Fic: Playing Santa Claus, Chapter 1A (Oneshot)
Title: Playing Santa Claus
Author: Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Modern day Cop!Verse AU. Pike and McCoy prove that, despite the guns and badges and somewhat unsavory job description, cops do tend to enjoy spreading a bit of holiday cheer every now and again.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas everyone! I keep telling Wicked Jade that I will start back on Jim and Bones' Hockey Spectacular as soon as I'm finished with whatever story it is I happened to be working on when I tell her that. First, it was Defining Family, then Words for Pictures, and finally, Rule 52. Now, my muses are completely intent on distracting me further with this story. It's unbeated and written in like, a day, so any mistakes are mine. I'm sure there are spelling errors in here, because even when I have a beta, I never catch them all. Apologies in advance for that. As far as the timeline is concerned, this one is set about a six or eight months after Evert Fifteen Minutes. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't make any money from my work here, because if I did, I'd have bought my husband a new supercar this Christmas instead of a couple of video games and some clothes. In case it isn't clear, Star Trek isn't mine. Please don't sue.
Chapters | 1A | 1B |
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There was something magical about Christmas time that Chris Pike truly relished. Perhaps it was because he was the adult who never quite matured out of the giddiness that completely encompassed most children as soon as the calendar turned over to December. Or maybe, it was the spectacle of the lights and sounds and the smells reminded him of why he loved the time of year. After all, he was of the opinion that one was never too old to make a snow angel, or indulge in a good, old-fashioned snowball fight.
Lynn good-naturedly rolled her eyes and laughed it off, calling her husband the, "Thirty something sergeant trapped in a five year old's body," each and every year. But she never chastised him for it, nor did she ever tell him he should grow up and act his age when he insisted on researching what latest and greatest toy was out on the market. Chris claimed all of it - the toy searches and the snowball fights - helped keep him young (and sane), and with a job as stressful as his, there were few people who were stupid enough to challenge his logic.
But then there was his partner.
As he'd discovered, Leonard McCoy was as opposite as one could possibly get from his training sergeant. Serious, introverted, and most certainly much more mature that Pike, McCoy's mood seemed to sink as the days drew closer to Christmas. Puzzled, Chris made every attempt at extra cheerfulness to try and draw the younger man out, but it only seemed to darken McCoy's already bleak outlook. He certainly didn't remember Len being so down the year previous, and it bothered him he couldn't figure out what was going on inside his partner's thick skull. Resigned, Chris caved and went to his Plan B. With the full support from General Lynn, both Pikes instituted the time-honored strategy of the guilt trip.
"I wish you'd reconsider, Len. Lynn's going all out for Christmas this year, and she'd love for you to be there."
In the passenger seat of the pair's squad car, McCoy didn't even bother to lift his eyes from the report he was racing to finish. He cursed quietly under his breath, crossed out a couple of words while he corrected his spelling, and replied flatly, "Nothing to reconsider, Pike. I've got plans."
The even tone, the smooth cadence and the very natural answer that rolled easily off McCoy's lips would probably have fooled just about every other person in the department, but Chris Pike was not 'most people'. The sergeant stole a couple of small glances away from the road while he studied Len's face. There was that look again, the flicker of hesitation Chris started to see from his partner during the past two weeks. It was the one that screamed 'I'm lying to you!' in big, bright letters, and there was not one iota of Pike's body that was comfortable with it. Pursing his lips against the churning in his gut, he asked, "Where are you headed again?"
McCoy's hands half-halted in mid motion before he resumed his task of attempting to reword his mangled explanation into some semblance of order that the chief might understand. His eyes flicked down and to the right while he chewed softly on the inside of his lip. Shifting in the seat, he adjusted his seat belt on his shoulder and went with a generic response of, "Going over to a friend's house for a couple of drinks. Nothing big."
"You sure you can't stop over for a few minutes before you head over? Like I said, Lynn would love to see you so she can at least say hi. She told me that she wasn't above bribing you with some cookies to get you to say yes," Pike gently probed, hoping to garner some type of reaction from the man.
