Title: The Case of the Mondays, Part 6 (#17, J ‘N B Series)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy (hints of Spock/McCoy)
Summary: Comment!fic inspired by this pic post at jim-and-bones; PI!Bones, Cop!Jim ‘verse. Spock proceeds on with his nefarious plans, and McCoy hates black-tie events.
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 | The Case of the Mondays, Part 3 | The Case of the Mondays, Part 4 | The Case of the Mondays, Part 5 | Forewarned is Forearmed

This… is my fault, and a very serious installment. It got away from me, though I think I realized it might eventually. If you are not okay with any pairing other than Jim and Bones, please don’t hurt yourself by reading this.

McCoy is pretty certain it’s his own fault he winds up in this situation; and he is more than certain Jim is going to kick his ass for that very reason. After, of course, Jim kicks Spock’s ass. Preferably with a gun. And bullets.

One can only hope.

Leonard wets his dry cracking lips, tests the ropes binding him to the chair for the fifth time, and finally settles for glaring at the tall man lounging in the shadows across the long, empty room. “You won’t get away with this, Spock,” he says hotly.

“I may” is the mild reply.

“I may? I may? What the fuck does that mean?”

He cannot see the man’s enigmatic smile for those damned shadows but its creepiness settles over him like a second skin. He fights to keep from showing how effected he is by the thief’s silence. Truthfully, however, everything Spock has done tonight has affected him more than he would like to admit.

Yes, it’s his own fault.

