Fic: Accidentally on Purpose, Chapter 3
Author's Notes: So, this is it for Accidentally on Purpose, but there is a strong liklihood I'm not done playing in this newly created 'verse. The Star Trek characters as cops is something that's endlessly amusing to me, and has sprung a ton of tribbles to keep me entertained. So if you like it, I'm sure there will be more. As always, comments are loved but certainly not required. All I hope is that you all have enjoyed the story.
Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable is mine in this fic, Star Trek or otherwise.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Chapter 3
As the old adage went, it really was wise to be careful what one wished for. Lieutenant Christopher Pike thought his day could not get any more boring. Scratch that. His week couldn’t get any more boring. It was only Tuesday, yet he was done with all his paperwork, he’d checked over every single report, and he was halfway through the duty roster for the next two weeks. In most normal circumstances, Pike was rushing at the very last minute to get everything done, because some other epic catastrophe had diverted his attention and shot to hell any subsequently budgeted time he thought he had to finish up the administrative tasks.
Pike propped his feet up on his desk, taking one quick peek through the half-closed blinds of his office to be sure no one could see him slacking off. He dug through the top drawer of his desk for the darts he kept stashed away for rainy days. Finding them, he opened the case and pulled them out. He chucked the old metal darts at the cork board he had stationed on the wall opposite his desk. Chris cursed quietly when his hand slipped, sending one dart astray into the wood paneling next to the board.
Sighing, Pike stood and retrieved the darts, tucking them safely back into the recesses of his desk. He was on his way to the kitchen to snag his third cup of coffee for the evening when a transmission caught his ears. It was McCoy’s voice, but as he looked at the switchboard, he could see that it was Kirk’s radio frequency.
‘Six-two to dispatch. Send a bus and a supervisor to my location. We had a little compliance issue from the peanut gallery.’
Pike snorted. Only McCoy would call bystanders the ‘peanut gallery.’ But if he was asking for a supervisor, that usually meant the discharge of a weapon. And since he hadn’t heard the frantic pops of gunshots being fired, he knew, by process of elimination, it was likely the TASER. Chris arched an eyebrow. Both Kirk and McCoy could fight, despite the latter’s reluctance to actually do so. If they were resorting to the use of force, there was a damned good reason. Pike set his coffee cup down and leaned over the railing, eavesdropping on his loyal but very round desk sergeant.
Wiping the crumbs from his sandwich off his lap, Serdeski replied, “Six-two, this is dispatch. Say again, please?”
One day, he’d ask McCoy how he did it. Pike could hear the man’s eyes rolling on the other end of the radio, and it was a mystery of science how Kirk’s partner managed to convey a strictly visual gesture over an equally individual audio channel. ‘So he does have manners. Serdeski, I didn’t realize ‘please’ was part of your vocabulary. It’s more than four letters.’
“What do you need, McCoy?”
‘I just told you. We TASERed the brother of our primary suspect. Need a supervisor and a bus, my location.’ Pike could hear the sigh of exasperation in McCoy’s voice. Chris hoped Len never figured out that Greg played dumb simply as a form of free amusement. It would be a sad day at the house if he ever did, for Serdeski and Bones were nearly as entertaining as McCoy was with Kirk.
From the background, Pike heard Jim yell, ‘YOU TASERed Carson! AND me!’
Serdeski blinked. And then blinked again, his round, red face doing a solid, near identical impression of an owl. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his stomach. He peered up at Pike, the Lieutenant answering with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Greg clapped one hand over his face and bit down on his lip. The majority of the people near enough to hear the transmission mimicked the gesture. Serdeski, finally calm enough to speak, replied with a dramatic, “You--You did WHAT?”
‘Check the battery in your hearing aid and send a damned bus with a damned supervisor. I don’t want to wait here all night for you to pull your thumb out of your ass long enough to do your job!’ McCoy growled into the mic. Incompetence really chapped his ass, and there wasn’t anyone who could exponentially raise his blood pressure like Serdeski.
