Fic: Rule 52, Chapter 2
Author’s Notes: Okay, for those of you unfamiliar with my cop!verse for Star Trek: 2009, here it is in a nutshell: Kirk and McCoy are partners, originally teamed up so McCoy could train Kirk. Though Jim’s been off the training wheels for nearly a year now, their relationship is reminiscent of Franks and Gibbs, or of DiNozzo and McGee - Kirk will always be the rookie, no matter how long he’s been a cop. Pike is their lieutenant, and McCoy’s original partner (and FTO). He and Len are fairly tight, especially after some of the events in their backstories (like Pike vs. an automobile, and McCoy's issues with alcohol). Lynn is Pike’s wife, and together, they have a teenage son, Ethan. Spock is the head of IA, and while McCoy and Kirk are civil with him, the three are far from friends. Greg Serdeski is the city’s desk sergeant, who thinks it’s a sport to irritate McCoy. Finally, Scotty is Iowa City chief mechanic. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own them, though I totally wish I did. As I make no money off what I write, please don't sue.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8A | 8B | 9 |
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Chapter 2
Iowa City, Iowa
Teenagers.
Seriously.
Chris Pike dunked a tortilla chip headlong into the seven layer dip and stuck the savory snack in his mouth. Crunching loudly, he allowed the flavors to meld on his taste buds before he rested his chin on his fist. Feeling far from the police department lieutenant, Pike attempted to sit up straighter when three sets of eyes darted in his general direction. In a flat, frustrated tone, he asked, “Does anyone have any bright ideas how to deal with a stubborn teenager?”
“Boot camp,” McCoy supplied succinctly while he peeked at the two playing cards lying face down on the table in front of him.
Pike shot his sergeant a disapproving look while he took a finishing swig of his beer. “I’m talking about my teenager, Len. Not one you arrest and book.”
“Aren’t they one and the same?” McCoy quipped as grabbed a handful of honey roasted peanuts from the dish strategically placed to his right. He popped the lot into his mouth, chewed and added through a half-full mouth, “Nothing a night in jail can’t fix.”
“Is that how you deal with the kids these days? ‘Arrest first, questions later?’ Come on, Len. I know I taught you better than that,” Pike replied, though his tone belied his mock-seriousness.
From across the table, Jim Kirk chimed in his two cents. “It’s a known fact on the street that Bones doesn’t ‘deal’ with them. He just scares them into compliance. One eyebrow raise from this guy,” Kirk said, clapping his partner on the shoulder, “And the kids are running for cover. Hell, my partner’s more intimidating than the K-9s!”
“Did that really come from your mouth, Jim? Because I know even you’re not dumb enough to compare me to a drooling, slobbering animal,” McCoy fired back, twisting his body to the right so he was facing his partner. He pursed his lips when Kirk’s only reply was that of a shit-eating grin as he said, “Coming from someone who pants like a dog every time a pretty woman crosses his path, that’s rich.”
“That, McCoy, is what we call ‘deflection’,” Pike started, unable to keep the smirk completely from gracing his distinguished features while he slapped one broad palm down flat against the tabletop, “And we all know it’s a load of bullshit. Those dogs are better trained than you. They don’t talk back and they obey the orders they’re given without a million questions to the contrary or strings of endless bitching,”
“And they also bite on command, which is something I apparently need to teach them so they can deal with you all,” McCoy replied in a throaty, angry growl. “Besides, I thought we were talking about your son.”
“We are. Or rather, we were.” Chris shifted in his customary chair, the one situated against the railing that divided the kitchen from the living room. The weekly gathering for no purpose other than relaxation was the name, and poker was the always the game. Always held at Pike’s home, it was a tradition that originated around McCoy’s rookie days, back when Chris was still figuring out how to deal with an anti-social introvert of a partner. Some of the faces changed over the years due to retirements, family commitments, and unfortunately, deaths, but the two former partners remained constants, as did the good times and the good stories.
The table was a little lean for the night; missing from the party were Greg Serdeski and Spock. Both men begged off with other work-related conflicts, though Chris had his doubts about the city’s desk sergeant. Scuttlebutt had it on good authority that one of the department’s two perennial bachelors (the other being McCoy) finally lassoed himself a woman who could not only put up with his bullshit, but who wasn’t shy about giving it right back, and Chris was not about to stand in the way of the man’s happiness for the sake of poker night. The man deserved it. Still, it meant tons of ribbing when Greg showed up the next day at work, undoubtedly in a turtleneck to cover up all the hickeys. Pike had $50 riding on it, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning to lose.
The other absent pillar, Spock, was in ensconced in the midst of giant IA investigation into a rash of missing or improperly disposed of drug evidence from the city’s evidence locker. Chief Barnett assigned his best sleuth to the job and made it clear that the case had top priority. Ever since an internal audit caught some missing money and property, Barnett had his eyes on one particular group. Now, the only step left was for Spock to nail their sorry asses to the wall. The IA cop reported that they were nearing a breakthrough in the case, and that, “It was imperative that he focus on the task at hand, for one dirty cop was one too many.” Chris just nodded and agreed, hoping that he’d see Spock next week.
McCoy cleared his throat. He’d known Pike long enough to know the expression that would park itself all over the lieutenant’s face when he was daydreaming, and there really wasn’t a clearer example of the faraway, unfocused and glassy look in Pike’s eyes than what the group was seeing in the present. He snapped his fingers. “Chris? You with us?”
To McCoy’s right, Scotty whistled and waved his hand in front of Pike’s face. “Oy! You there, Pike? It’s your play.”
He’d almost forgotten the entire point of his guests for the evening. The feel of the cards didn’t even register in his hands, even though he’d clearly been picking away at the corner in an unconscious nervous tick. Chris shook his head, focused and lifted the edges to look at what was dealt to him. Impassively, he reached for a couple of chips. Tossing them into the pile, Pike scrubbed one hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah. Sorry, boys. I’m obviously a little distracted tonight.”
“What’s going on with Ethan? He going through his teenage rebellion finally?” McCoy asked while he folded his cards with a disgusted grunt.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘finally’? He’s barely fifteen,” Pike replied, raising one eyebrow at his former partner.
“And by that age, Jim here had lost count of the number of times he hacked his school’s database to change the count on his tardy and absent without a valid excuse,” McCoy said in response while he motioned over his shoulder toward the refrigerator where Kirk was standing.
“Hey!” Jim exclaimed, overdramatically offended. “I was going to offer you all refills, but if you’re just going to slander my skills, then I’ll get my own and be done with it.”
“You’ll get me a beer if you want to come back and sit at this table without being shot, Kirk,” Pike said evenly and without missing a beat while he shuffled the cards up. Thanks to Scotty’s fold that gave Chris the hand, the Lieutenant had need to resituate his newly acquired chips as he waited for Jim to sit back down.
