Fic: Defining Family (5/5)
Author's Notes: The story was supposed to end with the previous chapter, but this idea hit me a few months after I thought I'd completed the fic and begged to be written. Bones is such a fun character to write because he's almost like writing two people. On the outside, you have this cranky, sarcastic jerk who uses that to cover how wonderfully kind he is. I figured it was worth it to extend the story another four or five pages in order to show both sides. As always, thank you all for reading. Whether you've lurked or left (much loved comments), I hope you all have enjoyed it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, but I do own the giant pile of snow the city plow just left at the end of my freshly cleared driveway. Jerks.
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
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Chapter 5
When he walked back in his door after the kidnapping and forced birthday party, McCoy expected to be at least one of the following: 1) Exhausted, 2) Pissed, or most probably, 3) Fired. Parties just weren't his 'thing' as his father often said, and since his teenage years, he avoided them at all costs. Jim, Chris, Lynn; hell, everyone he knew were the social butterflies. He was always the odd man out, the one trying to fit in. It usually ended predictably; McCoy was the guy who always felt like a square peg stuffed into a round hole that wound up by himself or begged off early.
The awkwardness amongst peers, friends and family was his constant companion ever since he could remember when it came to gatherings. Social ability wasn't part of McCoy's DNA, and he didn't see the point in trying to force himself to do something for which he didn't have the aptitude to tackle. Too many painful experiences and embarrassing moments throughout his life shaped his positively apathetic view toward any event involving other humans, especially those where fun was supposed to be involved. McCoy conditioned himself to believe that he didn't need it, and until he met the Pike family, he was convinced he would stay that way for the rest of his life.
But it was funny how things changed, and his thirty-something birthday party was further proof, even if McCoy was dragged to it kicking and screaming (literally). He really did enjoy his day, especially when it was spent surrounded by good food and better company. A completely awesome cake topped it off, and Len walked back through the door to his cozy apartment with a smile on his face and little bounce to his step. McCoy came to the conclusion that sometimes it was good to be wrong, especially when the end results were as spectacular as his birthday. What he couldn't believe was that he was actually willing to concede that fact to Kirk and Pike that it was mission: accomplished.
Chucking his keys on the kitchen counter, Len hefted the overflowing bag of food Lynn insisted on sending home with him on the table. The dozen breadsticks, wrapped in tin foil two apiece for individual meal consumption, teetered dangerously on the lip of the bag before they toppled forward. A muttered curse escaped the sergeant's lips while he leaned down to pick them up. He set them on the table and stepped back to draw up a battle plan.
It would be criminal for him to let something as magical as Lynn's lasagna go to waste, so it was with military precision that McCoy began unpacking the bag's contents. He walked over to his refrigerator and made room, tossing a few bits of mystery food that were far past their expiration date into the garbage bag he set on the floor. With only minor amounts of swearing, he managed to fit every single one of the dozen-plus Gladware containers Lynn sent, ostensibly to keep him from starving to death, in the refrigerator. The quintessential mother hen, McCoy expected nothing less, even if he made a big show of begrudging acceptance when she gave him the food he knew he had coming.
McCoy was about to repurpose the paper bag as a fire starter for the barbecue on his deck when something at the bottom caught his eye. He furrowed his brows, reached in and plucked out a white envelope. On the front, in Pike's surprisingly neat, slanted cursive, McCoy saw 'Len' written on paper. In black ink, it was underlined twice, as if to accentuate the point home.
A sense of trepidation filled his chest for the briefest of moments before Len forced it back down. Although it was, as the Hobgoblin often said, "Illogical to feel such a deep sense of apprehension on a day that should be undoubtedly pleasant," McCoy couldn't help but wonder why Pike would bother with a card. In the same vein as parties, he didn't like cards or gifts, either. Over the years, people learned to simply not give them, and McCoy was fine with that becoming the norm. Len thought he'd gotten his wishes through the heads of the people in his little group, but apparently, one man still refused to cooperate.
Placing his index finger in the intersection made by the flap of the card's envelope, McCoy pulled the paper up. He ripped down the side and pulled out a white, standard sized card. But instead of the cutting, blatant condescension or halfhearted well wishes to which he was accustomed from his own family, McCoy was instead met with the one of the funniest cards he'd ever seen, and something only Chris would dare give. On the outside, in big, bold black and red print, it read, "Life is all about ASS. You're either: covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, busting it, trying to get a piece of it, or behaving like one."
