Title: The Case of the Mondays, Part 3 (#13, J ‘N B Series)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairings: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Comment!fic written for this pic post at jim_and_bones of Karl with a drink in hand; Mondays are no fun but when spent alone? Even worse.
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! | The Case of the Mondays, Part 2 | Marked | Awesome Ideas Come from Awesome Brains | In the Keeping of a Spirit

McCoy swallows the liquid fire and shoves his empty glass away. The bartender picks it up as McCoy snaps, “Gimme another” but the man just shakes his head solemnly with a “No can-do.”

The P.I. isn’t belligerent-drunk yet to start swinging his fists so he just scowls at the bartender’s audacity. “I got money,” he points out. “You got booze. That’s a fair trade in my book, pal.”

The bartender turns away with the words, “Sorry, but I have my orders. Two is your limit tonight.”

He is taken aback. Limit? What fucking limit?! There is only one person dumb enough to limit McCoy’s alcohol consumption.

And the fucker isn’t here.

Leonard slumps farther over the bar counter and glares at a bowl of peanuts.

This isn’t the first time he and Jim have had a spat, he knows, but it’s definitely the longest one in the history of their relationship. He’s sleeping out of his office (damn fucking couch is murder on his back) and Jim is—shit, Jim isn’t around. Probably pulling midnight shifts at the precinct.

By now, one of them was supposed to have caved and sought out the other to make amends.

Well, it isn’t going to be him! Leonard thinks furiously, swiping at an errant lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. He isn’t the one with the gall. That’s all Jim’s doing.

All hail pseudo-suffering-by-myself-Mondays. The fact it is Thursday and every day this week has been a pseudo-Monday makes him want to drown himself. And the bartender isn’t willing to play along.

Stupid pseudo-Monday.

He must have muttered that aloud because there is a waitress at his elbow looking very fed-up with him. Maybe she is. He has been in this same bar every night for two weeks.

McCoy was so mad at Jim for the first few nights he tried to pick her up. She politely declined his first attempt (he really was a slurring drunk then) but thereafter began to turn him down with growing annoyance. The fifth—and final—time he had propositioned her, she almost crushed his fingers when she slammed his refilled drink down onto the table.

“Stop being a jackass,” she had snapped to his face. “You’ve got somebody, McCoy, so go home to him and quit looking for trouble.”

Maybe it isn’t the best idea to wallow in his anger and misery in the bar he and Jim often frequented together.

McCoy carefully and subtly leans away from the waitress as she empties her tray of dirty glasses and takes the orders the bartender is sliding her way. He is kind of frightened of her now (and will never understand why Kirk likes to flirt with her). The woman’s beautiful, yeah, but a viper.

He is surprised when she turns to him before collecting her tray and taps his shoulder with a long, red-lacquered nail.

“Booth near the back,” she says.

“What?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “There’s a fellow in the back who wants to talk to you.” This time she shoves at his shoulder. “So get your lazy, depressed ass off this stool. It’s for customers only.”

He frowns. “I am a customer.”

“Not according to your friend.” Her smile turns wicked. “You’ve reached your drink limit for tonight, McCoy.”

His head whips around toward the booths along the far wall but the lighting is too poor to make out faces, only profiles. The profile he sees speaks of dignified authority.

McCoy is a private investigator for a reason: he likes poking his nose into other people’s business and, more than that, he likes a good mystery. The waitress would have mentioned Jim by name. It cannot be Jim, so… He is striding over to the booth without a second’s thought, his anger forgotten, his misery shoved away.

The man in the shadowed booth is definitely not Kirk. Not by a long shot.

McCoy’s mouth drops open, just briefly, before his brain can catch up to, and make sense of, his disbelief.

“Please be seated,” says the deep, professional voice of the city’s most wanted criminal.

“Spock!” he gasps then lurches around to look at the rest of the oblivious bar with his heart pounding erratically in his chest. A shout is working its way up his throat (Sweet fucking Jesus, somebody call the police, it’s him!—CALL KIRK!) when long fingers shoot out of the darkened corner and yank him into the booth.

