Sticks and Stones (10/?)

Date:

8

Title: Sticks and Stones (10/?)
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 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9


I could never figure out how, in TOS, Captain Kirk always managed to survive the multitude of entities out to get him. Klingons wanted to battle with him to the death; bored space aliens wanted to make him fight for entertainment; and anybody not-so-good at heart who saw him as a figure of authority decided he might as well be tortured, killed, poisoned, humilated, etc etc. Yet Kirk never gave up and said “This is too much for me.”

I like to imagine there is a little bit of that Kirk in my Jim.

I think by now you know how this chapter will go. I clue you in to some bad shit going down and then back up and make you work to find out what it is. That said, I am sorry. This may be very painful, depending on your tolerance for Jim-whumpage.

Part Nine

“…were you thinking?!”

A response comes, muted and deep, clearly agitated. Jim stirs to consciousness.

Someone is cradling his head; the next thing he picks out, besides voices talking, is the familiar smell of antiseptic and shaving cream. Then the man somewhere above him hits a pitch he knows all too well, and Jim’s stomach clenches.

“—for God’s sake. You didn’t have to hit him that hard!”

“If I hadn’t, he would have gutted me,” a second person rumbles, male also. Yet the man doesn’t sound defensive, only tired.

There is horrible taste in Jim’s mouth—maybe blood. Though his awareness grows clearer with each passing second, he doesn’t dare change the rate of his shallow breaths or open his eyes. If they realize he is awake, if he has to look at them—at him and acknowledge a truth—his heart would shatter.

The gentle fingers touching Jim’s face, drifting through his hair seeking injury, are Bones’. With his eyes closed, Jim can pretend the two of them are at home, in bed or on the couch, and this isn’t his worst nightmare. He can pretend Bones never betrayed him and—

No. Don’t think about it. Play it safe, Kirk. Be objective. Detached. Isn’t that what Spock would do?

God. Spock. What happened to Spock? On the heels of that thought is Sulu. Jim hopes no one notices the helpless twitch of his left hand.

The other voice, deeper with age, is urging quietly, “We need to move him, McCoy. They’re coming for him and nothing short of God will keep them from tearing into us.”

Jim recognizes that person, too, and realizes the taste in his mouth isn’t blood—it’s bitterness.

“I know,” Bones agrees. “I—Chris, he isn’t going to forgive me for this.”

“He’ll have to.”

No, I don’t, Jim retorts silently. He remains limp as Bones begins to lift his body, waiting second by agonizing second for an opportune moment to free himself.

Five hours previous…

“Where is the blueberry cheesecake?” demands Uhura as she corrals Jim against the diner’s counter.

Jim’s gaze automatically skips over to his booth and the blueberry-stained napkin he had forgotten to hide. To the fuming waitress he says, “Not a clue. Did you ask Sulu?”

“Sulu doesn’t eat the product,” Nyota points out. “And I saw you eyeing the dessert case.” Her hand whips out and whaps him upside the head.

“OW!”

“What is wrong with you, Jim? Just because you’re on a stakeout, or whatever, doesn’t mean you can help yourself to our inventory! Wait until I tell Winona…”

He raises his hands to placate her. “I can pay for it, Uhura, honest—”

She lifts a condescending eyebrow. “Will you now? For both the cheesecake and the bacon cheeseburger? Oh and that tiny taste of stew beef you had, by which I mean you ate three bowls, and the bucket of fries you coaxed Sulu into making?” Her voice reaches a shrill “And don’t forget the banana-nut muffins! Those were for tomorrow, YOU PIG!”

He fumbles for his wallet and opens it with a flutter of nerves to stare at the singular one-dollar bill inside. “Um, tomorrow, I can go to the bank…”

“YOU SAID THAT YESTERDAY!”

“Uhura,” he begs when she fists her hands into his jacket, “please don’t hurt me! I swear I’ll get you the money!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“But I SWEAR!”

“Do you know what happens to people who can’t pay their bill?”

“No,” he squeaks and shakes his head in horror, “please, don’t, I—”

She yells over his shoulder, “Sulu! We have a moocher!”

Jim whimpers.