And Spock’s. The fucker.

~~~
earlier that evening…

Jim looks at Leonard in the bathroom mirror as he finishes brushing his teeth. “Bones, you know this is a black-tie event, right?”

“I’m not dressing up in some penguin suit just to meet the status quo.” McCoy flips down the collar of his black shirt.

Kirk spits into the sink after rinsing out his mouth. The toothbrush in his hand gets discarded into cup next to another toothbrush. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice.” He turns around to face McCoy and asks, smiling faintly, “How do I look?”

Leonard looks him over then casually reaches out to play with the knot of Jim’s bowtie, though it’s perfect (just like the rest of Jim). “Good,” he murmurs.

Jim captures Leonard’s hand and tugs him in until they lightly brush mouths. “If you can manage an hour without tossing a drink in someone’s face, Bones, we’ll come home. Then you can take me out of this ‘penguin suit,'” he promises.

His brain responds sluggishly to Kirk’s seductive tone, like any good seduced man’s brain might. Leonard says the only thing he can grasp, which is “Be damn stupid to waste decent alcohol by soaking people in it, Jim.”

Jim pulls back and pats his shoulder. “Just don’t insult Pike tonight.”

That rouses McCoy from his lust-tinged daze. His green eyes flash. “Goddamn fucking Pike! If I see ‘im, I’ll punch his face in!” Leonard crosses his arms, unaware of how sulky he looks.

“Ooo-kay,” Jim says. “Bones? I really, REALLY don’t want to lose my job tonight.”

Leonard purses his mouth, as silently stubborn as mule.

“So I guess you can insult him. Just…” Kirk absently rakes a hand through his carefully combed hair, mussing it in a way Leonard likes much better than that gelled brick it had been. “…don’t hit my boss. Please?”

After a pause, McCoy nods shortly. “Fine. Just so you know, my hatred is his own fault. He’s an asshole.”

“He isn’t an asshole, Bones,” Jim argues back. “Pike simply knows when he has to play hardball to get the job done.”

“Whatever,” Leonard mutters. Pike is a source of contention between them, for the simple fact that Leonard thinks Pike is too hard on Jim, and Jim is too blinded by idol worship of the great Christopher Pike to see it. Of course, McCoy says none of those things aloud because if they fight, going to the Policeman’s Ball will be all that much more awkward for McCoy if he gets dumped to fend for himself in a ballroom full of politicians and cops’ wives.

Jim is obviously reining in his opinion, too, as he opts to make his way from the bathroom to search for his sole pair of fancy shoes.

McCoy looks at himself in the mirror and practices on a charming smile he’ll need to get through the party. The result makes him look constipated.

Tonight’s going to be a pseudo-Monday if he ever had one, he can tell. A headache is already building behind his eyes. Leonard sighs in resignation and reaches for the toothpaste with one hand, thinking for once Jim is setting a good example of personal hygiene.

Until he picks up his wet toothbrush.

“Motherfucking son of a bitch! Jim!!!” His snarl almost rattles the towel rack. “What the FUCK! USE YOUR OWN GODDAMN TOOTHBRUSH, NOT MINE!”

He pitches the disgusting object into the trashcan and digs out a brand new toothbrush from the cabinet beneath the sink. Ripping open the plastic of its packaging and ignoring the contrite “Sorry, Bones!” from the bedroom (which McCoy’s ears detect as obviously lacking in true remorse, i.e. signifying a crime to be repeated in the near future), Leonard curses the fact he is doomed to a life of buying toothbrushes in bulk.

It seems only fair (or revengeful, but that’s a petty difference of words to Leonard McCoy) that the first thing Leonard does when they reach the town hall, which is hosting the Policeman’s Ball, is interrupt Pike’s undoubtedly important conversation with a town councilman to strike up a wonderfully crude conversation of his own.

Pike’s amusement dies out halfway through McCoy’s barrage of back-handed compliments (the best kind of insults, after all), and suddenly Leonard finds himself being collected by his partner in a firm towing grip.

To silence his protest at being dragged away, Jim gives McCoy a cup of something strong and satisfyingly alcoholic. Leonard downs it in one swallow and hands it back to Jim with a demand for more. Kirk faces the direction of the bar, then eyes the crowd of women in low-cut evening gowns (who are eyeing him back like a school of piranhas), and asks plaintively, “Do I have to, Bones?”

“Either you fill me with drink, or I go back to Pike.”

Jim’s quiet “fuck” does not go unappreciated. Leonard grins at Kirk’s retreating back.

Oh but payback can feel so good!

Flirting Hell (Jim’s term for these kinds of shindigs, despite how Jim excels at flirting) should suffice. Then McCoy will swoop in like the charming bastard he is and pull Jim out of the fray of women. He might even concede to dance with the man before the evening is over, if the song is slow enough and his feet feel like cooperating.

Sometimes he is amazed he has grown into this person so confident in his partner, so trusting. It’s like the fallout with his first relationship—with his marriage with Jocelyn—is a distant memory. It doesn’t burn him anymore, and he thinks Jim is the reason why. The man is too much of a good thing not to heal McCoy’s heart.

Glancing at his watch and estimating he has a good fifteen minutes or so before it’s time to rescue Jim, he heads for the veranda attached to the ballroom. It takes some finesse—and mostly unfriendly glares—to push his way through the crowds of chatting people to get where he wants to go. On the way, he almost flattens Jim’s newest rookie, Pavel Chekov, looking like an uncomfortable version of a Valentine’s Day cherub in a tuxedo. Chekov tips backwards as McCoy, like a bulldozer on a mission, clips him hard; McCoy stumbles at the impact, catches himself, and turns back to make a somewhat sheepish apology for knocking into the man. He discovers Sulu has caught Chekov and is propping him up.

Leonard doesn’t think Chekov’s eyes could get any wider without popping out of his head.

“Sorry, Pavel,” he says. “I didn’t see you there.”

Pavel straightens and steps away from Sulu. “It is okay, Mr. McCoy,” he says with a quick, bright smile. He looks around with obvious interest. “But vhere is the Keptin?”

Leonard tips his head toward the bar. “Under siege.”

For a split second, Leonard could have sworn there is amusement in Sulu’s eyes. But Sulu only says, “That would be more of your problem than ours, McCoy.”

The private investigator snorts. “Yeah. I’ll get around to it. Sometime this hour.”

Poor Chekov doesn’t look like he understands, which he wouldn’t because he hasn’t been around long enough to observe that Kirk and McCoy are too solid in their relationship to worry about infidelity. “You do not mind the… attention the Keptin receives?” the rookie asks him curiously.

Leonard laughs and counters, “Who’s going to want that bonehead?” with a quirk of his mouth.

Chekov looks questioningly to Sulu. Sulu makes a minute movement of his head, no doubt a silent communication of yeah, they’re a weird couple, don’t bother worrying about it.

McCoy nods to both officers and continues on his way, anticipating a little fresh air and, better yet, some privacy to laugh himself silly.