“Crabby much, McCoy?” A feral smile broke out across the face of the loyal desk sergeant when he saw Pike grab his coat off the hook and snag the keys to his unmarked from the bowl on his desk. One chubby finger smashed the transmission button. With an unholy amount of glee in his voice, Serdeski replied, “Dispatch to six-two. Lieutenant Pike will meet you at your present location.”
In the background, Jim groaned and flopped down on his stomach. He was fairly certain that, as soon as Pike arrived, he’d die of embarrassment. Yes, it might have been a better idea to have stayed in bed.
========
McCoy swore up and down that the fire department assigned one specific ambulance to shadow them for the duration of their shift. That way, when Jim inevitably hurt himself, the accident prone little shit he was, there’d be a bus not far away to take care of the problem. Len wouldn’t complain; paramedics meant less work for him to do when Kirk needed repairs. It’s not that he wouldn’t do it as he was still very, very qualified, but it was easier to let a slightly more objective party patch the kid up. Otherwise, McCoy might be tempted to “forget” to numb the area before he inserted the needle. It would truly be an accident if that unfortunate situation were to ever play out. He’d never, ever hurt his partner on purpose. He snorted. Well, that would be the line of total bullshit he’d tell Jim.
“Why can’t you just pull it out?” Kirk was lying on the stretcher, face down with his chin pillowed on his forearms. The small silver arrow from the TASER was still sticking happily up in the air, half of it protruding from the new hole in the seat of Jim’s pants. Kirk growled when he thought about having the pain of shopping, yet again, for new uniform pants and boxers to replace what McCoy’s horseshit aim completely destroyed. At least the department allowed officers the freedom to wear cargo pants and boots instead of dress pants and shoes. McCoy took enough mercy on him to cut the wire attached to it, but the faster the thing came out of his skin, the happier he’d be.
To Jim’s left, McCoy sat on the bench of the ambulance, legs crossed with a clipboard balanced on his right thigh. On it, he was dutifully getting a jump-start on his report to the supervisor that would outline the necessity for the use of a weapon. Peering over his clipboard, McCoy shifted in his seat. He set the paperwork down on the bench and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees. “I told you, Jim. I’m not a paramedic. Haven’t been in almost ten years. Extracting things like that can be difficult, and I can hurt you if I don’t do it right.”
“Bullshit, Bones. You just don’t want to.”
“Well, there is that, too.” Picking up his paperwork, McCoy clicked his pen and kept scribbling.
Tap, tap scrape. Loooong scrape. Tap, curse, and growl. Jim watched his partner closely. It was a known fact that Leonard McCoy and paperwork got on about as well as an igloo in the tropics, so it was eerily strange to see the man going at the clerical work with such gusto. The distinct look of concentration on McCoy’s face would almost be funny if he wasn’t feeling so weird. Everything was still tingly, and the waning adrenaline rush left him feeling strung out and anxious. Kirk lifted his chest up off the stretcher with his ab muscles and peered over the top of the clipboard. Snorting, Jim waved a hand at Bones’ report. “You know, Lieu has to be able to read that. What language is it? Russian?”
McCoy fixed him with a long, hard stare. “No, it’s English, but it’s proper English with correctly punctuated sentences and spelling exactness. It’s not the abhorrent amalgamation of random words and sometimes pictures that you try to pass off as English.”
“What’s wrong with my reports?” Jim asked.
“Your reports look like a four year old wrote them. Hell, I bet I could get a classroom full of kindergartners to write a more comprehensive police report than what you turn in. It’s embarrassing that I have to sign my name to them as your partner,” Bones answered.
“Oh, and this is coming from the man with perfect writing skills. Isn’t ‘illegible handwriting’ a prerequisite to medical school? Because looking at that report you’re writing in Swahili, I’m sure you passed with flying colors,” Kirk sniped right back. Jim internally scowled. Maybe that TASER prong was making him crabby, but that was definitely not one of his best comebacks. Normally, he was so much wittier. But that? That was just sad.
McCoy could see Kirk was having an off day, none of which was any kind of his fault. Nope. Not at all. He grabbed the report and dangled it in front of Jim’s face. “Maybe you should try reading it. You might learn something.”
