Archer turns without a word and leaves Pike alone with Jim. Chris gropes for the vacated chair and eases into it, not daring to take his eyes off of his son.

“Jim,” he questions slowly, because words seem difficult at the moment, “what is this?”

Jim looks at him askance. “I told you.”

“It’s a trap.”

Kirk nods.

Chris props an elbow on the table and drops his forehead into the palm of his hand, a fervent curse on his lips. There would be no point in questioning whether or not Jim is simply pulling his leg; this is mad, and so it must be undeniably real.

He doesn’t realize how close Jim has scooted to him until a hand touches Chris’s left sleeve lightly. Chris jerks back on instinct, lifting his head to level a stare at Kirk. Jim barely recoils, determinedly inspecting Pike’s injury, his free arm somehow contorted across his handcuffed one like a game of Twister.

Chris could demand the boy leave him alone but he knows better. With a barely audible sigh, he shifts so Jim doesn’t have to contort quite so painfully to do what he wants to do.

“Does it hurt?” Jim asks, eyes darkened by his concern, as his fingers hover near a dried blood stain on Pike’s jacket.

“It’s not an issue.”

Jim’s gaze snaps up to meet his. “Not an issue? Dad, you got s—” Jim struggles with the word.

“Hey,” Chris murmurs soothingly, resting a hand against his son’s face, “it’s just a graze. McCoy took care of it already.”

“I would have never called you if—”

“Not another word, Jim. What’s done is done. Would it have been better for me to read about the aftermath of your ‘trap’ in the paper or see it on tomorrow’s local news?” Chris cannot help the grimness of his tone. “No, you did the right thing—though I can’t say I think you did the wisest thing.” His temper awakens with that statement. “What in god’s name possessed you, Jim!”

Jim winces. “But, Dad, Scotty’s in trouble…”

“You should have gone to the police!”

“We did!” replies his son earnestly with an open-handed gesture at their surroundings.

“Not like this,” Chris articulates with care, hearing the steel in his own voice. “Jim, a man came into this building and tried to kill someone. Don’t you think it would have been prudent to warn one of the officers to be on the lookout for crazy, tattoo-head assassins?”

“I didn’t think…”

“Exactly. You didn’t think, Jim.” Pike takes a moment to regain his calm. He continues more quietly, “I know you don’t trust cops on general principle, but I had hoped by now you might trust me as one. You could have come to me with this. You should have.” You might have died before I even realized there was a problem. He holds back that last part because it crushes him to think of it.

Jim’s eyes stay focused on a corner of the room. “I guess… I made a mistake.”

Chris knows this is all he will get from Jim now, here, with the cameras and the recorders and the possibility of them being watched. So he lets the not-quite apology go as what it stands and forces himself to sit back and assess the rest of the situation. Jim’s plan may be to hole up in the Sheriff’s department but there needs to be more…

Just when he is ready to voice his own ideas, the door swings open. An expressionless Archer comes into the room with a stumbling man in tow, who is revealed as Montgomery Scott once summarily shoved under the harsh overhead light. Scott looks slightly stunned.

Jim’s first instinct is to go to his friend. The handcuffs prevent that. Not that it matters because Montgomery immediately hurries to Kirk’s side and looks at Archer, wide-eyed, from over Jim’s shoulder.

“Leave him alone,” Jim challenges belligerently to the sheriff.

“Oh, I’m not going to bother him, Kirk,” Jonathan replies, voice deceptively mild. “Rest assured, I’m not going to touch either of you.”

Jim eyes Archer distrustfully.

“Pike,” says Archer, “a word.”

It would be foolish to deny Jonathan anything now. Jim’s fate rests in his hands. And, boy, has Jim made a mess of that fate thus far. Chris goes with Jon to stand just outside of the closed door. They both cross their arms and take a few seconds to inspect each other’s expressions. To an outsider’s perspective, the two men might be squaring off for a nasty kind of fight.

“Did I mention that I hate your kid?”

“You did.”

“Well let me reiterate that with feeling, Christopher.” Jonathan’s gaze turns speculative as it tracks past Pike to the desks and copier. “So we’re going to war.”

Pike feels his eyebrows shoot upward. “War?”

“I’ve issued a lockdown on the building, posted a man at each entrance, and recalled the patrol.”

Really? Archer thinks of his deputies as an army? Chris would be amused if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“But,” Jonathan continues, returning his attention to Pike, “we already have an enemy behind the lines. We need to take care of that.”

“What do you suggest?”

Jon’s grin is slow but sure. “We give the bastard a chance to complete his mission.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Jon.” Chris rubs vigorously at his temples. “Why would you even…”

“Hey, it’s really no different than your boy’s plan.”