~~~

“I want some water,” McCoy complains.

At first he thinks Spock might have disappeared. There is only the sound of McCoy’s soft breaths and, somewhere more distant, the echo of a dripping faucet.

“Spock?”

Seconds pass. Close to a minute. Leonard keeps count.

Then slowly a shadow detaches from the other darkened side of the mostly bare room. (The place smells like a warehouse to Leonard.) Spock goes no further than the boundary between light and dark and lingers there; not quite out of shadow but not quite in shadow either.

McCoy repeats, less vocally steady, “I want… some water.” The croak he makes should be convincing enough.

“May I ask you a question?” the other man asks suddenly, breaking a long and oppressive silence.

“I ain’t in a position to say no.” Shit, but how bitter does that sound? He clears his throat. “Sorry. Okay, ask.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Leonard closes his eyes. “It—wasn’t like that.”

“I know what a kiss is, Mr. McCoy.” And, interestingly, it seems the calm, collected Spock can have his feathers ruffled after all. The hint of contempt in the thief’s voice prompts McCoy to open his eyes and glare.

“You deserve what you are going to get,” he snaps in retaliation. “What the hell were you thinking, kidnapping me? Big. Fucking. Mistake!”

“You did not answer my question.”

“Fuck your question, and fuck you!” He leans forward as far as the ropes will allow, which sadly isn’t but a mere inch or two. “Let me go, you bastard! Let me go, and I might tell Jim not to saw off your damned hands.”

Spock moves then in so smooth a glide there is no doubt the man can be a predator if he needs to be. He comes remarkably close to his captive; Leonard can feel the heat of him, smell something that must be an expensive cologne. Spock lifts McCoy’s chin with a long, elegant finger. Leonard doesn’t resist.

The question is repeated too softly. “On the veranda… why did you kiss me?”

“Distraction,” McCoy says, swallowing.

Spock’s dark eyes consider him for too long. At last the man removes his touch and moves away. He says, as he blends back into the shadows, “I ask only for your patience, Mr. McCoy, in what is to come. In the meantime, I believe I shall procure you that glass of water you so desire.”

Then the presence of McCoy’s nemesis is gone, a palpable absence where there used to be a sense of curiosity, of anticipation and of mystery. But the one sense—danger—does not abate for McCoy; it only stalls.

He drops his chin to his chest and huffs out a breath.

“Distraction,” he mutters to himself. “You stupid, stupid fool.”

The kiss had been a lure to keep Spock from escaping once McCoy had finally caught him. To make Spock stay, right there, next to McCoy so reinforcements would have time to show up, and Leonard could arrest the most notorious criminal in the city. He had anticipated it would be a relief to remove the ever-present, giant thorn in his side that is Spock, art thief extraordinaire.

Now he thinks his lure backfired entirely in the wrong way.

Somebody had the foresight to wrap Leonard’s wrists before they tied his hands behind the chair. No matter how McCoy twists, the bonds don’t touch or break his skin. For that, he supposes, he should be grateful. Yet it just makes him angrier than he currently is because he can’t have pain to focus on. Pain would be better than the same thoughts circling around in his head like sharks.

Is Jim going to hate him?

And why, oh, why had he thought kissing Spock would work? If good guys went around making out with bad guys in order to detain them, comic books would be glorified picture books of porn. It isn’t done that way.

