Title: This Is No Holiday (2/3)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Pike/Archer, Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to A Holiday Letter; Christopher Pike has been told he needs protection from the deadliest threat to the existence of single fathers everywhere: dating. His son, Jim, is his protector. Chris is not amused.
Previous Part: 1

Lunch isn’t precisely a strained affair but it is enlightening for Pike in quite an unfortunate way.

Jim finally relocates his state of rebellion from his bedroom to the kitchen, where he hunkers at the kitchen table like a bird of prey and bores a hole into Archer’s back every time Jon comes into the kitchen to refill a glass of water, rummage through the refrigerator, or check on his beagle. Admittedly, Chris thinks, Jon shouldn’t need to make so many trips to the kitchen in a span of fifteen minutes. The man is either trying to heighten Jim’s paranoia, or he simply can’t stop himself from wandering into Pike’s vicinity. Chris figures it might be a little of both.

He pushes the last take-out menu across the table at his glowering son.

Jim doesn’t bother to glance at it, too busy watching the archway leading to the living room. “We had Chinese yesterday.”

Chris discards the menu into a pile of other menus with an air of long-suffering. “Then we’re out of options, Jim—unless you want to reconsider going to an actual restaurant.”

“You go,” his son says. “I’m staying here.”

“You need to eat.”

Jim looks sidelong at him then. “Do you enjoy the mother-hen routine, Dad?”

There are so many ways he could answer that. Every one of those answers will result in a fight which ends with them not speaking to each other, so Chris grits his teeth instead of replying.

Jim twitches his shoulders and looks down at the table. “I want to wait for Bones.”

Immediately Chris knows how he can turn that admission to his advantage. “Leonard might be hungry by the time he gets here. Why don’t we order from a place you know he would eat at and we can get extra of whatever he likes?”

Jim’s hand sneaks out, extricates one of the menus from the pile and flips it open. “On Fridays, we have Mexican.”

Chris feels as relieved as if he just walked off a battlefield. “Great!”

Jim gives him a disbelieving look. “Great? You don’t like Mexican food.”

“It doesn’t matter. Find something I can stomach,” Chris tells him. He retrieves a pad of paper and pen from the kitchen junk drawer and puts it by Jim’s elbow. “Here, write down the order. I’ll call it in.” He murmurs that he will be right back and exits the kitchen.

Jonathan is in the room designated as a home office, sitting at Chris’s desk and squinting at a computer screen.

“We’re ordering Mexican,” he informs the man.

“You don’t like Mexican.”

“I don’t care. It was like pulling teeth to get him to decide.”

“That’s because he’s too busy with his stakeout.”

Chris lifts his eyebrows. “In my kitchen?”

“The location gives him a tactical advantage. He’s near a phone, a knife, and my dog in case he needs a hostage to bargain with.”

“…I’m not certain I like how much thought you’ve put into this, Jon.”

Archer types something out slowly on the keyboard. “No more thought than your boy has. Huh. Does you think this AsianBeauties.com is legitimate?”

Chris stares at the back of Jonathan’s head. “Are you searching for porn on your significant other‘s computer?”

“Why would I do that when I can just watch you shower? Of course, you don’t have big breasts. These girls have REALLY big breasts.”

Chris steals the computer mouse and puts it out of easy reach. “Sometimes I don’t know why I agreed to date you.”

Jon catches Chris’s hand and runs his thumb over the knuckles. “You agreed because I pretty much said I’d do anything for you. And because it’s hard not to take pity on a guy who’s so hopeless without you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jon.” Chris smiles. “I did it because you’re so tenacious. I didn’t want my living room to turn into a greenhouse.”

“If I’d known bouquets were the secret to getting a heart’s desire, I would have serenaded half the Town Council with Flowers of the Month. Do you know,” Jon says, a twinkle in his eyes, “they still won’t pass my proposition to turn the Chamber of Commerce into a fun park?”

“I bet they hate to see you coming.”

Jon gives him a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, they do. It’s kind of ironic, and hilarious, since they contributed to my campaign for re-election.”

The thought, amusing as it is, leads to another. He turns his hand over in Jon’s, giving Jon’s hand a brief squeeze, before separating them. “Why aren’t you working today?”

Jonathan sits back in his chair. “Before you go busting my chops for playing hooky, why didn’t you go to work?”

