Title: The White Horse (12/16)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Jim Kirk was a strange man. A silent man. No one knew much about him or, if they did, were not willing to say what they did know, especially to the town’s newest magical occupant. Not that Leonard McCoy cared. He had an old curse to track down and unravel by the year’s end. Meanwhile a killer was tracking him. AU.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
or at AO3

Part Eleven

They settled for hiding Kirk in a back corner of the warehouse.

“It’s fucking dusty enough,” Leonard said as he dropped his burden’s shoulders to the floor. “So what’s the plan?”

“We were set up.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Spock gave him a shut up and let me talk look. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Mr. Kirk was set up to take responsibility for our ‘accident’. That said, I would think the real culprit has made certain he will not be caught in the act.”

“I didn’t see any cameras.”

“My point precisely. Which means,” Spock added, “we are safe from detection as well.” He took a moment to study the unconscious man at their feet. “How long before he wakes?”

Leonard squatted down and pried open one of Kirk’s eyelids. “Hell if I know, Spock. But if you want him awake, I could slap him.”

“Will he be able to walk?”

Leonard grimaced. “He shouldn’t in my opinion but he could. It’ll hurt like a bitch though.”

“He has to play his part, or he will be detained. Subsequently so would we.”

“Right,” Leonard said and drew back his hand. He hit Kirk’s cheek with just enough force to sting but not bruise.

Kirk’s head lolled. He didn’t rouse.

Leonard hit him again, this time eliciting a groan. “Time to wake up,” he said, leaning over the man. When Kirk’s eyes opened and blinked in confusion, Leonard added, “At least you aren’t dead.”

To say Kirk came up swinging when the presence above him finally registered would be an understatement.

“Holy fuck,” Leonard snarled as he fell back on his ass, clutching his nose. “Spock! The fucker just head-butted me!”

Spock was too busy pinning Kirk down to reply. Or maybe he didn’t reply because he didn’t much care that Leonard’s nose was bleeding from the impact with James Kirk’s forehead.

The agent ordered in a hard tone, “Calm down, Mr. Kirk.”

Kirk thrashed down under Spock’s weight and retaliated by trying to bite off the agent’s nose. It was the response of a wild animal.

Leonard took his hand from his face and snapped his fingers near the corner of Kirk’s eye, saying, “Hey, hey, kid!” When that didn’t work, he shouted in Kirk’s ear, “HEY!”

The guy winced and stilled for half a second.

“Stop kicking your legs, dumbass,” Leonard told him. “I’m not fixing your damn foot a second time.”

Kirk heaved a breath and stared at him, a lot of messages in his eyes and none of them polite.

Leonard grimaced as he wiped at the blood under his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah, your foot,” he repeated. “Remember now? Also,” he thumbed in Spock’s direction, “he helped.”

Kirk’s head dropped to the cement with a thunk. The man didn’t say anything; he just laid there, breathing hard. Eventually he sneezed.

“Shouldn’t have kicked up the dust,” muttered Leonard. “Spock, get off him.”

“Assure me you are in your right mind,” Spock said to the person he still had pinned.

Kirk nodded once, a short jerk of a motion. Spock let go of him and stood up, eyeing the dusty fabric of his pants with distaste. The other two men watched while Spock tried futilely to brush his pants clean.

When Kirk tried to sit up, Leonard put a warning hand on his chest.

“Don’t put any pressure on your ankle.”

Kirk grunted his understanding and carefully hoisted himself upright. He stared at his legs like he almost couldn’t believe they were attached.

“Bet you feel like shit,” Leonard guessed.

The guy nodded.

“Well so do I, so don’t make any trouble.”

Kirk turned his head to look at Leonard, eyes slit. It was a calculating gaze if Leonard had ever seen one. He looked over Kirk’s head at Spock.

“Not very sociable, is he?”

“Neither are you, Mr. McCoy, despite your incessant chatter.”