McCoy balanced the report carefully on his lap while he reached down for the bottle of water he'd stashed under the seat. Chuckling, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Your wife harassing you about me again?"
Pike snorted and let out a relieved breath. Even if McCoy was an emotionally stunted man, he was, at very least, observant. "You have no idea," he answered honestly. "I think she's all but adopted you."
Draining the contents of the water bottle in one long pull, McCoy tossed it in the garbage bag tucked under the radio affixed to the lower portion of the dashboard. He signed off on the report he was writing and filed it in the enclosed partition of the metal clipboard. With a grunt, he bent over at the waist and tucked the slender object back under his seat where it belonged. Some of the fringe of dark brown hair fell over his eyes and, annoyed, McCoy shoved it aside while he sat up. He threw his partner a gentle smile when he said, "Tell her to stop worrying about me. It's not going to be like Thanksgiving last year."
Chris pressed gently on the brake of the cruiser to bring the car to a halt as the light in front of them changed from green to yellow and then red. He turned his head and simply stared at McCoy. He wanted to believe the younger man, but there was too much subtle evidence to the contrary. But instead of calling his partner out on it, Pike nodded his head politely in placation. It was the way he would do it if he was only half engaged in the conversation, and he was fairly certain McCoy wasn't fooled. Internally cringing, asked, "You're sure, Len? Because if you're alone on Christmas like you were last Thanskgiving, my wife will have my balls on a plate when she finds out."
Tilting his head down and to the side, McCoy wouldn't quite meet Chris' gaze. He turned his head as he stared out at the falling snow through the windshield. Sighing, he said, "That's nice of her, but I can take care of myself. I'll be fine. Tell her that, will you?"
Pike didn't miss the evasive answer or the way his partner wouldn't make eye contact. He saw the subtle downturn of McCoy's mouth and the very faint wave of sadness that stole across the younger man's face. The recent attitude shift and the sudden bouts of melancholy made Chris wonder just how agonizing the holidays were for Len. As someone who was very close to his own parents, Pike couldn't imagine how tough it was for McCoy to be both geographically and emotionally isolated from anyone bordering on familiar. He chewed on the thought as he took a long couple of seconds to formulate his response. Pike was about to open his mouth to press his partner for further confirmation when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
In the right lane of the three lane freeway, the two patrol cops watched as a blue Ford Taurus accelerated hard past them, cut across both lanes of traffic and settled just off the nose of the cruiser. The bright red of the car's tail lights flashed in their eyes, exacerbated by the opposing darkness of the night, as Pike instinctively reached down to activate the light bars. Flipping them on, he gave the driver a couple of quick blips with the siren and followed the car over to a stop on the side of the road.
Pike heard McCoy calling in the plate and description of the vehicle after he put he spotlight on the car, and when it came back clear, he stepped out and approached the driver's side. The air was cold, still and heavy, and Chris' breath condensed in front of him like white puffs of smoke against the red, white and blue of the lights from the squad car. He watched as McCoy walked around the opposite side of the vehicle with his flashlight out, examining it for anything amiss. With one eye on the driver and the other on his partner, the sergeant schooled his face back to a look of friendly neutrality before he motioned for the driver to roll down the window.
A fresh-faced teenager, complete with the requisite acne scars, stared back. Blonde, skinny and most certainly a terrible poker player, the young man began to blabber incoherently before the widow was even a half an inch clear of the door frame. "Officer, I'm really sorry I don't know what I was thinking and I'm just kind of tired and-"
Chris cut the young man off with a passive wave of his hand. His experience told him that people who were that nervous when pulled over were one of two things: guilty as sin, or scared shitless. Assessing the wide-eyed, doe-like expression and the fact that the young man was actually trembling, Pike was reasonably certain that the latter was the case. In a soft voice, the one he used on young children, the sergeant said, "It's okay, son. Take a breath. Let's start this the way we normally do, okay? License and proof of insurance, please."