A growl replies from the kitchen, “Send ‘im in.”

Satisfied, Uhura lets go of Jim’s jacket and pats his chest. “Go on, then.”

“What did I ever do to you?” he complains, shooting her a sour look of you are so cruel to me.

“You eat too much and you stay too late and you annoy me,” the woman lists out. Removing a pen from her apron, Nyota raps it against his forehead. “And you’re too chauvinistic to admit I can kick ass when I have to!”

Jim blinks, suddenly understanding what she isn’t telling him. Uhura is still pissed he sends her home soon after the last customer, alongside his mother and Pavel. But Jim doesn’t regret that, not at all; he won’t put more people in danger than necessary. With a hint of his shit-eating grin, he pivots on the ball of his foot and heads to the kitchen. “I’m certain I heard thunder a while back, Uhura. Take an umbrella with you when you clock out. See ya!”

He resolutely ignores the fierce gaze stabbing his back. Sulu grunts in Jim’s direction as Jim enters the kitchen and points a knife at the grease pit. “Clean,” Jim is ordered.

Looking at the muck of used oils and congealed fats and unidentifiable goo, he sighs. “Can’t I chop something?”

The knife becomes embedded in a wooden cutting board with a hard thwack. “I’ll chop you,” the chef warns, “if you don’t have it done by midnight.” A pause, then Sulu murmurs thoughtfully, “I am looking for a unique ingredient in the steak pie.”

Jim hunches his shoulders and digs around for an extra pair of rubber gloves to protect his hands from cleaning chemicals, because he doesn’t fancy being served up on tomorrow’s menu. The two men work in companionable silence, with only the hum of the industrial dishwasher for interruption as it runs through its last cycle.

Pavel passes through the kitchen once as he returns from helping Uhura with the usual clean-up chores in the main area of the Enterprise Diner. Jim would rather be out there wiping down the tables and counters or refreshing salt shakers and cleaning the coffee pots. There is this one particular glob of some mysterious burnt substance which refuses to come unstuck from the side of the grease pit. His arms ache from the effort to remove it.

And being back here, scrubbing at it repetitively, gives Jim too much time to think.

The thugs have been a no-show.

Jim is disappointed, which of course makes him crazy in the eyes of everyone else. But he had thought Khan would take the bait, especially after Winona had written such a politely rude refusal of the executive’s latest offer for her business. (Jim had never thought ‘politely rude’ was possible until Spock helped Winona word the letter; somehow that skill only increases Jim’s admiration for his lawyer boyfriend.)

Komack had suggested mentioning that she has other investors who are interested in keeping the diner’s doors open. In a way, that is true since Winona plans to make Sulu a partner in the business. Jim didn’t think Khan would care about names, only care that Winona was turning him down for the umpteenth time and subsequently she wouldn’t be inclined to accept his money in the future.

The letter was mailed a week ago, but Khan hasn’t sent anyone to terrorize them yet.

Perhaps the late nights are taking their toll on Jim. He hasn’t slept more than three or four hours during a night; he comes to the diner after the majority of the dinner crowd departs (which, sadly, is not many people these days) and stays until the place is shut down by Sulu, which doesn’t happen until approximately one a.m. after a long laundry list of cleaning duties and food preparation for the next day. Jim hadn’t realized until now how much relentless work Sulu does.

Why anyone would want to work nearly 24/7 is beyond him. Pavel says that Sulu would, once and a while, sleep in the store room in his downtime and, when the old diner operated all night and day, sometimes he didn’t rest for days at a stretch. Apparently Pavel does not like Sulu’s habits and bullies the chef into maintaining regularly hours of rest. The fact that Pavel and his sister still live with Sulu seemingly means Chekov’s opinion carries more weight with Sulu than most people’s.

Jim isn’t certain but he often wonders if Pavel has a minor crush on Sulu. Irregardless, at least someone is helping the poor cook.

At this point in Jim’s musings, said cook comes over to inspect Jim’s vigorous scrubbing of the grease pit and declares there are three spots which don’t shine.

Never mind, Jim thinks fiercely. Sulu isn’t a ‘poor’ anything. The man is evil.