Chris doesn’t consider lying. Here is a man who would understand his reasoning. “Because Jim wanted me to.”

Jon crosses his arms, looking interested at that bit of news. “Have you figured out why yet?”

“No.”

“Hm. I would say don’t worry about it but this is Kirk, not some average punk off the street…”

“Wait, when did Jim become more than an average punk to you?”

Jon gives him a look. “Average and Kirk don’t belong in the same sentence.”

Chris agrees wholeheartedly but he doubts he and Jon mean the sentiment in quite the same way.

Something lights up Archer’s eyes. “Did he tell you about the time he gave the statue of the founding member of the town college a makeover?”

“What?”

“It wasn’t enough to make the news because he used silly string—a hell of a lot of glow-in-the-dark silly string—instead of paint. Otherwise I could have gotten somebody on a charge of vandalism.”

Chris gropes for the back of a chair, suddenly certain he needs to be sitting down. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

Jon doesn’t seem concerned. “I couldn’t prove it was Kirk, of course, but I knew at the time he was leading the prank war.”

“Wait, wait, wait. What prank war?”

“Ah, Christopher. How, exactly, do you think your kid entertained himself for four years? By studying?” The sheriff shakes his head in mock disappointment. “You parents and your rose-tinted glasses.” Jon crosses his arms behind his head, oblivious to how flabbergasted Chris is. “James Tiberius Kirk—I wasted a lot of Saturdays in pursuit of your boy. Never could catch him in the act, not even when he tee-peed the mayor’s house, and nobody would rat on him. That kid inspires loyalty in the oddest people, you know? Not even those old cafeteria biddies said anything other than what a darling he was.” Jon’s mouth quirks at some memory. “Things calmed down once he graduated, though I kind of expected him to join a street gang afterward—or make one. But I guess higher education has its advantages.”

“Are you saying Jim has been on your radar for six years?”

“Nah, five and a half. Took me six months to pinpoint the source of the pranks, and I think that’s only because the little shit got tired of waiting on me to figure it out.”

Chris cradles his face in his hands, feeling like he has just been disillusioned with life itself. “How could I not have known this?” he mumbles through his fingers.

“If it makes you feel any better, I figure if he had come close to getting arrested, he would have quit monkeying around.”

“I don’t feel better.”

“Ah well.”

They sit in silence for a while, until Chris can face the man who knows more about his son than he realized. He runs a hand through his hair, wondering idly if it has just turned grayer in the last five minutes.

“I’d offer an apology on Jim’s behalf but you don’t sound like you want one.”

Jon smiles, saying nothing.

Chris clears his throat. “So… Mexican food?”

“You bet, Princess. Go grab me that menu, will you?”

It’s entirely Jim’s fault, Chris decides, he doesn’t dare say no to Archer. Damn and blast, why hadn’t the boy stayed out of trouble?

He leaves Jonathan at the computer desk, intent on giving Jim a piece of his mind, but when Chris arrives in the kitchen, it’s missing a Kirk. At the table there is a long list of food to be ordered from the Mexican restaurant and Porthos, who is sitting in the chair in Jim’s stead. The dog lays his head upon the tabletop and blinks at Pike.

Not for the first time in thirteen years, Chris curses his son’s sixth sense for knowing the perfectly wrong time (or right time, depending on the point of view) to become scarce. He should go in search of his errant son, but there is a matter of a hungry officer of the law in his study in the possession of nearly six years of intel on Jim. Somehow Chris is going to have to convince Archer never to use that intel.

“The things I do, Jim,” he mutters under his breath, collecting the menu, the list, and the dog. He hugs Porthos to his chest. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s go be nice to Jon.”

Twenty minutes to three o’clock in the afternoon, Jim is prowling around the living room and making Chris antsy. After lunch is eaten in separate rooms (that is, Jim in one room, and Pike and Archer in another), he tried sending Jim on an errand in town that would grant the two older men at least thirty minutes of reprieve. Jim refused to budge, citing a handful of reasons he couldn’t leave the house. Most of those reasons involved Archer doing something dangerous and/or illegal to their property or to Christopher’s person while Jim wasn’t there to stop him.

Chris told Jim he was being ridiculous. Jim said it wasn’t ridiculous when the enemy had already infiltrated the house. When he reminded his son he knew how to defend himself, Jim pretended not to hear him by cranking up the volume on his IPOD.

