Title: Sticks and Stones (4/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside ‘verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3

Part Three

“Damn it, Mom, are you listening to me?”

Winona stays focused on the counter which she is wiping clean of ketchup stains. “Don’t use that language in front of your mother.”

Frustrated, Jim barely refrains from punching something inanimate. But he is tempted—very tempted to get violent with the glassware.

As if sensing the focal point of her son’s temper, Winona removes the glass of water sitting innocuously between them to her opposite side. “Jimmy,” she says with a sigh, “I hear you, but most times…” She gestures around at the diner. “…the manager is the last person out the door. That’s the way it is, baby. I can’t change that any more than you can.”

“It’s too dangerous be alone in here at night,” Jim says through gritted teeth.

His mother’s expression sharpens with annoyance. “I can take of myself.”

“Against two armed men?” Jim’s laugh is short and bitter. “Don’t bet on it!”

Before she can counter his argument, the bell in the window of the kitchen dings loudly. Jim and Winona turn to stare at the man leaning against the open space, arms folded.

Sulu’s look is unreadable but his words ring as clearly as the bell: “She won’t be alone.” Beneath a hand is one of his largest chef’s knives; his thumb is absently stroking the edge of the blade.

Jim considers the message in the man’s eyes then relaxes his tense shoulders. He nods shortly to Sulu, an acceptance of the unspoken offer of protection, and pushes back from the diner counter with a sincere “Thanks, man.”

Winona goes back to the task of cleaning with a light frown turning down the corners of her mouth but she says nothing to either Jim or Sulu.

As Jim steps out of the Enterprise Diner, somewhat mollified that he accomplished his purpose, and into the sunlit parking lot, he pauses to observe the world.

Out there are two terrorizing bastards, no doubt following the bidding of Khan Noonien Singh. Jim knows it is only a matter of time before Khan seeks to strike at the heart of the resistance against Eugenics Corp. Khan will try to break them down, and this diner—his mother’s beloved Enterprise—is not only a stronghold of Khan’s opposition and a physical obstacle blocking his construction plans, it is a symbol of their will to fight and survive.

Khan will do his utmost to destroy it.

Jim won’t let that happen. If he has to, he’ll take the fight to Khan first.

“Sir, you can’t—”

Jim puts on his most charming grin. “It’s okay. I’m here to speak with Gary.”

The waitress, probably in her late thirties, doesn’t lift her restraining hand on his arm. Her tone says she isn’t keen on playing along with Kirk. “Sir, no customers are allowed in the kitchen.” She huffs. “And we aren’t open yet!”

“I’m not customer, I’m a friend,” he corrects, indignant.

“You aren’t an employee.”

“But I am a friend of Gary’s,” he insists.

“Not an employee,” she retorts, suddenly rather imposing for all of her five foot, four inches of height.

Jim wonders if she is going to smack him. She looks like she is thinking about it.

A low chuckle interrupts their argument. “‘S all right, Beth,” Gary Mitchell says as he navigates around the empty tables toward them. “Jim is a friend—against my better judgment I might add,” the man finishes with a grin.

Jim smirks. “I think it’s the other way around, old man.”

Mitchell barks out a laugh. “Who do you think you’re fooling, son? I was the one bailing your ass out of jail every other Saturday night.”

Jim leans casually against the edge of a table. “That’s because you were too boring to join the party.”

“Or too smart,” mutters the waitress. Sliding back into the booth she had abandoned at Kirk’s unexpected entrance to The Jade Leaf, she resumes folding large cloth napkins and makes a show of ignoring the two men—a sure sign she is eavesdropping for all she is worth.

Gary puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and steers him toward the kitchen. Mitchell unties and tosses aside his apron onto a gleaming steel counter once they are alone and grabs a large wok hanging from an overhead rack. “It’s been a while, Jim.”

Jim wanders over to a wall and plucks a big white hat from a hook. When Gary turns around to look at him, Jim is wearing it with a broad grin. “Are you going to make me food?” Jim asks, very proud that his stomach knows the exact moment to rumble like it isn’t already digesting two donuts he had bought at the gas station on the way over here.

Gary only says, “That’s mine. Take it off.”

Jim circles quickly to the opposite side of a counter when Gary comes after the hat. Mitchell calls him a thieving asshole. Jim’s middle finger is his succinct reply.

Cursing in a language Jim can’t understand (is that Chinese?), the chef tosses the wok onto a burner and digs around in a refrigerator before pulling out vegetables and raw chicken.

Jim settles on a stool, content to watch Mitchell cook for a few minutes. Occasionally he has to straighten his somewhat oversized chef’s hat when it starts to slide down over his eyes. Why does Gary wear the stupid thing? he wonders. It must be a matter of pride.

