Title: Holiday Revenge (7/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Pike/Archer, Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to Goodbye, Holidays. Events turn ugly, for Kirk’s enemy has found the perfect way to pay Kirk back for his meddling.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Yes, I know… This chapter took forever! It was partly due to me being out of the country for a few weeks and also because I simply could not focus on what was happening here. Never fear, though. I am not one to give up on a story – especially when a character’s life hangs in the balance!

Part Seven

Robbins flips the last report closed to watch Archer pace the length of the conference room. Jon slows to a standstill only because having her undivided attention is unnerving. Gesturing at the stacked reports, he states, “Now you know about as much as the rest of us.”

“Yet perhaps not as much as you know,” the woman responds, her tone brusque without being overly rude. “So tell me something I won’t read in a report.”

Jonathan weighs his good judgment against his loyalty to the government, only to recall with a snort that he has no real loyalty to anyone who wishes to dictate his actions with a handbook.

Clearly unappreciative of silence as a response, the agent drums her fingers against the tabletop. She regroups her efforts to draw him into conversation by saying, “If you are not inclined to cooperate…” but then without warning drops the threat and softens her expression. “Jonathan,” she discloses, “I am willing to dispense with the bullshit if it means you can be honest with me—for Pike’s sake.”

“Because you want to find him as much as I do,” Jon acknowledges.

Robbins nods once, as if that is confirmation of her motive and his assent, and abandons her chair in order to close the conference room door and grant them a semblance of privacy.

Jon resists the urge to cast a wary glance around the air ducts and lighting fixtures. Now is not the time to indulge his more paranoid notions.

“First,” he begins when Robbins turns back to him, “assure me this isn’t about your career advancement as much as it is about Pike, or something worse like trying to make that pompous boss of yours look good on camera.”

The woman’s mouth twitches. “I have no empirical evidence for you. You’ll have to trust me.”

“I can be convinced,” he insists.

Robbins’s silence speaks more of her consideration of his request than her reluctance. “I may be able to offer something after all,” she says eventually. When Jon raises eyebrow, Robbins clarifies, “A secret. Christopher… left me.”

Jon rocks back on his heels.

“We agreed it would cause less questions if people assumed I was the one to break off the relationship.”

“You mean you wanted them to think you picked your career over your fiancée.” Jon is intrigued despite himself. He certainly had not pictured Chris to be the one to let go of a woman like Robbins. “Why would he agree to that?”

A hint of a smile touches Robbins’s face. “I believe you can guess the reason.”

Jon draws in a breath—and releases it in a whoosh as he makes the connection. “Oh geez. He did it for Jim. Of course. Of course that idiot did!” Rubbing his forehead, now Jon has to know, “What did Chris think he was sparing his son?”

“I suppose one would say heartbreak.” Robbins shakes her head slightly. “Truth be told, Chris and I had reached a point of no return.” Sadness passes through her eyes. “I wasn’t happy here. I wanted to become more, but there were obstacles—”

Jon can guess that one of those obstacles was named Marcus. That would explain the tension between them earlier.

“—and so when the opportunity came up to go to D.C., I was ready to pack up and leave.”

“But Chris didn’t want to uproot Jim.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it hadn’t been for Jim, if Chris would have considered moving.” She shakes her head again, in dismissal of her words. “Nonetheless, I believe his decision was as much for my good as for Jim’s. Not,” Robbins adds quickly, as though Jon might come up with the accusation, “that I blame anyone for how things turned out. Hindsight has shown me that Chris and I had too many differences for one of us not to be forced to make sacrifices along the way.”

“Oh.”

In the ensuing silence, Robbins begins to study Jonathan in a different manner than before, like he’s a puzzle she needs to solve without delay.

Sweat breaks out along on his forehead. The caffeine, he reasons with himself. It’s because of too much caffeine.

“You know,” the woman remarks at length, “Chris has always desired a partner in raising his family. While I can be a good friend to Chris and his son, I am not suited to be either a wife or a mother.”

Well neither am I, Jon retorts mentally.

Watching the agent prop a hip against the table and cross her arms over her chest, Jon has the distinct impression he is now the subject of an interrogation. As a counter-play, he mirrors the woman’s stance and attempts to redirect the conversation. “I don’t think Kirk wanted you to be his mother.”

Robbins lifts a corner of her mouth. “Jim can be quite the charmer. Chris often despaired of him.”

“Kid’s a nuisance if you ask me.”

“I suspect you like him that way.”

Check-and-mate. Archer chokes on his own spit. Why do people keep insisting that he likes Kirk? Oh hell. At some point his reputation as the uncaring jackass became ruined. It must be Kirk’s fault.

Robbins is back to studying him again. “Do you feel you have enough leverage against me now?”

Jon wouldn’t call her ‘secret’ leverage, per se, but it is something he could use against her to upset the relationship between Chris and Jim because Jim would be absolutely keen on taking the blame for upsetting Pike’s happily-ever-after with Robbins.

Ah… Now Jon sees. That is the leverage she has given him. Smart lady. His respect for Robbins doubles.

