Title: Along Comes a Stranger (13/?)
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.
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Part Thirteen

“Jim. Jim!”

Kirk stops walking, turning. Christine Chapel hurries up to him, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. Her smile is uncertain. “I almost thought you were ignoring me.”

“Don’t be crazy, Chapel. What’s up?” He takes her heavy-looking shopping bag and lets her loop her arm through his. She tells him that her car is parked two streets over.

Christine’s hand tightens on his forearm, just enough that Jim slows down their pace to signify that he is listening. “I wanted to apologize about Leonard.”

“Why?” Jim asks, making an effort to appear unaffected at the mention of Bones.

“Well, he was pretty sloshed when Nyota and I left him at your mom’s. I swear we wouldn’t have done that but he wouldn’t let up about going to the farm.” She laughs lightly at a memory. “He refused to get out of the car when we took him to his motel. Nyota tried threatening him with the heel of her boot. The stubborn jackass wouldn’t budge.”

Despite himself, Jim chuckles at the image. “Either he was incredibly drunk or incredibly stupid not to take Uhura seriously.”

“I’m going for both. She hasn’t let him off the hook for that yet, either.”

Kirk mutters, “Good for her.”

They pass the corner drugstore and turn onto Third Ave. At the crossing light, Jim is about to ask Christine if she is free for lunch (as this must be her day off) when Chapel says first, “It’s sad about Leonard’s daughter, isn’t it?”

Jim almost halts in the middle of the street but Christine tugs on his arm, prompting him to get out of the way of oncoming traffic. He quickly pulls her over by the bus bench to ask, “How do you know about Joanna?”

She gives him a strange look. “He showed me a picture of her when I complimented him on being good with small children. Jim, what’s wrong?”

His heart had decided to pound its way out of his chest, but Kirk quickly manages to get himself under control. Her explanation is a sweet relief. “Nothing. I just—Bones is usually wary of talking about his family.”

Christine’s expression says she knows he is telling the truth but she also doesn’t know why he is sidestepping the answer to her question. “Okay.” She reaches for her bag. “My car isn’t far…”

Jim prudently places the bag behind his back and smiles innocently.

Christine rolls her eyes. “You win. Onwards then—across the stormy seas, Captain Kirk!”

Jim sighs ruefully as they resume walking. “I’m too old to play pirates.” Obviously Nyota isn’t too shy to share her and Jim’s adventures as children. He hopes Uhura didn’t mention the pirate outfits they concocted.

The twinkle in Christine’s eyes says she did and had Polaroid snapshots as sufficient proof. He tries not to flush at the thought. Time to blackmail Uhura into giving them back—or destroying the evidence, at the very least.

Jim switches topics in hopes of diversion. “How’s Bones doing at the clinic?”

“Well, actually. A lot of the patients like him… when he isn’t stepping on someone’s toes and saying he’s a doctor and doctors know best. Janice gets to soothe nerves and dry tears today.” She sounds much too gleeful about that prospect.

Jim muses, “Mark isn’t like McCoy, is he?”

“No,” she agrees. “Dr. Piper is wonderful but he’s very laid-back. Maybe he was like Leonard when he was younger.”

Jim shakes his head. “Naw. I’d remember that. No matter how many times he had to patch me up, he never fussed at me about it—he let my mom handle that bit.” Jim smiles, contemplating what he knows about Leonard McCoy. “Bones is a yeller, definitely.”

Christine advises, “Then stay away from trouble and McCoy won’t have a reason to fuss at you.”

“I do try,” he insists dryly.

They find Christine’s car with relative ease. Jim hands her the shopping bag. She squeezes his hand in return. “Thanks, Jim.”

“It’s okay, you know,” he tells Chapel. “About that night, I mean. We got Bones bedded down. No harm done.” He feels only slightly guilty for lying.

Christine opens her car door and tosses her bag into the backseat. But she doesn’t get in immediately. Instead she says in an offhanded manner, “He kept saying he needed to make amends with Spock.”

Jim’s smile tightens. “He did, I think.”

She hesitates. “That’s not what… that didn’t bother me, Jim, except make me curious.” Christine meets his eyes. “But Leonard talked about you, too.” She blushes for a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything…”

Jim swallows. “What did he say?”