Chris is actively considering dragging the boy out to the yard by the back of his shirt collar and forcing him to do some kind of hard labor. He’s at his wit’s end.

Maybe there is some higher power in the universe because Jim’s cell phone buzzes just as Pike is about to spring from his recliner. Jim snatches it up from the coffee table with too much enthusiasm. Moments later the tense lines in Kirk’s face melt away. “He’s almost here.”

“How long?” Chris asks, hoping the question doesn’t sound as desperate as it does to his own ears.

“Hold on, let me text him directions.”

Chris has to stop himself from going to the window to peer between the curtains. “I can meet Leonard somewhere if he thinks he won’t be able to find the house.”

“No, we’re cool. He says he’s got a map reader.”

“A GPS?”

Jim shrugs. “Not that I know of.”

After Jim is done messaging McCoy, he and Chris stare at each other. Jim rubs at the side of his head, something close to an apology in his eyes.

Chris releases a breath and tries tentatively for a teasing tone. “I want you on your best behavior while he’s here, Jim. Try not to scare him off.”

Jim grins down at his sneakers. “Bones doesn’t scare easily. That’s why it’s been awesome rooming with him.”

He would stop himself if he didn’t want the contact so much. The way Jim doesn’t resist the hug and leans into him tells Chris his son needs the reassurance too.

“You’re driving me crazy, son,” he says into Jim’s hair.

“I wish you understood,” Jim whispers back.

Chris looks him in the eyes. “I guess I’m not the only one who wants a translator.”

“Don’t you mean a therapist?”

“I don’t think we’re that bad off yet.”

Jim gives him a thin smile. “We’ll see, Dad.”

“Chris!”

Jim pulls away at the sound of Archer’s voice.

“Oh, sorry, bad timing?” apologizes Jon as he enters the living room and spies Pike and Kirk standing so close together.

Yes, Chris thinks, and then feels bad. “It’s all right. What’s up?”

“I think I broke your toilet.”

“Come again?”

“Well, I was trying to—”

Pike waves a hand to stall a mental image he knows he could live without. “Jim, the toolbox is into the hall closet. Can you—”

“Oh, gross, Dad!” interrupts his son, looking disgusted. “No way am I going near his shit!”

“Hey, a little respect here!” Archer snaps, seeming more annoyed than embarrassed as he crosses his arms. Before Jim can retort, Jon adds pointedly, “It’s not like you shit any different, kid, unless you got diamonds coming out of your ass.” He looks at Pike. “Besides, if your dad had let me finish explaining, you would know I wasn’t actually on the toilet when it broke. It was making a funny noise. I tried to fix it. Then a hose popped loose or something. Cue fun times at the water park.”

“Watch what you say about my dad,” Jim says darkly, ignoring the majority of Jon’s sarcastic clarification. He takes an almost menacing step toward Archer.

Pike drops a hand to his son’s shoulder. “Enough, Jim. Go make sure my bathroom isn’t really flooded, will you?” At Jim’s reluctance to get moving, Chris puts a little pleading into his voice. “I would really appreciate it, Jim. Please?”

Jim gives him a short nod. “Okay, but only for you.” That reply seems to have nothing to do with the broken toilet and everything to do with not breaking Jonathan’s face. Jim shoots Archer a searing look on his way out of the living room.

Chris exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and closes his eyes briefly in gratitude. McCoy is almost to the house, he repeats in his mind at least three times, trying to turn it into a magical charm. He turns to tell Archer that semi-good news, wanting to share the margin of hope, but Jon is already out of sight. Heart sinking, Pike goes to the window to open the curtains and prays for the intervention to come more swiftly.

It turns out a prayer can be answered in unforeseen ways. The first person to exit the car that parks alongside the Ford in Christopher Pike’s driveway is not Leonard McCoy, boyfriend to Jim Kirk. Chris’s stride down the front steps of the house stutters to a stop when he recognizes who the person actually is.

“Leonard,” he calls slowly to the second man who is busy unfolding long legs for the driver-side of the small car, “I didn’t realize you would be bringing… a friend.”

Leonard McCoy snorts and jerks a thumb at his travel companion. “He and I aren’t friends, Mr. Pike.”

