0Title: Holiday Revenge (9/12)
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 | 7 | 8
Very Important Note: In keeping with my promise, I have tried to wrap up this WIP all-at-once as a gift for my readers. So starting today, I will be posting one chapter every two days. This gives me the necessary time to add the finishing touches and also means you won’t have to endure the agony of suspense for too long. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year’s, everyone!
Part Nine
The atmosphere of the canteen is subdued, interrupted only by the pat-pat-pat of water dripping into the sink and the staccato click of heels against a tiled floor.
“I should have known,” Liu announces without ceasing to pace. Her fierce gaze takes in the one officer in her employ, Phil, and those men and women who are not hers in any official capacity but nonetheless hold a stake in the present circumstances. Each person watches her with a mix of interest and apprehension.
Jonathan thinks he might be the most interested and least apprehensive of the bunch. Of course, next to him, Robbins doesn’t appear to be either, maintaining what he would call a dignified air of calm.
She clearly knows something he doesn’t, so he asks, “Who upset Liu this time?”
Jim ponders that also. “It wasn’t me, was it?”
Jon drapes an arm across Kirk’s shoulders. “It’s probably both of us.”
Jim stares at Jon for a long moment, then requests of Robbins, “Save me first.”
“Age before beauty,” quips Jon.
Jim’s mouth curls at the corners. “So you admit you’re old.”
Jonathan slides his arm from shoulders to neck, putting the brat in a headlock.
Ignoring Kirk’s protests to Archer’s gleeful mussing of Kirk’s hair, Robbins glances at Liu. “Now do you understand my reservations?”
Liu stills. “Archer, Kirk. Enough.”
Jon releases his victim with reluctance. “But, Captain, he called me old.”
“Of course you’re old to someone half your age,” she counters, much to his horror.
Jim snickers.
Liu turns on Jim. “Keep trying my patience, mister.”
Jim wilts and murmurs an apology.
Of Kirk’s friends, Uhura is the one to step forward. “Captain Liu, with all due respect, I do greatly admire your scare tactics, but can we get on with this meeting? My patience isn’t faring any better.”
Scott leans around a blank-faced Spock, whom he seems to believe is a protective shield. “I don’t like it here.”
Across the canteen, McCoy finishes making himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter to observe them all with a highly unimpressed air. “I have a question. That is, if anybody can spare time from plotting to how lock up my idiot boyfriend and our idiot sheriff to answer it.”
Robbins studies Leonard’s insolent slouch with obvious approval. “You may be even better than I heard.”
“Oh?” replies Kirk’s boyfriend mildly, pausing to sip his coffee.
“We should exchange phone numbers. I have information about Mr. Kirk which even his father would not know.”
“Wait a minute,” Jim interrupts, no doubt disconcerted.
McCoy straightens up a little, his next echo of “Oh?” much more curious.
Robbins looks knowingly at her ex-fiancée’s son. “You did request that I meet your boyfriend.”
“But what are you going to tell him?” asks Jim nervously.
Jon raises a hand. “I want to know too.”
More hands go up.
“We’ll start a story time,” Liu promises in a dry tone. “Now hands down, everyone. McCoy, what’s your question?”
“I can’t help but notice who’s here—and who isn’t. Since you generally don’t seem inclined to care who witnesses you yelling at us, I can only assume this is a briefing, not a dressing-down. But, a private one?”
“Astute of you, Mr. McCoy. To be more specific, once we walk out of this room,” Liu explains, taking the time to hold the gaze of each person there, “this meeting becomes non-existent.” Then she beckons Robbins to her side. “Una, tell them.”
Robbins’s face turns into a mask of professionalism, her composure so strong that it sends a chill down Archer’s spine. He braces himself for bad news.
And Robbins gives it: “I received orders to pursue Christopher Pike as a criminal.”
Kirk lurches forward. Jon grabs his left arm; Uhura, Jim’s right. The hand which lands on Kirk’s shoulder belongs to Spock. With a soft curse, Leonard disposes of his coffee and crosses the canteen while Phil, Jon observes from the corner of his eye, drags out a chair and takes a seat like a man on the receiving end of a death sentence.
Jim’s fury is directed at Robbins and Liu. “Dad’s not a criminal!”
Robbins remains neutral. “My superior hardly cares about that, Jim.”
“And unfortunately,” Liu adds, “it’s my job to stand aside for an investigation sanctioned by our federal counterparts.”
“Screw them!”
Privately, Jon echoes Jim’s sentiment.
Lines of worry crease McCoy’s forehead. “Can’t you tell them to back off… or buy time?”
“The moment Captain Liu refuses to cooperate, Gaius will take over. I guarantee it.”
Jon folds his arms across his chest. “What’s his endgame, Robbins?”
When the agent turns her gaze upon him, he sees that she isn’t as impartial to this development as she would like to appear. The fury in her gaze rivals Kirk’s but is also coupled with the kind of resignation which implies she knows they’re on the losing side.
“Next spring there will be an opening at the Director level in our division. As a senior agent, Gaius does qualify—or would, if he had ever successfully closed a major case.”
“This could be his last chance to shine,” Jon interprets. “I can only imagine the accolades which accompany uncovering a case of corruption from a simple kidnapping.” He says bitterly, “I bet the bastard started salivating the moment you reported in. Probably is already on his way here.”
Liu nods confirmation of that guess. “Which is why we need to decide quickly among ourselves our own plan of action based on the assumption Pike is still one of us. My hands will be tied in a relatively short period of time.” She meets Jon’s gaze. “Concerning that personal matter we discussed earlier, Sheriff, Agent Robbins has a hunch she wants to follow up on.”