“He said you were under his skin and he didn’t know how get you out. Nyota told him you had that effect on a lot of people, and Leonard just—well, he said ‘This is different.’ He said, ‘This is good.’ Jim,” Christine almost begs, “you’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“I’m fine,” he says, feeling like a broken record by now.

She shakes her head. “Not just for yourself—for Leonard, too. When I broke off my engagement with Roger, I felt so vulnerable. I know Leonard must feel the same way, coming out of a nasty divorce.”

Jim reaches out and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, warmed by her concern. “I’ll be careful,” he promises.

Christine gets into her car and starts it, waving goodbye as she drives away. Jim slides his hands into his jacket pockets and returns to the downtown area to finish his errands.

Luckily, his next encounter is with someone who has more to worry about than Jim’s budding relationship with Leonard McCoy. Kirk notes a crowd by the Town Hall and joins them out of curiosity. Bob Wesley and his campaign crew are handing out Vote For Wesley buttons and doing a mingle-and-greet with the crowd. Jim watches the event for a minute, entertained, before attempting to wander back to the nearby auto-parts store.

At the last second, Jim is hooked by a hand on his sleeve, turned around, and reeled in for a handshake.

The mayor says smartly, “Running off again, Jimmy?”

He grins. “Me and politics, Bob—a bad combination.”

Wesley barks out a laugh and drops a firm hand onto Kirk’s shoulder. Someone to the side says, “Mayor Wesley! Smile!” Bob winks for the camera and Jim is dazed by a flash of light. It takes several blinks to clear his whitened vision.

Jim winces. “I hope that isn’t going on the front page of the Press.”

“If your eyes are closed, son, I’ll make sure that it does.”

Jim gives the man a sharp, amused look. “Then I’ll be forced to play dirty, Mr. Mayor, and the Press might receive an anonymous submission of a particular set of photos…”

Bob is not intimidated in the least. “There are plenty of photos of me flitting around this town, Jimmy. I am the mayor.”

“Ah,” says Kirk with a devious glint in his eyes, “but have the townspeople ever seen you in a hulu skirt while attempting to woo a certain lovely widow?”

Wesley stares at Jim. “How did you—but that was—”

Jim’s evil laugh is inspired by too many cartoons as a child. “Never turn your back on an eight year-old, Bob,” Jim advises.

With a long-suffering sigh, Bob shoos him away. “Get away from my campaign, Kirk.”

Jim salutes the mayor, snapping smartly, “Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!”

At least Wesley manages not to smack him in public, even if most of Riverside wouldn’t fault the man one bit for belting James Kirk. After all, Wesley is famous but Jim is infamous.

As Jim strides away, his ears catch the question, “Mayor Wesley, do you have words for your opponent in the race to election?” and Bob’s answer, “Only to the public, my dear, when I say I hope the people of Riverside see how inexperienced Trelane is—”

Then Kirk is out of range, the noises of the street covering up what little left there is to hear.

Close to midnight, Jim is awoken by someone beating on his apartment door. He is groggy, stumbles over a pair of tennis shoes on his way to answer the insistent knocks. The person calls, “Police! Is anyone home?”

That snaps Jim from sleepy to alert in a heartbeat. He unlocks the door and opens it hastily. “Um, hello, Officer. What’s going on?”

The police officer shines a flashlight in his face. “We had a report of a possible prowler in this complex.” The man pulls out a notepad. “You are…?”

“Jim Kirk.”

The man writes this down. “Have you heard or seen anything suspicious in the last few hours, Mr. Kirk?”

“No,” he answers. “I was asleep. You woke me up.”

No apology seems forth-coming. “Have you noticed signs of an attempted break-in? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Would you mind if I came in and took a look around?”

Jim’s hand flexes on the doorknob. “I need to see some ID.”

The man extricates a badge from his shirt pocket without hesitation. Jim battles down nervousness and reads it, looking for signs that it’s a fake. He can’t find any. He hands the badge back to the officer. “I’m sorry, Deputy Johnson. I’m not comfortable having you in my home at this time of night.”

Before the man can reply, a familiar voice snaps, “Johnson!”