“So,” the chef begins conversationally, “you want to tell me why you’re here?”

“To visit a friend?”

Mitchell snorts. “I like you, Jim. You know that. But I can’t have you cluttering up my kitchen right before the restaurant opens. We get busy, fast. This ain’t the diner.”

“I know,” Jim replies, picking at a shred of dried carrot stuck to the tabletop and feeling more like an errant teen than he has in a long time. He doesn’t begrudge Mitchell that effect, however, because it’s Gary, and Gary is a man he has respected since he was a kid. Sighing, Jim folds his arms and leans forward on his elbows. He takes off the hat and places it to the side.

“Gary, I need to ask you a question and I need a straight answer.”

The man shoots him a sidelong glance. “Since when have I not been anything but up-front with you, kid?”

Jim’s smile is wry. “Since never.”

“So ask.”

He cannot think of a good way to phrase what he wants to say, not without sounding too accusatory. Screw it, Jim decides. “What kind of deal did you make with Khan?”

Gary’s hands never falter in their work as he adds more oil to the pan, then something that smells like garlic, and sautés the vegetables. “You’ll have to be more specific, Jim.”

Jim punches down a tinge of apprehension trying to cramp his belly. “The Jade Leaf—to keep her doors open. You’re the only business left in this strip mall. It’s a hard thing not to notice when everybody else is closing up shop and turning over their keys to Khan.”

The chef releases the wok and resettles it on the burner. When he turns to Jim, his mouth is in a firm line but his eyes are sad. “Jim, if I’d known about…” Mitchell sighs heavily. “By the time your story made headlines, I’d signed the papers.”

Jim echoes, “Papers?”

Gary slowly crosses to the kitchen and sits on a stool opposite of him. “The things I serve here, Jim—the things I want to make—they’re not cheap to get. I thought Riverside could do with an upscale restaurant; that’s partly why I came back. But who would have thought the economy was going to go down the crapper?” the man explains, voice weary. “My bank loan’s a sinkhole.”

Jim watches Mitchell run a hand over his face. His heart aches with sympathy but the truth is a hard bone to swallow. “Khan came along and offered you security.”

“He offered to save me, Jim.” Gary shrugs helplessly. “So now he owns half of The Jade Leaf… and I can’t say I regret it. I regret not knowing what a bastard he was beforehand, but I can’t regret this.” His open hands symbolize everything around them. “This restaurant is all I’ve wanted to do for most of my life,” the man finishes in a near whisper.

Jim reaches across the table and squeezes Gary’s wrist. “I understand,” he offers softly.

The pride in Gary’s eyes goes a long way towards soothing Jim’s heartache. “You’ve grown into a good man, Jim Kirk. If there’s some way I can help you, you know I’ll do it.”

“I won’t ask you to jeopardize The Jade Leaf, Gary,” Jim tells him. To lighten the serious mood, he adds, “But I will plead with you not to burn my food, man.” The sizzle-pop of the wok is beginning to produce smoke.

Gary leaps away from his stool with a resounding “Shit!”

As Mitchell is busy transferring the wok away from the heat source, Beth pushes open the kitchen door to ask, “Oh my God, Gary, what are you burning?” She turns to glare at Jim like it’s his fault.

“Hey,” Jim says defensively, “he’s the chef.”

“Gary never burns food,” she fires back. “Dear Lord, how am I supposed to air out the front in the next ten minutes?” Her mouth purses. “And who are you?”

“Who are you?” Jim almost snaps, hackles rising.

“Calm down!” Mitchell bellows at both of them over wafts of smoke. “Elizabeth, you can use the industrial fan in the storeroom. Jim, help her move it to the front.”

Jim crosses his arms mutinously.

Gary just looks at him.

Caving, he slips off his stool and follows the woman (bitch, but he doesn’t think Gary would react nicely to that word) to the storeroom. She doesn’t seem to want his help, however, because she ignores him and tries pushing the fan out of a corner by herself. Unable to stand there and watch the woman struggle, Jim shoulders his way into the cramped space and helps her drag it out into the open. Through joint effort, they manage to maneuver the unwieldy fan down the short hallway and into the dining area.

Once the fan is plugged in and running, the waitress gives him a resigned look. “Thanks,” she says.

Jim, crouched in front of the fan to cool the beginnings of sweat on his skin (and because he has an affinity for fast wind), blinks up at her. “You’re welcome.” He hesitates only for a second before deciding he might as well give in to his curiosity. It’s not like she hasn’t already yelled at him. He stands up and sticks his hand out in greeting. “Jim Kirk.”