The expressionless companion lets his dark gaze bore into Pike. “Indeed. Mr. McCoy is quite correct in his assessment. We are acquaintances only.”

Hearing that voice has the effect of snapping Chris from his shock. His legs move of their own accord, carrying him the rest of the distance of the car, and his hand lifts in a traditional handshake.

Mr. Spock returns the handshake without delay then places his hands behind his back. He looks like a preacher preparing to give a sermon. “I realize that my presence at your home is unexpected. I myself had not anticipated today’s journey, until…” Spock glances sidelong at McCoy. “…I was entreated to alter my weekend plans by Mr. McCoy. The invitation was unusual enough that I decided to accept.”

Leonard returns Spock’s stare with a sour look. “Why can’t you just talk like a normal person?”

“What constitutes normal speech to you, Mr. McCoy?” questions Spock.

“Somebody who doesn’t sound like an antiquated windbag!”

Spock’s eyebrows lower like a thundercloud.

Chris feels the need to intervene. “All right, gentlemen. If I am understanding this correctly, you are invited, Mr. Spock. So, um, welcome to my home?”

Spock inclines his head slightly then turns to watch a curtain move against one of the windows of the house. “Accepted. Is Jim present?”

“Yes, you will find him inside. I am certain Jim will be excited to see you.”

“I will precede you then,” Spock replies, already moving to the entrance of the house as if a response from Pike or McCoy is unnecessary.

Chris turns to McCoy for an explanation once Spock is gone. Leonard crosses his arms and presses his mouth into a thin line. After a long moment, he tells Pike, “They’re buddies now.”

Two months ago, Spock had labeled Jim as a pest who needed to stay out of his business. Now, apparently, Spock is interested in Jim’s business, so much so that he willingly made a trip with a man he does dislike for the sake of visiting his new friend.

Chris is almost morbidly curious to know how this came about but now is not the time to ask. He gestures at the front door. Leonard shoulders a duffle bag, and they begin to walk towards the door at a snail’s pace.

“Understood. But now I need the real explanation, Mr. McCoy.”

“Leonard.”

“You’re not Leonard while I am re-evaluating my impression of your sanity.”

Leonard’s face falls slightly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Chris caves a little and gives the young man’s arm an encouraging squeeze. “Tell me about Spock.”

“I figured we needed a buffer, somebody Jim or Ar—I mean, just Jim—couldn’t play off either of us. An unknown factor in the equation, as the kid would say. Unfortunately, most everybody Jim considers ‘okay’ to hang out with already had plans for the weekend. Except Spock. Spock’s the only one who keeps the same damn schedule every day of every week—and believe me when I say he came in very last on my list of people to ask. Man’s so repressed, it’s a new kind of weird.”

Chris is impressed by McCoy’s foresight and amused by the complaint. “How did you manage to convince him to come out here?”

Suddenly Leonard looks like he swallowed something unpleasant. “Didn’t take much convincing. As soon as I said Jim’s name, he was packing a suitcase.”

It finally occurs to Pike then that Spock will be staying with them for the weekend. “…Shit. Does he know that Jon and I are—t-that—” He’s too old to stutter like this!

“Sorry, Mr. Pike. I tried to give the nosy bastard as few details as I could manage without outright lying. He knows Jim doesn’t approve of your friendship with the sheriff. I told him things were gonna seem uncomfortable all around.”

“What else?”

Leonard shrugs. “There’s not much else. If Spock manages to do something useful, like stop Jim from killing somebody, I’ll consider this weekend a win. Otherwise I’m not sure what the hell I was thinking.” Leonard pauses to sigh and his shoulders slump. “I guess I feel bad about how I botched talking to Jim about this Archer thing the first time ’round,” he admits. “So if I still can’t get through to Jim, maybe Spock can rationalize with him better. Jim sure as hell listens to everything the guy says these days.”

Chris stays silent for a second, hearing an undercurrent threading through McCoy’s voice that is unsettlingly reminiscent of something he heard during Christmas when Leonard first spoke of Spock. “Are you okay with him being here, Leonard?”

Leonard’s mouth presses back into a flat line. “I brought him. I ought to be.”

Chris waits for the rest.

Jim’s boyfriend glances away. “Things are different now. I have Jim, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll manage.”

Chris has the distinct feeling he won’t get a better answer than that, so he lets it go.

