyes forward when Bones slid into the driver’s seat, but he couldn’t help but look back just one more time to make sure the snake hadn’t escaped McCoy’s makeshift carton.
“Is there something wrong, Jim?” Bones asked innocently.
Kirk’s eyes darted to the back of the car, then forward, and then back to the rear. Pointing, he stated matter of factly, “There is a snake in our back seat.”
“Very astute observation, Sherlock,” Bones snipped out while he started the engine of the cruiser.
Kirk shook his head. “Why is there a snake in our back seat?” Jim asked again, this time adding more emphasis to his question.
McCoy snorted and rolled his eyes. He was, admittedly, having fun teasing Jim, and he couldn’t help but drag it out just a little longer. In his default snarky, cranky tone, he replied, “Because the thing isn’t going to walk itself to animal control, numbnuts!”
Jim finally abandoned all pretenses of manliness when he asked, “Well, can we at least go signal three with it? I’d like to make sure that when we get there, the snake is still in the box so we can sign it over to animal control!”
McCoy drove the speed limit the entire way across town.
========
Two Weeks Later
“No, we are not talking about the Falcons, Kirk. It’s bad enough that I torture myself watching them every Sunday, but to have to hear about it from you on Monday is insult to injury. Bring their record up one more time, and I’ll break your fingers,” McCoy growled out.
“Jeez. Touchy,” Jim replied, pursing his lips as he tried not to laugh.
McCoy shifted in the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat belt when the plastic buckle caught on the lip of the protruding high capacity magazine in his Sig. He checked his watch. “We need to swing by Petco before they close.”
Kirk scoffed. “What the hell for? You don’t have any pets.”
“I need to pick up a couple of mice for Lucy,” the sergeant answered simplistically.
Jim’s eyebrows ran up his forehead to meet his hairline. He put his notepad away and ticked off the points he was making on his fingers. “Okay, not cool, Bones. First: when did you start dating someone, and why didn’t you tell me, and second? What kind of kinky-ass shit does she have you into that requires the use of mice? I mean, I’ve heard of some things, but I never pictured you as the type.”
McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. Regripping the steering wheel, he replied, “Lucy is my snake, you idiot. You know - the one you refused to hold a couple of weeks ago?” Bones turned one eye from the road while he waited for Jim’s reaction.
Kirk responded with the predictable outburst. “You kept that?!” he practically shrieked. “What is wrong with you, man?!”
“She needed a home, and I seem to attract the strays,” he answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. “Dude, that’s just wrong. You don’t need to feel sorry for every homeless animal you see.”
This time, Bones laughed out loud. Turning toward Kirk, McCoy fired out his reply of, “I adopted you, didn’t I? At least the snake won’t give me lip back.”
Jim crossed his arms over his chest and pouted almost petulantly. “Fine. But I am never coming over to your place again, you know that?”
“That was the idea.”
Damn it all.
--FIN--