Robbins’s mouth forms a thin line. “You said once that he couldn’t have worked alone. I have some old contacts that may be able to shed light on possible… acquaintances.”
Kirk turns to Archer. “Who?”
Jon regrets that he can’t share what he has learned about Marcus. “Let Number One handle it.”
McCoy frowns from Jim to Jon. So does Spock, though the man doesn’t frown, per se, just gives the impression of thoughtful consideration as his gaze bores a hole into the side of Archer’s head.
Jim doesn’t argue despite obviously hating not knowing. “What about us? What can we do to help?”
“That’s what I need to know,” Liu says. “What are your plans, Kirk?”
Jon clears his throat. “The kid, ah, has a hunch too. We’re pursuing that.”
“So the question becomes,” Nyota interjects, “which of us is wasting precious time?”
“My greater concern is that we won’t have the authority to implement a rescue,” Liu confesses.
Archer taps the Sheriff’s star on his jacket. “You might not, but I do.”
Robbins points out, “Agent Gaius’s new direction for the investigation includes bringing in more of our internal resources, agents who can take orders without asking questions. He won’t extend any of you—including you, Sheriff—leniency for interfering in this case the way Liu has.”
“In other words, I can kiss my income as a consultant goodbye,” Jon jokes. Don’t they know he can’t be scared into submission by federal agents with ugly eyebrows?
Liu snorts. “I wasn’t planning to pay you anyway.”
“We don’t care about money,” Jim interrupts, hands flexing agitatedly at his sides. “We don’t care what Eyebrow Jerk wants either. We’re going to help you.”
“Who’s Eyebrow Jerk?” Scott wants to know.
“Her boss,” Uhura says, pointing at Robbins. “You’ll understand when you see him in person.”
But suddenly Scott’s hands go up in the air. “No way, lass. I’m not gonna be here once this place turns into FBI City!”
Robbins’s mouth twitches. “You’re already in the presence of the FBI, Mr. Montgomery Scott.”
Scott’s eyes bug out. “How do you know my name?” He looks fearfully at Spock, then Jim. “How does she know my name?”
“According to my resources, there was a terrorist incident last year… among other, recent incidents no one cared to inform me about.” Robbins’s blue eyes pin Kirk.
Scott slinks back behind Spock. Jim takes up a position behind Jon.
Apparently Robbins has done her homework since Archer’s little slip-up about the assault on her boy Kirk. He hopes she doesn’t mention him as one of those resources. He tries to change the subject, if only to save his own ass. “Thanks for giving us the warning about Dickface.” With a cough, Jon amends, “I meant Eyebrow Jerk.”
“I like Dickface better,” Nyota decides.
“I think to everyone’s benefit, those of us not on Liu’s payroll will be leaving in short order. If you need us,” Jon tells Liu, “call us. If you find a lead, same.”
“Will that work both ways, Sheriff?” she wants to know.
“Yes.” He maneuvers Kirk out from behind him and squeezes the young man’s shoulder. “Our first priority, folks, is bringing Chris home. Second priority: keep him out of the hands of those who will do him harm. It may seem redundant to keep repeating ourselves—”
Liu picks up her cue, finishing for him, “—but a man in a tight spot needs to know where his duty lies. If a choice becomes necessary, fall back on the priorities. You will make the right one.”
Jonathan really wouldn’t mind raising the next generation of law enforcement if Liu was helping him do it. He pats Kirk’s back with a feeling of pride.
The moment is lost when the man at the small table delicately clears his throat. Now that Jon is thinking about it, he wonders why Phil is here.
“Most of you know I think of Chris as a brother,” Phil begins solemnly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to include me in this briefing.” His expression turns puzzled. “My only complaint is that no one’s given me an assignment. I do get one, right?”
“The most important assignment,” purrs Liu, after which Phil suddenly looks like he might regret asking.
Jon and Jim question at the same time, “What’s the most important assignment?” Then they stare at one another quizzically.
Robbins smiles genuinely for the first time since the start of the meeting. “Phil is going to sabotage the department coordinations.”
“Oh god.” Phil covers his eyes. Then, peeking first at Robbins, next Kirk, he wants to know, “Will this be worse than that time with Jim’s birthday party?”
“Hardly that bad,” Robbins assures him with laughter in her voice.
For some reason, Jim refuses to look anywhere but at the floor.
“What happened at your birthday party?” Jon whispers to him.
“I turned fifteen,” Kirk murmurs, as if that is the best explanation he can give.
Phil’s eyes twinkle. “Nobody was arrested, at least.”
Liu stalls any further reminiscing of the good old days with a lifted hand and imperious tone. “It happened before my time, so I don’t want the details. Ever.”
Jon is disappointed. He wants all the details. This could be educational material.
“Dismissed,” Liu says, and is the first person to proceed everyone from the canteen.
Archer’s restored good humor fades while he, Kirk, and the others casually retrieve their belongings in preparation to leave the precinct for the final time. Unease takes it place, a feeling that they might not be the only ones privy to the changing circumstances. Of course, that could be the result of Moreau watching their group intently from across the bullpen; she stands just slightly behind her colleague, DeSalle, whose head is bent close to Officer Carlos in deep discussion. Phil approaches the officer in that moment and redirects her attention.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jon mutters for his companions’ ears only.
Wordlessly, his charges follow in his wake from the police station’s inner sanctum.