Inside the house, Jim is smug and bright-eyed, Spock’s expression is difficult to read per usual, and Jon is standing apart from the duo, eyeing them with a wariness that means he is wondering if they are planning his demise.

“Who invited the elf?”

Given that Christopher is right next to him, Archer voices that question more loudly than necessary.

Spock’s chin inches upward. “I am not in costume. Therefore your remark is not only insulting but grossly inaccurate.”

“At least he knows when he’s being made fun of,” Leonard quips dryly as he enters the living room and drops the duffle bag by the couch.

Spock transfers his inscrutable gaze to McCoy, who stares right back.

Jim skirts the side of the couch to pick up the duffle bag and, Chris notices, to brush arms with Leonard. “Hey, Bones, wanna see my room?”

Leonard’s mouth twitches. “Is it clean?”

Jim freezes in the act of straightening up, his eyes widening. Chris can only assume from his son’s reaction the bedroom is, in fact, still strewn with the makings of a booby trap for Archer.

“Uh…wait just a minute!” Jim calls over his shoulder, already en route to his bedroom to probably shove things under his bed.

“Mr. Spock,” Chris begins after an awkward moment of silence, turning to address the man directly, “I’m afraid the only spare room has no bed, but I do have a fold-out mattress in the couch.”

“Spock’s taking my room,” Jim announces upon re-entry into the living room.

Surely it hadn’t taken Jim less than a minute to set his room straight? If Jim was younger, Chris would feel the need to check behind him. Sadly, those days are behind them.

Leonard has recoiled at this news. “Then where the hell are we sleeping, Jim?”

“Well,” Jim says in a thoughtful tone, though his eyes are bright with mischief, “you could share the bed with Spock—”

“I will not sleep with Leonard,” Spock insists at the same time Leonard cries, “When hell freezes over and pigs fly!”

“—or you can share the couch with me.”

“Why can’t Spock take the damn couch?”

“Because it’s bigger than my bed, and my bed won’t fit us both.”

Leonard closes his mouth at that revelation, but he has not given up frowning.

Chris turns a chuckle into a cough at Jim’s pleased expression. He is glad to see that his son’s good mood has returned. “Jim, why don’t you show your guests the house?” he suggests.

“Sure, Dad. Follow me, Bones, Spock. I need to brief you anyway.”

Brief them? On what? Chris thinks with a touch of concern. It’s not like this weekend is a top-secret mission of some kind.

…Or is it?

An arm falls across Pike’s shoulders and draws him to Archer’s side.

“You’re starting to look panicked again, Christopher.”

“Did you not hear what he said? I might have reason to panic.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Chris turns his head to meet Jon’s gaze. “I doubt I’ll be the one who needs protection.”

“Trust me. It will take more than Kirk and his cronies to budge me from this house.”

Chris guesses he is used to feeling amused and anxious at the same time. “Don’t let my son hear that, please. Personal challenges are his sustenance.”

“And here I thought he lived off of vanity and pride like the rest of us.”

Chuckling, Chris crosses his arms and leans his hip against Archer’s. “If only. So… do you think we’re prepared?”

Jon’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I find I survive better when I’m least prepared.”

Chris gives that some thought before nodding slowly. “I suppose that’s the way I have felt with Jim all these years. Sometimes it’s far simpler to accept that which defies convention than to try to make it conform.”

“That’s deep, Pike.”

Chris lifts a corner of his mouth. “How would you know? All of your sayings come from fortune cookies.”

“Touché.”

They are grinning at each other when Jim leans around the corner of the hallway, calling insistently, “Dad. Hey, Dad!”

“Yes, Jim?”

“You want anything from the grocery store? Spock, Bones, and I are gonna make a run down to the ‘mart.”

“I want beer,” Jon says.

Jim snorts.

“Buy Jon some beer.” Before Jim can protest, he adds, “Remind me again whose name is on the credit card in your wallet.”

Jim retreats around the corner with a roll of his eyes and the concession, “Yeah, yeah. Bones! Put beer on the list!”

Chris sighs, but his eyes are twinkling as he quotes in the wake of his departed offspring, “You are young, Grasshopper, but you will learn.”

Archer bursts out laughing, and though it’s silly for men past their prime, sharing a high-five is also fun.