Nodding so hard that Pike thought the kid's teeth might just chatter right out of his head, the young man reached into the overflowing mess of receipts and questionable foodstuffs that inhabited the center console and began digging in earnest through it. Chris looked out the passenger window in time to see McCoy stiffen and lay his right palm on the backstrap of his service weapon. Pike imperceptibly shook his head, but motioned with his eyes for Len to step around to the other side of the vehicle, just in case there was a weapon buried under the Subway wrapper and behind the recording of Verdi's Requiem.
A long arm and pale hand practically thrust the two documents Pike requested into his chest. Chris took them with a raised eyebrow and a light 'thanks', passing the identification to McCoy for the younger cop to run after he checked the name and photo. When McCoy wandered back towards the patrol car for the 10-29 check, the sergeant laid his left arm on the roof of the teen's car and leaned down to face the driver. "So, Adam. Where are you coming from in such a hurry?"
With both hands still glued at ten and two on the steering wheel, Adam Foster's fingers clenched and unclenched the poor, unsuspecting faux leather of the wheel. He took a long breath in, held it, and then exhaled slowly to a five count. "Work," he bit out singularly.
"Oh. Where's that?" Pike asked, making small talk while McCoy received the information he requested from dispatch.
"Walmart," the kid replied with a sigh. "It's not great, but it pays the bills for now."
"You in school?" Pike asked.
"Yep. Just started this fall," Foster answered proudly.
"Good for you," Pike said simply, knowing the tiny bit of praise would likely go a long way.
"I'm trying. Don't want to be like the rest of my family," he said, finally relaxing just marginally. Foster swallowed hard and craned his neck to the left, almost as if he expected Pike to rain down physical blows. Meekly, he added, "Can I ask what I did wrong?"
"We got you for tapping the white line back there," McCoy replied succinctly, pointing behind their position as he walked up to stand next to Pike. "He's clear."
Foster's face went blank. A half a second later, his eyes widened before he raised both hands up in front of his face, palms out. Shaking his head vehemently back and forth, he looked to Pike, then to McCoy and back to Pike. In a high pitched, nasally voice, he insisted, "Oh, no sirs! I don't do drugs!"
Pike cocked his head to the side while he processed the kid's response. He was about to ask for clarification when it struck him what Foster thought McCoy meant. The sergeant's chin started to warble; he coughed a couple of times while he tried to maintain some semblance of professional decorum. But when the third giggle forced its way to freedom from the back of his throat, Chris gave in and let out a burst of long, loud laughter.
"Do you want to tell me what's so goddamned funny?" McCoy muttered, zipping up the department issued jacket to ward off some of the chill from the wind blistering across the flat, open Iowa road. Traffic stops in December in minus three hundred degree weather were not his thing, and it was showing in his higher than normal level of impatience.
Motioning toward the kid in the driver's seat, Pike wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye. He turned his body left, careful to still keep the driver in his line of sight while he addressed his partner. "The kid thinks that we were accusing him of using blow, Len."
"How in the hell does he-Oh. 'Tapping the white line'," McCoy said as the light bulb suddenly illuminated over his head. A small smirk slid off the corner of his mouth while he fiddled with the pen in his right hand. "What the hell part of your brain thinks that we're accusing you of using drugs when we tell you that you're riding the double whites?"
Foster shrugged innocently. "I don't know. I've been at work for the last seventeen hours. I'm so tired I can't even think straight," he answered honestly.
Pike smiled and tapped the roof of the car with his left hand as he reached for the clipboard McCoy was holding. Accepting it, he pulled the identification and insurance paperwork from the clipboard and handed the two items back to Foster. "Here's your information back, Mr. Foster. You're getting a verbal warning today, so make sure I don't regret it."
"Oh, no sir! You won't, not at all!" the young man bubbled, clicking his seat belt into place while he reached for the keys still hanging in the ignition.