“Which is my point exactly, you dimwit! I never said Jim’s plan was a good idea either.”

Jonathan looks slightly startled. “It’s kind of brilliant, though. With the arrest and the lure…”

Pike backs Jon up to the door, eyes narrowed and voice menacing. “If you ever tell Kirk you approve of his insane ideas, there will be nowhere you can hide from me, Archer. I will find you and destroy you. Are we clear?”

Jonathan waggles his eyebrows. “Is this foreplay?” Then he looks confused. “Or is it roleplay?”

Without another word, Pike tugs open the door and leaves Jonathan to sort out the confusion by himself. It’s smarter for all involved not to egg an unstable man on.

Jim has discarded his handcuffs. Pike should be surprised, but he isn’t. And Scotty, apparently, never had handcuffs on. Whether or not that is an oversight on Jon’s part, Chris does not know. “Let’s talk for a minute,” he tells the two young men.

Scott makes a helpless gesture with his hands and looks to Jim. Jim responds evenly, “We will cooperate with you, Detective.”

It’s about damn time! If he hadn’t been practicing his poker face for decades, Jim would be able to tell how relieved he is. Now is definitely not the time to let Jim think his father might go easy on him, especially since Chris wants Jim to listen to what he has to say.

“From here on out, my authority supersedes yours, Mr. Kirk.” Usually I don’t have to tell the perp this. He draws in a quick breath to continue. “You will follow my orders or Sheriff Archer’s orders without question.” He focuses for a split second on the man next to Jim. “That goes for your friends as well. Make certain they fall in line. Lives depend on it.”

Jim gives a short nod of understanding.

“We’ve decided—” Pike pauses, wondering where Archer has gotten to. “—there is little we can do except hold out until morning and be prepared for an attack, if it comes to that. Jim, we will need to know where you hid the original star.”

“It’s in the Candy Cane house,” Scotty offers shyly. “Nobody goes in there unless they have to… too much red ‘n white. Makes a man feel unsettled.”

Chris doesn’t pinch the bridge of his nose but it is a near thing. “Thank you for that information, Mr. Scott. Is your… decoy fully functional?”

“Aye, it’ll run.” Scotty takes an sidelong glance at Jim. “But I put in a failsafe switch, in case it were to fall into the wrong hands. Jim’s got the controller.”

Jim blinks innocently at Pike’s hard stare. Then, rolling his eyes like the immature child he can be, Kirk holds up a cell phone, seemingly out of thin air, and flips it open. “Scotty set it up so we can put in a code and cut the power remotely. It’s pretty genius.” In front of Pike, Jim frowns at something on his cell phone screen and fiddles with the phone’s keys.

“I know you’re not texting right now, Jim,” Chris says in his hardiest disapproving voice.

“Erm, yes? Just a minute, Dad. Bones sent me a message.”

Chris almost explodes. How in the hell did Jim’s entire ragtag team sneak in cell phones? Are Archer’s men really so incompetent to miss that in a body search?

Jim shoots him an amused look. “You don’t want to know.”

Chris takes the boy at his word. “Put that thing away.”

“Yes, sir.” Jim does so with an unabashed grin.

“Okay, here’s what you two will do for the time being…” begins Pike, hoping to corral some of Jim’s wilder instincts.

Archer bursts into the room, slams the door shut and locks it from the inside. Then he pulls out his gun, and Pike knows without asking questions they have a serious problem. Jim knows it too, if his demand of “What’s happening?” is anything to go by.

Chris points to the corner next to the mirror, which is the only position in the room that provides some modicum of cover from someone looking into the room (it won’t hide them if the cameras are online, though) and orders, “Stand over there.”

Jim hesitates, which bodes ill for his supposed agreement to follow orders.

“Now!” Pike snaps.

Scotty grabs Jim’s arm and hustles him to the corner.

“What happened, Jon?” Chris asks quietly.

Archer unloads and reloads his gun’s clip after checking the number of bullets. “He escaped.”

For one quick second, Chris wonders if Archer let the bastard out like he suggested they do earlier.

The hurt in Jonathan’s eyes says he knows what Pike is thinking. “He pulled a fast one on Matthews, feigned death or something. Kid only had a taser, thank god, but things won’t go well if the weapons cabinet is compromised.”

Chris has a cold feeling in his gut.

“Dad, Dad,” Jim whispers furiously, “we can’t stay here.”