He considers tossing his dirty scrub-brush at his friend’s head and, meeting Sulu’s eyes, realizes the man is silently daring him to. Then Jim remembers what Sulu has brought to work this past week and dismisses his childish inclination to instigation a tussle. Katanas are scary, he decides as he rinses his brush in the double sink. So returning to polish the pit until it gleams is quite naturally the safer option.

Some time later, Pavel pokes his head into the kitchen. “We’re ready!”

Jim drops his brush like it’s hot and strips off his gloves as he hurries after the kitchen boy.

In the front of the diner, Uhura’s eyes land on him as she adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. She’s already changed into her street clothes. Jim smiles, glad there won’t be an argument over if she can stay, but she doesn’t smile back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, approaching her but letting his gaze wander over to his mother by the door. Spock has, predictably, already arrived to begin the late night vigil with Jim. (And hadn’t it been fun to convince Komack that Spock should be allowed to take part in this danger mission?) The lawyer is talking with Winona in low tones.

Nyota pokes his bicep to regain his attention. “Jim, when are you going to give up?”

He narrows his eyes. “Why should I give up?”

She huffs out an exasperated breath. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean! For one, nothing has happened, and you can’t watch over us for the next six months.”

He opens his mouth to protest that he certainly can but she overrides him.

“Two, I think even Komack is tired of waiting on Khan to strike.”

Khan won’t give up, Uhura. So tell me—why should I?” The very idea makes him furious.

Nyota Uhura never cares how angry he sounds or spitting mad he looks. She reaches out and pulls him in for a hug. “I’m scared for you,” she whispers against his ear.

He relents and returns the hug. “Don’t be. I have Spock and Sulu. Three against two, ‘n my team’s more awesome.”

“I know,” Nyota says softly as she lets go of him and steps back. “But, Jim, if we have learned anything by now, it’s that Khan doesn’t play fair.” She gives him a searching look then seems resigned. Yet she continues on to ask, “What about Leonard?”

Pain.

He almost cannot manage to control his reaction. She doesn’t need to know how bad things are on that score. “I told him to stay home.”

The woman hmphs. “And he agreed to that?”

You just don’t know, Nyota, he thinks silently. Bones had agreed to stay out of Jim’s business. More than anything, that easy agreement terrifies Kirk to no end. Is Leonard truly going to give up fighting for their future now that Spock has sided against him?

“Jimmy,” a new voice carries into his thoughts, “are you certain?”

Each night, Winona Kirk asks him the same thing as she prepares to leave the diner and her son. Jim always replies, “I am.”

Tonight is no different. He tells her not to worry, kisses her cheek, and stands with Spock as Uhura, Pavel, and his mother disappear into the kitchen, then ultimately through the back of the Enterprise and home, away from what might turn into a deadly evening.

He verifies that Sulu is ready to finish the nightly routine and then walks Spock to the store room, where the man will settle to stay until the very last minute before Sulu is ready to lock the back door to the kitchen. How Spock entertains himself for those two hours or so, Jim has no idea. Vaguely he wonders if the man meditates as Lady Q once claimed Spock said he did.

He gives Spock a quick kiss on the mouth and the usual warning, “Lights go out in thirty.”

But Spock catches his arm before he can fully close the store room door. “Leonard was not home when I left.”

Jim hesitates only for a second then replies, “That shouldn’t concern us right now, Spock,” and leaves his boyfriend to the long wait alone.

In the diner, the main lights over the tables switch off, muting the red color of booths and the white of a tiled floor. Where the window blinds are crooked, one can see the dim glow of another overheard light farther away, in the back area; it casts an eerie glow against the long, clear line of the counter and illuminates a register sitting at one end. An outline of an Asian man can be seen easily against the glass door as he turns the entrance’s double locks and rattles the door once to make certain the locks are working properly. He then retreats to the kitchen of the building. The Enterprise Diner seems quietly empty and full of shadows once his figure is gone.