Staring at the offered sheet of paper, Jim shook his head. Seriousness was never his forte, so it was no surprise that even a chunk of pointy metal sticking out of his ass couldn’t temper his sense of humor. With a completely straight face he asked, “Lemme guess: ‘Top to bottom, left to right? Take Tylenol for any headaches? Midol for any cramps’?”
McCoy’s chin fought the urge to shake. It was a losing battle, and a tiny wibble of amusement bubbled to the surface. He conceded defeat with an airy, “That was the stupidest movie in the history of mankind. I cannot believe you made me watch it.” He stared off into space, eyebrows furrowing at the middle as if the proverbial light bulb just flashed on somewhere in the space above his head. “I can’t believe I sat through the whole thing.”
“Aww, my partner is developing a sense of humor! You remember it, Bones! That’s awesome!” Jim was ecstatic, face bright and animated but his expression also had a hint of sarcasm to it. Temporarily forgetting that he was supposed to be upset with his partner for shocking him thoroughly, Jim was nearly bouncing. It was a glorious day that McCoy actually connected a pop culture reference. “Tommy Boy is one of the all-time classic movies!”
“All time classically idiotic is more like it.” McCoy motioned over to the area of Jim’s ass and TASER barb. Cheekily, he added, “And if you keep fidgeting around, that’s gonna leave a mark.”
The sudden slap of pain to his lower extremities reminded him in a hurry what had just happened a few moments earlier. Jim didn’t know whether the proper reaction was to be impressed or to want to slug his partner for being such a pain in that ass. But before he could contemplate the merits of either, Kirk felt the ambulance shift as someone stepped on to the chrome running boards attached to the side of the bus. The door opened and Chris Pike’s head popped into the small, darkened space.
“Room for one more in here?”
McCoy looked up from his paperwork and let out a small, grateful sigh. “Thank God,” he muttered. Leonard beckoned with his right hand. “Sure. Come on in, Lieu. Be nice to have a sane person in here with me.”
“Heard that.” Pike’s eyes swept over the visual scene that was laid out before him. The first thing his brain registered was Jim, the kid lying on the stretcher directly in front of his position by the side door. But as Chris’ gaze moved over to McCoy, he stopped short. The shiner Jim saw forming earlier when they were still in the apartment was now fully realized into a giant knot at the top of McCoy’s right cheekbone. It was already starting to bruise over, and Chris could also see the spider web of purple splotching forming at the inside corner of that same eye. Given a few hours to marinate, the end results were likely to be spectacular. “Jesus Christ, Len. What the hell happened to your face?”
Kirk laughed and slapped the top the gurney with his right hand. “Ha! I knew it! I knew it, Bones!”
“You had to say something, didn’t you? Dammit!” McCoy groaned, but the sound that came from him had nothing to do with his injuries. He winced when he shifted, digging in the back pocket of his pants for his wallet. He pulled a twenty out of the bi-fold section and slapped into Jim’s hand. Frowning, he turned back toward Pike. “I think the correct response was, ‘I walked into the door,’ Sir.” It wasn’t total bullshit. Len did hit some door. Well, more like door frame and splinters of the door proper, but it was still a door. Sort of.
From his position between the two men, Kirk scoffed, turning a bit more serious for a brief moment. “Hell no, Chris. Don’t believe him. That,” Jim said, motioning with one hand toward McCoy’s battered face, “Is what happens when a huge dude’s cranium makes acquaintance with my partner’s face.”
Chris stepped into the ambulance and crossed his arms over his chest. McCoy might not be his partner any more, but Pike still felt a sense of responsibility toward him. And though he hadn’t been a rookie for years, he’d always be the probie in Chris’ mind. If anything happened to Len, Pike knew his wife would have his balls on a plate. By questioning Kirk and McCoy, he really was killing two birds with one stone: he was doing his job as the squad’s supervisor, and more importantly, he was keeping his ass out of his wife’s crosshairs. With his left arm still folded over his chest, Chris pointed with the index finger of his right hand, “Did you get that checked out?”
“Of course I did. And if I didn’t, I’d have you here to remind me.” McCoy glanced down at Jim. “Both of you.”
“You know I have to ask.”
Sighing, Len replied, “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. I’ve got a mother, and she’s damned prettier than you.”