The wall clock says the house has been Kirk-free for over an hour. Chris has his reading glasses on, a good book in his right hand, and Archer’s thigh under his left. They made themselves comfortable the second Jim had left with Spock and McCoy in tow. Pike doesn’t doubt the kids headed to the grocery store, but he also suspects pit stops were involved along the way. Jim looked almost ecstatic to be going on an errand, contrary to his earlier bullheadedness in refusing to leave Chris alone with Archer.

“I hope they don’t get arrested,” he says, turning a page of a thriller novel that his attention isn’t very invested in.

“Why do you keep repeating that?” Jon asks. “Do you want them to get busted before dinner?”

“Depends. I have most of the law enforcement in this town trained when it comes to Jim. Once, he called our cell block his second home.”

“Lovely,” mutters Chris’s companion as he lifts the television remote to change the channel from sports to weather.

Chris caresses the leg beneath his palm. Jon automatically stills his hand with the warning, “Don’t do that, Princess.”

“Sorry, does it bother you?”

“Only in that I’m gonna be bothered all night and not allowed to relieve myself.”

Chris notices for the first time Jonathan’s bottom lip is slightly swollen, as if teeth had sunk into it repeatedly. He has the sudden urge to lean over and soothe that redness with his mouth. The urge does not go away even after he swallows. “I didn’t say anything about above the waist, did I?”

Jon drops the remote, turning to look at him with pupils blown wide. “No, you definitely did not.”

There is really no need to read a book that doesn’t entertain him, Chris decides. He discards it with a flick of his wrist, not caring where it lands. Jon makes a choked noise and immediately goes pliant when Chris brings their mouths together.

“Shit,” the man beneath him says once they break apart for air. “Can’t I touch—”

“No,” Chris orders then seals his mouth over Jonathan’s again to smother the rest of the request.

It’s kind of a miracle, he will realize later, that either of them had the presence of mind to hear the key scraping against the lock of the front door. Chris drags himself clear of Archer with a groan and healthy string of curses just in the nick of time. Jonathan, being rather unlucky and discombobulated, tumbles off the couch at the sudden shift of bodies and hits the floor with a thump and a pained oof.

Jim is smiling at something or someone as he comes through the door. That smile dies when he spies his disheveled father, who scrambles off the couch with a breathless “Son!”

It’s only as Jim continues to stare at him that Chris realizes his reading glasses are askew. Setting them straight doesn’t seem to alleviate the situation.

“Move it, kid!” comes the grumble at Kirk’s back. Leonard manages to push past Jim, oblivious to the scene of the crime, so to speak, and visibly weighed down by several plastic bags of groceries. Spock is close on McCoy’s heels, carrying what has to be a fifty-pound sack of dog food over one shoulder like it weighs nothing.

Jonathan’s complaint drifts over the back of the couch. “Damn it, I think you broke my tailbone, Chris.”

“Let me help with that!” Chris leaps for the groceries because any excuse to get out of this room before he dies of embarrassment will do.

He doesn’t manage to lay a hand on anything because Jim intercepts him, shifting casually but deftly enough to turn his father aside and block his access to McCoy and Spock. In a flat tone, Kirk informs his two friends, “The kitchen is on your left.”

Leonard and Spock go in that direction, none-the-wiser of Chris’s plight.

Chris straightens, not liking the sudden change in authority. “Jim…” he begins, but in that moment Jon limps around the end of the couch, rubbing at one of his hips. The man’s shirt is partly unbuttoned.

Jim pockets his house keys with a slowness that signals trouble.

Jonathan seems to sense this because he freezes mid-limp and blinks at Kirk. After several seconds pass, the older man’s spine snaps straight, and he looks more like a sheriff than a man caught in the act of making out with someone’s father. Archer walks to Pike’s side with a nonchalant stride, holding Jim’s intense gaze as he does so; then with a slowness imitative of Jim’s, he smirks.

Jonathan’s right hand settles on Chris’s shoulder. Jim’s already tense stance becomes tenser; his eyes narrow. Chris doesn’t have to turn his head to know what Jon’s expression looks like. The man radiates smugness.

Chris could remove Jon’s hand (and probably would under other circumstances since it isn’t a sign of affection so much as a way to taunt Jim) but he argues with himself this is something Jim needs to get used sooner rather than later, especially because, knowing the man as well as he does, Archer is going to put his hands on Christopher whenever he has the opportunity. And though he is embarrassed, he knows he shouldn’t be apologetic for what he’s done.