Scott needs time to complete his tracking device. To keep his top-secret workstation shrouded in mystery, according to Uhura, adults with Sheriff badges aren’t allowed to know its location. They split into two teams mainly because Jim is determined to ride shotgun in Archer’s truck. After a quick, quiet conversation between Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, Kirk ends up accompanying Jonathan alone.
Jon should have expected that an hour alone with Jim would drive him crazy.
“I can’t believe this,” he finds himself muttering about halfway to their destination. This is Liu’s fault. She did this to me on purpose.
Drumming an indiscernible rhythm against the truck’s dashboard that doesn’t sync with his humming at all, Jim pauses long enough to ask, “Believe what?”
Jonathan hunches over the steering wheel. “Nothing.”
Jim starts humming again, placing his other hand on the dashboard so he can drum with all ten fingers.
Archer grits his teeth.
“Question,” the ever-annoying Kirk decides. “Why aren’t we going faster?”
Just to be ornery, Jonathan takes his foot off the gas pedal and the truck, cruising at the minimum speed limit for interstate driving, slows to a crawl.
In the passenger seat, Jim stops drumming on the dashboard in lieu of plucking at his seatbelt like a guitar string.
“Stop that,” Archer warns him.
“Yes, Mom,” Kirk retorts, tucking his hands under his legs.
Damn the Scott kid. Jon’s never going to live that comment down. And why had Jon ever been pleased to think of himself as a parent to anybody? Parenthood is the pits.
That’s it, he thinks sourly. That is exactly why Liu has finally blessed the participation of Jim and his friends in Pike’s recovery. The vague little remark she gave about responsibility means all of them have become Jon’s responsibility and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“This mom is going to leave your ass at the next gas station if you don’t be quiet.”
“You can’t do that,” Jim tells him in a very reasonable tone of voice. “That’s child abandonment.”
Jon slams his foot down on the accelerator, and the truck chokes in confusion for a second before leaping forward to do his bidding. To hell with driving like a grandmother. The faster he gets them to his station, the quicker he can lock Kirk up in a jail cell!
Archer makes the mistake of glancing sideways.
Staring at Jon with an amused little smile is Jim’s way of declaring that he knows what a pain in the ass he’s being.
Except he says, “I know you wouldn’t leave me behind.”
Oh, this truly is hell—because Kirk is right. Jonathan is responsible for him, and Jim is finally willing to acknowledge the fact, accept it even.
“Kiddo, we need your dad back precisely so I can dump you where you belong.”
Jim’s unruffled “Okay” isn’t comforting at all.
“Then I’m going on a long vacation,” Jon grouses.
“Vacation?” Kirk’s entire countenance brightens. “Have you ever been to the Yosemite national park? I want to climb a mountain.” As Jon knocks his forehead against the steering wheel in despair, Jim advises sagely, “You should watch the road.” Then he twists around in his seat, looking through the back windshield of the truck. “Hey, another question.”
“What now?” Jon asks plaintively.
“Can sheriffs get speeding tickets?”
He snaps upright. “What?”
Jim’s voice has that tinge of amusement again. “Because you just went seventy through a fifty, and now you’ve got a cop on your tail.”
“Oh fucking hell!”
Kirk starts cackling.
Revenge. Revenge, revenge, revenge. Jon’s definitely going to have his revenge on his innocent-faced passenger. It finally occurs to him how he can do it, too.
“So, Kirk,” he begins noncommittally enough, “want to know a secret?”
Jim takes the bait. “What secret?”
“Your Spock and McCoy are a match made in heaven.”
Kirk’s expression goes through several phases: shock, relief, a hint of unease, and, lastly, suspicion. “What do you mean?”
Hearing the demand, Jon suppresses a smile. Apparently there couldn’t have been a better enticement to get the conversational ball rolling. “I’m just saying if you can get them to work together, that’s a winning combination for sure. Why, what did it sound like I said?”
Jim stares at him for a long minute. Then, “Do you think it’s possible?”
Kiddo, it’s already probable. “Don’t know,” he says, only to add more slyly, “Do you think it’s possible?”
Jim’s gaze returns to the road ahead but not before Jonathan catches a glimpse of fierce desire in his eyes. Kirk answers rather neutrally, “It might happen if it was up to Spock alone, but Bones is more complicated.”
Ah, sweet revenge. “He’s jealous.”
“I know.”
“He’s so jealous that—wait, what? You know?”
Sighing, Kirk folds his arms across his chest. “What’re you playing at, Archer? Are you trying to make me uncomfortable? Angry?” He glances in Jon’s direction. “Or do you really want to have a heart-to-heart discussion about my love life?”
Jon mutters, “You sound too much like your dad.” And too smart to be outwitted like his father too. Damn it. He confesses, “Fine. I thought you might squirm. But since we’re on the subject, I should mention I already had a not-so-comfortable conversation about this with McCoy. He doesn’t mean to be jealous. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.”
Kirk’s “To what?” is incredibly tense.
Jon suddenly feels like it was a bad idea to start this conversation. “Ask your boyfriend that question.”
Jim turns in his seat to face Archer. “Is it something I can fix?”
“Fix?” he repeats, mystified. “Are you assuming it’s your fault?”
“I thought it might be,” Kirk murmurs.
Jon swerves off to the side of the road and, after releasing a giant lungful of air, changes the gear so they’re idling in Park.
Kirk shrinks back to his side of the truck. “Why did you do that?”
“Did you just tell me it’s your fault? All right,” he says, turning to stare Pike’s kid in the eyes, “hit me with it.”
“H-Hit you?”