A dark van drives along the highway at a snail’s pace, creeping past the dimly lit diner, and turns a corner with equal care. In an adjacent parking lot of a closed strip mall, a car has been left abandoned since early morning. Ten minutes before the clock strikes eleven thirty a skulking shadow in a hoodie jacket skims the wall of one of the stores and crouches by the car’s front left tire. What he is doing, no one can tell. Then he quickly and lithely rises to drift back into an alley between two empty buildings and is not seen again.

In the lot behind the Enterprise Diner, a cat climbs out of an industrial-sized green garbage bin to inspect what other edible leavings may be worth investigation. It stalks to an overturned bag, paws at a soda can, then quite suddenly lifts its head and goes very still. When the street lamp in the lot’s corner flickers and wanes, its fur rises to stand on end in instinct and the cat dashes behind the garbage bin to hide.

A SUV is parked into a tiny squeeze of space between trees overgrown with kudzu at the very edge of the lot. Within it, someone gripes, not bothering to whisper, “Where’d you put—”

“Shh!” his companion snarls. “You want ’em to hear us comin’, moron?”

“Fuck you. Where’s my knife?”

“Won’t be needing no knife this time—got a gun for you.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ shootin’ nobody!”

“It’s in case they fuckin’ shoot at you, moron! I’ll be doin’ the shooting tonight, don’t worry your fat head about that!”

Two men exit the SUV. The light of the dying street lamp catches a flash of gold from a wristwatch as the men jog over pavement toward a wall of the building.

Jim wakes up with a snort and wipes at the drool on his chin. He looks bleary-eyed at the wall clock in the kitchen. “Ugh, what time is it?” Somehow he had fallen asleep between listening to Sulu chop lettuce with his sword (what the hell? Jim had asked about that and gotten a nonchalant shrug and a “it’s more than sharp enough, my friend” in return) and straining to hear any less-than-innocuous sounds of a break-in while watching the diner’s front entrance from the kitchen window.

Sliding from his stool, he rolls his shoulders and cracks his back. “Man, how long was I asleep?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sulu replies dryly from his corner of the kitchen. “I considered chucking you in the back with the lawyer but decided he didn’t deserve to listen to you snore.”

Fifteen minutes feels like fifteen hours. Jim bounces on the balls of his feet. “No way do I snore, Sulu!”

Spock would tell him if he snored, right? They sleep together often enough…

“Where are you going?” Jim wants to know as he props a hip against the steel kitchen table and looks around for something to entertain himself with.

Sulu shoots Kirk a narrow-eyed look of what do you care? you’re too lazy to help. In his right hand is bulging black bag of trash. “Garbage,” the cook says shortly and opens the back door.

It happens so fast, it takes them both by surprise. Jim sees Sulu place a foot on the concrete steps, then sees the outward-opened door somehow magically swing back at the man like someone shoved it from the other side. Sulu, with a startled noise, is knocked off balance and falls sideways off the stoop to the ground. Then the door is jerked far enough back for a shadow to bound into the doorway and level the muzzle of a gun which, in a striking instance, coldly reflects the kitchen’s light. The shadow—no, it’s a side-profile of a man in black—takes aim where Sulu had fallen and fires twice in rapid succession. Jim, his brain barely registering the event before he reacts, doesn’t think, just screams “SULU!”, wraps his hand around the handle of the chef’s katana, and charges forward.

Maybe it’s the sight of a man charging him with a sword held high like a samurai that surprises the assailant into inaction, but his hesitation buys Jim enough time to barrel headlong into him. They go flying out the door, which instantly swings shut with a resounding slam, and plunge down the set of steps. Jim is distantly aware of landing on his ribs against the corner of something hard, but the sharp pain of the injury oddly enough lends him a perfect clarity. He doesn’t even try to get to his feet before swiping at the man with the sword in his hand.

Someone cries out “Holy mother-fuck!” in response.

Jim doesn’t care about anything but vengeance because the bastard with the gun shot, oh god—Jim’s eyes sting—SHOT Sulu, his friend, SHOT HIS FRIEND—

The other man tosses dirt in Kirk’s face to blind him, and somebody kicks a boot into Jim’s back, sending him sprawling. As he twists to the side, the sword does too and Jim tries to stab at the person attacking him from behind.