Johnson half-turns, tucking his pen and notepad away. “Yes, Sir?”

Rand—good old, fucking Rand, Jim thinks—catches sight of Kirk in the doorway. He doesn’t look pleased to be at the Appletree Apartments at midnight. “This man giving you trouble, Deputy?”

“No, Sir” is the bemused reply, at which Jim secretly thanks the heavens. That is, until Rand grimly steps up beside Johnson and plants his hand against Jim’s partially open door.

Frank stares at Jim for a long moment. “It’s a federal offense to mislead the law, Kirk.”

Jim sees red. After several seconds, he is under control enough to speak, albeit coldly, “Go away, Frank. I’m too tired to play games with you right now. I have work in the morning.”

Rand’s mouth curls in a sneer. “Well, excuse us for interrupting your beauty sleep, you—” He bites off whatever vulgar thing he was going to call Jim. With hard eyes, Frank says, “Prank or not, Kirk, I have a job to do. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he says flatly.

The other deputy shifts his weight, obviously uncomfortable with this silent stand-off between Kirk and Rand.

At last, Frank backs down. “Sorry for keeping you,” not meaning a word of his apology. “Let’s go,” Rand says to his partner.

Jim watches them leave, making sure they are gone, before closing and locking his door. He pauses, then drags a chair over and shoves it under the doorknob for good measure. Unfortunately, it takes hours before he can fall asleep again; but when the dawn comes he is glad to see light in the sky. There’s something about meeting Rand in the dark that makes Jim’s stomach twist into knots.

He mentions the sentiment to Jose the next day. Jose only looks at him before asking, “You gotta gun, chico?”

“No.”

“You know how to shoot a gun?”

Jim nods. “Yeah. My mom taught me.”

Jose looks at him for a moment longer. “If you need a weapon,” Jose offers, “I have plenty you can borrow.”

Jim has only ever used his fists as weapons against another person but he stops to consider the idea. “Maybe,” he concedes, mostly cringing at the thought.

Jose tosses him a rag, says, “Rotate the tires on the Mazda” and they speak of it no more.

Bones catches Jim on lunch break, surprising him by showing up at the garage with fast food in hand. Jose pokes his head out of his office to assess Leonard McCoy, whereupon Jim feels obliged to introduce the two men. Jim’s boss grabs his jacket from an old coat rack and tells Jim that he is going to grab his own lunch. It’s a cue that Jose is going to leave them alone but also a warning that he won’t be far away.

Jim rolls his eyes and herds Leonard into the small office. They pull out chairs and Jim props his feet on the corner of Jose’s messy desk. He takes a satisfyingly large bite of his burger. After a moment of eating, Jim asks, “How did you get here?”

“Christine dropped me off.”

Jim nods, deciding Bones doesn’t need to know how recently he spoke with Chapel—or what they discussed. Instead he ponders, “Aren’t you tired of hitching rides?”

Leonard looks away. “I’m used to it.” He says faintly, “I don’t drive much.”

Jim almost chokes on a french fry. “Shit, Bones… you have a driver’s license, right?”

McCoy shoots him a glare instead of saying outright you’re an idiot. “Yes, Jim. I have a driver’s license.”

Jim frowns, then asks tentatively, “DUI?”

“God, no.” Leonard isn’t offended by the question, for which Jim is grateful.

“Then why?” he wants to know.

Leonard carefully places his burger on the desk, like the thought of eating suddenly makes him sick. When he turns to meet Jim’s curious stare, Jim sucks in a breath at the look in McCoy’s eyes. “Bones?”

“I was driving my dad to his bingo match—he played bingo like an addict.” Leonard’s laugh is mirthless. “We were blindsided by some idiot who ran a red light. Dad died.”

“Oh geez,” Jim says, planting his feet back on the floor, his food forgotten. “Bones, I’m sorry.”

Leonard frowns and absently runs his fingers through the condensation covering his soda can. “He stayed in a coma for a while—before we had to let him go. I can’t get behind the wheel without remembering the accident, so I don’t drive unless I have to.” He grimaces. “Jocelyn and I fought about that a lot. Just another issue that wedged us apart, I guess.”