“With the truth, Jim. As you see it.” He crosses his arms over his chest and, at the ensuing silence, adds, “I’m listening.”
Jim opens and closes his mouth—and finally blurts out, “Bones doesn’t think I’m serious. About us, I mean. I used to… date a lot. Not seriously. I told you about Marlena, remember? He knows how many there were.” Jim grimaces. “I haven’t told him he’s the one—that there won’t be others—so he can’t know, right? He thinks it’s possible I could want someone else.”
Part way through the rushed explanation, Jonathan has to close his eyes.
“I screwed up,” Jim concludes, distressed.
“You,” Jon says, opening his eyes, “are definitely an idiot, Kirk, but not a screw-up.”
Jim’s fingers pick at his seatbelt. “What does that mean?”
“It means tell McCoy you love him. And be prepared to let him get all mopey about it.”
Jim’s throat works. “He won’t believe me?”
“Why you’re an idiot, Exhibit A. McCoy already knows. This is what I was talking about when I said ‘knee-jerk reaction’, Jim. Leonard’s very much aware that he has no reason to feel jealous over the friendship you have with Spock.”
Kirk lets go of the seatbelt. “Spock?”
Uh-huh. There’s such a thing as saying too much. Jonathan should have remembered that. “Don’t worry, they’ve already figured it out.” He chuckles awkwardly, only to realize Jim has no intention of laughing with him. Me and my big mouth. “Okay, look. Spock and McCoy had their own ‘heart-to-heart’. I’m not telling you this to upset you.”
Jim says in a voice too faint to be convincing, “Why would I be upset?”
“First things first. Be aware they decided to work out their differences. Don’t interfere.”
“Don’t interfere,” Jim repeats obediently.
“If you do,” Archer warns him, “you could stand in the way of their progress.”
“Okay.” Kirk mimes zipping his mouth shut. Just when Jon thinks he has gotten off easy, Kirk leans across the cab, wanting to know, “What else did they say?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“How are they going to work out their differences?”
“Kirk…”
“But I want to know!”
Jon pulls the truck back on the highway. “Stop pestering me, please.”
“Why’s Bones jealous of Spock?”
Because Spock might be rival material. But Jon is determined to fan no more flames. “Think of it this way. Your boyfriend is too smart to be dumb for very long. Plus, if he ends up making you unhappy, Pike will kick his ass clear across the nation.”
Kirk’s face has a happy flush to it. “Dad really did get mad that one time a date stood me up in high school. I didn’t tell him the part where I saw her with another guy.”
Jon whispers conspiratorially, “You can tell me instead. See how good I am at solving relationship problems?”
Jim whispers back, “Somehow I really doubt that.”
He grins. “You’re right. I’d be worse than your father. I know where to incinerate the bodies.”
Jim is suddenly looking at him very strangely.
Feeling far more cheerful now, Jon taps a little rhythm on the steering wheel. “Your days of relationship problems are pretty much over anyway. McCoy cares about you too much to dump you, and you’re like one of those vicious little terriers who sinks his teeth into flesh and can’t be pried off. Enjoy your good luck, kiddo.”
Jim’s strange look only intensifies, as though he can’t figure out if Jon just praised or insulted him.
Archer isn’t going to enlighten Kirk to the truth either, instead switching the subject deftly. “Speaking of smart people, I can tell you what your main problem is.”
“That I’m stuck in this truck with you?”
“I said smart, not smartass.” Before Kirk can antagonize him further, he elaborates, “You’re not focused. You use your wily genius to get into trouble.”
“More like to get out of it,” mutters Kirk.
Jon ignores that. “I can relate. I used to be just like you. So here’s advice, same as it was given to me: if you really convinced you’re smarter than everyone else, use that genius to find ways to help those who can’t help themselves. Then you can brag about it.”
“Who told you that?”
“Your father.” Jonathan recalls the memory fondly. “At the Academy we were supposed to be competing against each other. Instead he said he believed in me. How that shocked me, you have no idea, because even the instructors treated me like wasted effort.”
Jim’s voice softens. “He tells me that too.”
“He means it, Jim.”
“Is that when you started to like him?”
“It was difficult not to.”
“Why didn’t you, you know, tell him sooner?”
There are a few ways Jonathan could answer that question. He decides to acknowledge a truth. “Pike may have thought I had worth, but I needed to prove it to myself first. That kind of thing takes time. And besides, when you’re afraid of disappointing someone you really care about, you can be dumb enough to make the wrong decision. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” his companion agrees, and says no more.
Jonathan flips on the radio, bypasses a few music stations before backtracking in surprise. He listens to the jovial tune for a minute, only to complain, “It’s damned early to be breaking out the Christmas music.”
Jim reaches over and cranks up the volume. Jon narrows his eye and changes the radio to another station. Jim changes it back.
They nearly have a slap-fight, and when Jon veers dangerously towards a ditch, Jim points out, “You have to watch the road,” and so Jonathan loses.
Not as annoyed as he should be at Kirk’s lopsided victorious grin, Jon drapes his arm along the seat. “You know,” he muses, “I’m beginning to see why your father is so desperate for a partner.”
“You can handle it,” comes the rather casual reply. Jim drops his hand from the tuning dial to pull out a cell phone, oblivious to Archer’s stare. “Bones texted. They made it to the Lair.”
Jon grasps the only thing which makes any sense to him. “Is it an actual lair?”
“More like a warehouse turned apartment. It’s awesome.”
“Uh-huh.” Jon is going to have to find this place. Maybe, in the way they plan to track his deputy, he can track Scott to this Lair some day. Wouldn’t that be a fun adventure? That thought leads him to another one. “Is it secure?”