Jim laughed out loud at his boss’ boss and reached back into the appliance. He grabbed three beers and a ginger ale for McCoy before he sauntered back to the table. Setting his loot down, Kirk plopped down in his ‘assigned’ chair to Scotty’s right. He patted the bottles and cans, dipped his voice a bit and employed a rather strange mix of refined southern accent before he said, “Refills. There. Now we can be friends again.”
McCoy rolled his eyes at his partner and proclaimed, “Good God, Jim. You know there’s a reason you’re not allowed to imitate that movie. You’re butchering it.”
“And you’re so much better?” Kirk asked, returning his voice to his normal speaking tone and natural accent.
“At least I’m from the South. I have a better chance of not sounding like a complete jackass.”
Jim wrinkled his nose. “Bones, you hate your accent.”
“I don’t hate my accent. I just hate that you have to make fun of it,” he replied, turning a slight shade of pink.
“Ah, it’s not that bad,” Scotty proclaimed, allowing his brogue to thicken considerably. “At least they don’t have to ask you to repeat yourself five times over because they can’t understand ye at all.”
Pike snorted. “You didn’t hear him when he first got here, Scotty. I could have used a translator for the first few months in a car with him.”
McCoy held up his hands. “What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of bullshit? Every damned time, it turns into open season on McCoy night. Focus on someone else for once!”
“Focus is a four letter word at this table,” Chris supplied. “You should know that by now.”
“Actually, isn’t it five?” Scotty asked, mentally counting the letters of the word in his head.
“That was figurative, Scotty,” Kirk said gently, giving the Scotsman a tap on the shoulder.
The mechanic smiled. “I know, lad. I was just trying to get a smile out of our dear lieutenant here, who looks like someone just killed his dog. What’s going on with that boy of yours, Chris? I’ve known the lot of you for a while now, and I think this is the first signs I’ve seen of trouble from your camp. I thought Ethan was a pretty good kid.”
Pike flexed the deck of cards in his hands before he cut it while he contemplated how to word his troubles. “He is, normally. It’s just that lately…I don’t know,” he said, trailing off. Chris shifted while his friends waited patiently for him to continue. “I don’t know what’s up with him. He took a run at another kid at hockey last week and got suspended for two games because it was a dirty play. Dirty and unprovoked.”
Kirk narrowed his eyes. “Wow. That’s odd. Ethan loves hockey, and he’s one of the cleanest players I’ve ever seen. Perfect hits, perfect timing and done by the letter of the law.”
“Unlike you, Jim,” McCoy couldn’t help but throw in.
Pike let out a halfhearted snort of agreement, though it wasn’t nearly as engaged as it would have been if he’d really been into the conversation. The normally cool but upbeat lieutenant was sitting slightly slouched in his chair, looking strangely troubled. “I got a call from his guidance counselor the other day, telling me that Ethan was in a fight with three other boys. He’s suspended, which is why he’s sulking in his room and not out here with us tonight.”
“Embarrassed the lad, didn’t you Chris?” Scotty asked, taking a healthy swig of his beer.
“I think he did that all on his own,” Pike answered honestly.
“Why the fight?” McCoy asked. “That’s not like him, either. Ethan’s like his mom on that one - he’d rather show them that he can outtalk them instead of beat them up.”
Pike ran a hand over his forehead. “I know. That’s what’s so frustrating, because he won’t tell us. Not at all. He wouldn’t even tell the principal, even under the threat and follow through of a longer out of school suspension. It’s got me.”
“Is this at all related to that scraper incident a few months back?” McCoy asked, gently broaching the contentious topic with his superior and friend.
Pike cringed at just the mention of the police chase heard ‘round the county. For a pursuit that lasted a couple of miles at speeds that barely registered on the patrol cars’ speedometers, it was probably the biggest thing to happen in Iowa City in the past ten years. Chris picked up his beer and grimaced when he realized it was empty. While he reached for the full but unopened bottle, he admitted, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Ethan’s been hanging around the Russian kid lately - Chenko? Cherpov? Something.”
“It’s ‘Chekov,’ Lieu. That’s the kid we arrested that night with Ethan, isn’t it?” Kirk asked, shooting a look toward his partner. When Pike nodded to the affirmative, Jim continued with, “Do you think he’s the problem?”
Pike waved a dismissive hand. “Not at all. That kid might be a devious little bastard, but he’s harmless. His idea of fun is not going to hurt someone else, and it sure as hell won’t make Ethan violent and aggressive.”
“And that means you have no clue what’s wrong,” Scotty concluded out loud.
“Exactly,” Chris admitted. “I just wish I could understand what’s going on with him. It’s not like him to be so confrontational,” Pike replied with an angry growl.
From his position to the left of his lieutenant, Kirk watched. The frustration on Chris’ face was so uncharacteristic of the confident mask Pike wore on a daily basis. The lieutenant sat, chewing away at his lip while his brain tried to figure out what was going on in his own home. Jim knew it had to be an odd sensation, and one that probably made the man a bit queasy. To relinquish control was the worst feeling in the world to a person who was used to exuding and having it in every aspect of his day to day life. In a rare moment of maturity, Jim said, “Lieu, it’s probably not what you think.”
Pike’s head snapped to his left and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. The trained observer partition of his brain started putting bits and pieces together when he said, “You’ve been awfully quiet in the past five minutes, Jim. That’s not like you, so by process of elimination, that means you know something. Spill. Now. That’s an order.”
Kirk shrugged. “Hey, you gave me that high school assignment for a reason, remember? You thought I could, ‘Connect with the kids on a better level than my older-than-dirt partner,’ ever could.”
McCoy slammed the can of ginger ale down on the table so hard that some of the liquid splashed up over the lip of the opening. With one hand free, McCoy wound up and directed a solid punch to his partner’s arm, quite probably harder than necessary.
“Hey!” Jim exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot of contact. “Dude, that one hurt.”
“It was supposed to,” McCoy growled. “It’s a reminder to respect your elders, not that you’d ever do that.”
“Don’t hate me for saying it like it is, Bones.” The smirk on his face he used to address his partner vanished when Kirk turned to address Pike. “Look, I talked to Ethan today when I was at the school. I saw him sitting in front of Jessop’s office, and I wanted to know what was wrong.”
“Did he tell you?”
Jim lifted his hand and, with his palm flat to the table, tiltedhis wrist left and right. “Eh, sort of. I filled in a lot of the blanks myself, but I think I know what’s going on.”
“Jim, shouldn’t this have been the first thing out of your mouth?” McCoy raised both hands in a gesture of disapproving incredulity.
“Bones, I gave the kid my word that I wouldn’t squawk the reason to the rest of the world. He thinks it’s stupid, and he’s embarrassed by it because he thinks he should be able to handle it on his own. He just needed someone to talk to that wasn’t his old man,” Kirk said with an apologetic look in Pike’s direction. “No offense.”