"I'm sure I won't. Now, get yourself home safely and get some rest," Pike replied as he straightened, waving the young man off towards home.
"Thank you!" Foster answered before he rolled up his window to ward off the frigid air of an Iowa winter. He turned the engine over and shifted the car into gear, studiously using his blinker while he merged back into the non-existent traffic.
Sliding into the car, Pike watched as Foster took off down the road while McCoy radioed in to dispatch to clear the pair. "I need some caffeine," he announced as he pulled the car back on the open road.
McCoy harrumphed out an agreement. "You know I'm never going to turn that down."
A couple of stoplights later, Pike pulled into the parking lot of small twenty-four hour Walgreens. He threw the car in park and was about to step out when McCoy elbowed him lightly in the shoulder and pointed. "What's up, Len?" he asked.
"Look over there," McCoy replied, pointing to a man standing next to an older model Ford pickup truck.
Chris narrowed his eyes and squinted against the sudden glare that bounced off the windows of the cruiser, courtesy of the bright white streetlight above their heads. Little prisms of color reflected back at him. It took Pike a couple of seconds to figure out that littered all over the pavement below the man's feet were tiny shards of safety glass that were causing the sight. Stepping out of the car, Chris slammed the door shut and nodded to McCoy. When Len radioed in the call, the sergeant began his approach. When he was in earshot, Pike called out, "Police. What's going on here tonight?"
"I wish you could tell me," the man replied after startling just a little bit at the unexpected sound of Chris' voice. He made a quarter turn on his heel and faced the two cops while he scratched away at the top of his head through a thick mane of sandy brown hair. The safety glass crunched loudly under his feet as he motioned to the pharmacy with one meaty hand while he held up a package of photographs with the other. Dark smears of mechanic's grease littered the front of the envelope as well as every crevice on the man's dry, cracked skin. "I ran inside for about ten minutes while I blew up some pictures, and I came back here to find my window smashed in!"
Pike raised an eyebrow at the relative calm tone employed by their newest apparent victim. Most victims of smash and grabs weren't even close to thrilled, and just as many weren't shy about voicing their opinions on the inequalities of the world, usually in the most profane of ways possible. It was, quite honestly, a welcome switch, though Chris wasn't foolhardy enough to believe that demeanors couldn't or wouldn't change on a dime. Pulling out his notebook to jot down the particulars, Chris said, "Let's start with your name, and then we'll get down to the details."
"Michael Sorenson," he said, reaching around to the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He pulled out the battered tri-fold leather wallet and sifted until he found his ID. He handed it to McCoy as he talked. "Man, I can't believe this!"
"Can't believe what?" McCoy asked, copying the requisite information from Sorenson's ID to the report he was beginning to fill out.
"What they stole!" he replied, finally showing a bit of emotion.
"What was that?" Pike asked.
"Looks like they got a some of my tools, a couple of tow ropes, and all my son's Christmas presents," he practically moaned. "That's what I was out doing tonight - shopping for him."
Pike felt his heart sink at not only the revelation, but also the sheer defeated emotion in the man's voice and on his face when he reported the bad news. It surprised him that Sorenson mentioned the missing tools as almost an afterthought; given the blackened fingernails and the perpetual smell of oil emanating from the man, it was obvious he made his living turning a wrench. However, it was equally clear that the he was far more focused on the missing gifts than anything else, and Chris felt his parenting respect meter tick up one more tiny notch when the thought crossed his mind. Pushing the thoughts to the side, he laid his pen on the paper and asked, "Can you tell me exactly what they got?"
"Toys, mostly. Some clothes, too." Sorenson ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
"Can you be more specific on that?" Chris prodded as gently as he could.
"Uh," the younger man began. "It's been kind of a hard year for us, so I was trying to go all out. I mean, I know it's not good to try and replace people with things, but you know," he said, trailing off with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "My wife committed suicide this summer, and it's just been hard on me and my son. Especially now, at Christmas."