“Do not test my patience, Mr. McCoy.” Spock has the cultured, flat tone of a wealthy, if annoyed man—which, considering what Spock steals, means the rich part is probably true. The bastard must have at least three fat bank accounts in the Cayman Islands by now.

A rush of adrenaline punches through Leonard’s veins and he finds himself leaning forward with eager enthusiasm. “I didn’t think you were this stupid, Spock! You do realize you just handed yourself over to me, right?”

Leonard has the distinct impression the man is amused.

“You base your assumption on one truth, Mr. McCoy: that you can apprehend me. I must remind you, however, your truth has never come to pass—nor shall it. I do not intend to be caught.”

He’s always full of such arrogant bullshit! “You listen here, you over-sized gimp!” McCoy stabs his finger at the shadowed thief. “You’re the bad guy ‘n I’m the good guy. I always win! So you’d better start praying for a miracle ’cause you’re under arrest, Spock.”

Leonard digs around in his trench coat pockets then curses the fact he doesn’t carry a pair of handcuffs. If Jim was here—

“Damn it!” He thumps his fist on the table for emphasis. Truthfully, though, he is more pissed at the moment that Jim isn’t here rather than his own lack of foresight. Where’s a cop when a guy needs one?

Well, he’ll just have to make do. Maybe punch Spock’s lights out or something and duck-tape his evil ass to a chair. Can it be that easy?

He doubts so. “Shit and Goddamn it all to hell!”

“Are you finished?” inquires the criminal dryly, unimpressed by McCoy’s colorful language.

“No.” He snarls for good measure, “Holy mother-fucking shit monkeys!” and strips off his cumbersome coat. Can’t pin a thief with his arms all tied up.

Spock likes small talk, it seems. “I fail to understand what Kirk finds appealing about your crude nature.”

“Ain’t none of your damned business, Spock. All right now, ease out of the booth nice and slow. No tricks.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Is it not wise to have a weapon at this stage of demand?”

Leonard’s registered gun is in his office desk collecting dust. It’s not like he expected Spock to hand himself over on a silver platter tonight. Damn but Fate is really biting at his ass these days.

Spock seems to understand well enough how unprepared McCoy is. Leonard is informed, “I cannot oblige your desire to arrest me at this time.” Then the man steeples his fingers and adds thoughtfully, “Though I will admit a tete-a-tete between us might be a fascinating turn of events. Shall I arrange something similar in the future?” His eyes are sharp. “Perhaps to appease the public on Kirk’s behalf? They appear disillusioned with his ineptness to catch a single thief.”

If that is bait, Leonard locks onto it like an angry trout. “Jim’s twice the fucking man you are, you piece of—”

“Kirk is nothing without a competent enemy” comes the quick counter. “He would idle in boredom and abandon his career, thereby depriving the city of his talent, or he would engage in a risk which would result in his untimely death. I,” Spock says with a touch of hardness, “keep him in a stable line of work.”

Leonard’s mind boggles. “You’re crazy!”

“Only to those with limited vision.” A pause. “This does bring me to the point of tonight’s meeting, Mr. McCoy.”

Now he wants a drink. A large one. “What’s that?” McCoy says, wondering if he can flag down the waitress. Maybe slip her a note which says Notorious art thief present. Big reward. Get my dumbass boyfriend over here!

“Your relationship with Kirk—” begins Spock.

Leonard snaps to attention.

“—is under duress. Repair it.”

His mouth opens but nothing comes out except a strangled noise.

Spock blinks. “Might I suggest you apologize to him?”

Then Leonard is able to think again. “What—NO!—I mean, are you off your rocker, man?! Keep your pointy nose out of my personal life!”

Of all the… what is wrong with this fool? He isn’t normal. Leonard had high hopes he was dealing with the typical crime-spree of a megalomaniac; Spock is turning out to be like no bad guy McCoy has ever encountered before.

“I understand Kirk was interested in meeting your family, a suggestion which you vehemently declined. I admit I am at a loss to determine the basis of your rejection: my sources indicate you come from a stable, if somewhat traditionalist home—”

Spock is still talking. Goddamn.

Leonard lifts his hand. “Would you shut up already, Dr. Phil? My… thing with Kirk is fine! And I’ll repeat, none of your damned business.”