“I would certainly hope so. That might be a little scary.” With a little levity in the air, Pike’s gaze finally settled on McCoy’s poorly disguised smug but relieved expression. Time to get down to the real reason he was out in the first place. If he thought it was weird to hear over the air that he’d TASERed his partner, it was even more of a head trip actually seeing it. Chris ducked his head, bracing one hand on the roll bar above the door. He stopped and then stepped further into the bus, straightening as much as the low ceiling would allow once fully inside. “Do I dare ask what the happened?”
“I would think that it’d be fairly obvious,” McCoy said, matter-of-factly. He peered over the giant clip of the clear plastic clipboard and gave Pike his best ‘well, duh!’ expression he could muster on five cups of coffee and three hours’ sleep.
Pike dragged his eyes back to Kirk’s prone form. Face red and lip curling, Jim was growling spectacularly. The kid was cursing and half-yelling at his partner with such gusto that Chris momentarily forgot it wasn’t Leonard lying on the stretcher in the ambulance. The only thing Jim apparently hadn’t learned from his partner in that respect was how to do it quietly. Chris rubbed one hand over his right eyebrow. Just when he thought he’d seen it all, Jim and Bones did something else to prove him wrong. “On my way over here, I was thinking that I had to be dreaming for this call to be true. You really did it?”
“That’s what my report is going to say, Lieu,” McCoy answered without looking up. He finished writing and signed his name on the bottom with a dramatic flourish.
“Your report? Now you’re worried about a report? Dude, my ass! You TASERed me in the ass, Bones!” Kirk hollered, twisting as much as he dared on the gurney.
Chris and McCoy exchanged amused glances. McCoy snorted loudly. Resting the palm of his hand near the bottom of the magazine of his gun, he tapped the rosewood grip of the shiny, silver P226 handgun nestled safely in his holster. “Would you have preferred I used my Sig and shot you with a real bullet instead? Kid, there have been plenty of times I’ve been sorely tempted.” Shrugging, he added more to himself than to Jim or Pike, “Might have been a nice treat to ride alone for a while. It would have been quiet. I could hear myself think, and I wouldn’t have to listen to that shit you purport to be music.”
Pike held up a hand, presumably to stop the argument before it could truly get going. There was not enough space in the back of an ambulance for Kirk and McCoy to have it out. For that, they needed to find a big, wide open chunk of land that could accommodate automatic weapons fire and rocket propelled grenades, with no way any innocent bystanders could wander in on World War III. Shaking his head, Chris surprised both younger men with the words that exited his mouth. “No, no. If anyone’s going to shoot him, it’ll be me. I’m pulling rank. Get in line, McCoy.”
Kirk’s jaw dropped. What the good fuck was this about? Pike was the one that usually had his back, since he and Jim damn near shared a communal personality. McCoy often remarked how uncanny the similarities were between the two men, given they shared zero biological relation. Jim’s brain began the download sequence to process the beginnings of a good, rip-roaring, profane and inflammatory rant. It was ultimately step one for his newest verbal assault on his partner. But before he could actually engage his mouth, Kirk was rudely stopped dead in his tracks. Any witty retort died on his lips when the back doors opened the door and one of the paramedics hopped back into the rig. Jim snapped his mouth closed, still steaming with righteous indignation at his two mentors and friends gleefully ganging up on him.
“Gentleman,” Iowa City’s newest paramedic, Sarah Parker acknowledged to the trio. She gave Pike a pass, but eyed McCoy and Kirk up and down. “Though I use that term loosely.” Flipping her dirty blonde ponytail over his shoulder, she sat down in the chair situated toward the cab of the ambulance and picked up Kirk’s chart.
“Hey! I’ll have you know we are nothing but fine, upstanding officers,” Jim corrected, dripping sweetness from his voice.
Parker rolled her eyes and pushed past McCoy. She donned a pair of blue sterile gloves and pulled a couple of squares of gauze from the corner of the cabinet. Over her shoulder she said, “Yeah, I’ve heard all about you two. I know your types, and I’m not impressed by either of you. I might be new to Iowa City, but not to this game,” she said, a distinct inflection of New York City in her accent. “Let me tell you: the bullshit isn’t going to work with me, so you can forget it right now. Now, Officer Kirk, hold still while I take this thing out of you, unless you’d prefer I walk away and let your partner to deal with it.”