In that moment all Leonard really wanted to do was strangle Spock until he turned purple. “You’re asking for it,” he warned the agent.

Spock ignored the threat. “Phrase your questions to Mr. Kirk so that the answer format is yes or no, and he will respond.”

What the hell? “Why does he come with instructions? He’s a human being, not a heartless robot like you!”

But Kirk didn’t seem to care that Leonard was defending him. The man was studying his knuckles instead. One of them had been scraped raw, likely when Kirk hit the ground after pushing Leonard out of harm’s way.

A sudden urge to grab the hand came over him. He did, intending to inspect it. Kirk tensed and pulled back. Leonard pulled the hand forward. They pulled tug-of-war over the injured knuckles until Leonard snapped, “Stop that! I can fix it!”

Kirk shook his head.

“Stubborn,” Leonard accused and flung the hand back at Kirk. He drew his feet under him and stood up. “New plan,” he told Spock. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Not without Mr. Kirk.”

Leonard patted his back pocket and drew out his cigarette pack. Disgusted to find only two cigarettes left and both of them crushed from his fall, he threw the pack to the floor. “What the fuck makes this bonehead so important? Which,” he turned his angry gaze down to Kirk, “to make things clear: I know you saved my life, but I also saved you from being a cripple. So we’re square.”

The guy snorted and rolled to one side to help himself up, coming to stand on his good foot. He wobbled a moment, then tentatively put the other foot on the ground.

Leonard saw him grimace. He returned his attention to Spock. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Come with me or stay here. I don’t care either way.”

When Spock didn’t reply, Leonard decided not to feel bad about leaving him behind. Muttering under his breath, he strode out of the hiding spot and back towards a part of the warehouse he thought he recognized.

That was where he came upon a group of workers standing in a half-circle around the mess of boxes and pallets. One of them was yelling. Finnegan stood on the outside of the circle, arms crossed, notably silent.

Leonard slowed his pace as he came abreast of the group. There was a faint buzz in his ears (his blood pressure was lower than normal, the healing had really zapped him dry), but he figured his anger would be enough to see him to the parking lot.

Unfortunately Finnegan spotted him. The man’s initial surprise, however brief, confirmed Leonard’s suspicions. He would probably be justified in decking the son of a bitch.

The guy who had been yelling was Towler, the supervisor, and now the man pushed his way towards Leonard, clearly livid at finding some of the inventory destroyed.

“What happened!” he barked.

“I was gonna ask you that,” Leonard replied. “Did somebody have an accident?”

That pulled Tower up short. “You saying you don’t know anything about this?”

“Why would I?”

Behind Towler, Finnegan shifted on his feet. “Where’s the other guy… and Kirk?”

Leonard shrugged carelessly. “Agent Spock had a few more questions to ask him, I think. I’m just looking for the bathroom.” He held Finnegan’s stare and drawled, “By the way, thanks a bunch for letting Kirk know where to meet us.”

Finnegan pressed his mouth flat. A young, dark-haired man standing next to him paled.

Caught you out, you little bastards, Leonard thought.

“Sir!” an excited voice broke into the conversation. A worker came up to Towler, holding in his hands a hardhat. He told the supervisor he had found it near the ruined product.

Towler took it and stared at it long enough that Leonard felt inexplicably cold. He became all-too-aware of his bare head.

“Lose your hat, Mr. McCoy?” the supervisor asked, transferring his gaze to Leonard.

“No,” Leonard lied. “I got tired of wearin’ it and left it behind.”

“Behind where?” taunted Finnegan. “At the scene of the crime?”

Leonard started forward, deciding it would be acceptable to hit the asshole after all.

“I do not think you have the right to accuse anyone,” said someone at Leonard’s back.

Spock came to stand on Leonard’s right. Kirk followed then veered off and circled around the group as if he was curious to take a look at the wreckage.

I’ll be damned, thought Leonard. The kid wasn’t limping in the slightest. Except for his clothes being somewhat rumpled, he appeared fine.