McCoy, normally so boisterously opinionated, was eerily quiet. In a soft voice Pike didn't know his partner possessed, Len said earnestly, "I'm sorry for your loss. I know what it's like, though it wasn't my spouse. It's not easy, and it sure as hell ain't fair."
Sorenson shook his head. "No, it's not. How do I tell my four year old that we weren't enough for her?"
"You don't," Pike replied confidently though he was physically suppressing a shudder that was threatening to worm its way through his body. "You just do the best you can with what you have."
"Yeah, and this year, that's apparently going to be a lot less," he answered with a dejected motion toward his smashed window. "I'm a mechanic," Sorenson said, confirming Pike's earlier hypothesis. "I can fix the window easily enough, but I don't have the cash to replace what was ripped off. I don't know what to do."
"Well, let us do what we can. We'll start with a list of what was stolen. That list will get circulated to the other patrols and to the local pawn shops. If whoever did this tries to sell it, hopefully someone will be smart enough to recognize it," Pike informed with more hope in his voice than he felt in his body.
Picking up on the false cheer, the young man replied, "Yeah, I won't hold my breath on that."
McCoy grunted while he studiously wrote out Sorenson's purchases off the receipts the man provided. All time and date stamped for the evening of the 23rd, Len realized quickly that the man wasn't kidding - he was doing literally all his shopping for his son at once. A couple of receipts for Target for some clothes were interspersed by a healthily lengthy tape from Toys R Us. As quickly and as professionally as he could, McCoy took down all the relevant information, scribbled his name and badge number at the bottom and handed the report to Pike for his cursory check.
Chris accepted the paper, read it over and added his name to the bottom of the report. He snagged McCoy's business card from his partner's outstretched hand, tore off the pink copy and handed both items, along with his own card, to Sorenson. With a sigh, he said, "We're really sorry this had to happen to you now, right before Christmas. I know this probably feels like lip service, but we're going to do everything we can to try and find your son's presents."
"I know you will. I've never had any problem with you guys in the past, but I also know how things work. This," he said, pointing to the broken window and the smashed glass, "isn't that big of a deal, considering what else you have to deal with. I'd be ecstatic if you did, but like I said, I'm not counting on it."
"We're going to do our best. That I can promise you," Pike said. "Try and at least have a good Christmas, all right? Go and eat way too much and play with your son, and try not to worry too much about this. You've had enough to deal with this year."
Sorenson snorted. "Yeah, well, that should be interesting, too. I can't cook worth shit!"
"Me neither," Pike answered honestly while McCoy simply snorted. Before the cops turned away towards the entrance of the store, Chris added, "Try and have a good night, and merry Christmas."
"Thanks," he replied while he brushed some of the broken glass from the driver's seat of the truck.
The little bell jingled over Chris and Len's heads as the two cops entered the Walgreens in search of some caffeine to tide them over to the end of the their shift. In the refrigerator beverages section, both men were shaking their heads as they tried to find the right words to describe the level of wrong they'd just encountered. "There is something low-down and dirty about that," Pike finally said, pulling open the cooler with a growl as he snagged a Pepsi from the shelf.
"Yeah," McCoy agreed. He sighed and extracted a Red Bull. "There's special place in hell for someone like that. Who steals a kid's Christmas presents?"
"Someone who sucks at life, I think," Pike replied as the two men walked slowly towards the front of the store. "Do you think there's a law against that somewhere? A kid not getting any presents on Christmas?"
"If there isn't, there should be. I know I'm the last guy on everyone's list for holiday cheer, but even I know that's wrong," McCoy concurred, the ridge between his eyes deepening as his brows furrowed together.
"Hell, I'd write it if doesn't exist," Pike scoffed.
"As long as they could tolerate the law looking like it'd been written by a five year old," McCoy added with a sly smirk.
"Watch it," Chris growled out, though the smile on his face undercut the seriousness of his tone. With a defeated sigh, Pike changed the subject with, "You know we're never going to find those toys, and if by some miracle we do, it won't be by Christmas."