“Holy mother-fuck!” the same voice repeats, high-pitched and belonging to another man dressed in black and a ski mask. The fellow dances back from the long reach of Jim’s weapon. “He’s got a fucking sword!”

“Ow, fuck, my leg, just fuckin’ shoot him!”

“You said I didn’t have to shoot nobody!”

While the thugs—for they can be none other, Jim recognizes their voices like a bad memory replay—argue, Jim rolls away and scrambles to his feet. The man on the ground, the one Jim had pushed down the stairs, realizes their target is on the move again and screams “Shoot him!”

Jim intends to cut the murdering bastard into bite-sized pieces until a warning shot whizzes by his ear. He whirls around, snarls at the other man leveling now at a gun at his chest, and watches in satisfaction as the fellow’s eyes widen and the gun shakes in his hand.

Unfortunately it’s two against one, and the first thug uses the opportunity to stagger to his feet and out of Jim’s range. Jim is told to drop the sword. He backs up instead, moving away from the spotlight by the door of the diner. They can’t shoot what they can’t see.

“Fuckin’ pussy!” the first thug snaps as he limps over to his partner. “Give it over, I’ll do it!”

The second before Moron caves and hands over the weapon so Jim can be shot through the head, Jim runs. A missed shot ricochets off of Sulu’s car as Jim ducks behind it for cover and keeps going. He can hear them in pursuit, but it doesn’t matter because there’s two of them and Jim cannot get the image of Sulu stepping through the door out of his head. It could have been Spock who, out of protectiveness over Jim, likes to leave the diner first when they are ready to go home in order to make certain the parking lot is burglar-free.

Sulu, who may be dead; Spock, who could still walk out that door and die just as easily.

Jim runs despite the massively painful burning in his side. As long as the thugs follow, he will keep running.

He doesn’t have to go far. A van swerves onto the street at the opposite end, revs its engine and heads straight for him. Jim realizes then that staying out in the open is a horrible idea and veers off the sidewalk to cut between two buildings. Khan’s thugs are still shooting at him, relentlessly driving him forward, faster. When he comes upon a low fence at the end of the alley, he uses one hand to grab a hold of the steel bar at the top and swing himself up and over it with the ease of an athlete. At any other time, Jim would be impressed with himself for the feat. Tonight, he simply wants to survive.

There is a litany of cursing behind him. Maybe they can’t get over the fence as easily.

Jim hits the highway intersecting at Main Street and, upon seeing approaching headlights, thinks this would be the best possible time to encounter a cop. And where the hell is the officer Komack designated to watch over the diner and call for backup at the first sign of trouble?

He jumps in front of the car and yells, “HEY STOP!” Maybe the sword in his hand scares the girl behind the wheel. She swerves around him and floors it through a red light, visibly screaming as she does so.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He dives across the highway and pelts toward an empty bus stop. By the time he reaches it, Thug One and Thug Two have appeared out of the alleyway and spotted him. With the nearly dead traffic, the man with the gun has a clear line of sight to shoot him. Jim freezes behind the clear plastic overhang of the bus stop and drops into a crouch low to the ground.

A gunshot echoes in the dark and puts a hole through the bus stop sign. Too close, Jim thinks, and so when he hears an engine and sees a vehicle skid around the street corner of Main and squeal to a stop near him, he dives for it. Belatedly, he realizes it’s the dark van. By then the door is open and Captain Christopher Pike is leaning out with an imperative hand and the command “GET IN!”

Jim hesitates a second too long. Pike jumps out of the van and tries to wrestle him into it. Naturally, as more gunshots rain around them like somebody is suitably pissed off, Jim reacts and tries to spear Pike with Sulu’s katana—at which point, he gets the side of his head whacked with the butt of a handgun and is then tossed bodily into the back of the van. Jim feels like he is underwater as Pike pries his fingers from the sword’s handle and barks at the van’s driver, “Go, go, go!”

Aw fuck, straight from one trap to another, he thinks, and passes out.