Apparently the act was convincing enough.

“Kirk, get back here!” snapped Towler. “Why the hell aren’t you in the cooler?”

Kirk returned, looking like he couldn’t hold a single important thought in his head.

Spock answered on the man’s behalf. “I asked Mr. Kirk to escort me. As it is not particularly safe for more than one individual to ride on a forklift, we are on foot.” He asked Leonard, “Did you find the restroom?”

“Nope. And not to be rude to the rest of y’all, but I do gotta piss.” Leonard motioned at Kirk. “Looks like Spock’s bored you enough. Show me to the nearest bathroom, would you? This place gets me turned around.”

Spock inclined his head slightly in Kirk’s direction as if to grant his permission. “I am certain Mr. Towler will show me the way to the main office. Shall we meet in the parking lot?”

“Sure,” Leonard agreed.

Without a word about his assignment, Kirk slunk by his supervisor and headed in an entirely different direction. Leonard followed him, seeing Finnegan clenching his fists as he left.

He waited until they had turned several corners before he stopped Kirk with a hand to his arm. “You know that bastard Finnegan did this, don’t you?”

A muscle twitched in Kirk’s jaw but he continued to stare straight ahead.

This guy really isn’t a talker. Leonard started to comment about that but noticed that the man had shifted his weight to one foot. “Hell,” he said, “I told you to be careful!” He glanced around, saw no one in sight, and held out his hand. “Take it,” he urged when Kirk just looked at the hand like an idiot.

Kirk didn’t.

With an exasperated sound, Leonard grabbed the fool’s hand. He squeezed it when Kirk jumped slightly. “Be still a minute.”

Leonard closed his eyes but didn’t have to concentrate too hard. He could feel the pain that Kirk felt, a throb which started at the ankle and ran up the leg. He drew it out of the body like one would a poison. He took on what he could manage, told the body to think of the ankle as numb, and let go of Kirk’s hand.

Almost immediately, Leonard had to bend forward and plant his hands on his knees. He forced himself to breathe through a wave of light-headedness.

Kirk crouched down to look him in the face.

“Don’t get so close,” Leonard warned him. “I might throw up on you.”

Kirk straightened up again but hovered at Leonard’s shoulder as though he intended to catch Leonard should Leonard decide to topple over in a faint.

At last, the sickness passed. Leonard eased back to standing fully upright and tucked his hands, which were clammy and shaking, into his armpits. “Forget the bathroom. Just show me the way outta this fucking place.”

Kirk obliged him.

Leonard had never been more grateful to see a federal agent’s car, even a rental. He made himself comfortable in the driver seat with the intention of leaning back and closing his eyes, but he found it too unsettling to have a face hovering just outside the window. He rolled the window down and said to Kirk like he would to a stray dog, “Why the hell are you still here?”

Kirk gave him a measured stare before turning his back. Leonard watched the man walk away through the side mirror. He stopped looking when he saw Spock approach from the opposite direction and stall Kirk in the middle of the parking lot.

Leonard stared forward out of the windshield, hands twitching. He wished he hadn’t thrown away his cigarette pack.

Eventually Spock came around to the passenger side and got into the car. He didn’t say anything as he clipped on his seatbelt but he seemed expectant.

Leonard gave in and asked, “What did you tell the kid?”

“I let him know we would be visiting his home.”

Leonard slapped at the steering wheel without thinking. The palm of his hand stung. “What the hell, Spock! Isn’t it enough that we almost got killed earlier trying to talk to him?”

“Do not take your anger out on the vehicle, Mr. McCoy. While it is insured, it is not mine.”

“I’ll do whatever I fucking please,” Leonard growled back. “That includes using my common sense. It’s obvious he’s trouble—and honestly I think he’s a few bricks shy of a load, too.”

Spock turned an icy stare on him. “Is this how you react to a man who saved your life? By thinking the worst of him?”