Pike bit down a chuckle when Jim’s eyes widened. The kid settled in onto his forearms without another word. Chris had to hand it to her; silencing Jim Kirk was no easy task, and Parker managed to do it a quick three sentences. That might be some kind of a record. Idly, Chris wondered if he should write it down for future reference.
To Parker’s left, Bones muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He yanked the sheet of paper from the clip holder, tossed the clipboard down on the bench of the ambulance and made his way toward the back doors. McCoy felt the sudden rush of arctic air when he pulled opened the door. He suppressed a shudder at the sudden sting of the cold. His boots hit the ground outside the ambulance with a thud, and he cursed when his foot caught a patch of ice. Slipping, he managed to right himself before he faceplanted into the pavement. Even after ten years in the Midwest, McCoy had still yet to master the whole concept of walking on ice. Straightening, he adjusted his duty rig and glanced back over his shoulder at Pike. “I’ve got work to do, and now that someone else is paying attention to Jim.”
Pike shrugged and hopped down from the step of the ambulance. He landed gracefully on the opposite side of the ice that nearly brought McCoy down and started making his way back toward the general vicinity of the apartment. He pushed past the crowd of onlookers and walked through the parking lot. Passing Stevenson and Bradley, Chris shot both rookies a deadly look. “We’ll have words later, you two. Count on it.”
Stevenson gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yes, sir.”
In a quiet voice, Len added, “Those two are going to get killed, or they’re going to get someone else killed.”
Pike sighed, the deep breath he drew exiting his lungs in a wide, heavy white puff of cold induced white smoke. “I know. I’ll be splitting them up tomorrow, as soon as I can figure out who can take them on.”
Len nodded, satisfied. “They’re going to be good cops, Chris. They’re just green.”
Pike popped the latch on the door to the driver’s seat, leaning on the top of the frame. Cheekily, he peered over the roof of the car towards McCoy. “I know that, too. Sounds like someone else I knew.”
Chris laughed when McCoy’s smooth gait hitched as soon as the sentence was clear of the Lieutenant’s mouth. The two men settled inside the relative warmth of the car. Pike turned the engine over and cranked the heat up to high. He knew McCoy hated Iowa winter with a searing passion, but also that he was too stubborn and proud to admit he was freezing his ass off standing outside. Chris’ face morphed into one of concern when he saw Len wince and pinch the bridge of his nose. Pike turned in his seat, tilted his head to the left and asked again, “Are you absolutely sure you don’t need to head over to the hospital? You look a little pale yet. There’s no harm in getting another look.”
McCoy exhaled slowly when his ribs gave a rather painful throb. “No, I’m okay. The medics checked me out, and there’s nothing the hospital could do for me short of telling me to get some rest, and ice my face and my ribs,” he answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the worried expression on Pike’s face. With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he added, “Which I plan on doing as soon as I get off shift. Jesus, you are worse than my own damned parents.”
“Let me remind you, son, that your own parents didn’t roll up on you while you were wrestling with a couple of drug dealers in time to see you get shot three times at point blank range,” Chris countered forcefully, turning serious and shuddering unintentionally at the unpleasant memory. Even five years was not enough separation to erase from his mind the sound of the rapid pop-pop-pop from the gun pointed at his downed partner, or the smell of sulfur from the recently expended rounds from his own gun. Chris knew he’d never forget that day, and though sometimes he wished he could, he knew he needed to remember. It put his own life and his job back in stark, blunt perspective.
For once without a snide remark or snarky comment, Len sat silently. In his own rational mind, he knew Pike was right. But, he was never very good at facing his own mortality, and even his closest brush with death did little to turn him over a new leaf. He exhaled a shaky breath and cracked his neck. Softly, McCoy said, “He hit my vest, Chris.”
“That time.” Pike pointed one finger at his protégé and continued. “But that’s not the point and you know it. As much as you don’t like to admit it, you need the mothering, Len. You wouldn’t take care of yourself otherwise, and I’m not about to let you get yourself hurt again.”