Jim resists the urge to pull Bones in for a hug. He offers, “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. No problem.”

That seems to shake Leonard from his morose thoughts. The man snorts. “You think being in a car is dangerous? Shit, you and that motorcycle are terrifying.”

Jim knows how to play this game. “I don’t remember you complaining.”

“That’s because you can’t hear anything over the damn wind in your ears.”

“I can buy you your own helmet.”

“Seriously, Jim,” scoffs McCoy.

“Seriously, Bones.” Jim’s eyes are bright and challenging.

Leonard’s smile is slow and genuine. “Fine. Sometimes. Whenever I’m desperate.”

Jim pushes Leonard’s burger encouragingly in his direction. Leonard picks it and settles back in his chair, content to finish the food.

Jim does the same, saying, “Whether you’re desperate or not, you’ve got me, Bones.”

“I know” is Leonard’s soft reply.

“This is… this is something,” Jim remarks as he trails from one room to the next. It’s a freaking mansion he means but Jim is valiantly trying for polite and not gobsmacked.

Spock appears at his side, close to the curve of the staircase. “This home is approximately 6500 square feet.”

Jim feels a bit woozy. 6500 square feet for a house? He jokes awkwardly, “I can’t imagine a month’s rent.”

“It is affordable,” says the lawyer, like money doesn’t really matter.

Jim punches down envy. He and Spock are not the same, have obviously not grown up accustomed to similar lifestyles. How silly, to be jealous. Kirk rubs a hand against his denim-covered thigh and decides to direct his attention elsewhere. “Bones?”

“I believe he is inspecting the backyard.”

With the pool. Right.

Jim picks a direction, hoping he is headed the right way, and strides down a hallway. Spock follows him, allowing Jim to discover the way on his own, even though Jim has the feeling Spock as this entire house mapped out in his gigantic brain.

He stops by a door at the end of the hallway, near the kitchen, and asks, “Where’s this go?”

“The garage.”

Finally, a place Jim is more familiar with. Glancing at Spock for permission, he lets himself into the garage—which is bare, except for the shelving along one wall and a wooden table. The owner must have had an extensive tool set. Jim finds that he longs to fill in the sadly vacant spots for wrenches and hammers and screwdrivers. In his mind’s eye, the table would be scattered with the things of his trade, bike equipment, rags and car parts…

Jim gasps a little, rounding on Spock. “The car!”

Spock returns his stare with mild interest. “The car, Jim?”

“Your car, the Corvette—” Jim stops fumbling for words.

“Ah,” states the other man. “I have not, as of yet, had an opportunity to speak with your employer. Do you require another check for the repair expenses?”

Jim shakes his head. “You’re, um, first advance is still good.” Then he can’t help but grin slightly. “You realize it’s unusual to pay us upfront, right?”

“I anticipated that the repairs will be expensive. You may provide me with the receipts for your purchases, if you wish, but I think it unnecessary. Your place of work has a solid reputation, Mr. Kirk. Should I assume otherwise?”

Of course Spock would investigate Jose and the garage before handing over a lengthy and expensive job. Why hadn’t Jim realized that before?

“Nope,” he answers, turning. “Jose’s an honest guy.”

Spock is saved the trouble of replying by Bones’ loud “Jim? Spock?”

“In the garage!” Jim calls back.

McCoy appears in the doorway, leans against it and folds his arms. His expression is amused. “There’s a koi pond to the side of the front yard.”

“The owners have an affinity for the Orient,” Spock informs his house guests.

“Which explains the miniature Buddhist altar in the garden,” McCoy returns dryly.

Apparently Jim has not seen half of the treasures this property has hidden away. “Did it come furnished?” he asks Spock.

Leonard snorts. “’Course it did! Spock can’t be bothered to decide between a loveseat and a chaise lounge. God forbid!” chuckles the long-time friend of Spock’s. “He may be rich, but he’s also totally uninterested in anything that doesn’t ooze logic or glow under a microscope or speak in seven tongues.”

Jim’s mouth runs away from his brain. “Does that mean you can speak in seven tongues, Bones?”

Leonard bursts out laughing. “Shut up.”

Jim grins like a fool.