Present…

Almost. In another second…

Jim is lifted up and cradled, and the other man, still talking, sounds so much closer now, is probably leaning in to comfort Jim’s boyfriend. “Leonard, you only did what you had to. Jim will understand—”

A new smell, like cologne, which Bones doesn’t wear. The moment it fills his nostrils, Jim acts. Bones cries out when Jim launches himself out of the man’s arms and into Pike. Pike, clearly not expecting to be attacked by an unconscious man, falls under Jim’s weight. The moment Jim has him pinned, Jim rolls away to his feet—and staggers when the floor shifts nastily under him.

“Jim!”

Ignoring the tilt of the floor and the protest of his stomach, Jim backs away instinctively from his captors. “Stay away from me,” he grates out.

A door, left. Get to the door. Escape. Fuck, where this is place?

McCoy leaps after him anyway. “Jim, please, wait!”

And let you ruin my life some more, Bones? The words burn unspoken in his throat.

Pike, however, has no intention of pleading. He grips Jim’s arm, and Jim lashes out but his vertigo makes it difficult to aim properly. Pike winds up grabbing him with both hands to prop him up so he doesn’t fall over.

“You can’t go anywhere, Kirk,” Pike tells him.

“Why not?” he slurs. “…N-Not allowed?”

“Because you’re in trouble, son.”

He laughs, or tries to and quickly shuts his mouth as he thinks about throwing up instead. An arm goes around his shoulders—Bones, pulling him close. Face pressed against McCoy’s neck and not understanding why he should feel so defeated, he mutters, “Fuck you both.”

“Damn it, Jim,” Leonard whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you, Bones.”

“Please don’t,” his lover says thickly.

“We don’t have time to kiss and make-up,” interrupts the hard voice of Christopher Pike. “Jim, I can’t carry you. You’ll have to walk.”

Stung by the insinuation that he cannot navigate on his own two feet (never mind that he was terrible at it a few minutes ago), Jim straightens and pulls away from Leonard. After forcing down a surge of bile up his throat, he argues, “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“You will,” the other man threatens, “or you’ll die. But I’m not giving you a choice. Let’s go.”

Jim’s eyes methodically take in the man’s bruised face, his dark clothes, then the gun in his hand. “I’d rather you shoot me now, thanks, than wait for you to do it when my back is turned.”

“Jim!” Bones gasps.

He shrugs off Leonard’s grip, his attention fixed on his opponent. “Do it, Pike,” he challenges stiffly.

The man’s expression is strange. “You think…? Shit.” Christopher looks past Jim to Leonard. “He really doesn’t know, does he?”

“What else is there to know?” Jim says bitterly, hating the silent communication going on around him. “You both work for Khan. You knew where to be and when, and I fucking bet you deliberately sabotaged our operation. What happened to Komack?” he demands, then swallows hard. Do they realize Khan’s bastards killed Sulu?

“Jim,” Leonard says gently and shifts so that he is looking directly at Jim, “we had to—to intervene. Khan put a price on your head.”

He stares at McCoy, uncomprehending.

“Those men weren’t at the diner to scare you. They were there to kill you.”

Pike steps forward. “You were damned lucky McCoy came to me about it. I don’t know what the fuck Komack was thinking. I warned him there had to be a mole in his department.”

Jim shakes his head in denial and immediately pales when that only succeeds in making his brain slosh between his ears. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who—”

Leonard and Pike stiffen at the muted noise of car doors slamming shut through the building’s walls.

Training his gun on the door Jim had never made it to, Christopher Pike says grimly, “And we don’t have time to explain it to you. I think Khan’s found us.”

Beside Jim, a white-faced Leonard asks, “What do I do?”

The military man doesn’t look at them. “Take Kirk and run.” He inhales a deep, steadying breath before adding, “And don’t let Jim argue about it, either. His mother would never forgive me if he died tonight. Now go.”

Bones seems to take these words to heart. Jim simply doesn’t have a moment to respond as the doctor spins him in the opposite direction and forcefully drags him deeper into the shadowed halls of the building.

“Bones!” he begins to protest, because Pike is going to die? He may be the bad guy—or was the bad guy, Jim isn’t sure now—but it sounds like there are worse bad guys—of course, there’s Khan—and Jim can’t think properly with an aching head but he knows deep down that leaving a man behind is plain, gut-wrenchingly wrong, no matter who the bastard is.