What the fuck is wrong with me? he wonders. And what the hell I am going to tell Jim?

~~~
earlier…

It’s better outside. The night has just enough chill to make a jacket useful, and Leonard tucks his hands into said jacket with gratefulness. Leaning against the balustrade, he imagines he can see stars winking dimly through the smog in the sky.

No annoying people out here or nosy reporters posing as hired photographers. No Pike—though that might be more of downside than an upside, considering the twitching of Pike’s eye as McCoy called him a decent politician with “just the right kind of smarts for a short-lived career. All a guy like you has to do is hitch his wagon to a bright star. Hmm, wonder where we could find one of those? Oh look, Jim’s headed our way. Ain’t that a bit of luck!”

(It might have been Pike who wanted to punch him after that conversation.)

He is so busy snickering, he almost misses the scrape of shoe on stone.

Leonard relaxes, leaning forward, and breaks the silence. “I oughta’ve known you’d get away from those vultures without me. I hope you remembered my drink.”

“You must accept my sincerest apologies,” a not-Jim voice answers, “for I had not realized one must only approach you with libation. I will make note of this for the future.”

McCoy gasps with instantaneous recognition of the voice and spins around. “Spock!”

“Good evening, Mr. McCoy.” The criminal’s eyes seem to shine brightly. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Oh fuck no! And he’s not packing his gun—AGAIN! But this is a… oh, shit, really?

“Spock,” he begins, closing the distance between them, “you are the biggest goddamn idiot I’ve ever met. This is a Policeman’s Ball. Policeman! Comprende?”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, I am aware of my current position. You presume I should be worried.”

McCoy stalks in a half-circle, eyeing the man up and down. Spock turns with him as Leonard moves, like a man determined to stay in the center of his orbit.

“That’d be the normal response, yeah. What are you doing here?”

“I came for you.”

The simple answer sends alarm bells shrilling like sirens in McCoy’s head. He shifts his eyes to the open entrance of the ballroom. How to let people know Spock is here without sending the man running away? Goddamn, but this is their chance to get him! Maybe somebody upstairs is rooting for McCoy after all. Wouldn’t that be a change of events?

Leonard decides to play along without a second’s thought. He looks back to Spock. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear how uninteresting I am, Spock, so why me?”

Spock is standing very still, very straight. His hands are behind his back. If Leonard didn’t get the impression this was a normal pose for the man, he would be worried about the thief hiding a weapon.

“There is the matter of a… story which has come to my attention.” Spock seems amused for some reason. “I have been told, quite pointedly and at great length, when I revealed my intentions to pursue this story to its conclusion, that I would be better served to avoid any unlawful actions against the story’s creator.”

Leonard cannot help but laugh at that. “Somebody told you to keep your criminal little fingers out of the cookie jar? Oh, that’s good! Are you going to take their advice?”

“At the moment, it seems so. Tell me, Mr. McCoy, how does the case conclude?”

McCoy stops laughing and gives Spock a strange look. “What?”

Spock’s voice is patience personified. “The story I hold an interest in is yours. On a more subtle level, I believe your impromptu storytelling was a challenge—one I have accepted. Now, if you please,” he says softly, like an absolute gentleman, “how does the story end? I must know.”

McCoy is shocked in spite of himself. “Spock, are you… are you stalking me? For real?”

“Are you alarmed?”

“I—yeah, yeah I am!”

“Then I apologize.”

“For stalking me?”

“For alarming you.”

Leonard shakes his head. “You’re something else, Spock. I-I don’t think I’m comfortable right now. I’m going inside.” And Spock wouldn’t dare follow him.

Would he?

It is perhaps even more shocking when Spock grabs his wrist and says, “Do not leave.”

“Let go of my arm.”

“I must know,” Spock says, and there is something almost urgent swimming deep down in Spock’s usually arrogant, flat voice. “How does the story conclude…” He holds Leonard’s eyes. “…for us?”

McCoy doesn’t have it in him to be amused or angered any more. “It concludes by me walking away and giving you a five-minute head start. Like it always has to, Spock,” he adds more quietly, “between a criminal and a cop.”