Ignoring them, Spock activates the garage door opener and proceeds down the driveway to the mailbox. Jim glances at McCoy and decides to follow Spock. He isn’t surprised to hear Bones’ footsteps behind him.

Spock stands by the mailbox looking west. He asks Jim, when the man is close enough to hear, “This neighborhood caters to the affluent of Riverside, does it not?”

“Yeah,” says Jim. He points in the direction that Spock is staring. “The mayor lives close by, maybe ten blocks that way.” He adds to Leonard behind him, “I told you, Bones. He’s got the biggest house in Riverside. Can’t miss it.”

The frown on McCoy’s face is obvious in his voice. “But you made the Q sound pretty damned wealthy. Wouldn’t they have the biggest house?”

Jim hesitates. “More like a compound. They’re strange, Bones—and they don’t accept outsiders.”

“A cult?”

Jim huffs. “You think Riverside is home to a cult?”

“Well, you’re a funny lot—”

Jim turns around and punches Leonard’s arm. “Careful, Bones. Don’t insult my people.”

McCoy’s mouth twitches. “Your people, huh?”

Jim tries to look affronted but it’s hard to ignore the tickling of laughter in his throat. “The good ones, anyway,” he retorts.

“It appears I am to be welcomed to the neighborhood,” Spock interrupts.

Jim shades his eyes against the afternoon sun. Spying the model of the car coming towards them, he drops his hand and curses silently. “Spock, c’mon let’s go—”

But Spock is like a statue, immovable stone under Jim’s hand. Perhaps McCoy senses Jim’s unease. Leonard flanks the other side of Spock.

The car—a convertible, ridiculously bright pink with white leather interior—coasts to a stop by the driveway and three men. A gum-popping blonde in the passenger seat waggles her fingers at them and giggles. The driver, a rotund mustached man in a track suit and large sunglasses, smiles solicitously. “Well, hello there. Hello, indeed!” Then the man takes off his sunglasses and rolls his eyes at Kirk. “Not you, of course, Jamey-boy. Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

Jim smiles insincerely. “Because I’m everywhere?” he counters, a biting quality to the words.

The young woman turns in her seat to get a better look at Jim. Her lips curve to say that she likes what she sees. Harry notices his companion’s response and an aggravated look flits across his face. “And still insolent as ever,” the man remarks. “But how rude of me! I’m not here to chat with you, Kirk.” His attention is back to Spock. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harcourt Fenton Mudd, humble attorney at law and entrepreneur—and you are Mr. Spock!”

“I am aware of who you are, Mr. Mudd.”

Mudd frowns at Spock’s cool reply. “Harry, please. To all the citizens of Riverside—new and old—I am simply Harry.”

At Spock’s lack of response, Harry fiddles with his sunglasses in a strangely unsettled gesture before sliding them back onto his nose. “Yes, well, I just came by to say hello. Mr. Spock, Kirk…” He seems to realize there is a third person. “Oh, I don’t know you.”

“Leonard McCoy,” drawls Bones. “Definitely of the ‘new’ variety, Mr. Mudd.”

“Harry. My apologies, Mr. McCoy.”

“Doctor McCoy” Harry is corrected.

“Of course. Doctor. Well, good day to you, gentlemen!” Rather than leaving, however, Mudd leans toward them, tugging at his mustache. “Are you a gambling man, Mr. Spock?”

“I do not gamble, Sir.”

“Pity, pity,” murmurs Harry. “Come by my casino anyway! First time, you get ten free chips—courtesy of Harry Mudd!”

The girl in the passenger seat sighs like she’s bored and goes back to painting her nails now that she doesn’t have to pretend interest in this meeting of friendly neighbors (and because Jim is ignoring her). The pink convertible pulls back onto the street and disappears around a curve in the road, leaving a bad taste in Jim’s mouth.

Leonard says, “That could have been worse.”

“Harry isn’t the one you have to worry about,” Kirk remarks ominously. He returns to the house, not waiting for Spock and McCoy to catch up.

If Harry knows that Spock lives here, then the Q most certainly know. Jim closes the curtains in the living room, but he is unable to shake the feeling that eyes are still trained on them, watching them with interest. Quietly, for now.

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