And, he decides, if she is willing to trust him with information that could harm the Pike-Kirk relationship if ever revealed, then he too can extend a modicum of trust. “What did Chris tell you about Jim’s incident last month?” he begins.

Robbins frowns. “What incident?”

Sensing he is about to cause a minor disturbance in Robbins’s world, Jon uncrosses his arms and slides off the table. “Incident is a mild term, actually. Jim was,” here he has to swallow, “nearly beaten to death.” Saying that aloud brings back ugly memories.

Robbins’s initial response is a soft gasp. Then her gaze transforms from tear-bright to hard chips of sapphire. When she snaps forward, Jon scuttles out of range and puts his hands up in a defensive gesture.

“When was this!” the woman cries, then curses in the next breath, “That son of a bitch!“

Sorry, Chris, Jon apologies silently. “Um, it happened in August.”

Robbins stalks around the table. “And when did Pike plan to tell me—at his son’s funeral?”

Jon tries to keep the table between them. “I can’t answer that.”

Her eyes glitter dangerously. “Oh, you will give me answers.”

“Okay, seriously, lady? I’m just the boyfriend,” he jokes with wide-eyed apprehension. “Chris doesn’t tell me shit.” An thought occurs that has him crowing a second later, “He didn’t even tell me about you!”

That, for some reason, halts the irate woman in her tracks. “He didn’t?”

“No,” Jon confesses, “because obviously Chris is a fool when it comes to sharing personal trauma. He doesn’t tell you about the attack on his kid, doesn’t tell me about his impressive ex-fiancée, or even think of mentioning that he might be walking on egg shells at work.”

The woman says nothing for a minute. Then, “Who’s bothering him at work?”

“Your old buddy Marcus.”

Robbins thins her lips. “Marcus is no friend of mine.”

“You could say that again.”

“Marcus,” she adds in a graver tone, “will never forgive Chris for surpassing him as a detective. He certainly refused to forgive me.”

Intrigued again, Jon tucks his hands into his armpits. “So what if I told you he might be a suspect?”

Robbins appears to take the suggestion seriously. “I would need more information.”

“You just named a motive.” Jon flattens his mouth, thinking. “But I will admit one man couldn’t pull off a kidnapping like this alone and I’m not familiar enough with this town to know who Marcus might use to help him.”

Robbins frowns. “What else makes you suspicious of Marcus?”

“Three things,” Jon explains. “One, I have reason to believe he hasn’t done his due diligence on this case, which calls into question how he is drawing his conclusions. Two, the man is also overly confident about those conclusions. Now, don’t get me wrong—I like to think my wisdom is infallible too but I’ve been in this business long enough to know what is improbable can still be possible. In other words, any good cop has more doubts than assertions.”

Robbins nods. “What’s your third reason?”

Jon grins. “The man’s a jackass, and I don’t like him.”

“Hm.” Robbins folds her arms over her suit jacket and walks slowly around the perimeter of the table.

Jon wonders what she might be thinking. “Feel free to share.”

“As I read the case file, I had this feeling I was missing something. Now that makes me curious. Could your theory explain my lack of unease?”

“Shall I guess what bothered you?”

Robbins turns towards him. “Be my guest.”

“The kidnapping lacks substance.” At the look on her face, Jon knows he has hit the mark. He continues, “One vague ransom note but no subsequent contact. A destroyed squad car minus the only part with actual tracking capability. Pristine condition of the evidence that offers no DNA markers of any kind. It’s as if someone is thumbing his nose at us, knowing we cannot solve this case.”

“Or,” Robbins reasons, “creating an illusion of a crime when there is not one.”

Jon stiffens. “Now wait a minute. I didn’t say there couldn’t be a crime. Christopher has been kidnapped.”

Robbins looks regretful. “Do we know that for certain?”

Suddenly he’s pissed—angry enough to slam a fist down on the table, which he does in short order. “Damn you.”

“Sheriff,” the agent says disapprovingly.

“You know Pike,” Jon snaps. “Where do you get off insinuating that—”

“Because it’s my job to consider every angle,” Robbins snaps back before Jonathan can finish. “And yes I know your lover extremely well. If you think Pike is not capable of pulling off something like this, you’re wrong.”

Jon forces himself to swallow his anger. “I didn’t say he wasn’t capable, Agent. Hell, the man is the fucking smartest cop I have ever met. If he wanted to screw us over, we would be up shit creek. My point is that Pike wouldn’t do this. How could he, knowing it would scare his son half to death? Do you think Chris could risk his family—and yes I know that is his number one priority—for the sake of…” Here Jon flounders.

“Say it,” she orders.

“Revenge,” he finishes.

Robbins repeats that word flatly, as a warning that she wants to know what Jonathan has not told her.

Damn, he has trapped himself. There is nothing he can do now but confess: “Jim’s near-death experience was courtesy of an a-hole named Nero. It happened on my watch. And since I couldn’t catch Nero, neither Pike nor Kirk have had closure over it.” The swell of sympathy in her eyes doesn’t make him angry, just ashamed. “But whether that’s a demon haunting Pike or not, I simply can’t believe he would choose revenge over his own kid.”

“Make no mistake, Archer, Chris could and would hurt his son if it meant keeping Jim safe.”