Now she blinks at him. Reluctantly, the woman shakes his hand. “Elizabeth Dehner.”

“So…” Jim can’t help himself. “You like Gary.”

She narrows her eyes. “Mitchell is my boss.”

“You obviously like the way he cooks,” Jim says with a sly smile.

Her eyes narrow some more.

Jim wisely says nothing else, but he feels immensely satisfied that his skills of observation seem to improve with age. Beth, for her part, goes back to ignoring him, and Jim obliges her by leaving her alone.

Gary is wearing his chef’s hat when Jim returns to the kitchen. “Eat your food” Jim is told.

Jim drags the steaming dish on the steel counter under his nose and pokes at a slightly too crisp snow pea. “But it’s burned,” he complains.

“Eat it anyway.”

“You’re a horrible person.”

“And you’re a twenty year-old pain in my ass.”

“’Cause I’m awesome,” Jim says as he shoves rice into his mouth.

Gary slants a look at him. Some people would classify it as fond. Jim knows better than to point that out, or he’ll be eating the chef’s hat next so he focuses on the food in front of him.

With the faucet of the sink turned on, it’s difficult to catch words. But Jim hears Gary all the same, as the man scrubs the wok he had used to make Jim’s burnt meal (but how the food still tastes delicious, Jim doesn’t know and can’t fathom). Gary says, “If you think you could use my help, son, just ask. Promise me you’ll ask.”

“I promise,” Jim says, eyes fixed on his plate.

The wok clangs against the side of the sink. At the sound, Jim looks up to find Gary watching him.

“And promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Jim. Khan’s no backwater dickhead. I met him during a catered event I was working at in Thailand and, Jim, none of the staff dared mention him, even in the kitchens; I thought it was a show of respect for a rich man but now I think they were too terrified to utter his name.”

Jim cleans his plate of the last few grains of rice and carries it over to Gary at the sink. “It was good, thanks,” he says, and “I’ll see you later.”

“Jim!”

Kirk pauses at the kitchen door to look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry but I can’t make that promise, Gary.”

The older man stares at him for a long moment, silent. Then, “At least call me first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jim agrees and leaves.

“You’re off today,” Jose says the moment Jim steps foot into Jose’s office inside the auto shop.

“Gee, aren’t you a ball of sunshine this morning?” Jim murmurs as he sets his duffel bag on a chair, opens it, and searches for his overalls.

Jose’s sigh is full of annoyance. “Look, chico, I’m not going to fight about workdays with you. You want to work? Fine. You don’t want to work? Tell me ahead of time. This isn’t a college class you can skip when you’re feeling lazy.”

Jim winces. So Jose hasn’t forgiven him yet. “I made a mistake, Jose. I’m sorry.”

“I hope you are,” his boss says, leveling a serious stare in his direction. “If I turn into an asshole, Jim, it’ll be because you backed me into that corner.”

“I won’t,” Jim says. Then, sheepishly, “Would it help if I buy you lunch to show my sincerity?”

There is a short moment of silence. Jose’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile. “I am above bribes, Jim.”

“My mother makes coconut cream pie on Wednesdays.”

“Coconut?”

Jose likes coconut a lot more than Jim does. “With whipped cream.” Jim tosses his change of clothes over his shoulder and heads to the door of the office, blue eyes twinkling. “So, still not susceptible to bribes?”

Jose looks pained.

“And did I mention there’s a fried chicken special?”

Jose moves around his desk to shove a clipboard into Jim’s chest. “You could get away with murder, chico.”

“Because of fried chicken?”

“Yup,” Jose agrees gruffly, “because of your mama’s damned fried chicken. Now get the hell out of my office. There’s a Buick with a loose belt and she’s all yours.”

Seven minutes past noon, as Jose’s truck pulls into a parking space outside of the Enterprise Diner, Jim’s hand snakes out and catches his boss’s shoulder in a tight, warning grip.

“Wait a minute,” he says. Jim’s voice comes out in a startled croak.

Jose turns toward him, curious.

Jim’s eyes are fixed on a spot far beyond the windshield of the truck. “Does that—is that Bones?“

Moving his gaze in the direction of Jim’s, Jose makes a contemplative noise. “Looks like ‘im. Who’s he with?” The man beside Jose is silent long enough that Jose asks somewhat sharply, “Jim?”

“It’s Pike,” Jim says at last. He turns to Jose with a question in his eyes. “Why is Bones with Pike?”

Jose doesn’t have an answer for him. They exit the truck once Pike’s car turns left onto the highway and moves out of sight. Jim shakes off the strange, foreboding feeling riding him and tries to focus on eating a meal with his boss, but it’s difficult. He cannot get the image of McCoy in the passenger seat of that car out of his head.