Leonard almost his upper curl in disgust. “You’re no better. I saved your life, and in a heartbeat you’d still throw me to the wolves, wouldn’t you?”

“I have my reasons for distrusting you.”

“And I’ve got mine for distrusting our entire fucking world, so don’t think this is personal. I’m telling you there is something not right about him, Spock. Call it a gut feeling. Hell, call it a premonition. But if we go down this road any farther, we’ll reach a point where we can’t turn back, not even to save ourselves.”

Spock looked away. “I have long since passed that point.”

Leonard was about to retort I haven’t but he knew it would be a lie. Maybe that was one of the reasons he hated the man in the seat next to him so much. Spock was evidence of just how far Leonard had gone past the point of no return.

So maybe Kirk was a sign of just how much farther Leonard still had to go.

God-fucking-dammit, he thought to himself. Reaching to the ignition, he turned the key and started the car. “Do you still want to pick up your clothes?” he asked Spock as he put the car in reverse.

“The opportunity to do so would be appreciated,” Spock conceded.

Leonard waited until they had pulled onto the highway before he spoke again. “And after that?”

“We have a meal. Then we go to Mr. Kirk’s residence.”

“Are we supposed to sit in his yard until he shows up?”

“No,” Spock replied. He pulled a hand out of his coat pocket and lifted something for Leonard to see. “We wait inside.”

Leonard was momentarily distracted from the road by the key. “Did he give that to you?”

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “Why would he? We are strangers. In fact, it is likely he sees little use in knowing either of us.” Spock did not smile but he sounded smug enough as he finished saying, “Which is why I informed him we planned our visit for tomorrow evening.”

Meaning they were basically going to jump an unsuspecting man in his own house. “Jesus Christ,” Leonard muttered. Spock had to be crazier than Kirk. “We’re going to get shot or arrested,” he pointed out.

“The risk is necessary.”

“Tell me that again,” Leonard challenged, “when you’re in a six-by-ten cell alongside a guy with a history of homicide and rape.”

Spock, the bastard, just blinked at him.

Leonard sped up, thinking if just for a moment—just one—he could get rid of Spock, it would do him a world of good. The fool thought he was invincible. In Leonard’s experience, that meant something was bound to come along and prove him wrong. Unfortunately, Leonard might be with him when that happened.

They let themselves into Kirk’s house at a quarter past three in the afternoon. Spock had informed Leonard that Kirk would leave work at four, so they had at least an hour to wait before the man showed up. Leonard spent much of that time trying to figure out how not to touch anything he didn’t have to and also puzzling out the weirdest mural he’d ever seen on a wall.

On the other hand, Spock had discovered Kirk’s cat—or rather the cat had discovered Spock. The two had become immediately enamored with each other.

Leonard cast a sideways glance at his dark-haired companion. “I can’t believe that furball likes you.”

Spock did not cease stroking the cat along its spine, who liked this very much and showed it by purring loudly like a motor engine. “He is a very pleasant creature.”

“She’s obviously been spoiled by her owner.”

“The cat is male.”

“It, then,” Leonard amended. “And just FYI—don’t let that thing near me. We have a bad history, cats and me.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

Leonard snorted and stood up, hearing the springs under the sagging cushion of the sofa groan as he did so. He casually wandered in Spock’s direction. The cat stopped purring and slit his eyes in contemplation of Leonard.

Leonard stepped a little closer.

The cat growled deep from its belly.

“A most interesting phenomenon,” Spock remarked, shifting the creature in his arms. “I suppose it is the feline’s innate sense of character which precludes him from liking you.”

Leonard raised his middle finger in response, then went to the window by the door and looked past the curtain. “How much longer?”

“I do not know.”

“Have you considered that maybe the guy never comes home straight away?”

“I am told that ninety percent of the time he does in fact go directly from work to home, and home to work.”

“By who?”

“The homeowner across the street. She is given to watching the activities of her neighbors.”