A bad habit Jim must have learned from his father since Kirk hurt his boyfriend not long ago by adopting roughly the same reasoning.

“There has to be another reason for your belief,” Robbins insists, surprising Jon.

He nods. “Pike promised Kirk he would stay out of the investigation.” And what an interesting little chat that had been, because Chris had made his promise with the utmost seriousness of an officer swearing his oath for the first time. In the back of Jonathan’s mind, he had been expecting Chris to leave himself a loophole to wriggle out of, but later Chris had told Jon that he knew Jon and his deputies were doing everything possible to close the case and his getting involved would only complicate their work. That didn’t mean, Chris had explained matter-of-factly, that he wouldn’t consider putting a bullet through one of the bad guys if he came across them by happenstance. It simply meant Chris felt he could not place Jim in the position of worrying about his need for revenge on a constant basis.

Strange, but now that Archer thinks about it, at the time Chris had alluded to a colleague who, years ago, had placed undue stress on his family by doing exactly that—seeking revenge.

Jon rubs his knuckles against his jaw. Soon he realizes that silence has descended in the conference room.

Robbins rallies from her own private contemplation to inquire, “Have you been at this precinct since Pike went missing?”

Oh no. Hearing an echo of Liu in Robbins’s tone, he hedges, “Not the entire time.”

“But you have not gone home,” she states.

He can hardly deny that.

“Have you slept?” the woman questions in a gentler tone.

Jon swallows an automatic retort of Do you think I could? “Some.” Frankly, he could lay down on one of the benches in the bullpen with his hat over his face for an hour, and nobody would have to know that he isn’t actually asleep. Hey, that is a good plan.

Robbins just looks at him.

“I’m taking care of myself,” he lies.

“I should hope so. Setting a proper example is paramount to being Chris’s partner. Otherwise his son has no one to emulate.”

Jon feels a headache coming on. “I’m hardly someone that kid should be emulating.”

“I disagree. Chris decided to keep you around for a reason.”

“Yeah, that reason being he’s too nice and I’m a stalker.”

Instead of laughing, Robbins opens the door to the conference room. “Stalking is a punishable offense. Now excuse me a moment, Sheriff. I need to speak with the Captain.”

“Don’t mention the Lieutenant!” he calls after her, then drags out a chair and sits down. Cradling his head in his hands seems like a good thing for Jonathan to do, so he does.

Has he accomplished anything useful other than to stir up mama-bear instincts at this precinct? God, what would Chris do now?

“Not give up,” Jon murmurs to himself. Sitting up, he states more firmly, “Don’t give up. You’re Sheriff in this town.” He pauses. “Well, not this town, but you’re still a fucking sheriff. Time to put on your big-boy britches and get your old ass in gear.”

Pep talk completed, he strides for the door. He promised Liu he would work the Nero angle, and he will. In fact, it is far past time he made a stop at home, like Robbins was not-so-subtly suggesting. He is going to need the help of Kirk’s crew after all.

And Jonathan knows just where to start. Those two upstarts, Sulu and Chekov, ought to have his team hiding under their desks by now.

~~~

Late afternoon has given way to evening, and part of the staff has trickled out of the office, replaced by fresher faces. Another team meeting, this time centered on Moreau’s tech team, has just ended. A squadron of people are filing out of Liu’s office. Trusting Robbins to debrief him later on the relevant results, Jon has done a little personal scouting of various desks—the one of which he searched most thoroughly belonging to Lt. Marcus.

“Archer.“

Jon freezes in the act of shrugging on his jacket and slyly, or so he assumes, shoving a few papers inside said jacket to sneak out of the precinct. Oh shit, he thinks just as Liu makes a beeline towards him. Casually drawing his hand out of his jacket, he pretends he is not trying to squish a file folder against his side with his elbow to prevent it from falling to the floor.

“Going somewhere?” Liu questions in a mild tone, coming to a stop an arm’s length away and folding her arms in a disapproving way.

“Uh, home. Like you suggested. And Robbins.”

Her gaze skims his appearance. “I won’t deny that you could use some grooming.”

“Oh, I’ve looked worse.”

“I’m certain,” she counters dryly. Her posture relaxes somewhat. “Very well. Keep me apprised.”

He nods. “Will do, Captain.” Curious now, he wonders why she seems to be hesitating instead of turning away. When she does finally speaks, he is taken aback. “…Thank you?” he echoes.

“Yes, thank you.” Liu holds out a hand. “Even if I can’t appreciate how you brought me here, thank you for reaching out. We both know how much worse this could have gone if not for your quick action.”

Jonathan shakes her hand. “You’re welcome.” A cute idea occurs to him, then. “Hey, if you’re really thankful, can I call you by your first name?”

Liu sighs like she expected nothing less than some ridiculous reward. “Greta, not Gretchen,” she replies after a moment.

Jon grins. “Got it. You make an amazing chief of police, Greta.”

“Flattery gets your ass kicked.” She points in the direction of the exit. “Consider yourself lucky I am not wearing heels today.” She begins to turn away, only to turn back and say as an afterthought, “Whatever you take from this office becomes your personal responsibility. Are we clear?”

He sheepishly pulls the folder out of his jacket. “I was just borrowing it.”

Liu simply dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

Jon finds himself in a much better mood upon leaving than he expected.