Spock fixes an intense look on McCoy. “I have accomplished three successful ventures in a quarter of a month, Mr. McCoy. I alerted you to two of them, yet you and your partner failed to present yourselves at the appropriate times and places.”

He can’t mean… “You’re upset because we didn’t show up to chase you?” There’s a tickle in his throat. He thinks it might be hysterical laughter. “God, Spock, don’t you criminal masterminds get a manual or somethin’? You are not supposed to want the cops on your ass.”

“Then what is the point?”

Leonard frowns. “Point?”

Spock makes a small noise which might be a suppressed sigh. “The point of engaging in criminal activity.”

His eye twitches. “To make money. Unlawfully.”

Okay, he is not actually debating this with Spock. That would make him crazy too.

“I have no need of money,” Spock says.

Leonard stares at him. “So you’re leading us around by the noses for fun?”

The art thief tilts his head. “Is that how it seems to you? Interesting.”

What else can McCoy think? Spock does things like pay for his hospital bill after the run-in with the Hell’s Angels (technically it was the bastard’s fault) and sending him prepaid lessons for boxing and martial arts (which was damned insulting, though Jim had thought it was funny and encouraged McCoy to go; Kirk, on the other hand, often receives free steaks from Spock and that is ridiculous and fucked-up to Leonard). If Spock isn’t laughing up his sleeve at them, McCoy would have to conclude he is concerned and… friendly.

No. Leonard cannot wrap his head around that.

A feminine voice interrupts their conversation. (McCoy will be shocked later to realize he had a bonafide conversation with Spock.)

“I called him as you suggested.”

McCoy looks up at the smirking waitress. “Called who?” He has not had time to scribble that note.

“Your annoying partner,” she explains impatiently, hand on her hip.

Spock thanks her graciously. “Your assistance is appreciated, Nyota.” He presents her with a ridiculously large clip of cash.

She pockets the money without bothering to count it. (Leonard would have counted it. Can’t trust that underhanded swindler to deal fairly at anything.)

“If it means Mr. Mopey here isn’t pestering me, then I’m glad to help, sweetie.” Someone calls for her, and the waitress sighs. “Back to the mundane then. Oh and, Leonard? Tell Jim you’re sorry.”

McCoy watches her walk away. When he turns back to Spock, the man is pulling on a pair of gloves. He says hastily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Spock doesn’t bother to look at him. “The hour is late, Mr. McCoy. I must return to my headquarters and confirm the details of my next… outing. You will be informed of those details shortly, I suspect.” When he slips out of the booth and stands, the darkness of the bar seems to accommodate him by increasing. Leonard would shiver, except he hates looking weak to anybody but Jim.

Spock finally turns his gaze on Leonard. “Can I presume you will tailor your schedule accordingly this time?”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “You can bet on it.”

Spock nods. He moves away but pauses to say, as if it has just occurred to him, “Your skill is improving, Mr. McCoy.” Then Spock leaves, slipping fully into the shadows and disappearing through a back door of the bar.

For some reason, Leonard cannot make himself get up and follow the bastard. He just… can’t. So he puts his head down on the table and hates himself for being an idiot.

Did he really mess things up with Jim?

Time passes, maybe minutes, maybe a half hour. It isn’t until a familiar voice calls him that Leonard has the heart to put aside his unhappy lethargy.

“Bones?”

That jerks his head up like a puppet’s.

He looks at Kirk. Kirk returns the partly grateful, partly petrified stare then slowly sinks to a seat opposite of Leonard at the booth. No one comes over to disturb them so, in the ensuing silence, Leonard has time to assess the man. Jim’s stubble is almost as heavy as McCoy’s and the dark circles under his eyes speak of long sleepless nights. He seems worn. And hurting, too, more so than Leonard.

But it is the dullness in Jim’s eyes which strikes Leonard the hardest.

He swallows, feeling sick.

God, he did fuck up, kind of bad. Spock knew it. Uhura knew it. Probably everybody knows it except him, until now.

The only way to right this wrong is to start by saying “I’m so fucking sorry, Jim.” Leonard does, hoping against hope that Jim still loves him enough to forgive him.

-Fini

The Case of the Mondays, Part 4

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• 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