“Sounds like just your kind of person,” muttered Leonard. He let the curtain fall back into place. “Today could be the exception.”

“I doubt it. Mr. Kirk was diagnosed with agoraphobia at a young age. Although, given his disability, it may be more apt to say he is intimidated when in public because he perceives he is the focus of unwanted attention.”

“Disability?” Leonard echoed sharply, turning around to stare at Spock. “You can’t mean a physical disability.” Kirk had been perfectly healthy barring the injury caused by the accident.

Spock gave him an indecipherable look. “He is mute, Mr. McCoy.”

But Leonard found himself shaking his head. “Can’t be.”

“Why not?” Spock sounded curious rather than offended.

“Why do you think?” Leonard snapped back. “I would have noticed.”

“You were focused on healing his leg.”

Leonard pointed at Spock’s left arm. “You broke that wrist a few years ago.” When Spock stiffened, Leonard lowered his hand and gentled his tone. “And if you sit too long, you get a cramp in your back that can immobilize you for a few days. That’s why you stand all the time.”

“Your point is made,” Spock said too softly.

Leonard stayed silent only for a second. “I’m not saying they’re weaknesses, Spock. Those are just the things I learned while I was fixing your wound. I can’t not know it any more than you can probably ignore how long a rosebush has been untended.”

Spock’s gaze dropped to the cat in his arms. “You are mistaken. I am not my father. It was his gift to communicate with the earth and its children.”

“Then what’s yours?” Leonard asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Spock raised his head, any willingness he might have had to share contained behind his hatred for Leonard. “I have no gifts.”

Leonard would have argued with that, except in that moment they both heard the tell-tale rattle of key in a lock.

The cat leapt from Spock’s arms and headed for the kitchen with a loud mew.

Leonard swiftly backed away from the door and to Spock’s side, where he thought at least Kirk would have the option of who to kill first. He expected something terrible, dramatic, to happen when James Kirk stepped inside.

But Kirk came in, head down, something clutched in his left hand, and dropped a bag by the front door. He shuffled a few feet into the room before he noticed anything amiss. And he might not have noticed them at all, Leonard figured, if Spock hadn’t cleared his throat.

The guy’s head came up. His grip slacked with surprise and the object he had been holding fell to the floor, bouncing on the rug.

It was a tiny figurine horse.

Kirk didn’t make a sound. He stared at them until Leonard began to realize there was a kind of glazed look in the man’s eyes and he began to wonder if Kirk hadn’t been out drinking after all. Then Kirk stooped down to pick up the figurine. Silently he walked past them to the kitchen. There he went through the motions of feeding his cat.

Leonard had never been more creeped out. He met Spock’s eyes.

Spock said, “It seems we are not to be arrested.”

“So what now?”

He was about to add I really think we should get out of here when Kirk came back into the living area. This time his face was more expressive, the vacancy in his eyes gone. In fact, the set of his mouth was a clear warning that, by and large, he was not pleased to see them and was considering what he wanted to do about it.

Leonard decided on a course of action. “Hi there. I’m Leonard—Leonard McCoy.” Then he pointed at Spock and said, “Blame him. I would have knocked first.”

Spock kept his gaze locked on Kirk’s. “We are here because we must speak to you without delay.”

Kirk turned on his heel, and for a moment Leonard thought the man was going to simply leave them to stand awkwardly in his living room. But he went to the bag left by the door and dug inside it. When he returned, he motioned for them to sit down on the couch and took a seat opposite them in an arm-chair covered in faded pink fabric. He held a pad of paper and an ink pen.

Spock took a seat. Leonard put an arm’s length between him and Spock as if that alone would deny the association then sat down too.

Kirk scribbled on the topmost sheet, You could have at least fed the cat.

As an ice-breaker it was a weird one. Leonard didn’t know how to reply.

Then Kirk wrote out, Why is he with you?

Before Leonard could ask who the question was meant for, Kirk angled it towards Spock.