In that moment while Chris vacillates over what is best for Jim, Leonard wanders into the too-still atmosphere of the living room, paying more attention to the screen of his cell phone than the standoff between Kirk and Archer. He stops just abreast of Jon, saying, “Were we supposed to get milk, Jim?”

The sense of smugness from Archer intensifies.

From the corner of his eye, as if in slow motion, Chris sees Archer’s free hand lift in the air and his stomach jerks with the instinctive knowledge of this is not going to end well. Then that hand drops to McCoy’s shoulder, the gesture careless yet mockingly possessive, thereby causing to Leonard look up with a confused “Huh?”

All hell breaks loose.

“Jim, no!” Chris bursts out at the same time his son looses an unintelligible cry of rage.

There is no shock in Archer’s eyes, just an insane kind of glee, when Kirk’s body slams into his and they go down in a tangle of limbs on the carpeted floor. Chris doesn’t think, flings himself after them, and tries to wedge a hand between Kirk and Archer to lift the former off the latter, who is choking under Kirk’s hands between cackles.

He manages to pry Jim off of Archer only for a second until Jim bucks and twists out of his arms to lunge for the man on the floor again. Chris has never felt more grateful than when, in that moment, Leonard steps into his boyfriend’s path and snaps, “Jim, calm down!”

That gives Jim pause, though his body is literally vibrating with his rage.

Chris slips around Jim to stand at Leonard’s shoulder, effectively turning a one-man wall into a two-man wall. He spies Spock from the corner of his eye, looking like he only needs a word from someone to intervene.

Some intense emotion churns through Kirk’s eyes when his gaze lands on Pike.

Chris straightens, letting his voice slip into a hard, clipped tone. “The only way you’ll get to him is by going through me.”

The line has been drawn, and he waits, alongside a tense Leonard, to see what Jim will do. It seems too long before his son moves, takes one step back.

Tears sting Pike’s eyes.

Jim continues to move backwards, eyes fixed on them, his silence deadly, until the distance between them is wide enough it can’t be easily breached. Then he pivots in one jerk of a turn and stalks from the living room, the set of his shoulders still stiff with anger.

Next to Chris, Leonard releases a breath. His voice is not quite steady when he says, succinctly, “Shit.”

Leonard looks at him, gaze uncertain, then turns toward Archer. Chris turns too, suddenly aware of the silence behind him, fear delivering a punch to his gut.

But Jon is conscious for all that he is quiet, one hand against his jaw and his other arm tucked under his head, gaze cast ceiling-ward. Even in his loose-boned sprawl, he might be Rodin’s Thinker contemplating the universe.

Chris touches Leonard’s shoulder enough to draw his attention. “Go after him,” he orders quietly. Then he drops to one knee at Archer’s side, not waiting to see if McCoy obeys him, and asks, “Jon, are you all right?” At some point Spock passes by him in pursuit of Kirk and McCoy, but Chris is too preoccupied to notice.

Jonathan’s gaze transfers to him. But he doesn’t answer right away, just lifts his hand from his face (and there’s blood beneath, which scares Pike a little) and catches a hold of Chris’s arm to leverage himself into a sitting position. Then the man sighs. “I’ve had better ideas.”

That admission has the effect of both relieving and pissing Pike off. He hauls Jon the rest of the way to his feet with the terse command “Come with me.”

They walk to the master bedroom; Archer’s gait is not quite slowed by a limp but it’s clear he is mindful of how his body moves nonetheless. The moment the bedroom door is shut, Chris turns on the man who went from friend to lover less than a week ago and snarls.

Archer grimaces as he staggers slightly at the edge of the bed and lowers himself so he can sit down.

“What the hell was that?”

Jon licks at his bloody bottom lip, expression wavering between a fake innocence and apprehension. At Chris’s second growl, the man confesses with a wince, “Aw, shucks, darlin’… I was just trying to help Kirk out.”

Chris makes a noise that can’t decide if it’s supposed to be disbelieving or angry.

Jonathan prods at his jawbone. “I thought the boy would feel better if he got to hit me at least once.”