He tries to say, “We should—”

Gunfire. A succession of shots, sharp staccato beats which are greedily swallowed up in the unnerving silence. Then a burst of return fire, and silence again.

Bones’ hand spasms around his, perhaps in fear, but he only increases their pace down the hallway instead of halting.

Jim sucks in a breath. His side feels like it is splitting open (why does it throb so badly?) and the spots in his vision aren’t helping matters. “Bones, wait!”

“Shut up, Jim.”

At the sharp twisting cramp of his stomach, which he knew was coming, he breaks the clasp of their hands to drop to his knees and heave. When he is done emptying the contents of his stomach on the concrete floor, he clutches the side of his body that hurts him most and notices Bones has crouched in front of him to act as a shield. He spits the taste of vomit out of his mouth then turns his head toward his lover.

Seconds later, Jim says hoarsely and somewhat dumbly, “You have a gun.”

“I’m not giving it to you,” the doctor says automatically, though Leonard doesn’t look at him and the gun twitches nervously in Leonard’s two-handed grip. “Can you get back up? We need to find an exit—or a place to hide. Shit, why did Chris want to ditch the van?”

Bones with a gun is not an image Jim thought he would ever see; then he thinks about what McCoy is saying, thinks harder, and comes to a conclusion that almost steals his breath (though, to be honest, he cannot really breathe anyway). “Bones, you—you were—the van—you were driving?

Leonard cuts his eyes at Jim. “Had to” is all he says.

Honestly, Jim can think of no reply to that. His muscles protest as he climbs to his feet. “T-That’s my grandfather’s pistol. Why do you have my grandfather’s pistol?”

“Stole it from the diner. Don’t ask.” Leonard reaches for his hand. “C’mon…”

Jim doesn’t ask, mainly because at that moment someone steps from a dark corner of the hallway, bellows “Got ’em!” upon sighting McCoy and Kirk, and opens fire with a gun much larger and meaner than McCoy’s.

Suddenly Jim’s body isn’t opposed to running at all. Leonard grabs his free hand, and they bolt. In the back of his mind, as he is running for his life with Bones, Jim realizes two things: one, the man firing at them isn’t one of the thugs that had chased him to the bus stop and, two, there is blood on his fingers. At some point tonight, he had been shot himself.

Next Part

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About KLMeri

Owner of SpaceTrio. Co-mod of McSpirk Holiday Fest. Fanfiction author of stories about Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.

8 Comments

  1. weepingnaiad

    Okay, this was terrible! Who is the guy shooting at Jim? Please, please don’t tell me that Pike’s dead! I am happy that he’s not a bad guy. But what about Sulu? And Spock? I am going to believe that everything will be okay. Anything else I cannot contemplate. *hugs*

  2. dark_kaomi

    Dammit, this is why you don’t plan shit behind other people’s backs! It all goes pear shaped because everyone is working at cross purposes! And you’re dividing up your forces without a cohesive plan to work by! Auuuuuugh. Chris, you’d better have a damned good reason for not involving Jim. And Bones? The hell is going through your head? I hope Sulu is still alive. I like Badass Sulu. He needs to live to keep being badass. …Oh fuck. Jim’s been shot. Oh fuck. This is not good. This is not good at all.

    • writer_klmeri

      Excellent points! Wait until Jim learns the reasoning behind this mess! *facepalm* Sulu is awesome. We do need to keep Sulu, if we can! Shot!Jim has Bones, right? RIGHT?

  3. petulant_quat

    When I read the second line, I had to stop and get a second helping of meatloaf and cheesy rice. The military man doesn’t look at them. “Take Kirk and run.” He inhales a deep, steadying breath before adding, “And don’t let Jim argue about it, either. His mother would never forgive me if he died tonight. Now go.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or have nervous vomit at this line. It’s so Action Movie. o_o kilubye.

    • writer_klmeri

      LOL! It was like an action movie! I felt like I was running on adrenaline the entire time I wrote it, with all the guns and people getting shot… <3 for cheesy rice. Yum.

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