Well, Leonard thought, that’s a kick in the balls.

Spock folded his hands across his lap. “I did not lie, Mr. Kirk. The man next to me can be dangerous, and he is seeking answers. It so happens I am invested in those answers. Therefore I request your cooperation in the matter.”

Leonard watched Kirk slam the pad down on the coffee table. He would have done the same thing too. He stood up before Kirk had a chance to.

“You’re an arrogant, manipulative bastard,” Leonard hissed at Spock, like he had expected better. “I’m done with this bullshit, Spock. You and the rest of this town can go to hell.”

His dramatic exit was hampered by a sofa table which slid across the floor by itself and barred the front door.

Leonard spun around and yelled in consternation, “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t keep me here!”

Spock stood up as well but he wasn’t focused on Leonard. He stared at the furniture. “Mr. McCoy, step away from the door.”

More pissed than ever, Leonard grabbed the table and moved it out of his way. He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob at the same time an invisible force hit his sternum and knocked him sideways. He landed a few inches shy of the coffee table, nearly clipping his head.

All-at-once objects started rattling in the house. A decorative plate came off the wall and shattered on the floor. An empty umbrella stand turned over. The cat streaked by and crawled under the couch.

Kirk, wide-eyed and pale, grabbed at his hair and shouted something. It wasn’t any word Leonard recognized but the message was clear.

Kirk shouted again, Stop!

Everything stopped. The angry house fell silent.

And Leonard remembered how to breathe.

He drew in two deep lungfuls, then gasped out, “What the hell was that?”

Spock was watching Kirk.

Leonard climbed to his feet and demanded of him, “Wasn’t that you?”

“No,” answered the agent.

Leonard looked at Kirk too. “Shit, just… shit. You didn’t tell me he was haunted.”

Kirk’s eyes grew impossibly wider. Because the guy seemed more panicked than outright terrified, Leonard took him by the shoulders and forced him to sit down.

“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers to pull Kirk’s attention away from the messy living room, “no big deal. We’ve all got some supernatural shit following us around.”

Kirk’s mouth shaped the word What?

“Supernatural shit,” repeated Leonard, trying for blasé. “I even know a guy who has a demon for a roommate. Little fucker’s about yeah-high, uglier than sin, but really more annoying than evil.” He lifted his hand slightly above the height of the chair’s arm.

Kirk relaxed somewhat just looking at the hand.

Leonard didn’t know what the kid was getting from all of his blather, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to add, “I’ve been the object of interest of a super-creepy ghost lately myself.”

Kirk pointed at the pad and pen. Leonard handed it to him.

Is it ugly too? he wrote.

Leonard snorted. “No, not really. It’s kinda nondescript, like the outline of a person you see in a fog. All white and mysterious and shit.”

Kirk had started to write something else but his pen froze over the paper. After a moment, he put the pad and pen aside.

Spock stepped up to the chair to loom over them. “Have you experienced an event like this before?” he asked Kirk.

The man shook his head.

Leonard leaned forward. “Listen, Mr. Kirk, what Agent Spock means is maybe you’ve noticed some unusual things happening around the house. Things disappearing and reappearing in different places. Doors open when you know you closed them. That kind of stuff. It wouldn’t have to be of this magnitude, where your shit’s flipping its lid.”

That brought a quirk to a corner of Kirk’s mouth. He picked up his pen again, then presented Leonard with a single word.

“Bones?” Leonard read aloud. To Spock, he asked, “That mean something to you?”

“It does not.”

Kirk added above the word I dub thee.

“What?” Leonard said, confused.

Kirk slid out of the chair, pushing Leonard aside, to coax the cat out from under the couch. Then, resettling with said animal in his lap, he wrote on the pad Bones, meet Jinx and held up both the cat and the paper to Leonard.

Jinx hissed and swiped at Leonard’s face.

Leonard backed up a good two feet from the cat and its owner. “You’re crazy,” he told Kirk. “Why the fuck would anybody call me Bones?”