“None taken. I’m just glad someone got him to pull his head out of his ass, even if it’s not me. But as his father, do I at least get a hint?” Pike asked, popping off the top off the new beer Kirk retrieved with the Labatt Blue hockey stick bottle opener he kept on his keychain.
“Ethan’s just pissed about us doing our jobs. We’re cramping his style,” Kirk answered with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. With his face schooled to impassivity, Jim hoped he at least appeared aloof, even if he wasn’t entirely feeling it. Chris Pike was a genuinely nice guy, but to the very core he was still the boss, and he knew how to act like it. Jim knew that if his lieutenant wanted answers, he’d have them one way or another.
Pike’s eyes bored into the junior officer like the laser sight affixed to the bottom of his gun. The majority of the department was convinced that the man was a human lie detector, and it was a somewhat enjoyable skill Pike used to his every advantage to make his subordinates squirm. His chin dipped as he studied Kirk’s placid expression, looking for the physical signs of evasion. “Is that all?” Chris asked.
Jim sighed; he didn’t want to throw Ethan completely under the bus, so he settled with a cryptic, “It’s just high school stuff that has nothing to do with you or Lynn. It’s not that big of a deal. I promised him I’d help him take care of it, and I will.”
Pike nodded in acquiescence and straightened the cards in his hands, backing down from the role of hard-ass cop. In a much friendlier tone, he said, “See that you do, Kirk. My son’s in need of a little guidance, clearly.”
“From him? Are you nuts?” McCoy said with a point of his index finger toward Jim.
“Normally, I try to stay neutral during the lover’s quarrels that take place between my two mates here, but I have to agree with Len, Pike,” Scotty chimed in from his side of the table.
“Hey! Just because I got kicked out of Boy Scouts does not mean that I’m unfit to be a role model!” Kirk exclaimed, leaning back in his chair while looking as smug as possible. “Besides, my partner is a saint. It’s impossible to live up to that, so I just go for the opposite. It’s more fun that way.”
“Next to you, anyone’s a saint,” McCoy snorted back at his partner.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but would you two give Kirk a break already? You were young once, too you know,” Pike gently reminded Scotty and McCoy with a raised eyebrow and poignant stare. “And Jim, your partner is no saint. I can personally disprove that one. In his younger days, he gave the old chief more than a few headaches.”
McCoy wisely snapped his jaw closed when he felt his face redden with embarrassment. “Chris…” he said, tone low and cautionary. “Don’t encourage the peanut gallery.”
Jim waved a dismissive hand. “It’s okay, Lieu. I know the truth. Bones wasn’t born, therefore he was never young. This can’t apply to him. What was that line again?” Jim said, wracking his brain for the appropriate movie analogy, altering it to fit McCoy’s personality and history. “I think it was, ‘He was assembled at medical school out of the spare body parts of dead interns,’ or something like that.”
While McCoy sputtered unintelligently, Chris snorted out loud. He reached out a hand and knuckle bumped Jim. “Touché, Kirk. I’ll have to remember that one.” With a smirk, Pike let his eyes roam over the faces of his friends and asked lightly, “Now, is everyone finally ready?”
“Born that way, Lieu,” Kirk replied, dipping his hand into the bowl of pretzels next to the chips.
McCoy let out a long combination snort and scoff. “Like you were born to help me on that home invasion earlier this week?”
Jim’s face paled. “Oh, no. We are not going there!” Kirk insisted. He adopted a petulant expression to his already boyish face before he clamped his jaw closed. Jim clenched his fists under the table while his body tensed. A fine shudder ran through his frame before he shook his head. Kirk took a big gulp of beer, swallowed and insisted, “Ugh. Gross.”
“Don’t be such a pansy-ass, Nancy Boy,” McCoy corrected, pulling out his cell phone from his pocket. He unlocked the screen and scrolled to the pictures stored on the device before he pulled up one of the most recent shots. In the foreground, a black shirtsleeve gave way to set of golden sergeant stripes. Coiled around the forearm was a coral and white colored corn snake, happily looking toward the other living subject of the photograph. About a foot away from the snake, Jim Kirk’s face was twisted into a sadly comical expression of hideous disgust. Both of Kirk’s eyes were pinched shut, his hands were out defensively, and he was recoiling backwards as if he were trying to ward off some evil spirit instead of a harmless reptile. The photo was, in a word, priceless.
McCoy tossed his phone on the table for the small group to see, sitting back in his chair with a triumphant smirk.
Pike leaned in to look at the small device spinning in the middle of the table. Amid a few poker chips, Pike reached out one hand and plucked out the phone. He tapped the screen to brighten the photo, studiously examining it as if he were handling a piece of evidence. The beginnings of smile formed at the corner of his mouth, and his lips warbled with exertion as he attempted to keep a straight face. With a couple of poorly disguised laughing coughs, he lifted his eyes toward Kirk and wordlessly passed McCoy’s phone to Scotty.
Scotty grabbed the sergeant’s battered, abused smartphone from the lieutenant’s hand. He stared at the picture. And blinked. And stared some more. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for Kirk, the PD’s mechanic threw his head back and howled out a long, loud laugh. He motioned toward McCoy, holding up the phone and the incriminating picture. “This is bloody priceless! Are you kidding me? After all this time putting up with your partner’s nonsense, all it takes is a snake to shut him up?”
“Apparently.”
“Where the hell did you find a snake?” Pike asked after he finally allowed his smile to show full-force.
“We responded to a 9-1-1 call of a possible break-in on Sheridan and Grant. The homeowner said she was hearing strange thumping in the basement, which turned out to be the snake trying to get out of the dryer,” McCoy said, picking his phone back up and pocketing the device.
“How did you know it wasn’t going to bite you?” Scotty asked. “Those things can be poisonous, you know.”
“I’m from Georgia, Scotty,” McCoy replied with a sigh, allowing his accent to drip off his lips. “We have more snakes down there than you can shake a stick at. I learned early on what I can’t touch. This sure ain’t the first time I’ve seen a snake one up in an odd place that I’ve had to move.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good,” Scotty supplied. “I think.”
“And good you were there,” Pike added. “Gaila in accounting has been all over my ass lately because of all the shit your partner breaks, McCoy. How the hell you guys can go through three sets of light bars in six months is beyond my comprehension. If I had to tell her that we needed to replace a dryer while we pulled a half dozen bullets out of someone’s wall because Kirk shot a snake, she might done the honors and killed Jim herself.”
“I wouldn’t have shot it!” Kirk insisted glumly from his side of the table. “I would have only TASERed it.”
“That would mean you’d have to get close to it, jackass, right before you went hands-on. I would put a month’s salary that you’d puss out before you even touched the thing,” McCoy fired back, daring his partner into contradiction with a practiced steely glare.
