Title: The Case of the Mondays, Part 2 (#9, 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; Continuation of the PI!Bones and cop!Jim ‘verse. Mondays are still shit, according to McCoy.
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 | The Case of the Mondays | Today’s Topic- Helmets!

McCoy peeks open the one eye which isn’t swollen shut and grunts at the man staring him in the face.

“Bones?”

“Mondays are still shit,” he snaps, irritated at life in general, but sadly the snap comes out as more of a drunken drawl. The docs have him on the potent pain killers, it seems. Must be why his face feels numb.

Kirk comprehends his mumbling apparently. “Technically today is Sunday.”

“Fucking Pseudo-Monday.”

In Georgia there wasn’t this sort of problem—chasing crazy-ass art thieves across town into a midnight bar of bikers. His Georgia used to have a little thing called blue laws which ensured the bars didn’t bother opening their doors on a God-fearing day. Not that McCoy is particularly religious, except on a Pseudo-Monday spent in the ER.

“I hear ya, Bones.” Kirk grins, unmindful of his bloody nose.

That’s all—a fucking bloody nose no one’s told the bonehead to wipe. Maybe the prick-asses around here think that’s McCoy’s job but he’ll be damned if he says anything. He isn’t the kid’s nanny after all.

Whereas Kirk came out of the brawl fairly unscathed, McCoy looks like he got jumped by an angry loan shark and a band of thugs then tossed under a Mack truck, which proceeded to run him over, back up, and repeat the process. When he thinks of how he actually got his face rearranged—and his dislocated shoulder—his drug haze clears like a shock of cold water.

“I’ll kill that bastard!” snarls the private investigator. He kicks at the blanket covering his legs to emphasize his ire.

James Kirk’s sigh is full of consternation. “Bones, I’m sure if Spock could see you, he’d feel bad.”

McCoy’s expression says his eyes would be bulging if they weren’t so messed up. His left hand whips out and catches the front of Kirk’s shirt, wrenches the man closer. “That asshole told them I was a stalker! Are you gonna take his side, Jim?” The question is dangerous.

Jim seems to consider McCoy’s bruised and bloodied face. “Definitely not.” His voice drops into dark territory. “We’re taking good care of those punks at the station, Bones. I left Sulu in charge.”

McCoy’s mouth stretches painfully at the corners when he smiles. Bastards are going to be pissing themselves in fear after a chat with Sulu. “Remind me later to take him out for a drink.” His fingers loosen on the fabric of Kirk’s shirt but the cop doesn’t pull away.

“Bones,” half-whispers Jim, leaning in. His lips trail lightly along the line of McCoy’s stubbled jaw up to his ear, never mind that the curtain isn’t drawn for privacy and if McCoy could see straight he’d bet dollars to dimes the emergency room nurses are hating him about now.

McCoy is told “Next time, don’t mouth off to a group of Hell’s Angels. Even if you are pissed they gave Spock a getaway ride. One of them could have put you in the ground. What would I do then?”

Probably gotten himself killed too, thinks McCoy. Jim does dumbass things like that.

McCoy still is not quite sure what it is Jim likes about him, or what this thing is they’re attempting to build between them. And sometimes he thinks ought to regret letting that first date have a successor and then another and another. Before McCoy knew it, Kirk’s buddies in the police station were eyeing him with something less than disdain or pity and more like respect. Apparently being a P.I. is laughable to most cops… until said P.I. starts dating their Captain.

Jim pulls away and re-tucks the hospital blanket around McCoy’s legs. Then the man runs a hand through his hair and sighs again.

McCoy says, reading Jim’s next words in his eyes, “I know. Get goin’. Precinct needs you, else they’re no better than a bunch of monkeys sitting around picking off each other’s fleas.”

Kirk chuckles, winces, and McCoy vows to take a look at the man’s sore ribs himself as soon as he is medically discharged from this hell hole. He doesn’t trust any diagnosis he can’t personally confirm.

Someone says “Where?” out in the hall.

McCoy’s face may be busted up but his hearing is excellent. He catches that familiar voice, glances at Jim, and wonders if this upcoming scene is going to play out badly.

“Leo!” His ex-wife pauses within some feet of McCoy’s bed.

McCoy ignores how stiff Jim suddenly is and slides into an upright position. His smile of greeting is more of a grimace. “Joss,” he says. The events of the evening must be catching up with him because his shoulders slump with weariness. “I forgot to tell ’em to take your name off the contact list. Sorry about that.”

“No,” she says, “I’m glad you didn’t. Are you all right?”