Kirk propped a ratty sneaker on the table and pointed at it.

“I’m not touching that,” he said flatly.

“I think,” Spock interjected, “he means to say the name is indicative of your ability to heal broken bones.”

Kirk snorted and wrote, Sort of. Mostly your real name sucks.

Leonard bared his teeth. “Like James is any better, asshole.”

It’s Jim.

Leonard crossed his arms. “Fuck off, Jim—and keep that fucking cat away from me too!”

“Cats do not like him,” Spock supplied.

Jim gave his cat a smacking kiss on the top of its head then dropped it over the side of the chair. Jinx went for Spock, and the agent obligingly picked the cat up.

Leonard felt trapped, then, because he was fairly certain if he tried the door again he might be tossed back to the floor like a ragdoll and because with Jim in the chair and Spock standing next to it, it was fairly obvious both men planned on giving him grief. Jim Kirk was going to do it for the simple fact he could, and Spock was the kind of man who made a nuisance of himself by existing.

Jim tore off and discarded a used sheet of paper and wrote a new message on a fresh one. It read: We can trade.

“I understand,” Spock said.

If he really did, Leonard thought, he was the only one.

Spock looked his way. “Mr. McCoy, ask the first question.”

Put on the spot, Leonard asked the one which seemed the most important to him: “Can I smoke in your house?”

“No,” Spock said at the same time Jim shrugged to say he didn’t care.

Though his mouth made a thin line, Spock said nothing else.

“I’ll lean out a window,” promised Leonard, “so long as no angry spirits take offense to that. Your turn.”

Jim scribbled on his pad. Why are you wanted by the feds?

Leonard didn’t dare look at Spock. “It’s a misunderstanding. They think I killed somebody.” At Jim’s curious scrutiny, he emphasized, “I didn’t.”

Spock placed the cat on the floor. “I believe it is my turn now. Mr. Kirk, if your condition is not natural, why are you unable to speak?”

Jim dropped his pad.

“Jesus,” Leonard said, appalled. As Kirk pushed out of his chair and moved away, every line of his body radiating anger, Leonard snarled at Spock, “Don’t they teach tact at the Academy?”

“It is a relevant question.”

“I’m thinking none of this is relevant! All we’ve done is break into a guy’s house and accost him with rudeness! You tell me how this is going to solve a fucking thing for us, Spock. For all we know we’re chasing a dead end that has nothing to do with anything. Maybe your father was as off his rocker as—”

“Be silent,” said Spock as he took Leonard roughly by the arm, “or I will silence you.”

Leonard shoved at Spock’s shoulder. “Just you try!”

The grip on his arm tightened enough to bruise. Leonard formed a fist.

The doorbell rang.

Jim, who had circled back to his chair amid the arguing, quickly wrote a note and held it up.

Wow, saved by the bell!

Leonard pushed away from Spock in part-disgust, part-embarrassment. As the doorbell rang again, he snarled at Kirk, “Well fuckin’ answer it!”

Jim saluted sloppily and went to the door. He looked through the peephole then drew back with a frown and a line between his eyebrows.

“Um, hello,” said the person on the other side of the door once it was opened.

Leonard pegged him at fifteen years of age.

The kid’s eyes darted over Kirk’s shoulder and widened at seeing him and Spock. “You have guests!” he exclaimed. “I did not know this! Forgive me for my intrusion, I—I—”

Jim lifted a hand to stop the stuttering and motioned for the newcomer to come inside the house.

Spock said with careful emphasis, “Mr. Chekov… Your presence here is unexpected.”

Leonard crossed his arms, pleased that someone had finally managed to mess with Spock’s plans.

The kid’s eyes grew to the size of quarters. “I remember, you are the Government man! But, Jim…” He turned a troubled gaze to Kirk.

Jim shrugged.

Chekov worried his bottom lip for a second, then asked, “Is your foot better?”