~~~

Pike’s house looks like a warfront. Jonathan kills the engine to his truck and pockets his keys. Having parked nearly two blocks down the street out of caution, he draws in a breath, forces his shoulders back, and adopts a languid stroll along the sidewalk. The neighbor who had agreed to feed Porthos is peering between the curtains of her living room window. Archer waves to her. The curtains snap shut.

Cameras turn his way as he approaches the house. Reporters raise their microphones but eye him with uncertainty. He had left his work jacket in the truck for a reason. He doesn’t want to be recognized as a member of law enforcement. They would pick him apart inside of a minute.

One of the reporters seems brave enough to approach him. “Sir,” he begins, “I’m from Channel 9 news. What is your opinion about recent events—”

“I’m just the dog-walker.”

The reporter looks like a fish with his mouth hanging open.

“Now if you don’t mind, sir…” Jonathan gives the fellow a firm push to the side and slips past him. After bounding up the front stoop, he raps hard on the door.

The individual who opens the front door is granite-faced and visibly armed.

Jon raises his eyebrows. “Hey there.”

“Identify yourself.”

“Dog-walker.” The man automatically steps back and tries to shut the door. Jonathan jams his boot into place to keep the door open and bellows into the depths of the house, “PORTHOS! HERE, BOY!”

The result is a distant bark and the sounds of startled humans. Then Porthos appears at the corner of the door and jumps straight for the back of the agent’s legs. The man throws himself sideways out of shock, giving Jon the chance to shoulder the door wide enough to slip through. He swoops into the living room, picking up his dog in the process, and peppers Porthos’s face with kisses, praising, “Porthos, what a good boy you are! Yes, you are!”

Porthos squirms happily in his arms.

“Well,” says the man sitting on the couch, arms crossed and expression bland, “at least that mutt listens to somebody.”

“Porthos is hardly a mutt, and he always listens,” Jon rejoins sharply, placing Porthos on the ground again. “But he won’t necessarily obey a command unless he thinks it’s sensible.”

“Like somebody else I know,” Leonard McCoy mutters, turning his head, looking at the other person on the opposite end of the couch.

Spock stares back, his expression even blander than McCoy’s.

Jon straightens up. “So where’s your smarter half?”

“Jim’s in the kitchen.”

“I meant Uhura.”

Leonard looks insulted. “Jim is just as smart as—”

Spock interjects, “Nyota has a distaste for authority. An hour ago, a relative in the area escorted her home.”

Jon can’t decide if there are hidden messages in that explanation or not.

“She promised to come back in the morning with breakfast,” Leonard adds, then scowls without warning. “Can you get into that kitchen? Apparently only blood relatives of the victim are authorized to take part in briefings. I told those fools if that was their twisted logic, then technically Jim should be out here with us.”

Spock sighs through his nose. “Mr. McCoy’s insensitive remark stems from his concern that Jim has not yet been allowed to rest.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon promises. However, as he tries to cross the living room, the agent on guard duty over McCoy and Spock, steps in his path with one hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.

Jon pulls his badge out of his back pocket and flips it open. “Cool your jets, junior. I’m legit.”

“He’s a sheriff. He outranks you!” Leonard calls helpfully from the couch.

“Thanks, Sourpatch.” Jonathan steps around the now confused-looking agent and veers briefly towards the dining room to wave at Liu’s officers who are monitoring the telephone setup before he pushes through to the kitchen.

Agent Gaius ceases some mid-conversation remark upon Archer’s arrival and frowns. “Sheriff Archer. How… unexpected.”

“Evening, folks. I see we acquired some more backup.” Jon steps up to the chair belonging to Kirk, who just stares up at him in unusual silence, and drops a hand to the young man’s shoulder, alternating his gaze between the standing Gaius and Marcus. Jon doesn’t like the atmosphere of the kitchen. The men’s postures and how they have positioned themselves opposite of Kirk reeks too much of an interrogation.

Gaius purses his mouth. “With Agent Robbins elsewhere, I certainly could not secure the location on my own. The state office has graciously provided assistance.”

“I thought you were staying behind,” Marcus growls almost accusingly.

Jon has no inclination to be anything other than blunt. “I’m not here to interfere. Knew it was time I called in for the night.” His hand tightens briefly on Jim’s shoulder. “Actually, this young man needs sleep more than I do.” He pins a hard stare on Gaius. “Jim has not fully recovered from serious injuries he sustained a few weeks ago. You shouldn’t place too much pressure on a man who is unwell.”

Marcus’s mouth flattens at the subtle rebuke.

“I… see,” Gaius responds, adopting a politer tone. “In any case, we were nearly through with our discussion with Mr. Kirk.”

Jon slides his hand down to Jim’s arm and gives it a light tug. “Then whatever else you fellas have to say can wait until morning. C’mon, kiddo.” He looks Jim over as the man comes to his feet. “Did they feed you?”

