Title: Along Comes a Stranger (4/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: AU. Jim’s life in Riverside is uncomplicated until two men, both equally mysterious and compelling, arrive in town, bringing with them the promise of change.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3

Part Four

Jim slips into the back of The Diner early on a Tuesday morning, aware that Sulu keeps the kitchen door unlocked while checking inventory. The routine hasn’t changed for years, not since Gary Mitchell left the position of head cook and the third-shift cook, Hikaru Sulu, advanced as Mitchell’s replacement. (It was Mitchell who used to let a young Jim Kirk stay in the kitchen after school while his mother was waitressing; Jim remembers those days fondly.) To accommodate Sulu—who, it turns out, is excellent at both cooking and managing the kitchen—the owner of The Diner cut down the hours of operation so Sulu isn’t overworked. The arrangement suits everyone.

When Jim steps into the main area of the kitchen, Sulu is briskly chopping vegetables with his back to Jim. Jim brushes fingertips against a rack of pots, rattling them to announce his presence.

Sulu doesn’t turn around, only states, “I have a knife and I know how to use it.”

Watching the efficient, almost elegant way that Sulu dices an onion, Jim has no doubt that the man isn’t joking.

“Hey, it’s just me.” He circles the end of the kitchen island counter to lean against the double industrial sinks along the back wall. Jim crosses his ankles, hands in his jacket pockets.

Without a word or a glance, Sulu slides an extra cutting board in his direction then holds out five long stalks of celery. Jim wrinkles his nose (celery is his least favorite vegetable) but rinses them in a sink before grabbing a knife of his own. While he chops, tongue peeking out as he concentrates, Jim becomes aware that Sulu is watching him work.

“What?” Jim asks, thinking that he hasn’t cut off a finger so he must be doing pretty good.

Sulu reaches over and picks up a piece of celery. “Too large.” With a series of rapid movements with his knife, Sulu dissects one of Jim’s whole celery stalks into miniscule, equal portions.

Jim stares at the cook’s handiwork. “I thought it was going in a soup or something.”

“It is,” Sulu agrees.

“Then why does size matter if it cooks into mush anyway?”

Sulu stares until Jim starts to sweat. “Never mind,” Jim says and tries to reproduce perfectly chopped celery for soup. He doesn’t think he is too successful but Sulu has already moved onto dicing peeled potatoes.

They work in companionable silence until Jim hears the diner bell ring in the front. He wipes his hands on a towel and tells Sulu, “I’ll be right back.”

Sulu nods and continues to lay out ingredients for the soup of the day.

Jim finds, to his surprise, not his mother or Uhura or another waitress arriving to work. Instead, the Russian kid from the Star Motel stares at Jim from across the counter and greets him.

“Hello,” Jim returns. “Can I help you?”

“I am here for work,” the guy says and glances around, clearly looking for someone other than Jim to talk to.

“I thought you had a job.” Jim frowns. “As a desk clerk.”

“Yes, yes,” Russian Blondie agrees, nodding. “I remember, you are the deliver boy.” The kid finishes his sentence with a blush.

Jim takes pity on him. “Actually,” he confesses, “I sort of lied. I just needed to know which room my friend was in.”

“If he is your friend, why did you not know?”

He grins. “We weren’t friends at that point.”

“You do not work here?” The poor guy looks confused.

“Not officially. I’m just the fly on the wall, you know, the one that gets swatted at but keeps coming back,” Jim says with good humor. “Are you going to quit the motel, or do you need a second job?”

He doesn’t know if The Diner is hiring but he can ask Jose if they can find something for the youth to do.

“I need more work. Today I have off.”

Jim frowns, assessing the Russian. “How old are you?”

“Twenty” is the instant reply.

“You’re shittin’ me!”

The kid’s (or not a kid? muses Jim) face flushes again but he shakes his head vigorously. “I am almost twenty—in two months.”

“So. Nineteen-going-on-twenty.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And no college?”

“No, Sir.” The guy looks slightly sad when he says that.

“Hey, it’s not for everyone. I’m a dropout myself. Believe me, it was great for partying but the classes bored me to tears.” Jim is not as ashamed of his wild days as some townpeople think he ought to be.

Jim notes that the kid debates with himself, obviously wanting to explain something, but seems to decide silence is safer. Perhaps it is, Jim thinks. Who knows what kind of situation the guy comes from? Maybe he doesn’t have the money to go to college. …Or maybe he doesn’t have something more vital, like citizenship.

Jim sucks in a breath at that thought. “You’re, ah,” he tries to find a delicate way to phrase his question, “legal, right?” At the blank look Jim receives, he clarifies, “Not your age, I mean. Papers to work.”

The guy lights up again. “Yes, Sir! I am a citizen of dis country. I vas born here, though my parents moved back to Russia when I was wery young. I am recently come to America again.”

Jim sighs. “Please, no more sir. It makes me feel old. I haven’t hit my thirties yet.” He sticks out his hand and introduces himself. “Jim Kirk.”

“Pavel Chekov,” returns the Russian as they shake hands.