Jim snuck a glance at Leonard and nodded.

Chekov open a plastic grocery bag he had and held out a bandage roll and a heat/ice pack. He flushed as he said, “I vas worried because I know you never go to doctors and sprains are painful.”

Broken bones are worse, Leonard thought. “I’m sure Jim appreciates you buying that,” he offered on the man’s behalf. He put on his least bitter smile and held out his hand. “I’m Leonard, by the way.”

“Pavel,” Chekov introduced himself and reached out his own hand.

The instant they touched, Leonard knew. He dropped Pavel’s hand like it had burned him and stared at the man’s bare forearms. But he didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything.

When he looked up again, he noticed Pavel had frozen. Leonard gave an imperceptible nod of his head and turned away. He hoped the kid left quickly and they never met again. He hoped…

Looking at Spock, he hoped Pavel seemed as plain as possible, because he knew what he’d do if Spock recognized the magic in Pavel and tried to detain him.

No one was un-Marked these days unless they had somehow slipped under the radar like, say, when they emigrated to this country. Just from Pavel’s heavy Russian accent, he could guess the kid probably wasn’t born American.

He heard the kid say something to Jim, imagined he probably handed Jim the bag of first aid supplies.

“Spock,” Leonard said too calmly, “why don’t we go in the kitchen and get something to drink? Let Pavel have a moment with Jim.”

“I do not need anything.”

Leonard took the man by the elbow and steered him towards the kitchen anyway.

“What,” Spock asked coldly, “are you doing, Mr. McCoy?”

“Shut up. I’m trying to make it look like we were invited. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Kirk will grow a brain and run out the door while our backs are turned.”

“Why do you insist on sabotaging this investigation?”

In the kitchen, Leonard picked the first cabinet door and opened it. Finding it empty, he frowned and chose another one. “Maybe because I didn’t want to be a part of it in the first place,” he told Spock while he searched for something to put water in.

“Your previous determination to find Winona Davis and her son would imply otherwise.”

“That’s when I thought there was something to be gained.”

“There is something,” Spock said. “My father’s murderer.”

Leonard opened the last cabinet, found two chipped plates, a single cup and a lot of mouse droppings. What the hell did Jim Kirk use for dinnerware? He shut the cabinet door and turned on Spock. “Be logical. What can I add to your search that you don’t already know or have the means to acquire yourself? You don’t need me, Spock, and I’ll be damned if I believe you’re doing this just because your old man made you promise to help me. No one’s that good of a person.”

“Why do my motivations matter? You should concern yourself with your own motivation. Do you intend to let your child die?”

He had only needed the barest of excuses, and Spock had given him an excellent one. Leonard didn’t think; he swung. His fist snapped Spock’s head back.

But Spock didn’t fall. He didn’t even flinch. With a great cry, the taller man rammed into Leonard and they hit the counter, knocking a bag of dry cat food to the floor.

He was certain they would have torn each other to shreds if the strangest thing hadn’t happened: the kitchen grew bitterly cold, and all of the cabinet doors swung open. The two plates and cup flew above their heads and shattered against the opposite wall.

Spock released his choke-hold on Leonard, and Leonard let go of Spock’s hair. They stared at the broken dishes.

Leonard felt a puff of air on the back of his neck. He shivered, turned around and found himself grabbing onto Spock’s arm for a different reason. “Look.”

Spock turned.

The ghost faded out of sight, a wisp of thin white dispersing in the sunlight of the kitchen window.

After it was gone, Leonard swallowed hard. He’d seen the face. Her face.

Fuck. He knew her, without knowing her, because someone else had. She was the dead woman in Pike’s memory.

She was Jim Kirk’s mother.

Next Part

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• The White Horse (18/18) – from May 12, 2014
• May 10th – from May 10, 2014
• The White Horse (17/18) – from May 10, 2014
• The White Horse (16/18) – from May 10, 2014
• [Progress Post] The White Horse – from May 9, 2014

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