Chris knows that. They’re sitting ducks in this room. He also knows Jim is worried about the others. This could go south in so many ways, the worst being hostages are taken from the cells and executed one by one until the demands are met. Pike can see the scenario clear as day, having been involved in situations too similar more times than he cares to remember. The thought never fails to make him feel sick. “At this point we can’t assume he thinks Scott is the only witness he needs to be rid of.”

“Or that he is willing to take what he came for and leave. Loose ends and all that,” Archer adds.

Chris is already thinking far ahead. …That could work. Yes, it could. He comes to a snap decision, reaching for the doorknob. “Protect them for me, Jon.”

Jonathan blocks him from turning the lock. “Whoa, I make the calls here! You’re not leaving.”

“But I am,” Chris tells his friend with a humorless smile.

“If anything needs doing, I’m the one to do it.”

“You have the gun, therefore you get to stay with Jim and Scotty.”

Without thinking, Archer flips the gun around in his hand and offers it to Pike. “Take it! But for god’s sake…”

It’s the opportunity Chris is waiting for. He latches onto Archer’s wrist and twists the man aside, using a technique that Jon never could quite figure out how to counter during their Academy years. How many times did he disable Jonathan like this before? Enough that he always laughed about it with friends.

Chris isn’t laughing now. He takes no pleasure in having to do this. Some part of him is gravely disappointed that the trick still works so easily. Jon is out of his way, and Chris lets the gun drop to the ground at the man’s feet. In the next instant he is outside of the room, carefully and quietly shutting the door upon Jon’s cry of his name and Jim’s upset “Dad!”

Jon won’t come after him. There won’t be time to. He will be too busy fighting Kirk into the ground to keep him from running after Pike. That’s just as well. However much he trusts a man like Jonathan Archer at his back, Chris would gladly spare him what is to come.

What Chris doesn’t expect, and what he probably should have, is the person who bolts out of the room before he is more than five steps away, slamming the door shut again and bending over the doorknob with a curse.

“Mr. Scott,” Chris says furiously, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Jamming the lock,” mutters the younger man.

Chris pulls him aside but it’s too late. A piece of metal has been broken off in the keyhole. Chris looks at Jim’s friend incredulously.

Montgomery squares his shoulders. “Sir. Twas my fault to begin with. I have to make it right.”

Someone tries turning the knob, to no avail, then starts pounding on the door. The pounding doubles. A sensation prickles along the back of Pike’s neck, and he drags Scotty toward Archer’s office, certain they are being watched.

“You’re a fool,” he says in an undertone to the idiot in his grasp, “and I didn’t think anybody could be more of a fool than my son, so congratulations.”

“Thank you?”

“Get in.” He shoves Scotty through the office door and closes it partially. Eyeing the sidekick he didn’t ask for, Chris asks, “Do you know how to fight?”

“Only if I got a wrench in my hand,” admits Scotty.

Pike hands him the baseball bat propped inside the umbrella stand by the door. “Use this. Stand to the side, and if someone comes through that door, hit him as hard as you can.”

“But what if—”

“Hit first, Mr. Scott, ask questions later.”

“Okay.”

Chris encounters the next big problem when he tries to open the closet door. After a quick, fruitless search of the desk (he finds a pair of handcuffs that might be useful and puts them in his pocket), Chris comes to the conclusion that Jonathan has the key. He resorts to kicking the door in, successfully managing it on the third try, which does nothing good for his hip. The blanket-wrapped star looks innocent enough, one of its tinsel-foiled points glittering in the light of the room. Chris lifts it free of its hiding place.

“Is that…?” Scotty starts. “Why’s it in a closet?”

“Don’t ask,” Pike grunts.

When Scotty moves to help him, Chris tells him sharply, “No! I need you to stay on guard.”

Looking speculatively from the baseball bat to the star, the young man suggests he be the one to carry the replica around. Chris thinks on that for a moment but declines. When it comes down to it, the more hostile attention he can divert from his counterpart, the better. With Pike lumbering under the additional weight of the star, they ease from the office and through the open area of the building.

The prickling at the back of Chris’s neck intensifies as they move on to the front hallway. The hall is dark and eerily quiet. When they turn a corner, Pike notices no one is guarding the set of double doors that lead to the street. He hates to think of what happened to that deputy. If they’re lucky, they will find the poor man tied up somewhere.

Whispering, perhaps because of the unsettling atmosphere, Scotty wants to know, “Where’re we going?”

Pike, on the other hand, lets his voice carry. “Help me take this to my truck. It’s just outside.”

They are close to the entrance now, a few footsteps away, when Chris spies the motion of a hither-to inanimate shadow from the corner of his eye. “Down!” he hisses to the man at his side.