“Pavel, I don’t know what I can tell you. I don’t think this place is hiring—”

“But I asked before and a lady said to come in today. She said—”

Sulu leans through the kitchen window, interrupting. “You need work? I could use help back here.”

Jim holds up his hands when Pavel looks at him, saying, “Hey, I’m just the fly.”

Sulu calls, “Pavel, right?” The cook points to the swinging door that leads into the kitchen. “Through there.”

When Pavel Chekov hesitantly walks around the counter toward the kitchen, Jim meets Sulu’s eyes. “You should interview him first.”

“Your mother already did, Jim,” Sulu replies with a sharp look.

Sometimes Jim wonders if his mother isn’t the boss of The Diner in all but paperwork. She has a lot of authority for a part-time waitress. Then again, the owner has known Winona Kirk for many decades—and been enamored with her for decades, too, even before he bought The Diner from her grandmother.

Lucky for Jim, Winona has never fancied herself as a Mrs. Robert Wesley.

Jim is under the Charger again when Jose kicks at his left foot, almost causing Jim to smack himself in the face with his tool in surprise.

“Hey!” he barks, not being able to maneuver well on his back. “Jose, don’t do that! I almost poked my eye out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says his boss, unrepentant. “Get out here. You got a visitor, chico.”

Wondering why they can’t afford to buy a creeper so he doesn’t have to take the skin off his back sliding along the concrete floor (in addition to dirtying his clothes in oil puddles), Jim manages to extricate himself without doing any real damage and rises, stretching cramped muscles.

A face rapidly becoming familiar peeks around the corner of the rolled-up garage door. Jim strides outside. “Pavel!”

“Yes, Sir—Jim!”

“What’s the matter?” Kirk asks, eyes narrowed. “Did Sulu turn you out already?”

Sulu is notorious for running off kitchen help, though generally not by the second day of their employment. Which is why Jim stops by on the occasional morning to help the cook out, because Jim is one of the few people not intimidated by Sulu.

The young man is quick to assure him that Sulu did no such thing. In fact, Pavel goes so far as to say quite happily, “Hikaru is wery nice. Tomorrow I vill show him how to make good borscht. My mother vould use the potato—.” Pavel breaks off, his eyes painfully sad, and Jim tucks away that puzzle piece.

Sulu accepting recipes for new dishes? Either the end of the world is nearer to hand than anyone realized, or Pavel has wooed The Diner’s fearsome chef. Jim isn’t certain which is more probable, which scares him.

“Why are you here, Pavel?” he asks gently.

“Oh, sorry.” Chekov looks so sweetly sheepish that Jim instantly forgives him for being sidetracked. “I have a letter for you.”

Jim takes a folded note held closed by a piece of scotch tape. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting that spells Jim across one side.

“It is from Mr. McCoy,” Chekov tells him. “He came to the office, looking for a pen, and I—I told him I vould not always be in de office, that I had other work now and—” Pavel looks excited just talking about his new job. Jim imagines Pavel looked just as excited when he informed McCoy. Though why the guy is happy to have a second job is beyond Jim’s comprehension.

“—and you mentioned the diner and Bones decided to make you a messenger boy.” Jim smiles when Pavel nods. “Thanks, Pavel. Who told you I was here?”

“Nyota. She is nice too.”

Is Jim the only one who thinks calling her Uhura is cool?

Jim pats the pocket of his overalls and frowns. “Hey, hold on.”

He grabs his wallet from his duffle bag but Pavel backs away upon Jim’s approach. “No, no. Dis—” Pavel says carefully through his accent, “This is… between friends. You helped me.”

Jim eyes him shrewdly, observing the worn look of Pavel’s tennis shoes and washed out colors of his clothes, even the jeans. Chekov’s collarbone juts through his skin in a way that indicates Pavel could stand to gain a few pounds. “At least let me take you out for a—” Shit, he’s not twenty-one. “—a meal. Just between friends, Pavel.”

Pavel looks hesitant but Jim puts on his friendliest grin and tucks his wallet out of sight. “C’mon. I’ll take you where pretty girls waitress in low tops.”

“Nyota is pretty.”

“And she’s likely to stab a man’s eye with a fork and call him a pig for appreciating her lovely attributes. Ask me to tell you that story sometime—but get me drunk first, okay?”

“Okay. Dis place, it is expensive?”

“Nope,” Jim assures him. “So you won’t be putting me out on street.”

Pavel flinches, and Jim has to wonder at what point the young man has been, or has been close to, destitute. Not recently, he hopes.

“Look. A meal, all right? Doesn’t have to be soon.”

Cautiously, with a smile that reaches his eyes, Pavel nods yes. Jim waves goodbye, watching Pavel walk away for a minute, before he goes back into the garage. Ignoring Jose’s curious glances, he closes himself in the washroom and pulls out McCoy’s note.

Jim,

Leonard

Well, looks like his plan to weasel his way back into Room 26 with steaks and a side of mashed potatoes won’t be necessary after all. Happier than he has been in a couple of days, Jim returns to working on the Charger. Jose remarks dryly at one point during the afternoon, as Jim hums a tune, “It’s always good when a quarrel resolves itself, isn’t it, kid?”