Kirk cuts his gaze to Archer. “Scotty and I booby-trapped it.”
That’s all Jonathan needs to know. He recalls too clearly the kind of surprises left by Kirk as a means of preventing him from snooping through Kirk’s bedroom.
“Then we’ll take care of our business, and they can handle theirs.”
Tucking his cell phone away, Jim picks up his cue like any properly annoying progeny. “Are we there yet?”
Jonathan grins and stomps hard on the gas pedal. “Close your eyes, count to three, and maybe we will be.”
Somehow, it doesn’t shock him that Kirk does exactly that.
Afterwards, they laugh about it together.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Jonathan looks around his Sheriff’s Department with striking clarity and realizes how forlorn it has become. He has made a mistake by allowing himself to stay preoccupied, to expect his team to carry the burden of their jobs without him. However, that guilt doesn’t prevent Archer from striding through the building like a man on a mission. He barks the name of the deputy he has always trusted as a friend as much as a work colleague.
In the bullpen, Matthews, who has a habit of leaning too far back in his chair when bored, almost tips over onto the floor at his boss’s unexpected appearance. No doubt the reason for Matthew’s continued shock even after righting himself is the person close on Jon’s heels.
Larry has stepped from hallway which leads to the restrooms when Jon finds him and snags him by the collar. Then he proceeds to haul his protesting quarry to his office. Jon finds Jim’s startled expression extremely hilarious as he closes the office door in the kid’s face. Matthews, having caught up to their little party, is equally unused to being closed out.
“What the hell, Jon?” Larry sputters as Jon pushes him towards a chair.
Obtusely, Jim begins to pound on the door. Jon unlocks it, opens it long enough to order, “Give me ten minutes, kiddo,” and closes it again.
“Sir,” Matthews calls through the door, “why’s Kirk here?”
Jonathan draws the blinds for privacy. Larry has subsided enough to simply watch him take a seat behind the desk.
Jon thinks about taking a minute to breathe but deep breaths won’t alleviate the stress of what must come next. He forces his fingers through his hair instead and says bluntly, “Jenkins has been compromised.”
Larry stares at him, uncomprehending.
“Compromised,” Jon repeats, then more painfully, “Corrupted.”
His friend pales. “That’s not possible. Jon, no.”
Jon braces his forearms on the desk. “It’s true.”
“Shit.” Larry seems to remember he needs to breathe and drags in a lungful of air. “Shit. How did you figure it out?”
Jonathan’s hands tremble a little when he locks his fingers together. “He was seen in the company of Nero’s right-hand man—the one we arrested last year.”
“Who got away,” Larry supplies. “Jesus, Jon. I just can’t… You say it’s true, so it must be, but Jenkins is so… Damn it, I went to his kid’s graduation!”
The man looks suspiciously close to tears, and Archer could cry himself. Fighting not to show that weakness, he settles for looking at his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
“Why?” Larry demands suddenly. “What in hell is worth betraying everyone he knows?”
“I can’t answer that, Larry.”
“Then we’ll fucking ask him!”
“No,” Jon commands, finally able to regain control of himself when he has a reason to think past the pain. “I need him.”
Larry’s shock is palpable. “You don’t mean that.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
The deputy leans forward in his chair, gripping its arms, expression hardening. “With all due respect, sir, our duty is to arrest him. Even if he’s is just eyes and ears for Nero, that means we never had a chance of bringing the bastard to justice. I thought it seemed crazy that we didn’t have a single lead on Kirk’s attackers but now I know why. This whole time Jenkins was working with us to work against us. And you want to turn a blind eye to that?”
“No, I don’t.” Jon sighs. “Larry, make no mistake, I feel as hurt and angry as you do. But at the end of the day, I need to catch the bigger fish. I need to get Nero, and so I need Jenkins. He’s our closest link—our only link—and we have to use him as such.”
Larry sits back, clearly unhappy but without further protest.
Archer opens the bottom drawer of his desk. “Kirk’s case goes on hold starting today. We’re not giving up. We’re switching priorities. Shit’s going to hit the fan about Detective Pike soon, for reasons I can’t divulge right now. We have to find Pike before then.”
“How does Nero get us to Pike?”
Jon thumbs open the folder he had retrieved, staring down at the initial report filed last year about the Christmas debacle, yet another open case because he was never able to take the suspects into custody. “Our bad guy always winds up in the middle somehow. Even if I’m grasping at straws here, I want to be able to say with certainty it was or was not Nero who kidnapped Pike. Once Chris is safe…” He stops, starts again. “Once Kirk’s father is safe, we’ll deal with our little problem.”
Larry stays quiet for a moment before asking, “Who else knows?”
“You, me, and Kirk.”
That information, at least, seems to have the effect of changing the mood. Larry grunts, “Kirk. Why am I not surprised?”
“Because it’s Kirk,” Jon responds dryly. “He’s two steps ahead, always.”
“Fucking pain in our asses.”
“Take pity on me. That pain in the ass is my partner.”
“God, I hope you meant that in a crime-solving kind of way.”
Jonathan’s not certain what kind of face he makes but it’s funny enough to make his deputy laugh once.
“I was joking, Jon,” Larry chuckles. “We know you have the hots for his dad.”
Jon stares. “Who knows?”
“Anybody with two eyes and a brain.”
Why do people keep catching him off-guard? “I, uh… might have said something to you. Someday.”
“Look, boss, as much as I try not to imagine what two guys might do together, frankly I don’t have the energy to care. I hate love.”