Jim chewed on his lip while he watched the amusement work across his friends’ faces. Thoughts of torture and misdeeds in a past life flashed through his head as he wondered what he did to deserve such treatment. “Bones, you hate flying. Lieu, you hate heights. Scotty - you hate being hungry. Why is all the hate being targeted right here?” Jim asked, motioning toward his own chest with the index fingers of both hands.
“Because we’re more amused when we’re picking on you, Jim. You should know by now it’s a right of passage,” Pike replied, smacking Kirk on the arm. “You don’t open the door often, so we have to exploit it when we can.”
Kirk’s head bobbed up and down, accepting the light teasing as penance for being the most inexperienced man at the table. Jim would forever be the new guy, no matter how long he was on the force. With a sideways glance toward his comrades, Kirk asked, “Yeah, can we just keep this between the four of us? I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
McCoy scoffed loudly before he proclaimed, “Like hell I’m going to forget. That picture of you is going on my wall as the day I rendered Jim Kirk speechless.”
“Screw you all,” Kirk muttered under his breath.
Scotty and Pike snickered loudly while Chris resituated the deck of cards in his hand and began dealing. Focusing on his task kept him from bursting out in hysterical laughter. He tossed one card toward each man for a total of two before he tabled one and flipped three cards face up on the center of the table. “All right. No limit hold ‘em. Let’s go.”
Several hours and many laughs later, the group bid one another a good night. For two of the men at the table, it was a good thing the group never played for money. Predictably, Scotty lost his figurative shirt and Kirk went out a foolish bet against the squad’s lieutenant in a effort to bluff him out of his stack. Pike not only called it, but flipped the tables on Jim, effectively ending his night with one hand.
In the end, it wound up being Pike and Bones going heads up against one another. McCoy was the big stack, but Chris came out victorious on a big gamble. He hit a lucky river card, completing an aces-over-kings full house when he went all in. McCoy slapped down his two pairs triumphantly only to see his win evaporate into a cloud of smoke when his former partner calmly turned over his two cards. Much swearing and cheering abounded, and McCoy vowed revenge.
“Same time, same place next week?” Scotty asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said, gathering up the chips and the cards. He sorted them by color and stuck them back in their respective cases, ready for use when the group met again.
“Awesome,” Jim replied, shrugging on his jacket and shoes. “As the loser, I’ll bring the pizza.”
“It better be edible pizza, Jim. If you bring any of that flatbread shit, you and I are going to have words,” Pike replied, clapping Kirk on the shoulder and pointing a finger in the young cop’s face. When Jim nodded to the affirmative, Chris waved and said, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“You got it. Thanks Lieu,” Jim answered as he walked out the door.
Outside, Kirk found McCoy already waiting. Bones was leaned causally up against his truck while he watched the gentle snow fall against the pitch black of the night. His head turned when he saw Kirk’s shadow coming from the garage and an easy, carefree smile broke out across his face. With his eyes twinkling, he said in the same refined but still southern accent Kirk tried to employ earlier in the night, “Maybe poker just ain’t your game, Jim.”
Kirk shrugged his shoulders, looked down at his feet and let out a light laugh. “All right. I admit it. You’ll always do that way better than me. I’ve got a ways to go before I can best the master.”
Bones snorted. “I’ll roll over dead before that happens.” McCoy looked down at the keys in Kirk’s hands and then back up at his partner. “Are you going to be okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I only had a three, and they were pretty well spread out. I’m cool,” Kirk replied, spinning the key ring around one finger. He had to keep from rolling his eyes good naturedly; despite the craggy exterior and the general crabbiness, it was clear that McCoy really did care. After all they’d been through, Kirk wasn’t entirely surprised, but he was still touched by the concern. He walked out of the covered space with a smirk on his face, feeling the cold, frozen precipitation hit him on the cheeks. “Huh. It’s snowing already.”
“Yep,” McCoy said as Jim stopped next to him. The two partners stood silently, observing their surroundings as their breath condensed in front of their faces. McCoy’s face contorted into an angry snarl before he added, “They’re saying eighteen inches in twenty four hours.”
In a bit of payback for the earlier ribbing, Kirk laughed and said, “Cowboy up, Southern Man! It’ll be fun. We get to go play in the snow tomorrow!”
“Fun? You must have rocks in your head, Jim,” McCoy muttered. “My idea of ‘fun’ is not what is going to make up our day tomorrow. Every time it snows, we respond to a billion accidents because people have to go out and buy that new electronic gizmo to keep them sane while it storms. Or, God forbid their kids miss hockey practice. You know, where I come from, when it snows, that’s a good indication to the population to stay indoors. But you all? No, you think it’s a fine idea to just go right on with your lives. What’s wrong with you people? Are you insane?”
Kirk snorted. There was nothing like a good, properly-pissed-off McCoy monologue, and it was something Jim would never, ever find boring. He shot a glance toward his partner and asked, “Are you done?”
“Yes,” McCoy muttered, turning toward Kirk while he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Not that it does any good.”
“It entertains me, so that’s good,” Jim laughed out. He gave his partner a shove and added, “Besides, all this snow discrimination is coming from the same guy who was making fun of me for hating snakes. At least a snake is a living creature. Bones, you’re afraid of frozen water!” Jim wiped a hand across McCoy’s windshield, picked up a big handful of accumulation, and tossed it at the sergeant.
“Goddammit, Jim. Stop acting like an infant,” McCoy insisted through one of his trademark scowls while he brushed off his coat.
“You’re whining like one! I figured I’d join the party,” Kirk shot back, holding his hands out at his sides in mock-defensiveness.
“Once. Just once, I’d like to get through one shift with you that’s normal.”
“Define ‘normal’, Bones.”
McCoy snorted. “Not you, that’s for damned sure.” He waved his hands toward Jim’s car and looked up at the falling snow. “Now go on. Get out of here, get some rest and be ready for shift tomorrow. God only knows with my luck, we’ll be invaded by the FBI because karma hates me.”
Jim stuck his key in the door lock and opened it. Sliding in, he tossed out, “Be careful what you wish for, Bones! You never know what you might get!”
“My daddy used to tell me that I could wish in one hand and shit in the other while I waited to see what filled up first. Guess how well that went?” McCoy asked Kirk, deadpanned.
Jim wrinkled his nose and tilted his head to the side. “Dude, that’s disgusting. Have I ever told you that you Southerners are weird?”
“Every other day.”
“It’s the truth, man,” Kirk said as he put one foot in the foot well of his car. Leaning on the open door’s frame, he scrunched up his face and admitted. “You didn’t really do that, did you? Wait. Nevermind, because I don’t want to know. I’ll see you at roll.”