Well, his former partner certainly picked an appropriate and truthful card. A snort escaped McCoy's lips while he turned the card over in his hand to read the inscription the lieutenant left inside. He expected nothing less; given Pike's tastes, it wasn't going to be a profound, flowery birthday card. Chris was a lot of things, but mushy or sentimental weren't very high on the list. He was caring and open, but definitely not sappy, and the inside was just further confirmation of that fact.
There was no way a card like the one in his hands was sold by any big box store McCoy could think of. He bit his lip and smirked when he opened the card and read the inside. It was originally a blank card; knowing his former partner, Pike probably found it at some specialty shop eons ago, bought it, and tucked it away for use at the right time. But if he thought the outside was hilarious, the interior passage was ten times funnier, and completely indicative of Chris' level of comfort with his protégé. In the same distinct, neat script as was written on the envelope, "Happy fucking birthday, you cranky son of a bitch. Now quit complaining about your life and get back to work," was inked inside. Pike signed his name with a flourish on the bottom, and added Lynn's and Ethan's names to boot.
There was one more item left to address, apparently. McCoy's long fingers pulled out a much smaller envelope that was tucked inside the card. It looked like a gift card, but Len could instantly feel the weight wasn't right. He pulled the tiny flap of the envelope back and extracted a small piece of stiff paper. It was Pike's business card, emblazoned with the Iowa City PD logo and his contact information. But upon closer inspection, McCoy noticed that the lieutenant drew an arrow on the lower right hand side. It pointed to the right, which was off the edge of the card.
Flipping Chris' business card over, McCoy tossed his head back and laughed. Chris' choices for the day were the rare exceptions of enjoyment, ideas so perfect that they had be used. On the back of the card, Pike's message read, "The bearer of this card is entitled to one 'Get Out of Kirk Free,' Day, redeemable with sufficient notice." Translation: Pike would work his shift with Kirk, the poster child for ADHD, for one full shift on the day of his choice. Sweet.
Len reached around to the right back pocket of his pants and pulled out his wallet. He tucked Chris' gift behind his driver's license but in front of his police officer ID to keep it safe from harm (and to keep curious partners from finding it). McCoy flipped on the TV for some noise while he cleaned up the mess he made when he emptied the fridge, whistling as he went about the chores. He wandered into his bedroom and changed out of his jeans, instead grabbing his worn, faded pair of Batman fleece pants from the bottom drawer of his dresser. He slid them on and padded back out into the living room.
The long-standing precinct rule that Leonard McCoy hated birthdays (namely his own) was in great peril of being invalidated, and it irked the sergeant that he was the guy about to stamp it null and void. With a dramatic, put-upon sigh, McCoy picked up his phone from the coffee table where it was left on his way in the door and unlocked the screen. Navigating over to the 'Messages' option, he scrolled through until he saw Kirk's name. Snorting, he quickly typed a message. 'I don't know whether I should hug you or hit you, but thank you, you annoying infant.'
He hit the 'send' button and was about to toss the device back on the table when another thought struck him. Smirking, he quickly typed out another message. 'And tell Pike I'll take up his offer, since I know damned well the bastard is reading this over your shoulder.'
Across town, Jim's phone buzzed in his hand, the younger man staring at the screen with an expression that could only be categorized as astonished. "How the hell did he know that I'm still here?" Kirk asked. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at his boss' boss. "And what offer is he talking about, Lieu?"
"It's my birthday gift to him, and before you ask, what I gave him is none of your damned business, Kirk. Some things are best when you're left in the dark," Pike answered cryptically while he turned away from Jim to hide the smirk gracing his lips. He snagged his phone from the kitchen counter, found McCoy's name and typed what he thought was the world's best reply. Chris hit the send button, pocketed his phone and with a supremely devilish smile that made Jim take a couple of steps back in apprehension, added, "But you're going to love it when you find out."
When Len's phone beeped on the table, the sergeant read Pike's text, raised a challenging eyebrow and typed exactly three words in reply: "It's a bet."
--FIN--