Jim nods. The circles under his eyes seem to have grown twice in size in only a couple of hours. How could these bastards not see how exhausted Jim is?

Nobody stops Jon from leading his charge into the living room, although Marcus does follow closely behind them.

Leonard jumps away from the couch. “Jim!”

Spock stands as well.

Jim gives the pair a tired smile. “Guess you guys were bored without me.”

Leonard takes Jim’s hand, pulling him away from Archer. “Spock and I should be the least of your worries. We’re going to bed now. No arguing.”

“All three of us?” Jim asks, looking between Spock and McCoy.

Leonard’s face gains a pinched look but he says nothing in contradiction, just tugs Kirk in the direction of the bedrooms. Spock momentarily lingers behind as if uncertain of his next action before inevitably trailing in their wake.

Jon tucks his hands into his pants pockets and glances pointedly at Marcus. “Speaking of late hours, isn’t your family missing you?”

“My wife knows about Pike. My daughter—” Marcus’s voice dies out suddenly and comes back flatter. “She isn’t at home anymore so I suppose my answer would be no.”

Jon can’t think of anything to say to that.

Marcus grabs a jacket from the coat rack by the front door and dons it wordlessly. Jon turns away, glad the man has finally taken the hint about leaving them the hell alone for a while.

But before he shuts the front door, Marcus makes a point of saying to Jon, “Tell Jim I will return in the morning.”

Jon just tips an imaginary hat at the man. When the door closes, Jon sags in place and rubs a hand wearily over his face.

None of the other officers milling about the house appear eager to speak to him, which suits Jonathan fine. He strides for his and Chris’s bedroom at the back of the house. McCoy comes out of Jim’s bedroom just in time to catch him in the hallway.

“Kirk?” he asks.

“Taking a shower.” Leonard leans his weight against Jim’s closed bedroom door. “We’re gonna have a problem.”

“Yeah, I would say so. You can’t fit three people in that tiny bed in there.”

Something flashes through McCoy’s eyes. “Spock isn’t staying.”

Jonathan considers that. “By his choice or yours?”

“I didn’t have to say anything. Shockingly, he has a shred of common decency.”

“Leonard,” Jon chastises lightly, “Spock’s got more than a shred, and you know it.”

McCoy lowers his gaze. “Yeah. Problem is I’m afraid of what else he might have… for Jim.”

“Well you’ll have to tackle that some other time. Your boyfriend has enough going on right now, don’t you agree? He needs you to prop up his insecurities, not the other way around.” And why, oh why, is McCoy confessing something like this to Jon anyway?

McCoy stays silent for a moment before huffing, “I figured you would say that.”

“I refuse to give you permission to punch Spock.”

“Too late, I already tried that. Didn’t make me feel better.”

Jon rubs the bridge of his nose. How does Chris deal with this sort of thing? “Look, let Spock help you help Jim. And you know what? If it backfires spectacularly and Kirk decides to dump you for him, I will personally kick Kirk’s scrawny ass and then kick my own ass for giving you such poor advice.”

“I’m still not liking the possibility that I could get dumped.”

“You won’t,” Jon insists, though he is fairly certain he will never convince McCoy of this fact. “But for Jim’s sake, take the leap of faith.”

Leonard’s breath comes out as a noisy gust of air, a sign of his relief. “All right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Any other headache-inducing conversations you want to have before I go?”

“Actually,” the man says, “the problem I mentioned wasn’t Spock. It’s Jim.”

Of course. Jon closes his eyes briefly. “And what about Jim?”

“Unless I drug him, I doubt he will be able to fall sleep.”

Jon almost says, Welcome to the club. Then he thinks about it. “Didn’t you prescribe a sleep aid for Chris?”

“Sure, but I think there might be a better way.” McCoy’s gaze flicks over to the master bedroom door. “Would it be possible for us to use Pike’s room tonight? It’d be… more comforting for him.”

For Archer that isn’t even a question. “Absolutely. I’ll—” Where will he sleep? Not that he had planned to sleep anyway, but he does need privacy to look over Marcus’s files that he filched from the precinct. Maybe the laundry room? Surely there would be no federal agents stationed there.

“We’ll trade. We take Pike’s room, you take Jim’s. He won’t mind.”

“Are we talking about the same person who booby-trapped his bedroom in case I might venture there?”

“Jim disabled those a while back.”

“Good to know, but don’t worry yourself about it.” Jon amends, “I mean, tell Spock he can stay and sleep there.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “To be honest, I didn’t want to upset Kirk by telling him that I have to work from the station tomorrow. Heading out there now would probably be a smart thing to do.”

Oddly, at hearing this, Leonard looks worried.

Jon winces. “I know. I’m disappointing.”

“No, Jim won’t be disappointed—but he will be concerned.”

Jon’s eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me, did you say concerned? Who, now?”

McCoy rolls his eyes ceiling-ward in an unspoken lament of why am I surrounded by idiots? “Jim, concerned about you.“

“Bullshit,” Jon says.

“Here’s my advice to you: stop believing that Jim doesn’t have a stake in your welfare,” Leonard snaps back, surprising Jon even further. “You matter, okay? So don’t do something stupid like get yourself killed by playing the lone hero. If you think Jim is at his breaking point now with his father missing, then losing you too will push him over the edge.” McCoy shakes his head. “And God help us all if that happens.”