Jim breaks into a grin, picturing McCoy calling him ‘kid’ instead.

Spock, the nuisance, almost destroys Jim’s lunch date with McCoy. How Spock even figured out that Jim was heading over to the Star Motel, he doesn’t know. Maybe the diner take-out boxes gave it away. Or maybe Spock is a mind-reader.

At 11:35 am, Jim climbs into his mother’s truck and is surprised when the passenger door opens. “What the hell are you doing?”

Mr. Spock blinks. “I require a ride.”

Jim stares, incredulous. “And you think my truck is a taxi service?”

“I believe this is Ms. Kirk’s vehicle.”

Jim puts the truck back into park. “No, Spock.” Then he mutters, “God, I thought you were sane.”

“I am of sound mind, Mr. Kirk,” explains the lawyer. “You plan to visit Mr. McCoy. I wish to speak with Mr. McCoy. To travel together is merely logical.”

“Look, I said I’d help you if I thought it was the right thing for Bones. I didn’t say when I would come to that conclusion but l can tell you—it’s not today.” Jim scoots across the cab of the truck and pulls the passenger door closed.

When he is on the driver’s side again, he clips in his seatbelt, intending to take his foot off of the brake when a tap, tap, tap on the driver-side window stops him. Jim rolls down the window.

Mr. Spock returns his stare, expressionless and eeriely calm.

How did Spock get around to the other side of the truck so fast? And, crap, his mother doesn’t keep pepperspray in the glovebox.

“Spock,” he begins.

“Jim,” Spock interrupts, startling him. “I understand your reluctance to participate in my endeavor. I assure you, I intend no harm toward Leonard McCoy. I respect Mr. McCoy, both professionally and personally. He is experiencing… difficulty in his life, difficulty which I believe may be overcome.”

Lawyers are supposed to be good at pleading their cases, and damn if Jim doesn’t feel himself giving in. Spock’s words seem earnest. Nevertheless, Jim knows he couldn’t forgive himself if he engineered an intervention that drove McCoy away.

Latching onto the only part of Spock’s plea that can be addressed without saying just get in the truck, Jim quips, “While I wouldn’t say being a Bible salesman isn’t worth respect, McCoy does not seem to be very good at it. You know, good enough to make a living.”

Spock looks at Jim for a long moment. “Leonard’s father was a salesman until the age of 53,” he tells Jim at last. “Leonard did not pursue a career such as David McCoy’s.”

Jim is stuck between covering his ears out of loyalty (because Bones should be the one to tell Jim he has been lying) and begging for more information from the need to know Leonard McCoy. Spock, it seems, has all the answers to the questions Bones won’t let Jim ask.

Jim tightens his grip on the steering wheel and looks away from Spock. “McCoy is not a Bible salesman—okay, I kind of expected that. I still don’t think I can let you in this truck, Spock.”

“It is imperative that you do so.”

“No it’s not,” he argues. “Can’t you just… be patient? Bones will come around. I can bring him around, but you have to wait.”

Instead of trying another tactic, Spock surprises him. “Why do you persist in referring to Mr. McCoy as Bones?”

With a half-smile, Jim steps off the brake. “That’s who Mr. McCoy is in Riverside, Mr. Spock.” He holds the lawyer’s gaze. “He’s my Bones.” Then he advises firmly, “Try the rhubarb pie Mom bought. It’s great with vanilla ice cream.”

Kirk backs up the truck, not daring to glance at Spock again as he drives away.

When Jim is outside Room 26, McCoy opens the door before he can knock.

“I didn’t know if you were gonna come back,” Leonard tells him.

Kirk carefully places the plastic bag of take-out on the table inside the room. Then he turns to McCoy who stands next to him, coaxing open a box of food. Jim says “Bones” and when McCoy looks his way, Jim cups Leonard’s jaw long enough to press a light kiss to the man’s mouth.

He confesses, “I couldn’t stay away.”

“Then you’re a fool. We both are,” McCoy says and tugs Jim back to him, turning a light kiss into something more heated, bordering frantic. When they break apart, Jim’s breathing is completely shot.

Leonard retreats two steps, swallowing hard. Jim never realized apprehensive could look so sexy until he saw an apprehensive McCoy. He has to force his gaze away from the man’s frowning mouth.

“Jim, I have to tell you…”

Jim drops a hand to the top of a chair for support because his legs feel wobbly. “It’s okay, Bones, whatever it is,” he says hurriedly, thinking about Spock knowing all of Leonard’s secrets and Jim knowing none of them.

McCoy shakes his head, a sharp jerk. “Maybe it’s not.”

On instinct, Jim stills. “Bones?”

Then Leonard blurts out “Spock’s in love with me” and Jim thinks, huh, maybe it isn’t okay after all.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Along Comes a Stranger (28/28) – from July 10, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (27/28) – from July 9, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (26/28) – from July 5, 2011
• Chapter of Doom – from July 4, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (25/28) – from June 30, 2011