McCoy waved a good night to Kirk as Jim backed his car out of Pike’s driveway. Shaking his head, he climbed into his old winter truck and turned the key. Letting the engine warm for a couple of minutes, Len used the time to pick an appropriate radio station before he set off for home. Backing out of Chris’ driveway, he cursed when his tires caught a bit of black ice at the bottom of the hill leading out of Pike’s neighborhood. He steadied the truck, easing off the gas and steering into the skid while he waited for the tires to find purchase on the barren asphalt. ‘Goddamn insanity,” he muttered under his breath, looking up through the windshield at the snow coming down.
He really, really did hate winter.
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Next Up: Ziva and DiNozzo discover the joys of driving in a Midwestern blizzard.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, though I totally wish I did. As I make no money off what I write, please don't sue.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8A | 8B | 9 |
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Chapter 2
Iowa City, Iowa
Teenagers.
Seriously.
Chris Pike dunked a tortilla chip headlong into the seven layer dip and stuck the savory snack in his mouth. Crunching loudly, he allowed the flavors to meld on his taste buds before he rested his chin on his fist. Feeling far from the police department lieutenant, Pike attempted to sit up straighter when three sets of eyes darted in his general direction. In a flat, frustrated tone, he asked, “Does anyone have any bright ideas how to deal with a stubborn teenager?”
“Boot camp,” McCoy supplied succinctly while he peeked at the two playing cards lying face down on the table in front of him.
Pike shot his sergeant a disapproving look while he took a finishing swig of his beer. “I’m talking about my teenager, Len. Not one you arrest and book.”
“Aren’t they one and the same?” McCoy quipped as grabbed a handful of honey roasted peanuts from the dish strategically placed to his right. He popped the lot into his mouth, chewed and added through a half-full mouth, “Nothing a night in jail can’t fix.”
“Is that how you deal with the kids these days? ‘Arrest first, questions later?’ Come on, Len. I know I taught you better than that,” Pike replied, though his tone belied his mock-seriousness.
From across the table, Jim Kirk chimed in his two cents. “It’s a known fact on the street that Bones doesn’t ‘deal’ with them. He just scares them into compliance. One eyebrow raise from this guy,” Kirk said, clapping his partner on the shoulder, “And the kids are running for cover. Hell, my partner’s more intimidating than the K-9s!”
“Did that really come from your mouth, Jim? Because I know even you’re not dumb enough to compare me to a drooling, slobbering animal,” McCoy fired back, twisting his body to the right so he was facing his partner. He pursed his lips when Kirk’s only reply was that of a shit-eating grin as he said, “Coming from someone who pants like a dog every time a pretty woman crosses his path, that’s rich.”
“That, McCoy, is what we call ‘deflection’,” Pike started, unable to keep the smirk completely from gracing his distinguished features while he slapped one broad palm down flat against the tabletop, “And we all know it’s a load of bullshit. Those dogs are better trained than you. They don’t talk back and they obey the orders they’re given without a million questions to the contrary or strings of endless bitching,”
“And they also bite on command, which is something I apparently need to teach them so they can deal with you all,” McCoy replied in a throaty, angry growl. “Besides, I thought we were talking about your son.”
“We are. Or rather, we were.” Chris shifted in his customary chair, the one situated against the railing that divided the kitchen from the living room. The weekly gathering for no purpose other than relaxation was the name, and poker was the always the game. Always held at Pike’s home, it was a tradition that originated around McCoy’s rookie days, back when Chris was still figuring out how to deal with an anti-social introvert of a partner. Some of the faces changed over the years due to retirements, family commitments, and unfortunately, deaths, but the two former partners remained constants, as did the good times and the good stories.
The table was a little lean for the night; missing from the party were Greg Serdeski and Spock. Both men begged off with other work-related conflicts, though Chris had his doubts about the city’s desk sergeant. Scuttlebutt had it on good authority that one of the department’s two perennial bachelors (the other being McCoy) finally lassoed himself a woman who could not only put up with his bullshit, but who wasn’t shy about giving it right back, and Chris was not about to stand in the way of the man’s happiness for the sake of poker night. The man deserved it. Still, it meant tons of ribbing when Greg showed up the next day at work, undoubtedly in a turtleneck to cover up all the hickeys. Pike had $50 riding on it, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning to lose.
The other absent pillar, Spock, was in ensconced in the midst of giant IA investigation into a rash of missing or improperly disposed of drug evidence from the city’s evidence locker. Chief Barnett assigned his best sleuth to the job and made it clear that the case had top priority. Ever since an internal audit caught some missing money and property, Barnett had his eyes on one particular group. Now, the only step left was for Spock to nail their sorry asses to the wall. The IA cop reported that they were nearing a breakthrough in the case, and that, “It was imperative that he focus on the task at hand, for one dirty cop was one too many.” Chris just nodded and agreed, hoping that he’d see Spock next week.
McCoy cleared his throat. He’d known Pike long enough to know the expression that would park itself all over the lieutenant’s face when he was daydreaming, and there really wasn’t a clearer example of the faraway, unfocused and glassy look in Pike’s eyes than what the group was seeing in the present. He snapped his fingers. “Chris? You with us?”
To McCoy’s right, Scotty whistled and waved his hand in front of Pike’s face. “Oy! You there, Pike? It’s your play.”
He’d almost forgotten the entire point of his guests for the evening. The feel of the cards didn’t even register in his hands, even though he’d clearly been picking away at the corner in an unconscious nervous tick. Chris shook his head, focused and lifted the edges to look at what was dealt to him. Impassively, he reached for a couple of chips. Tossing them into the pile, Pike scrubbed one hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah. Sorry, boys. I’m obviously a little distracted tonight.”
“What’s going on with Ethan? He going through his teenage rebellion finally?” McCoy asked while he folded his cards with a disgusted grunt.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘finally’? He’s barely fifteen,” Pike replied, raising one eyebrow at his former partner.
“And by that age, Jim here had lost count of the number of times he hacked his school’s database to change the count on his tardy and absent without a valid excuse,” McCoy said in response while he motioned over his shoulder toward the refrigerator where Kirk was standing.
“Hey!” Jim exclaimed, overdramatically offended. “I was going to offer you all refills, but if you’re just going to slander my skills, then I’ll get my own and be done with it.”
“You’ll get me a beer if you want to come back and sit at this table without being shot, Kirk,” Pike said evenly and without missing a beat while he shuffled the cards up. Thanks to Scotty’s fold that gave Chris the hand, the Lieutenant had need to resituate his newly acquired chips as he waited for Jim to sit back down.
Jim laughed out loud at his boss’ boss and reached back into the appliance. He grabbed three beers and a ginger ale for McCoy before he sauntered back to the table. Setting his loot down, Kirk plopped down in his ‘assigned’ chair to Scotty’s right. He patted the bottles and cans, dipped his voice a bit and employed a rather strange mix of refined southern accent before he said, “Refills. There. Now we can be friends again.”
McCoy rolled his eyes at his partner and proclaimed, “Good God, Jim. You know there’s a reason you’re not allowed to imitate that movie. You’re butchering it.”