Jon backs up to put distance between them, bringing his hands to his head like that might keep it from imploding. He has heard wrong or must be hallucinating. There is no way on this earth that Jim Kirk would be on the brink of insanity if something happens to him. That kid would be the first person to say good riddance!

“I’m… gonna go now,” he decides. “I need sleep.” What Jon needs is to get away from this unexpected emotional quagmire. And to find a reality check, pronto. With Pike gone, the whole world has somehow tilted off its axis. People think he cares about Jim. They think Jim cares about him. There is even talk about a sense of family developing between them.

Yes, Jon needs that reality check badly. He needs Pike. Because if there is any truth to what he has been hearing, Chris could help him understand how he can possibly be worth any of this, for Jon has always believed that men like him don’t have families.

If men like you don’t have families, a little voice argues in the back of Jon’s head, then why did you jump at the chance to pursue Chris after decades of separation?

“Jonathan?” Leonard asks in concern. “Are you all right?”

Jon drops his hands and pastes a game smile on his face. “You take the room,” he reiterates. “Tell Kirk goodnight for me, and I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

Leonard seems to accept this answer that isn’t really answer to his question. “Thanks again.”

Jonathan nods without replying and backs down the hall until his heels hit the carpet of the living room. Then he turns around and heads determinedly for the front door.

“Leaving so soon, Sheriff?” Gaius calls from his perch on the armrest of Pike’s favorite recliner.

“Yeah,” Jon replies without humor, “duty calls.”

He is tugging on the doorknob when Gaius pipes up a second time, wanting to know, “When shall we see you again?”

That seems like an innocuous question but Archer knows better. Gaius is warning him off what he perceives to be his territory—that is, Kirk and this case.

Jon cocks his head at the federal agent, saying flippantly in return, “Might not want to sit in that chair. The dog likes to fart there.”

Gaius hops away from the recliner as if it had burned him.