Chris’s temper explodes. “What? What the fuck—that doesn’t even make sense, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“Why not?” Jon asks, both of his hands dropping to his lap as he meets Pike’s eyes. “The kid wasn’t just gonna take me out back and beat me, not on your property anyway. I had to goad him a little.” The man shrugs. “So what?”

Chris’s temples throb with the effort to contain his yelling. Otherwise Jim and Leonard are going to overhear his first fight with Jon—and that’s just another battle with Jim Pike is too tired to deal with right now. “Don’t move,” he orders and strides for the bathroom. He takes a minute longer than necessary to wet a washcloth because his temper refuses to cool.

Even as he goes back into the bedroom to give Archer the washcloth, words of anger bubble and burst forth: “You cannot go around provoking my only child into fits of violence.”

Jon looks unrepentant. “Repression is bad for the soul.”

“Not when it prevents murder!” It’s a damn shame he can’t go against his own declaration and give Archer a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw.

Jonathan’s mouth curls. “Were you worried for me, Princess?”

“I was afraid I might have to arrest my own son.”

“So, no teensy bit of worry on my behalf? At all?”

“Just… shut up, Jon.” Chris turns away, thinking it’s probably best if he occupies himself in the bathroom for at least five minutes, only to have his plan cut short by a solid rap on the closed bedroom door. Before he can ask who it is, the doorknob turns and someone enters without invitation.

“McCoy,” Chris says, the name sounding brusquer than he intends. But with his clenched teeth, everything sounds sharp and angry.

Leonard doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m here to check on Archer.”

“Hey, that’s me!” Jon says, sitting up, the cold washcloth held against his face. As Leonard gives him a critical once-over, Jon begins to look uneasy. “Shit, is there gonna be an exam? Because no. Just no. I ain’t being examined.” The man grunts as he tries to scoot over to the far side of the bed.

Chris looks questioningly at McCoy.

“This is part of Jim’s punishment,” Leonard explains, “knowing I’m here to offer my services to patch him up.”

“And he can’t stop you because he’s the reason you have to do this in the first place,” Chris finishes. “I have to say, I approve of the way you think, Leonard.”

“Thanks,” the young man responds dryly. He pulls out a pair of latex gloves from his pants pocket.

Jonathan looks at the gloves and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. “Oh fuck. Chris, why does he need those?”

Leonard seems to take great relish in snapping on one glove, then its partner. Watching the way Jon pales, Chris’s appreciation of Leonard McCoy doubles.

The hint of panic in Jon’s voice becomes as clear as a bell. “Nuh-uh, no unlicensed medical student is touching me!”

“Don’t be a baby, Jon,” Chris chides, striding to the open door. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, Leonard.”

A wicked gleam fills McCoy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, sir. I won’t need you.”

“Chris!” Jon scrambles for the edge of the bed but can’t seem to figure out how to get around McCoy. “Chris, don’t go! I’m not hurt, see? I don’t need—”

Chris shuts the bedroom door on that plea, feeling a bit meanly glad somebody can deliver just retribution to an old, ornery sheriff when he can’t.

The door to Jim’s room is ajar and he pauses there to catch a glimpse of Jim in the chair by his desk, Spock hovering just beyond his shoulder. Even though Jim’s hard jaw line softens like he might speak when their eyes meet, Chris says nothing to his son and quietly resumes his trek down the hallway.

In the kitchen, Porthos is sitting by his water bowl with an expectant look. Chris tosses the old water out of it and replaces it with fresh water but the dog doesn’t stoop down to drink from the bowl. He just continues to stare at Pike.

“This house is crazy,” Chris tells him. “I think I’m going crazy.”

Porthos blinks placidly, gets up and pads to the back door of the kitchen. There he sits down, once again facing Pike.

A tension uncoils in Christopher. “If you’re suggesting we leave for a while, that’s a brilliant idea.” He unhooks a red leash hanging from one of the key pegs by the door and clips it on to Porthos’ collar.

The fresh air never felt more needed than the moment he steps onto the patio in his backyard. Porthos, seemingly not interested in the yard itself, heads for the small gate in the chain-link fence. Chris does not protest, for the time being content to let the dog take the lead.

Part III

Related Posts:

• [Master Post] Holiday Series – from January 21, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (13/13) – from January 20, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (12/13) – from January 19, 2017
• This Is No Holiday (3/3) – from May 7, 2013
• This Is No Holiday (1/3) – from May 5, 2013

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