“And you’re so much better?” Kirk asked, returning his voice to his normal speaking tone and natural accent.
“At least I’m from the South. I have a better chance of not sounding like a complete jackass.”
Jim wrinkled his nose. “Bones, you hate your accent.”
“I don’t hate my accent. I just hate that you have to make fun of it,” he replied, turning a slight shade of pink.
“Ah, it’s not that bad,” Scotty proclaimed, allowing his brogue to thicken considerably. “At least they don’t have to ask you to repeat yourself five times over because they can’t understand ye at all.”
Pike snorted. “You didn’t hear him when he first got here, Scotty. I could have used a translator for the first few months in a car with him.”
McCoy held up his hands. “What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of bullshit? Every damned time, it turns into open season on McCoy night. Focus on someone else for once!”
“Focus is a four letter word at this table,” Chris supplied. “You should know that by now.”
“Actually, isn’t it five?” Scotty asked, mentally counting the letters of the word in his head.
“That was figurative, Scotty,” Kirk said gently, giving the Scotsman a tap on the shoulder.
The mechanic smiled. “I know, lad. I was just trying to get a smile out of our dear lieutenant here, who looks like someone just killed his dog. What’s going on with that boy of yours, Chris? I’ve known the lot of you for a while now, and I think this is the first signs I’ve seen of trouble from your camp. I thought Ethan was a pretty good kid.”
Pike flexed the deck of cards in his hands before he cut it while he contemplated how to word his troubles. “He is, normally. It’s just that lately…I don’t know,” he said, trailing off. Chris shifted while his friends waited patiently for him to continue. “I don’t know what’s up with him. He took a run at another kid at hockey last week and got suspended for two games because it was a dirty play. Dirty and unprovoked.”
Kirk narrowed his eyes. “Wow. That’s odd. Ethan loves hockey, and he’s one of the cleanest players I’ve ever seen. Perfect hits, perfect timing and done by the letter of the law.”
“Unlike you, Jim,” McCoy couldn’t help but throw in.
Pike let out a halfhearted snort of agreement, though it wasn’t nearly as engaged as it would have been if he’d really been into the conversation. The normally cool but upbeat lieutenant was sitting slightly slouched in his chair, looking strangely troubled. “I got a call from his guidance counselor the other day, telling me that Ethan was in a fight with three other boys. He’s suspended, which is why he’s sulking in his room and not out here with us tonight.”
“Embarrassed the lad, didn’t you Chris?” Scotty asked, taking a healthy swig of his beer.
“I think he did that all on his own,” Pike answered honestly.
“Why the fight?” McCoy asked. “That’s not like him, either. Ethan’s like his mom on that one - he’d rather show them that he can outtalk them instead of beat them up.”
Pike ran a hand over his forehead. “I know. That’s what’s so frustrating, because he won’t tell us. Not at all. He wouldn’t even tell the principal, even under the threat and follow through of a longer out of school suspension. It’s got me.”
“Is this at all related to that scraper incident a few months back?” McCoy asked, gently broaching the contentious topic with his superior and friend.
Pike cringed at just the mention of the police chase heard ‘round the county. For a pursuit that lasted a couple of miles at speeds that barely registered on the patrol cars’ speedometers, it was probably the biggest thing to happen in Iowa City in the past ten years. Chris picked up his beer and grimaced when he realized it was empty. While he reached for the full but unopened bottle, he admitted, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Ethan’s been hanging around the Russian kid lately - Chenko? Cherpov? Something.”
“It’s ‘Chekov,’ Lieu. That’s the kid we arrested that night with Ethan, isn’t it?” Kirk asked, shooting a look toward his partner. When Pike nodded to the affirmative, Jim continued with, “Do you think he’s the problem?”
Pike waved a dismissive hand. “Not at all. That kid might be a devious little bastard, but he’s harmless. His idea of fun is not going to hurt someone else, and it sure as hell won’t make Ethan violent and aggressive.”
“And that means you have no clue what’s wrong,” Scotty concluded out loud.
“Exactly,” Chris admitted. “I just wish I could understand what’s going on with him. It’s not like him to be so confrontational,” Pike replied with an angry growl.
From his position to the left of his lieutenant, Kirk watched. The frustration on Chris’ face was so uncharacteristic of the confident mask Pike wore on a daily basis. The lieutenant sat, chewing away at his lip while his brain tried to figure out what was going on in his own home. Jim knew it had to be an odd sensation, and one that probably made the man a bit queasy. To relinquish control was the worst feeling in the world to a person who was used to exuding and having it in every aspect of his day to day life. In a rare moment of maturity, Jim said, “Lieu, it’s probably not what you think.”
Pike’s head snapped to his left and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. The trained observer partition of his brain started putting bits and pieces together when he said, “You’ve been awfully quiet in the past five minutes, Jim. That’s not like you, so by process of elimination, that means you know something. Spill. Now. That’s an order.”
Kirk shrugged. “Hey, you gave me that high school assignment for a reason, remember? You thought I could, ‘Connect with the kids on a better level than my older-than-dirt partner,’ ever could.”
McCoy slammed the can of ginger ale down on the table so hard that some of the liquid splashed up over the lip of the opening. With one hand free, McCoy wound up and directed a solid punch to his partner’s arm, quite probably harder than necessary.
“Hey!” Jim exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot of contact. “Dude, that one hurt.”
“It was supposed to,” McCoy growled. “It’s a reminder to respect your elders, not that you’d ever do that.”
“Don’t hate me for saying it like it is, Bones.” The smirk on his face he used to address his partner vanished when Kirk turned to address Pike. “Look, I talked to Ethan today when I was at the school. I saw him sitting in front of Jessop’s office, and I wanted to know what was wrong.”
“Did he tell you?”
Jim lifted his hand and, with his palm flat to the table, tiltedhis wrist left and right. “Eh, sort of. I filled in a lot of the blanks myself, but I think I know what’s going on.”
“Jim, shouldn’t this have been the first thing out of your mouth?” McCoy raised both hands in a gesture of disapproving incredulity.
“Bones, I gave the kid my word that I wouldn’t squawk the reason to the rest of the world. He thinks it’s stupid, and he’s embarrassed by it because he thinks he should be able to handle it on his own. He just needed someone to talk to that wasn’t his old man,” Kirk said with an apologetic look in Pike’s direction. “No offense.”
“None taken. I’m just glad someone got him to pull his head out of his ass, even if it’s not me. But as his father, do I at least get a hint?” Pike asked, popping off the top off the new beer Kirk retrieved with the Labatt Blue hockey stick bottle opener he kept on his keychain.
“Ethan’s just pissed about us doing our jobs. We’re cramping his style,” Kirk answered with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. With his face schooled to impassivity, Jim hoped he at least appeared aloof, even if he wasn’t entirely feeling it. Chris Pike was a genuinely nice guy, but to the very core he was still the boss, and he knew how to act like it. Jim knew that if his lieutenant wanted answers, he’d have them one way or another.