Smirking, Jonathan shuts the door firmly behind him on his way out.

~~~

Three cups of coffee and an hour later, Archer is on the prowl in the downtown of his home city. Wearing sunglasses to sneak around in the dark is not the smartest idea but it makes him look cool as he approaches a parked vehicle half-hidden in an otherwise empty corner lot. Jon hunkers down once he is within reach of the tail-lights and scuttles sideways to slink along a row of bushes in hopes his shadow stays well-blended with other more stationary shadows. Then, in a last surreptitious slide towards the driver-side window, he prepares for his surprise attack.

The car window rolls down at the last second, and a voice can be heard from the interior saying, “Vat is he doing?“

Hikaru Sulu pokes his head outside the car. “Hello there.”

Jonathan snaps upright beside the bushes and tears off his sunglasses. “How the hell did you see me?”

Sulu doesn’t deign to answer that, instead pointing a thumb at the backseat. “Get in.”

Mission sadly aborted (or destroyed, depending on how one views it), Jonathan jerks open the car door. “Damn, it’s tiny in here,” he complains once inside. He has to hunch over the front seats to keep his head from knocking into the roof, which gives him a chance to notice all the food wrappings littering the car’s floorboards. Talk about a junk mobile.

“Hello,” Pavel Chekov says cheerily, unearthing a hand from beneath a mound of burrito wrappers in his lap and offering it to Archer. “We meet again, Sheriff.”

Jon doesn’t dare touch that hand, certain it is unclean. “Yeah, hi there.” To Sulu, he says, “This guy desperately needs a napkin.”

Wordlessly Sulu picks a crumpled napkin off the dashboard and hands it to Chekov while his alert gaze never strays from what appears beyond the windshield. The car, as Jonathan had noted upon his arrival, is positioned for a perfect view of the station house’s back parking lot exit.

“So,” he says into a weird lapse of silence, “performing a little recon mission, are we?”

“We planted the bug,” Chekov explains, “and now we are waiting.”

“Bug?” Jon repeats sharply. “What bug?”

“Pavel doesn’t mean that literally,” Sulu clarifies. “You’re late, by the way.”

Jonathan stares at the side of Sulu’s head. “You were expecting me?”

“As soon as the deputy in charge called you.” Sulu’s eyes are still focused on the brightly lit Sheriff’s Department. “Kirk told you our plan.”

Not all of it, apparently. “I know you are attempting to flush out our resident mole.” Jon pauses, thinks on that a little more. “The ‘bug’ is the news of Pike’s kidnapping, isn’t it? You want to see who runs off to tell Nero.” He drums his fingers along the side of Chekov’s headrest. “Have you considered that alerting Nero could be as simple as a phone call?”

Chekov holds up a small, non-descript gadget with a single blinking light and presses a side button on it. Then Sulu turns up on the volume of his car radio and almost immediately Jonathan hears voices as clear as day—those of Larry, Matthews and, more faintly, Jenkins—along with the telltale sounds that come from working in an office, such as paper-shuffling, typing, and a stapler being used. The noises are so amplified that he imagines he can hear the burping of their hallway water cooler.

“That’s the real bug,” Sulu deadpans, finally glancing at Archer.

“I’m… impressed.” And also a little unnerved. How could it be so easy for two amateurs to infiltrate and bug his entire department? Boy, the press would have a heyday if they heard about their poor security. The mayor would fire him.

Sulu lowers the radio’s volume until it is a quiet drone in the background. “If it’s any consolation to you, I played distraction while Pavel hacked the system. He’s really good at that.”

Chekov smiles with a sweet innocence that belies his smug claim of “I’m Russian.”

Jon slumps into the backseat, figuring it will better for everyone if he doesn’t know any more details about how they cuckolded the law. “Anything of interest to report so far?”

“Ze big one comes out to smoke,” Pavel says.

Jenkins must have quit using the nicotine patches. Jonathan will have to follow up on that. “What else?”

Sulu sighs, a quiet, contained sound. “Not much, Sheriff.”

Jon crosses his arms. “Gentlemen, you’ve been on this stakeout for only half a day. Frankly it could take a lot longer than this to see the result of your hard work.”

Sulu’s gaze meets his in the rearview mirror. “If you’re suggesting we aren’t up to the challenge… we are, sir.”

“Because Kirk asked you?”

“Because Jim didn’t ask,” corrects Kirk’s grave-eyed friend, Chekov also nodding in agreement. “He didn’t need to.”

That, Jon realizes, is an accurate summation of how much they care about Kirk. Jon is glad to know their loyalty runs deep.

“Well,” he says, slapping his hands together, “shall I go in and stir the pot for you?”

Pavel cocks his head in curiosity. “Vat pot will you stir?”

Sulu reaches over to pat his companion’s leg. To Archer, he says, “Go for it.”

Jon plucks his sunglasses out of his pocket and puts them on again. “Roger that, Mighty Mouse.”

The look Sulu shoots him is not amused.

Jonathan hurriedly exits the car—and trips over the sidewalk that he can barely see. Embarrassed, he removes the sunglasses and hangs them from the collar of his undershirt. In a last backward glance to the car, he sees the shadowed movements of Chekov tearing at a food wrapper with his teeth and Sulu settling his chin against his forearms draped over the steering wheel.

A strange fondness swells in Archer.

He guesses he won’t have trouble suffering from a self-imposed memory lapse later on regarding all of the ‘slightly illegal’ activities these kids have accomplished thus far. Did Jim expect that when he accepted the tentative truce and the offer to work together?

“You’ve become soft,” Jon tells himself with a shake of his head. At one time, that statement might have been an accusation; tonight, it is not.

He climbs into his truck situated on an adjacent street and cranks the engine. Amused, he thinks of just how surprised his team will be to discover that their boss has returned. Then that amusement fades.

At least one of his deputies will not be grateful. One of them will try to find out what he knows about Pike’s kidnapping and use that information for nefarious reasons.

In other words, Jon is the perfect bait to catch the mole. That, it dawns on him, is why Sulu and Chekov had been waiting for his appearance. They need him for their plan to work as much as he needs them.

He pulls his truck into the Sheriff’s Department parking lot with a calm expression and a heavy heart. Someone will pay a price tonight for betrayal. Jon has the unfortunate feeling that someone will be him.

~~~

Pike blames his emotional distress more than his physical exhaustion as the culprit for causing him to fall asleep. To his surprise, though, nothing untoward occurs in the interim of his unconsciousness. He wakes up on a couch in an unusually posh and oversized living room. A house maid takes one look at his startled face and rolls in a food cart filled with various edible delights.

As Pike is trying to work out how he went from a dark hovel in an abandoned building (more to the point, from a van headed to that hovel) to a mansion of some sort, Kor strolls into the room dressed in a house robe, quite bright-eyed.

“Okay,” Chris decides, “I must be out of my mind.”

“Hardly,” Kor counters. “You expected I lived in poverty, yes? But you will agree that an amoral man can have the same standards as one who is moral.”

“Yes,” Chris says in a dry tone, “I see my mistake now.”

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Kor replies dismissively, taking a seat on another couch.

Since they didn’t poison him with the water last night, they won’t have much reason to poison him now. Chris eats.

Later, after the maid rolls the cart away again, Kor smiles at Pike. As if on cue, men come through the closest archway; their clothing, at least, has not changed. Pike is mostly greeted by familiar faces. He does not see Marcus among any of them.

Laughing aloud, Kor says something to the new arrivals. Some of them take seats along Chris’s couch; others take wide-legged stances throughout the room.

“It is time,” Kor says suddenly. He picks up a remote off a coffee table and activates a television at the end of the room. All attention—including Pike’s—turns in that direction. Kor then cranks up the volume on the television before settling on a channel he had in mind.

For a few minutes, as ads flicker past on the screen, Chris is confused that Kor wants to spend his time watching television instead of taunting his captive. Then the morning news appears, and the hastily eaten breakfast churns in Chris’s stomach as he comprehends Kor’s motive. Helpless to do little else but lean forward, he drinks in the sight of his son standing on the stoop of their house. The bold words at the bottom of the screen proclaim the recording as live.