"I know," McCoy agreed silently. "I just wish there was something we could do. It just seems…wrong. All of it."
Pike nodded. "I can't imagine what it would be like to if I had to tell Ethan that he wasn't getting anything for Christmas because some knucklehead stole them."
"Still, at least you'd have Lynn," McCoy pointed out.
"True."
"We responded to Sorenson's wife's suicide, I think. The address on his license looked familiar," McCoy said out of the blue, eyes down as he kicked at a scuff on the floor with his black boot toe.
"I was wondering if you'd remember that," Pike replied with a small, sad smirk.
"Are you kidding me? How the hell could I forget it? We never met the husband, though. Guess now we have," McCoy added with a grimace.
Pike clapped his partner on the shoulder as he saw Len's eyes cloud over with memories of his own experience with a family member's suicide. "You did good back there, both then and now."
The younger cop tore away from Pike's friendly hand. He shook his head vehemently and planted his feet in the middle of the candy aisle. Len's expression was hot and defiant when he tried to insist, "Pike, I'm not going to break if someone mentions suicide in front of me. It was a long time ago - I'm over it," though the barely suppressed anguish on his face suggested otherwise.
"It was your father, Len," Chris said softly as he tipped his head sideways.
"And that was his own damned choice!" McCoy fired back, a little louder than he intended. The sudden increase in volume grabbed the attention of an elderly lady near the multitude of colored M & Ms, and Len winced and bit out a quick apology when she brought her hand to her chest. In a more appropriate tone and volume for the store, he said, "Look, just because I've experienced something similar, it does not mean I need to be treated like some damsel in distress. I dealt with it. Remember that, Sergeant," McCoy lectured before he shoved past his partner for the front of the store. He paid for his drink quickly and returned to the car without so much as a word.
Pike sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Well, that didn't go very well. He loitered in the store for another minute or so, contemplating whether he should buy the package of Rolos that were tempting him from the candy aisle. Caving, Chris snatched the caramel chocolate treat, paid for his stuff, and made his way out to the car.
"I owe you an apology," McCoy said without preamble through the open driver's side window before Pike fingers even reached the door handle. "I was being an ass, and it was uncalled for."
Chris smirked and leaned over at his waist. He laid his forearms half in and half out of the car as he talked to his partner. "Tell me something I don't know, McCoy. The day you're not a stubborn, opinionated asshole is the day I turn in my badge."
Len scoffed and turned his head to the side. "So I guess I didn't disappoint you, then."
"Never," Pike replied. Shifting, he asked, "Hey, did you really mean that when you said you wished there was something we could do?"
"For Sorenson? Of course I did. But even you - Sergeant Enthusiasm - admitted that there was no way we were going to find that stuff in less than two days," McCoy said, raising his right eyebrow practically to his hairline.
"Of course we're not going to find them, but I was thinking we might be able to replace them," Pike said, motioning towards the clipboard sitting at McCoy's feet. "Gimme that report. I'm gonna go make a copy."
"What the hell are you thinking, Pike?" McCoy asked skeptically as he handed over the theft report.
Pike snagged the white copy off the stack of reports yet to be filed from the shift. He tossed the metal holder back at his partner before he straightened up. "What are we doing? I don't know about 'we', but I am going shopping."
McCoy's brain put two and two together when he took into account the inventory list of stolen items and what just came out of his sergeant's mouth. Indignant, he yelled out the window at Chris' retreating back, "Oh, HELL NO! Don't you think you're having all the fun without me, Pike!"
"Meet me at Toys R Us tomorrow before roll, McCoy! We're going to play Santa!"
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LJ is seriously annoying. I've been trying to edit this stupid entry to make it look uniform to the rest of my journal for the last day (you know, because I'm pretty sure I have OCD when it comes to these things). Anyway, I've also had to split this into a couple of parts, so here's the link to Chapter 1B.