Pike’s eyes bored into the junior officer like the laser sight affixed to the bottom of his gun. The majority of the department was convinced that the man was a human lie detector, and it was a somewhat enjoyable skill Pike used to his every advantage to make his subordinates squirm. His chin dipped as he studied Kirk’s placid expression, looking for the physical signs of evasion. “Is that all?” Chris asked.
Jim sighed; he didn’t want to throw Ethan completely under the bus, so he settled with a cryptic, “It’s just high school stuff that has nothing to do with you or Lynn. It’s not that big of a deal. I promised him I’d help him take care of it, and I will.”
Pike nodded in acquiescence and straightened the cards in his hands, backing down from the role of hard-ass cop. In a much friendlier tone, he said, “See that you do, Kirk. My son’s in need of a little guidance, clearly.”
“From him? Are you nuts?” McCoy said with a point of his index finger toward Jim.
“Normally, I try to stay neutral during the lover’s quarrels that take place between my two mates here, but I have to agree with Len, Pike,” Scotty chimed in from his side of the table.
“Hey! Just because I got kicked out of Boy Scouts does not mean that I’m unfit to be a role model!” Kirk exclaimed, leaning back in his chair while looking as smug as possible. “Besides, my partner is a saint. It’s impossible to live up to that, so I just go for the opposite. It’s more fun that way.”
“Next to you, anyone’s a saint,” McCoy snorted back at his partner.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but would you two give Kirk a break already? You were young once, too you know,” Pike gently reminded Scotty and McCoy with a raised eyebrow and poignant stare. “And Jim, your partner is no saint. I can personally disprove that one. In his younger days, he gave the old chief more than a few headaches.”
McCoy wisely snapped his jaw closed when he felt his face redden with embarrassment. “Chris…” he said, tone low and cautionary. “Don’t encourage the peanut gallery.”
Jim waved a dismissive hand. “It’s okay, Lieu. I know the truth. Bones wasn’t born, therefore he was never young. This can’t apply to him. What was that line again?” Jim said, wracking his brain for the appropriate movie analogy, altering it to fit McCoy’s personality and history. “I think it was, ‘He was assembled at medical school out of the spare body parts of dead interns,’ or something like that.”
While McCoy sputtered unintelligently, Chris snorted out loud. He reached out a hand and knuckle bumped Jim. “Touché, Kirk. I’ll have to remember that one.” With a smirk, Pike let his eyes roam over the faces of his friends and asked lightly, “Now, is everyone finally ready?”
“Born that way, Lieu,” Kirk replied, dipping his hand into the bowl of pretzels next to the chips.
McCoy let out a long combination snort and scoff. “Like you were born to help me on that home invasion earlier this week?”
Jim’s face paled. “Oh, no. We are not going there!” Kirk insisted. He adopted a petulant expression to his already boyish face before he clamped his jaw closed. Jim clenched his fists under the table while his body tensed. A fine shudder ran through his frame before he shook his head. Kirk took a big gulp of beer, swallowed and insisted, “Ugh. Gross.”
“Don’t be such a pansy-ass, Nancy Boy,” McCoy corrected, pulling out his cell phone from his pocket. He unlocked the screen and scrolled to the pictures stored on the device before he pulled up one of the most recent shots. In the foreground, a black shirtsleeve gave way to set of golden sergeant stripes. Coiled around the forearm was a coral and white colored corn snake, happily looking toward the other living subject of the photograph. About a foot away from the snake, Jim Kirk’s face was twisted into a sadly comical expression of hideous disgust. Both of Kirk’s eyes were pinched shut, his hands were out defensively, and he was recoiling backwards as if he were trying to ward off some evil spirit instead of a harmless reptile. The photo was, in a word, priceless.
McCoy tossed his phone on the table for the small group to see, sitting back in his chair with a triumphant smirk.
Pike leaned in to look at the small device spinning in the middle of the table. Amid a few poker chips, Pike reached out one hand and plucked out the phone. He tapped the screen to brighten the photo, studiously examining it as if he were handling a piece of evidence. The beginnings of smile formed at the corner of his mouth, and his lips warbled with exertion as he attempted to keep a straight face. With a couple of poorly disguised laughing coughs, he lifted his eyes toward Kirk and wordlessly passed McCoy’s phone to Scotty.
Scotty grabbed the sergeant’s battered, abused smartphone from the lieutenant’s hand. He stared at the picture. And blinked. And stared some more. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for Kirk, the PD’s mechanic threw his head back and howled out a long, loud laugh. He motioned toward McCoy, holding up the phone and the incriminating picture. “This is bloody priceless! Are you kidding me? After all this time putting up with your partner’s nonsense, all it takes is a snake to shut him up?”
“Apparently.”
“Where the hell did you find a snake?” Pike asked after he finally allowed his smile to show full-force.
“We responded to a 9-1-1 call of a possible break-in on Sheridan and Grant. The homeowner said she was hearing strange thumping in the basement, which turned out to be the snake trying to get out of the dryer,” McCoy said, picking his phone back up and pocketing the device.
“How did you know it wasn’t going to bite you?” Scotty asked. “Those things can be poisonous, you know.”
“I’m from Georgia, Scotty,” McCoy replied with a sigh, allowing his accent to drip off his lips. “We have more snakes down there than you can shake a stick at. I learned early on what I can’t touch. This sure ain’t the first time I’ve seen a snake one up in an odd place that I’ve had to move.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good,” Scotty supplied. “I think.”
“And good you were there,” Pike added. “Gaila in accounting has been all over my ass lately because of all the shit your partner breaks, McCoy. How the hell you guys can go through three sets of light bars in six months is beyond my comprehension. If I had to tell her that we needed to replace a dryer while we pulled a half dozen bullets out of someone’s wall because Kirk shot a snake, she might done the honors and killed Jim herself.”
“I wouldn’t have shot it!” Kirk insisted glumly from his side of the table. “I would have only TASERed it.”
“That would mean you’d have to get close to it, jackass, right before you went hands-on. I would put a month’s salary that you’d puss out before you even touched the thing,” McCoy fired back, daring his partner into contradiction with a practiced steely glare.
Jim chewed on his lip while he watched the amusement work across his friends’ faces. Thoughts of torture and misdeeds in a past life flashed through his head as he wondered what he did to deserve such treatment. “Bones, you hate flying. Lieu, you hate heights. Scotty - you hate being hungry. Why is all the hate being targeted right here?” Jim asked, motioning toward his own chest with the index fingers of both hands.
“Because we’re more amused when we’re picking on you, Jim. You should know by now it’s a right of passage,” Pike replied, smacking Kirk on the arm. “You don’t open the door often, so we have to exploit it when we can.”