“Love isn’t bad,” Jon argues, and boy he never thought he would say that in his lifetime.
Larry’s answer is rather flat. “Not my experience of it.”
Recalling his friend’s turbulent divorce, Jon winces. “Sorry I said anything. How about I tell you what Kirk is up to instead?”
“Better.”
“So two of his elf-buddies, Sulu and Chekov, the ones who pestered you all recently, are tailing our mole. The rest will show up here eventually.”
“Don’t they always?” comments his deputy sourly.
“Yes, they do. In the meantime, our job is to plant a bug on Jenkins. You know his schedule better than I do. When’s he due in?”
“Evening shift.”
Jon mulls over that. “Call him in now. I’ll think up a good reason. He keeps a spare uniform in his locker?”
“We all do.”
“Then don’t be surprised if I spill coffee down his pants,” Jon warns his friend grimly. “Once he’s marked, I want to give him plenty of opportunity to make contact with someone from the other side. He needs to be on streets, alone and anxious.”
Larry shakes his head, though. “We never send the boys out without partners.”
“I’ll find a way to take care of that too,” Jon murmurs. He stands up, feeling an itch between his shoulder blades not unlike an alarm bell. How long has it been since he took his eyes off Kirk?
Larry grabs Jon’s wrist by the door. Instead of offering a precaution or wishing him good luck, to Jon’s surprise the man says, “It isn’t your fault.”
“My fault?” Jon fakes a smile. “Of course not.” I hired the guy. Why would he betray us, if not because I’m lacking as a superior?
But those are words he cannot say to anyone, and so he buries them deep in his heart.
Larry lets him go without another word.
Kirk isn’t standing by the office door. In fact, as Jonathan begins to search the station hurriedly, he wonders just why he thought he could let Jim wander out of his sight for any length of time. So, Jon feels, he isn’t to be blamed when he bursts into the cell block in a panic, startling two cellmates arrested for disorderly drunkenness who have sobered enough to play cards as well as the deputy on guard duty.
“Sheriff!” cries the deputy, reaching for the weapon holstered at his side. “Are we finally being attacked?”
“No, no, everything’s fine,” Jon assures him while checking that the cells minus the drunk-tank are empty, only to pause at the last cell and turn upon the man. “Finally?“
The deputy flushes and mumbles a response.
Jonathan narrows his eyes. “Speak up, son.”
“Uh, I said I just thought with all the people who don’t like you, I mean, who don’t like what a great sheriff you are…”
Archer sighs and raises a hand. “Forget I asked.” He strides for the holding door. “As you were, Deputy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Upon his exit, Jon hears one of the jailbirds say to his companion, “Deputy’s right, though. Sheriff in this town has got enemies.“
He tries not to let that thought height his paranoia.
Kirk, Kirk, Kirk. Where’s Kirk? Already foolishly running headlong into the arms of those enemies?
It turns out that Kirk is in the break room of all places, watching Gunsmoke on their small television set with Matthews at his side. Jon needs a second just to accept that he isn’t hallucinating.
“Hey,” Jim says, feeding himself a potato chip from an opened Lays bag.
“Hey,” Matthews echoes.
The pair goes back to watching Marshal Matt Dillon shoot somebody.
“Everything okay in here?” Archer asks because, really, the last time Matthews and Kirk were in the same vicinity, one had a swelling eye and the other, a bleeding lip and a bald patch.
“Yup,” the men answer together.
Jon backs through the swinging door. He’s nearly reached the bullpen when Larry pops up behind him like a ghost.
“You still scream like a girl,” Larry remarks, his measured tone not quite teasing enough to be called insubordinate.
“Something you need from me, Deputy?”
The man sobers. “While you were having a heart attack searching for your kid, you got a visitor.”
Jon thinks about pointing out that Jim isn’t his kid but decides not to. “Who?” he asks.
The other man turns his gaze to the closed door of the office with SHERIFF emblazoned on it. “The mayor.”
Damn but those words ought to be accompanied by funeral music. Jon laughs off his own dismay by saying, “Well, I guess I shan’t keep him waiting.”
“Not more than you already have.” And with that sobering remark, Larry returns to the booking desk.
With no alternative—after all, his deputy is quite correct, Jon has kept the mayor at bay for far too long—Archer enters his office.
The small, nut-brown man whom Jon always thought resembled a balding squirrel sits inside flexing his hands against his chair’s armrests like they might be a substitute for someone’s neck. Jonathan supposes that neck Wesley wants to squeeze would be his.
“Mayor,” he greets the man, “how have you been?”
Robert Wesley, chief-elected official of their college town for three consecutive terms, snaps his head around to glare at Jonathan. “I would rather know where you’ve been.”
“I’m doing well, thanks for asking.” Jon takes a seat behind his desk. “How are the wife and kids?”
“Cut the bullshit, Archer,” Wesley snaps. “I’ve got you this time! Blatant disregard for authority, unexplained absences, and now—”
Jon leans back in his chair and laces his fingers over his mid-section.
“—dereliction of duty!”
“Well I can’t deny the first two, Bob, but how do you suppose the last one’s true?”
Wesley leaps out of his chair in such a frenzy, Jon is surprised the man doesn’t vault over the desk to attack. He lifts a hand in placation. “Whoa, calm down now.”
Wesley’s countenance is nearly apoplectic. One fist comes down on Archer’s desk, rattling an empty mug that serves as a penholder. “The town council meeting!” the mayor shouts. “You had to be there for the vote!”