“I’m not careless, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Len replied defensively.
“I know you’re careful. You always have been. That’s not what I meant. What I am saying is that you look out for other people far more than you look out for yourself,” Pike corrected. He scrubbed one calloused palm over his face and added, “Jesus, what makes you such a good training officer gives me grey hair.”
The muscle in McCoy’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he digested Pike’s words. Len turned his head to stare straight out the window, allowing a terse silence to engulf the interior of the vehicle. He knew Pike was right, that he would do something borderline dangerous before he allowed anyone else to attempt the same. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself that if Kirk pulled some of the shit he did as a young officer, Len would string the kid up by his belt and leave him hanging on the wall to prove his point.
The Lieutenant knew no more words were necessary, that McCoy understood the point he was trying to make. Pike let Len calm down and get comfortable before turned to the more professional matters at hand. “Now, on to this whole TASERing-your-partner business. I am not amused, McCoy. It’s one thing to deploy it to gain compliance, but it’s completely another to hit a member of law enforcement in the process. You’re making more paperwork for me, and that is annoying.”
Smirking, Leonard raised his eyebrow and blew on his frozen hands. “Yeah, whatever. But I also know you well enough to see that you’re just here for the entertainment. Don’t lie to me, Chris. After seven years as your partner, it doesn’t work. I know the face you make when you’re trying to fart silently, so don’t think you can slip this one past me. I can see it.”
“Yeah, okay. You got me there,” Chris laughed, easily conceding defeat. “Why don’t you just give me the abridged version and I’ll be on my merry way, back to drown in my paperwork.” He reached into the back seat of the car and pulled out a leather laptop bag. Fishing around, he found the computer and powered it up. Chris listened patiently while McCoy recounted the evening, from dispatch’s first call to the moment before Pike arrived. To the Lieutenant, it seemed justifiable, if not highly amusing. He was sure when he took statements from Stevenson, Bradley and Kirk, the evidence would concur that Leonard acted rationally. Satisfied, Pike snapped the laptop shut.
“So, am I back in your doghouse?” McCoy asked, feeing the end of the interview.
“No. I think you’re good on this one, but you’re not my problem child. I’m going to clear you two as soon as Jim gets his dignity ripped apart by that new, tough looking paramedic. I’m going to clear you right now so you’ll be back on duty tonight,” Chris answered.
Sighing in relief, McCoy visibly sagged in the passenger’s seat. “Thanks, Lieu. Glad to hear it.” It wasn’t really the prospect of being in trouble that irritated McCoy, but rather the inevitable desk duty that came from being pulled off patrol. More specifically, desk duty with Jim Kirk might as well have been a one-way ticket to the nuthouse. Any day where he was allowed on the street was a good one. Jim’s constant energy needed an outlet, and that outlet was not well served in a small room with really bad coffee.
So relieved, McCoy nearly missed Kirk’s exit from what was probably Parker’s Lair of Doom. Len’s eyes flicked over when he saw movement at the ambulance. The doors popped open and Jim hopped out. Both men expected Kirk to be running as fast as he could to escape Parker’s sharpened talons. But instead of a race back to the squad, Jim was walking casually though the lot, his trademark cocky smile on his face. McCoy’s eyes followed the path back to the rig to see the newest Iowa City paramedic not far behind. The pair watched Jim and Sarah flirted shamelessly. Kirk turned up the charm and flashed what Len termed the ‘pretty boy smile’ at the young lady. She reacted predictably, blushing and ducking her chin to her shoulder. A second later, she extended her hand with a business card, and both men in the car could clearly see a handwritten phone number scribbled on the back.
Simultaneous groans escaped both Pike and McCoy. Each man tipped his head back to come to rest against the headrest. Pike tilted his eyes to the right and grimaced when Kirk grabbed Parker’s hands in a gesture of goodbye. “Tell me I didn’t just see that.”