Uhura has no helpful information as she takes their orders of fried chicken and pie. “I don’t have time to listen in on people’s conversations, Jim. They had lunch, they talked. If you’re so worried about it, ask Leonard when you see him.”

So Jim tries to be casual in his inquiry that night. “Hey, Bones. Did you have a good lunch?”

Leonard shoots him a look over the top of Bo Peep’s head, who is currently at home on his lap. “Yes, Jim,” the man responds dryly, “I had lunch. I am a doctor. I get the importance of eating.”

“Great,” Jim says too brightly. He tries to squeeze in next to Bones but Bo Peep is having none of that. She growls until he moves to the far side of the couch. “So where did you go?”

McCoy frowns as he stares at the television. “Nowhere. Ate at the clinic.”

Jim’s smile turns to stone on his face. It takes effort to say “Oh, okay” and it would take more anger than he feels at the moment to voice the word liar. He isn’t angry; he’s hurt.

Then the idea of speaking another word on the subject becomes pointless as Spock returns from the bathroom to situate himself in the free spot between Kirk and McCoy. Bo Peep transfers herself to her owner’s lap with the grace of her species and a dainty mew. Leonard gives up the remote to Spock who turns the channel to CNN, and thereafter McCoy settles into the time-honored tradition of complaining about the economy—and the eggheads CNN interviews who know very little about it (“It’s all about their damned cameo appearances on TV, not making sense to the public,” Leonard is saying)— while Spock counters every complaint with a purposefully irrelevant fact or two that makes Leonard grind his teeth.

Neither man notices when Jim vacates the couch to grab a beer. Rather than rejoining the argument-fest (Jim is of the opinion arguing has evolved into some kind of kinky foreplay for Spock and McCoy), he heads to his bedroom to contemplate in peace exactly when Leonard began to feel the need to lie to him, and what part Pike could play in the deception.

“Jim. Jim!”

Jim comes to, feeling groggy and completely unaware that he had fallen asleep on his bed. Bones is relentlessly jostling his shoulder.

“Mm, what?”

“For the love of Christ, would you get up? Khan’s on TV.”

“Khan?”

Khan…

“KHAN!” Jim has the misfortune of jerking upright and colliding foreheads with Leonard in a resounding thwack.

Jim staggers into his dresser, rubbing at his forehead. “Fuck, ow. What? Khan? Where?”

Leonard appears to be incapacitated on his bed, lying like a limp ragdoll with his hands to his face. “TV,” his boyfriend groans. “Damn it, Jim, I think you broke my head.”

Jim’s apology is sidetracked by his scramble for the living room. Spock is sitting quietly on the couch, back ramrod straight, and is fixated on the television screen. Jim drops to his knees on the rug and puts his back to the couch. “Turn it up!” he demands without thinking.

As the volume increases, so does Khan’s smooth voice. “…honor to help. Let this gift demonstrate the good will between Eugenics Corporation and Riverside, and represent our combined hope for a better, brighter future.” The camera, which had been zoomed in on Khan’s face, pulls back.

Jim puts the back of his hand against his mouth, watching horrified as Khan steps away from a podium and shakes hands with Mayor Wesley. Together, the two men hold up an oversized check made out to the City of Riverside. Cameras are flashing. Khan is smiling. Bob, Jim thinks, looks sick.

A reporter’s voice says off-screen, “Tonight will mark a moment in Riverside history. Thanks to a generous donation of ten million dollars from Eugenics Corporation, hopes are high that the rumored City Hall budget cuts are no longer necessary to extend the life of several community programs which have fallen into jeopardy; Mayor Wesley has reinstated the plans for the new elementary school, and there is talk of funding a musical arts program here in the city for underprivileged…”

The words blur into meaningless jumbles of noise inside Kirk’s head. A hand lands on the back of his neck and rubs at his skin soothingly. Jim shivers.

Leonard asks him, “Are you all right?”

Jim stares at the television a moment longer before looking at the man sitting to his right on the couch. “Khan just bought out my entire town, Bones. How could I possibly be all right?”

Leonard leans down and presses his mouth against the top of Jim’s head. “He hasn’t won yet, Jim,” the man murmurs into his hair. “I swear to you, he hasn’t won yet.”

But Jim is fairly certain Khan has.

It is obviously my goal to grind everyone’s hopes into dust. -_-

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Sticks and Stones (18/18) – from April 19, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (17/18) – from April 17, 2012
• Emotional Much? – from April 17, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (16/17) – from April 13, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (15/17) – from April 11, 2012