Jon honestly doesn’t remember why, but he figures if he says that, the mayor will literally kill him or have a stroke. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, playing at contriteness. “An unexpected investigation has come up, and I—”
Wesley stabs a finger at his face. “That policeman is not your responsibility, Sheriff! This town is!”
The room tilts slightly. Jon draws in a breath to fortify himself. “How did you find out?” he asks quietly.
“I’ve got people in places you can’t imagine,” the man snarls. “You think you can shuck off your own duties to seek glory elsewhere? Not on my watch, Jonathan. I’ll have you stripped of the badge and give it to a man fit to wear it!”
“Like who?” he counters in a steely tone. “That slob who ran against me last election? He would have gotten on his knees and licked your boots if you had demanded it, but that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He snorts, but the sound holds no amusement. Unable to sit any longer, Jon pushes away from his chair to stand by the window and flicks down the blinds briefly to watch at a SUV pulling into their parking lot. He continues on at last, partly in regret, partly in disgust, “We used to make a decent team, Bob, but you lost your liver somewhere along the way. Tell me, who’d you give it to?”
Wesley pales and reddens in rapid succession. “That’s libel. Say that to anyone, and I’ll sue you.”
Jon’s gaze is more scrutinizing when he turns it upon the man. “Is it true, then?”
Wesley draws back his shoulders. “I didn’t come here to listen to your conspiracy theories, Archer. I didn’t even come here to listen to more of your pathetic excuses. I highly recommend you attend the next council meeting. Your job depends on it. In memory of that partnership you mentioned, I’ve warned you.” The mayor looks him over with disdain. “My last courtesy to you.”
Jon smiles sardonically. “You always were sparse with those.”
The man says nothing else, just turns to stomp out of the office. Jonathan catches up to him by the door.
“You should tell me if there’s someone else at play here,” he says. “Or have you forgotten what happened to the man who came before you?”
“That man was a fool.”
“Enough of a fool to wind up dead?”
“That’s your real problem right there, Sheriff. You never could comprehend who controls this town.”
Jon retorts, “The people who live here do—or they should.”
Wesley laughs, an ugly sound. “In a fantasy world, maybe, but in real life? Most of us are powerless until we give over to the few who aren’t.”
“I don’t give over to anyone.”
“Again,” says the mayor, pulling his arm from Archer’s grasp, “your problem, not mine.” Then the man is gone, leaving Jon unsettled to his core.
Pike rapped on the door to his son’s bedroom before pushing it fully open. The occupant inside barely glanced up from the book in his lap.
“Hey,” Chris said awkwardly and leaned there in the doorway. When the teenager gave no reply, he sighed through his nose. “Jim.”
Jim slid down in his bed and brought his book up to hide his entire face.
Chris crossed his arms over his chest and this time put some bite into his voice. “James.”
The book tilted outwards slightly.
Chris pointed out, “Must be difficult to read that when it’s upside down.”
Jim flipped his book right-side up.
Coming forward and taking seat on the edge of the bed, Chris said softly, “I want us to talk about what you said at dinner.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m not budging until we do.”
Finally the book came down as Jim complained, “You’re so annoying.”
“Parents are allowed to be annoying.” He gave his son a look of parental steel he had perfected in only a few years of being an adoptive father. “Children not so much.”
“Not a child,” muttered the boy.
“Then talk to me, Jim,” Pike urged. “What makes you think Una and I broke up because of you?”
Faced with that frank question, Kirk dropped his gaze and scrubbed the back of his hand against his nose much like the child he claimed not to be. “Because,” he told Chris vaguely, “that’s how it is.”
Chris prayed for patience. “Specifics, son.” He hesitated, asking more out of caution than genuine belief, “Did Una say something to you?”
Jim’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “Why should she have? She was practically on the plane when she called to say goodbye.”
Chris deflated at the bitterness in his son’s voice. “Jim…” How could he explain this to someone who had only ever been left behind by those who cared about him?
The truth was, Chris couldn’t offer a full explanation. If he told Jim why he let his girlfriend move to D.C. without them, Jim would never forgive him.
He said, “What happened between us isn’t your fault. She and I came to a mutual decision.”
Jim sat up, then, and accused his father, “Liar.”
But Pike shook his head. “It’s not a lie.”
Fire was in Kirk’s eyes now. “I heard, Dad. Everyone was talking about it at the precinct. She dumped you. Well,” snarled the kid, “good fucking riddance!”
“James, language!” And then, because Chris had no other choice, “Don’t ever speak about Una that way again. That’s an order.” He stood up. “If you’d rather believe gossip over me, that’s your choice.” He headed from the room, only stopping once he heard a whispered apology.
His heart hurt because it was his son he was fighting with, the one person he cared about more than any other, even the woman who had walked away from him because she understood, like he did, that no matter what Jim’s happiness had to come first.
And though Jim wasn’t happy right now, Chris had the wisdom of an adult to know this too would pass.
He sighed, turned back—and told his son a secret. “Una cried the most over leaving you. That’s why she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye in person.” He scrutinized the boy’s change in expression. “Try to forgive her, Jim. She’s still your friend.”
Jim asked in an uncertain voice, “Is she yours too?”
“Of course,” he answered truthfully. “How could I forget my Number One?”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Dad.”
The soft remark brought tears to Pike’s eyes. He held them back. “It’s all right, son.” In some ways, Chris was deeply sorry too. Following Robbins could have very well led to marriage, and maybe as husband and wife they would have done well together. He would never know, so there would always be a small regret because of that.
