Title: The Case of the Mondays (#7, J ‘N B Series)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, McCoy
Summary: Comment!fic written for this pic post at jim_and_bones; AUish. Morning is a… way to get yourself in gear, especially when you are tracking down the city’s most dangerous criminal. With a little help on the side, of course.
Previous Parts: Another Day, Another Dollar, and a Daily Show? | Fight the Good Fight | Don’t Touch the Rock | A Tear Worth Gold | Another Day, Another Dollar, Part 2 | Pirates Read Too

“Mondays are shit.”

“Today is Tuesday.”

“Pseudo-Mondays are shit.”

“Boss, you need a re-fill on the java?”

McCoy squints one eye at his blinking assistant, slowly uncrosses his legs and drops his feet from his desk with a thud. “What the fuck took you so long to figure that out?” He up-ends his empty coffee mug to emphasize his point.

8 a.m. and he’s already cursing. Ought to have been clue enough, even for a slow-wit. The assistant takes the mug without another word and trails out of his office. McCoy, finding that tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair is somehow unsatisfying this morning, picks up a pen and chucks it across the room.

He doesn’t get paid the big bucks to sit on his ass; in fact, if he sits in his office all day he definitely won’t get paid. And paperwork has never been his favorite past-time. Hence this is why several minutes later McCoy strides out the cramped box he calls his office, startling the still sleep-fogged assistant, and snatches the re-filled coffee mug before it tilts down the front of the poor kid’s shirt. He grimaces at the black liquid, knowing it’s the cheap shit but he’s on a budget, before swallowing a mouthful. Then, “Call Detective what’s-his-face at the precinct.”

“Kirk.”

“Yeah, the bonehead.”

“I think he has a medal of honor or something.”

“Just makes him a decorated bonehead. I’m gone,” he announces loudly as he slams open the door to the third-floor lobby and heads for the elevator.

The assistant might be saying something like what about your appointment with—? He deliberately drowns that out. No need to think about her quite yet. …Except who is he kidding? Meeting his ex-wife and her lawyer probably won’t be the worst part of his day.

“Hey, Bones! Did you bring me a donut?”

Fucking cop jokes, McCoy thinks sourly. He drags out the chair from the corner of Kirk’s office and slouches into it. Kirk’s grinning, bright-eyed countenance only makes his mood more acerbic. “I guess coppers are called pigs for a reason,” he says, stretching out his lazy, eat-shit drawl.

Kirk remains completely unaffected.

A man in a coffee-stained shirt and askew tie stops by the open door to Kirk’s office. He ignores Kirk and fixes McCoy with hooded look and knowing quirk to his mouth. “Hey there, Leonard. What brings you here—business or pleasure? I gotta say, it would great if it was the latter.”

McCoy snorts derisively. You wish, you little turd pole. He is on the cusp of expressing that sentiment aloud wholeheartedly when Jim interrupts, voice diamond-hard, “Frank, have you processed last night’s catch?”

“Buncha drunks and public disturbances,” grunts Frank.

Kirk’s smile has a sharp edge that McCoy finds impressive. “Get it done anyway. Unless you want Sulu’s help.”

Frank backs away muttering something like fucking Sulu, no fucking way.

McCoy scratches at his day-old beard once Jim has gotten up and shut the door. “Since when you are the big balls in this joint?”

“Since the Chief promoted me.”

“Goddamn. Another fucking promotion? What’d they make you this time? Captain?” McCoy shakes his head sadly. “Your boss disappoints me.”

Kirk leans against the edge of his desk. A stack of file folders next to him shifts ominously. “Look, Bones, what do you need? Not that I mind the visits but…”

“Spock.”

Kirk groans.

McCoy, offended by this response, sits up and pokes his finger against Kirk’s knee. “Don’t tell me you’ve quit lookin’ for the SOB!”

“Of course we haven’t,” the detective snaps. “He’s just damn fucking impossible to find.”

“I’m gonna catch that bastard,” McCoy says, fire in his eyes, “and then you’re gonna lock him up and flush the key down the toliet.”

“We need a lead first,” Kirk points out, amused.