Kirk’s head bobbed up and down, accepting the light teasing as penance for being the most inexperienced man at the table. Jim would forever be the new guy, no matter how long he was on the force. With a sideways glance toward his comrades, Kirk asked, “Yeah, can we just keep this between the four of us? I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
McCoy scoffed loudly before he proclaimed, “Like hell I’m going to forget. That picture of you is going on my wall as the day I rendered Jim Kirk speechless.”
“Screw you all,” Kirk muttered under his breath.
Scotty and Pike snickered loudly while Chris resituated the deck of cards in his hand and began dealing. Focusing on his task kept him from bursting out in hysterical laughter. He tossed one card toward each man for a total of two before he tabled one and flipped three cards face up on the center of the table. “All right. No limit hold ‘em. Let’s go.”
Several hours and many laughs later, the group bid one another a good night. For two of the men at the table, it was a good thing the group never played for money. Predictably, Scotty lost his figurative shirt and Kirk went out a foolish bet against the squad’s lieutenant in a effort to bluff him out of his stack. Pike not only called it, but flipped the tables on Jim, effectively ending his night with one hand.
In the end, it wound up being Pike and Bones going heads up against one another. McCoy was the big stack, but Chris came out victorious on a big gamble. He hit a lucky river card, completing an aces-over-kings full house when he went all in. McCoy slapped down his two pairs triumphantly only to see his win evaporate into a cloud of smoke when his former partner calmly turned over his two cards. Much swearing and cheering abounded, and McCoy vowed revenge.
“Same time, same place next week?” Scotty asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said, gathering up the chips and the cards. He sorted them by color and stuck them back in their respective cases, ready for use when the group met again.
“Awesome,” Jim replied, shrugging on his jacket and shoes. “As the loser, I’ll bring the pizza.”
“It better be edible pizza, Jim. If you bring any of that flatbread shit, you and I are going to have words,” Pike replied, clapping Kirk on the shoulder and pointing a finger in the young cop’s face. When Jim nodded to the affirmative, Chris waved and said, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“You got it. Thanks Lieu,” Jim answered as he walked out the door.
Outside, Kirk found McCoy already waiting. Bones was leaned causally up against his truck while he watched the gentle snow fall against the pitch black of the night. His head turned when he saw Kirk’s shadow coming from the garage and an easy, carefree smile broke out across his face. With his eyes twinkling, he said in the same refined but still southern accent Kirk tried to employ earlier in the night, “Maybe poker just ain’t your game, Jim.”
Kirk shrugged his shoulders, looked down at his feet and let out a light laugh. “All right. I admit it. You’ll always do that way better than me. I’ve got a ways to go before I can best the master.”
Bones snorted. “I’ll roll over dead before that happens.” McCoy looked down at the keys in Kirk’s hands and then back up at his partner. “Are you going to be okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I only had a three, and they were pretty well spread out. I’m cool,” Kirk replied, spinning the key ring around one finger. He had to keep from rolling his eyes good naturedly; despite the craggy exterior and the general crabbiness, it was clear that McCoy really did care. After all they’d been through, Kirk wasn’t entirely surprised, but he was still touched by the concern. He walked out of the covered space with a smirk on his face, feeling the cold, frozen precipitation hit him on the cheeks. “Huh. It’s snowing already.”
“Yep,” McCoy said as Jim stopped next to him. The two partners stood silently, observing their surroundings as their breath condensed in front of their faces. McCoy’s face contorted into an angry snarl before he added, “They’re saying eighteen inches in twenty four hours.”
In a bit of payback for the earlier ribbing, Kirk laughed and said, “Cowboy up, Southern Man! It’ll be fun. We get to go play in the snow tomorrow!”
“Fun? You must have rocks in your head, Jim,” McCoy muttered. “My idea of ‘fun’ is not what is going to make up our day tomorrow. Every time it snows, we respond to a billion accidents because people have to go out and buy that new electronic gizmo to keep them sane while it storms. Or, God forbid their kids miss hockey practice. You know, where I come from, when it snows, that’s a good indication to the population to stay indoors. But you all? No, you think it’s a fine idea to just go right on with your lives. What’s wrong with you people? Are you insane?”
Kirk snorted. There was nothing like a good, properly-pissed-off McCoy monologue, and it was something Jim would never, ever find boring. He shot a glance toward his partner and asked, “Are you done?”
“Yes,” McCoy muttered, turning toward Kirk while he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Not that it does any good.”
“It entertains me, so that’s good,” Jim laughed out. He gave his partner a shove and added, “Besides, all this snow discrimination is coming from the same guy who was making fun of me for hating snakes. At least a snake is a living creature. Bones, you’re afraid of frozen water!” Jim wiped a hand across McCoy’s windshield, picked up a big handful of accumulation, and tossed it at the sergeant.
“Goddammit, Jim. Stop acting like an infant,” McCoy insisted through one of his trademark scowls while he brushed off his coat.
“You’re whining like one! I figured I’d join the party,” Kirk shot back, holding his hands out at his sides in mock-defensiveness.
“Once. Just once, I’d like to get through one shift with you that’s normal.”
“Define ‘normal’, Bones.”
McCoy snorted. “Not you, that’s for damned sure.” He waved his hands toward Jim’s car and looked up at the falling snow. “Now go on. Get out of here, get some rest and be ready for shift tomorrow. God only knows with my luck, we’ll be invaded by the FBI because karma hates me.”
Jim stuck his key in the door lock and opened it. Sliding in, he tossed out, “Be careful what you wish for, Bones! You never know what you might get!”
“My daddy used to tell me that I could wish in one hand and shit in the other while I waited to see what filled up first. Guess how well that went?” McCoy asked Kirk, deadpanned.
Jim wrinkled his nose and tilted his head to the side. “Dude, that’s disgusting. Have I ever told you that you Southerners are weird?”
“Every other day.”
“It’s the truth, man,” Kirk said as he put one foot in the foot well of his car. Leaning on the open door’s frame, he scrunched up his face and admitted. “You didn’t really do that, did you? Wait. Nevermind, because I don’t want to know. I’ll see you at roll.”
McCoy waved a good night to Kirk as Jim backed his car out of Pike’s driveway. Shaking his head, he climbed into his old winter truck and turned the key. Letting the engine warm for a couple of minutes, Len used the time to pick an appropriate radio station before he set off for home. Backing out of Chris’ driveway, he cursed when his tires caught a bit of black ice at the bottom of the hill leading out of Pike’s neighborhood. He steadied the truck, easing off the gas and steering into the skid while he waited for the tires to find purchase on the barren asphalt. ‘Goddamn insanity,” he muttered under his breath, looking up through the windshield at the snow coming down.
He really, really did hate winter.
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Next Up: Ziva and DiNozzo discover the joys of driving in a Midwestern blizzard.