Scotty, as smart as he is, doesn’t question the order. He simply drops like a stone. Chris is already pivoting around, slightly unbalanced by the weight of the object in his hands, but he uses what momentum he can to throw it at the man rushing toward them. Pike can see the moment of vacillation in the other man’s eyes as options, or orders, are weighed. In the end, the man chooses as Pike hopes he would. He tries to catch the falling star.

Pike wrenches the baseball bat from Scotty’s hands and cracks it against one of the vulnerable kneecaps of their would-be assailant. The guy cries out and goes down, letting his precious armful clatter to the ground beside him.

In retrospect, Pike should have anticipated being in close range of a weapon. The first electrical jolt of the taser is enough to sear his nerve endings from the roots of his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. Chris loses his grip on the baseball bat as his knees give out in shock. The taste of blood fills his mouth. He has bitten through his tongue.

There is a dull roar in his ears, worse than the skittering sensation across his skin, but he can still see and blinks rapidly to clear the hazy white dots dancing in front of his eyes. Scotty flings himself toward the baseball bat, latching onto it at the same time the other man does. A swipe with the taser is a near-miss but Scotty twists out of the way with a cry Pike can barely hear.

Time feels like it is slowing to a crawl. Pike pitches forward and catches himself on his hands. His arms waver but hold, and the iron fist around his lungs suddenly loosens. Chris gasps in the air he desperately needs and tries to get back on his feet.

The man has both weapons, and Scott is going to die. Chris can’t let that happen, uncooperative limbs or not. He just survived an unmitigated electrical shock, and so he can keep on surviving, has to, if only to save this one person, just one more before somebody takes him out for good.

Because Chris is supposed to be down for the count, twitching on the ground, the bastard advancing on Scotty is none-the-wiser when Pike slips up to him from behind and catches his raised wrist. Their eyes meet in that instant, Pike’s desperate but determined and his enemy’s full of an unmasked hatred, and Chris cracks a bloody grin. He clamps his fingers around those holding onto the trigger of the taser, and slams the arm down at the proper angle to force the wired prongs to meet flesh.

It’s awful, watching a man’s eyes roll up in his head as he goes taut with pain; and for Pike, in those long seconds, it feels equally satisfying.

Scotty’s eyes are huge in his white face as the writhing man keels over with a half-gasp, half-cry before suddenly becoming still. Pike staggers backward, then into a wall, and makes a sound that is supposed to a command to his companion. After the second try, he manages to groan coherently, “The bat—get it.”

Scotty does, checking nervously if the unconscious man is breathing while he’s at it. His voice is relieved when he claims, “The bugger’s alive.”

Sitting is good. Pike is just going to sit down for a while, a very little while. Until his legs are steadier and his head is clearer.

“Sir?”

Is it normal for his chest to hurt so badly?

“Er, Detective? Pike—Mr. Pike? Oh geez, are you okay?”

Because if this feeling of someone squeezing his ribcage isn’t normal, then he is probably in the throes of a heart attack. How cliché. Jim is going to freak out.

And that’s the last thought Chris has before his vision blacks out… only to, an indeterminate amount of time later, return to his senses with a jolt when someone starts to gently slap the side of his face. Montgomery Scott is leaning over him (when did Pike end up on his back?), and the boy looks very sick to his stomach. He’s saying something about don’t die! and I don’t know what to do. Pike feels a keen sympathy for him.

“Handcuffs…” Chris tells him, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. He repeats the word and hopes Scotty understands him.

It seems so as the young man digs the pair of handcuffs out of Pike’s jacket pocket and scrambles away to deal with their attacker. If Scotty flinches as he drags the dead weight of the unconscious man across the hallway to a wall radiator (to which he then handcuffs the bastard’s limp wrist), Pike will pretend to have never seen it. Scotty comes back, the emotion on his face warring between relieved and upset that Pike has dragged himself into a sitting position against the wall.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance,” he says to Chris.

“No.” Chris is tired and every inch of his skin feels like it’s been scraped raw. “Get Archer.”

Jim’s friend frowns at Pike’s logic. “So the sheriff can call the ambulance?”

Damn, the kid has a point. “Never mind. Find McCoy.”

“…So he can call the ambulance?”

Chris sighs heavily. “Just… help me up.”

It is a good thing the kid has not yet acquired the courage to pin Chris in place like a few certain individuals (who shall remain nameless) undoubtedly would do. He does admit it is slightly embarrassing, however, when Scotty has to take the majority of his weight so he can stay upright. Neither of them spare a second thought for the broken star as they limp back towards Archer’s office.

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