McCoy grips the arms of his chair. He had been thinking about this last night. Couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, plotting, cursing a certain thief’s name. “What we need is bait.”

“Bones…”

“Don’t give me a spiel, kid. You know damn well you love the idea.” McCoy is pleased to see that Kirk can barely suppress a grin. He waits patiently for Kirk to regain control of his serious face before continuing. “I might not be on the city payroll but I have good instincts. We can catch ‘im, Jim. I know we can!”

“The Chief will have my head.”

Ah, hooked him. Now to reel him in slowly. “Then lucky for you I am an independent. If I set the trap ‘n you happen to conveniently be in the neighborhood, who’s gonna kick up a fuss about that?”

Jim rubs his chin in thought. “I’d have to have an excellent reason for ‘being in the neighborhood,’ Bones. And where exactly is the neighborhood?”

“Art gallery on Coit. Friend of mine says she can help us out.”

Jim whistles, impressed. “Fancy place. But I don’t usually hang out in art galleries, you know.”

The P.I. shrugs. “Me either.” McCoy’s stomach does a sudden flop at the way Kirk’s blue eyes are considering him intently.

“Actually,” the good-looking man says, “I can think of a good reason. A great reason.” Impishly, “How about a date, Bones?”

This… is not why he came visiting. Definitely not. The idea still makes him feel hot under the collar. “A little wining and dining and then catching an art thief?”

“Or the other way around.”

“Nah, we’d better get the dinner bit out of the way first.” Oh holy crap, did that just come out of his mouth? And where is his brain hiding? McCoy tries to backtrack. “I mean, we can’t be chasing Spock around on empty stomachs, right? The little bugger is fast.” He recalls the last run-in he had with the criminal and his ire rises.

Spock, that arrogant, slippery eel of a bastard!

As if Jim knows he is mentally picturing his hands around the elusive thief’s neck, the detective reaches out and squeezes his forearm. “A date it is then, Bones.” He grabs his jacket from the back of the office door as he swings it open and says, “Let’s grab some coffee at Marie’s. We can discuss the particulars of the case.” His eyes are twinkling as he says this loudly enough for the rest of officers in the work area beyond to hear.

McCoy realizes belatedly as Jim holds the door for him at Marie’s that the man had said date. He turns to stare at Kirk, who greets the brunette behind the counter with abundant charm.

“Nobody’s dating nobody,” he grumbles under his breath.

“What can I get you and… your boyfriend?” asks the barista, batting her eyelashes at Kirk.

“Mm, Bones, what do you want?”

He meets Jim’s eyes, knows in that second the man is not going to correct the barista’s assumption, and arguing about it would be pointless.

Means nothing.

As Jim leads the way to table tucked in a corner of the shop, he is saying to McCoy, “If we don’t catch Spock this time, we can always try again at another gallery or a private collector’s auction. I’m available,” he adds, peering at McCoy over his cup, “any time you need me—so long as you remember our cover story in case my boss wants to know what we’re up to.”

He stirs cream into his coffee. “That we’re dating?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yes.” Jim leans forward, lowers his voice. “Of course, it would be a lot more believable if we were really together, Bones.” Kirk waggles his eyebrows like a true comedian.

“Why am I sensing you aren’t interested in catching Spock?”

Jim doesn’t answer that. The guy doesn’t have to, and McCoy thinks maybe he has just dug himself into a hole he might never get out of. Figures. Pseudo-Mondays are almost as bad as Mondays.

He’ll let Kirk have his way this one time. After all, McCoy’s all about the job, as a private eye, and Spock ranks on the top of his list catch-em-jail-em-go-straight-to-collect. Jim will learn that eventually. Only business, no pleasure.

Except Jim Kirk is one of those slippery ones, too. He goes left when everybody else goes right.

Decided, McCoy enjoys his coffee for a moment before talking. “One date,” he says firmly, tone brooking no argument. “And you let me be the one to handcuff Spock and shove his ass into the back of a squad car.”

“You’re kinky, Bones. I like it.”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee.”

With the expression of man who thinks he has won, Jim obeys.

-Fini

Today’s Topic – Helmets!

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