But there was no regret for his final decision or for the life he had now, and more importantly no regret for the person he had decided to love and raise as his own. One day he would tell Jim everything. For now, it seemed enough to say, “I still have you.”
Some of the lingering sadness faded from his child’s eyes.
“Don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night,” he reminded Jim, and closed the door on his way out.
Jim would be all right. They both would. Chris would make it so.
As the memory fades, Christopher Pike comes to awareness with a keen sense of heartache. Heartache becomes confusion. Why is he remembering that day from years ago when it bears no relevance upon the present?
The dire present, he recalls with sharper clarity, and comes fully awake.
He can barely see. The darkness, Chris realizes, is in part due to one of his eyes being swollen shut. The main reason, however, is some kind of covering over his head which blocks out the light.
He takes time simply to breathe, then begins to assess his situation. Arms and legs immobilized, bound by what feels like zip ties; the way he’s curled inwards means there isn’t much space to maneuver. A muffled roaring in his ears sounds like a car engine, and the nauseating stench of gasoline confirms his suspicion. The car is obviously moving. The lack of voices cinches the final conclusion.
He’s inside a trunk.
His shins knock into something hard when he tries to determine just how much free space he has. Without the use of his hands, it isn’t possible to remove the sack over his head or jimmy open the trunk lid. Maybe if he could maneuver his legs in front of him, and kick out, kick up…
Even if the car’s moving, an open trunk and a tied-up man will catch someone’s attention.
Fate isn’t on his side, it seems. Just as he prepares to do his best, the car jerks, knocks him backwards, then jerks again and comes to a dead stop. The pain inspired by these unforgiving motions nearly undoes him. Swallowing bile, he tries to think of anything but pain.
Kor’s men had done a number on him. Marcus too, the bastard. At some point during the assault he can only surmise that he passed out. He hurts from the beating, to be certain, but he hurts more from the betrayal and knowledge that Alex wants him dead.
Don’t think about it, he tells himself. Think only of survival.
They’re taking him to Nero, or so Kor insinuated. That means the next few hours will determine whether he lives or dies.
Chris hates the fact that when he finally meets his nemesis face-to-face he won’t be able to stand on his own without help, he’ll be that weak. On the other hand, looking as defeated as Pike does right now could certainly lead to Nero underestimating him. If Kor is a man who believes in honor, whatever the shade that honor takes, then Kor’s men haven’t disabled him to the point of utter uselessness. Kor might still create the opportunity for them to overpower Nero and destroy him and Marcus.
Can he do it? If the choice is as simple as kill or be killed, can Pike kill the man he once called a friend?
The echo of Marcus’s taunt comes back to him, then: I plan to take care of his future. Marcus, with Jim’s future in his corrupt hands. And if Kirk isn’t swayed to Marcus’s side…
I’ll dispose of him too.
No choice. That’s what Pike’s subconscious wanted to tell him through that memory of the past. If Chris can give up love for his son, he can surely give up his humanity. He can kill Alexander Marcus.
Something in Pike finally settles at that thought, slots back into place. The cold reasoning of his brain has synchronized with the rhythm of his heart.
“For Jim,” he whispers to the darkness.
The sound of the car’s engine suddenly dies out. The interior shakes with the slamming of a door. Louder and louder grow the sounds of boots on gravel. Someone’s coming for him.
Chris feels inexplicably calm as the trunk lid releases with a pop, and his vision lightens.
Then the covering over his head is torn away, and Chris is forced to meet the onslaught of daylight. His captor comes into focus in short order.
Saying nothing, Marcus returns Chris’s cold stare.
A second person joins Marcus in peering into the trunk, and Pike can’t so easily control his expression, for this person he hasn’t seen in nearly one year. The face is still recognizable, though thinner, because of the distinctive twisting blue lines marking him as belonging to Nero.
“It’s him,” the mercenary Ayel confirms.
“Of course,” Marcus responds. “As promised.”
Ayel drags the trunk lid all the way up.
“We did well,” Chris hears from farther away. The accented arrogance belongs to Kor, who comes into view.
“Now,” Kor demands, “I want to speak with Nero.” When Ayel is unmoved, Kor emphasizes, “The detective is mine until then.” His wide smile is far from pleasant. “Do you comprehend me, cur—or must I speak plainer so that your feeble mind might understand?”
“If I am a cur,” Ayel counters, “then you are a thrice-diseased rat.”
Kor’s laugh is jarring; he doesn’t rise to the bait of the slur. Instead he merely issues an order to someone out of sight to remove their captive from the trunk.
Chris knows better than to say anything as he is manhandled by Kor’s thugs. The men cut the bindings around his ankles so he can stand, but when his feet touch the ground, his knees buckle. They none-too-gently lever him upright and bear his weight.
Damn, but he thinks he must have at least one broken rib. There’s no other reason for it to be so painful take a single breath. Lying on his side, he hadn’t had this much trouble.
“A meeting with Nero,” Kor is saying again to Ayel, “in exchange for Pike. That was our deal.”
Ayel seems to relent once his gaze fixes itself upon Chris. “Very well. This way.”
As Chris is toted forward, he hangs his head partly to augment the impression he can hardly function and also because if he lifts his head, he will snap angrily at Marcus who has replaced one of the men dragging him along.
As if sensing Chris’s suppressed anger, Marcus murmurs directly into his ear, “Careful, old son, careful. It isn’t time to die yet.”
For one of us it is, Chris thinks ruthlessly. Your debt’s come due, Alex.
And as his son had once said—good riddance.
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 (8/12) – from October 15, 2016