He is surprised she means it. Maybe the past couple of months apart has soothed over the rawness of their divorce.

Jocelyn thanks Jim when he finds an empty chair for her to sit in. Jim’s eyes flick over to McCoy, questioning, and he tells the man gruffly, “Didn’t I say get goin’?” Kirk nods, leaves.

For a brief moment, silence stretches awkwardly between McCoy and his ex-wife. Her fingers fidget with the clasp of her purse, a tell-tale sign of how uncomfortable she feels. He tells her quietly, “You didn’t have to come.”

Her answer is soft, somewhat bitter. “Once a cop’s wife, always a cop’s wife. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I’m not a cop, Joss.”

Her eyes have a bit of fire in them as she studies his battered face. “You act like you are.” Her laugh is humorless. “We aren’t even married anymore and I still find myself dreading to answer the phone.” She puts a hand to her temple. Despairingly, “Oh, Leo.”

His job is what ruined their marriage, and now he and Joss are just another statistic in someone’s study. He doesn’t blame her for wanting out, sick of worrying he may push his luck too far, may end up dead some day; but McCoy cannot change careers, not to save himself or to save them.

He rubs the pads of his fingers against the rough cotton of the blanket absently, notices his blunt nails are still flecked with dried blood. His blood.

“What can I say, Joss? You’ve heard it all.” He adds anyway, “I’m sorry.”

She admits for the first time since the divorce, “I’m sorry too.” The woman sighs, sets her purse on the floor, and reaches over to fill a cup with ice water. She offers it to McCoy with the words, “The doctor says most of your wounds are superficial but they want to keep you in for observation tonight. Do you need a ride in the morning?”

This fragile truce between them isn’t something he wants to break. He shakes his head. “Kirk’s already claimed the honor.”

“Oh.” Then hesitantly, “Is—Is he—?”

She can’t say the words but he understands anyway. “I don’t know,” McCoy tells his ex-wife honestly. “We’re… partners. In some ways.” More easily, “We’re still tryin’ to catch—”

“Spock,” she finishes with a wry smile. “Have you ever considered he isn’t meant to be caught, Leo?”

McCoy thumps the bedrail. “Hell no! He’s makin’ the city officials look like a bunch of bumbling fools! He—”

She laughs with real amusement this time. McCoy gives her his best glare. “You ‘n Jim seem to think something’s funny,” he accuses. “Ain’t nothing funny about a criminal on the loose.”

“Oh baby,” she says, “I’m laughing because you don’t change. You’re like a dog with a bone.”

Which was Jim’s explanation for nicknaming him Bones. What a God damn annoyance Jim is.

“I am going to get Spock,” he insists.

“And do what exactly once you have him, Leo? Force him to apologize for calling you an amateur detective?”

McCoy grits his teeth. The bastard hadn’t done it to his face, either, but had sent after their first, lamentably embarrassing encounter (the squad had accidentally tear-gassed themselves, thereby allowing a leisurely escape for the thief) an arrogant note to the press pointing out the flaws of the local law enforcement’s tactics. Included in that note was a personal jibe which had read Greetings to Officer Kirk. If you intend to apprehend me within a suitable timeframe as you so boast, might I suggest you re-train your newly acquired amateur sidekick? Mr. McCoy lacks a certain stealth to succeed at his work. Regards, Spock.

Joss is shaking her head at his incensed expression. She stands and leans in to kiss an unbruised spot on his cheek. “I need to go. Stay out of trouble, please?”

He nods, more serious. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She takes her purse in hand and gives him a secretive little smile. “Do tell that Captain of yours he doesn’t need to run a background check on me.”

“Jim wouldn’t…” McCoy trails off at the disbelieving arch of her eyebrow.

“I’m a woman, dear,” she says sweetly. “I know jealousy when I see it.”

McCoy slouches back into his pillow, grumping, “He’s an idiot.”

She says nothing, merely keeps smiling, and leaves her ex-husband to contemplate the mystery that is James Tiberius Kirk.

-Fini

Marked

Related Posts:

• Another Day, Another Dollar, Part 4 (#40, J ‘N B Series) (40/40) – from March 29, 2013
• The Light In Which We’re Cast (#39, J ‘N B Series) – from March 20, 2013
• Playing Life to Win (#38, J ‘N B Series) – from March 14, 2013
• An Intergalactic Fandom (#37, J ‘N B Series) – from January 15, 2013
• We Fight to Win (#36, J ‘N B Series) – from January 4, 2013