Chris finds himself unable to draw air into his lungs. Jim looks awful.

He swallows, plants an elbow on his knee and brings his hand up to lay fingers across his mouth. On any other occasion the action may seem like one of concentration but the fine tremor running through Chris’s hand belies the fact that he is attempting to disguise his anguish.

There is no denying gut reaction. All the comfort and care that had been given to his boy since the hospital stay has been undone. Chris sees too clearly the despondent line of his son’s shoulders, an invisible burden weighing them down. Jim’s hair, no doubt futilely combed by someone before the conference started, indicates a restless night in bed. And the circles under Jim’s eyes, the fragile way he cups his elbows, pain in his voice…

Finally, the world around Chris stops fuzzing out and he is able to hear the words his son has been speaking all along: “…let him go. Please. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you if you just let my dad come home.“

Kor’s mouth curves maliciously. “Do you hear your child, Detective? He promises to give us anything we want for your safe return.”

No, Jim, no is all Chris can think. Don’t beg. Don’t promise.

A reporter is speaking now, holding out a microphone to Kirk, wanting to know if he has any idea who could be behind his father’s kidnapping. The shadow that moves to Jim’s right coalesces into Alexander Marcus, who pushes to the center of the makeshift podium and politely declines any further questions.

Chris comes out of his seat without realizing it, only able to seethe inarticulately at the television screen.

Marcus shares an official statement from the precinct on the investigation.

I should have killed him. The words pound in Pike’s head. I should have taken him down when I had the chance.

Statement given, Marcus turns to Jim and wraps a comforting arm around the young man’s shoulders. He gives the cameras a sad smile before leading a dejected-looking Jim back into the house.

A word explodes from Chris. “Bastard!”

He drops back into his chair, chest heaving, arms shaking with fury. It takes some time for Chris to realize that Kor and his men had fallen silent during his outburst. Now they are simply watching him speculatively, no doubt waiting to see what he might do next.

Chris rakes a hand through his hair, staring at without really seeing the reporter of the television channel as she gives her final thoughts on the kidnapping of a local detective. Anything she might have to say is meaningless to him.

Jim is in danger. Jim has no idea what a snake Alex is. How easy will it be for Marcus to use Jim’s ignorance to his advantage? To manipulate the outcome of this horrendous game?

And why hadn’t Chris had these thoughts before now? Is he so stupid that he automatically assumed Marcus would not consider Chris’s son a threat so long as Chris followed their plan?

Who could protect Jim if Marcus made Jim the next target?

Pike snaps upright, then, chin lifting, eyes widening.

The group giving the press conference had been sparse: Liu, barely visible off to the side, Jim and Marcus in the center, another man to Marcus’s right, a FBI agent by all appearances. Through the front door that had sat slightly ajar, he now thinks he had seen a glimpse of a man that could be McCoy.

But no one else.

Where was Jonathan? Why hadn’t it been Archer standing beside Jim, supporting Jim?

Cold seeps through Chris, numbs him.

Could it be that Jon had left Jim behind?

Kor’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “You look like a man with much to consider.”

Chris says nothing.

Kor continues on, “You look like a man with less hope.”

He meets Kor’s gaze.

“You look like a man,” Kor concludes, “who realizes he cannot protect his loved ones in his current predicament.”

“Why do you say that?” Chris questions sharply.

“Because it is true. Everything you have, your Lieutenant will take from you.”

“Did Marcus tell you that?”

“Alexander is a cold man,” Kor says. “Colder, I think, than I am. Should I provide you with an example?”

Kor’s men are now watching Kor as intently as Pike is. Kor clearly enjoys their attention.

But the proclamation is no less chilling for all Kor’s dramatics: “Why did our Brother Koloth die? Who betrayed him?” Kor looks straight to Pike, upper lip curling. “The answer lies with Brother Marcus. He betrayed Koloth and all Koloth’s kindness to gain favor with an enemy and that,” Kor states, “is why we must pay the betrayer in kind.”

Chris wouldn’t believe Kor except for the slightly mad glint to his eyes. Kor believes what he is saying. Kor’s men don’t speak but it is clear they do believe him.

“We’re working with Marcus to destroy Nero,” Chris points out.

“Did I not tell you that plans can change, Detective?”

He asks, already cautious of the answer, “And how do you want to change it this time?”

Kor leans forward with a growing smile. “I want you to kill your old friend. In return, I shall kill Nero for you. A fair trade, I believe, to our mutual benefit.”

It doesn’t strike Chris at all odd when he agrees without a qualm, “I can live with that arrangement, Kor.”

Kor eases back. “Good. You will discover that I keep my promises. It is a matter of honor.”

“Honor,” Chris murmurs. Does that word have meaning for him anymore? He doesn’t know.

“A nice house like this,” he says suddenly to his captor, “should have a nice bar. I could use a drink.”

Kor nods appreciatively and rises from his couch. He calls to his fellows, “Then let us drink together!”

Chris goes with them.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Holiday Revenge (13/13) – from January 20, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (12/13) – from January 19, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (11/13) – from January 8, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (10/12) – from January 5, 2017
• Holiday Revenge (9/12) – from January 3, 2017

00