Spock releases Leonard’s arm, saying nothing further.

“Hello? Mr. McCoy?”

The voice startles them both. Leonard hadn’t realized they were so close together until he jumps apart from Spock. Pavel Chekov pokes his head around the floor-length curtain shielding the entrance to the veranda.

“Mr. McCoy?” Chekov’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the two men.

Oh, hell. This is not what it looks like.

Leonard watches the rookie’s eyes fix on Spock for a brief second.

“I did not realize you had company. I am sorry. I—”

“Wait!” Behind McCoy, Spock is frozen. Well, the man can’t be helped now, can he? It’s far too late. Leonard says, trying to convey a message of this is fucking important so listen, “Where’s Jim?”

“I believe the Keptin is still at the bar.” Chekov blinks like an innocent lamb. And he doesn’t seem alarmed, which tells McCoy the fool doesn’t recognize the art thief. What the hell is the matter with Jim? The first thing on which you educate the newbies is the identity of the most wanted man in town.

“Will you tell him I have a, uh, problem I need help with?”

“A problem? Can I assist—?”

“No, kid,” Leonard snaps. “Just… tell him I found somebody better than Pike to insult.”

Which will definitely signal a Spock alert to Jim. Leonard is certain of it.

Chekov nods obediently and backs away, disappearing into the ballroom.

At Leonard’s back, Spock says with a tinge of annoyance, “I fear I must use those proffered five minutes wisely, Mr. McCoy. ‘Till we meet again.”

“Wait!” It’s the second time in the last couple of minutes he has cried that. But somehow it gives Spock pause. Leonard moves into the man’s personal space. “You can’t leave.”

“So I must remain to be arrested?” is the dry response. “I highly doubt you can persuade me to go to prison.”

“We have unfinished business,” Leonard says stubbornly. Don’t let him get away, he thinks. Not this time!

“A moment ago, you intended to do precisely that, Mr. McCoy—to finish the business between us.”

“Well, that’s your own fault, you assclown! You’re damned confusing. You can’t even stalk me like a normal stalker!”

Spock ignores him and heads for the stone steps leading to the open grounds surrounding the town hall. “I have three minutes remaining. Goodbye, Leonard.”

Leonard doesn’t think.

It’s obvious he doesn’t. That is why he launches himself forward and drags Spock away from the first step and kisses him. It’s not even really a kiss, more like a mashing of two hard mouths. There is no passion in it, only surprise from both parties.

Spock drags his head back to stare at McCoy. Silence is a brief affair between them.

The thief’s voice momentarily falters as he summarizes, “Most… interesting.”

Leonard is incapable of speech which is very strange, he thinks idly, because he is the one who initiated the kiss. Spock shifts under his hands, then, reaching for the inside of his jacket pocket. Leonard surfaces from his surprise long enough to think he should move away. But why aren’t his feet moving?

“I find I have changed my mind,” the man tells Leonard, drawing his attention again, and how is that supposed to make sense?

How is what Leonard did suppose to make sense? His brain doesn’t find it sensible in the least. He realizes he is beginning to panic a little because he kissed Spock.

Leonard has no warning; not that it would have mattered with Spock’s sharp reflexes and Leonard’s currently dulled ones (this he will contemplate later, upon waking up to find himself kidnapped by Spock, and hate himself for). Something stings sharply in the side of his neck. He stumbles back from Spock, inhaling sharply, with a hand to his neck.

Spock re-pockets what, at a glance, appears to be a syringe. “Kirk will be displeased by the breaking of our agreement,” the man is saying to no one in particular.

The words begin to fade in and out. McCoy’s legs turn to jelly and he falls to his hands and knees. Oh shit, no. Drugged. Fuck!

“…but I cannot act otherwise…”

Two polished black shoes enter into Leonard’s narrowing field of vision. He tries to say Spock’s name, to say you bastard.

“To answer your initial question, Mr. McCoy, of ‘why me?’ I can only say this—something I believe your partner already understands infinitely well—”

McCoy doesn’t catch those final words because he blacks out, confusedly thinking of first Jim then Spock and back to Jim again.

~~~

Spock had said: “…you are a temptation. I do not yet understand it to the extent Kirk does but I fully intend to.”

– Fini

The Case of the Mondays, Part 7

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• 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