“Do you still roll around with the brain bleach in your car, Chris?” McCoy threw his arm up over his face. As much as he loved his partner, sometimes the shameless flirtation got really old. He knew it got on Pike’s nerves from time to time again, and as a joke one year, Len had a label made that he affixed over a true bottle of bleach. When Pike walked back into the precinct after a long day dealing with the stupidity of the general public, he’d laughed for five straight minutes when he saw McCoy’s gift sitting on his desk. From that moment on, it was rumored that the bottle rode in the trunk of Chris’ car as a silent salute to Len’s witty sense of humor.
Truth be told, Pike really wished he hadn’t actually used the bottle at a crime scene. Chris opened his eyes and glared out the window. “No, it’s definitely time to reorder.”
Leonard inwardly seethed. Damn Jim Kirk and his ever-present charm to hell. But the capricious nature of the situation literally dropped into his lap up in Carson’s apartment was too good to ignore, and for once, McCoy thought he’d managed to get the upper hand on Jim without having to resort to using rank. Any feelings of glee or sadistic satisfaction were wiped away as soon as he saw the rather frosty Parker melt when Kirk cranked up the charm. It was maddening, frustrating, and entertaining all at the same time, because McCoy knew how it would invariably end. It would be spectacular, it would loud, and it would end badly. As his partner, Len was glad he would be there to see it all go down.
Chris snorted. “This ought to be good. That woman is going to eat him for lunch.”
He was most definitely inclined to agree. But, if every member of the department had to suffer because of Jim Kirk’s woman woes, Len figured it was his civic duty to at least make it interesting. Turning to Pike, McCoy asked, “Do you want in on an over-under of how long it takes her to forcefully sedate him?”
“I’ll get in on that.” Pike pursed his lips, deep in thought. He mentally ran the chances in his head, though history, experience and common sense all dictated that it wouldn’t take long for Jim to royally piss of the spunky paramedic. Chris prayed it didn’t end with some type of catastrophic level explosion only the fire department would be able to extinguish. With a shrug, Pike placed his wager. “I give it one date.”
“That’s a losing bet for sure, man. I don’t give it any dates at all,” McCoy replied. He pulled out his notepad and scribbled down the date and Pike’s rather optimistic forecast. By the end of the shift, he knew his entire sheet would be full of predictions from other members of the department, none of which would be terribly sanguine.
Reaching over to shake the younger man’s hand, Pike said slyly, “Leonard, you have yourself a bet.”
Len flipped the door handle, extracting himself from the vehicle. He waved a quick goodbye to Pike as the lieutenant drove off the lot, fishing in his right pocket for the keys to his car at the same time. McCoy walked calmly over to where Jim was waiting, all the while twirling the key for the pair’s car around his index finger.
“Are we golden?” Kirk asked, leaning casually against the hood of the cruiser.
“We’re golden.” He unlocked the car, slid in and started the engine. McCoy turned to Kirk and asked as innocently as he could, “Want to get something to eat? Your choice. I want to hear all about this new date of yours.”
Kirk shifted in his seat and adjusted the seat belt so it stopped rubbing his neck. Something wasn’t sitting right with him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was exactly. Jim narrowed his eyes. “Did Carson’s giant cranium knock something loose in your own head? Did you lose some brain cells I should be worried about? You never let me pick dinner and you hate hearing about my sex life, but now you’re willing to do and hear both?”
Bobbing his head up and down, McCoy plastered a tiny smile on his face and hoped Jim would buy the act. “Once can’t hurt. I thought I’d try it to see what infantile place you’d choose, and what you kids think of as ‘dates’ these days.”
“Famous last words.” Jim chuckled. He was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and figured that maybe this new development in their partnership was one right step in the equality direction. But he was still wary; experience taught him that full trust in Leonard McCoy on matters away from the job was unwise and detrimental to his health. With a sideways glance, Jim replied with a skeptical, “All right. If you’re okay with it.”
“I’m fine with it,” he replied solidly. Internally, McCoy cringed. It painful even thinking about what Jim might do or say about his new lust interest, and what kind of gut busting food the kid would choose. But if he had to relinquish some control in order to figure out a way to tip the scales in his favor, then so be it. It was a small price to pay with such huge stakes riding on his bet with Chris.
There was no way he was going to wash every single squad car on his next day off if he lost to Pike.
No. Fucking. Way.
--FIN--