Fic: Love's Savage Secret, Chapter 2
Author’s Notes: Holy crap, I'm pretty sure the recent wave of heat and humidity here in Minnesota has melted what little remains of my brain. I forgot to mention this in the notes for chapter one, but the fic’s title does come from Bruce Willis’ awesome flick RED. If you’ve seen it, you should get the reference after this chapter. Hopefully it's as funny to everyone else as they read it as it was to me when I wrote it. There's also a reference to another one of my cop!verse stories, Rule 52, in this chapter. But you don't have to read that one to understand what's going on here. Other than that, this chapter is the meat of the story. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I ken haz a Star Trek? No? Well, I ken haz a Gizmo, then? No?! Damn. All right. I don’t own anything you see here, other than my crazy ideas. All the world belongs to Paramount and Marvel. I am just borrowing their awesome, and I promise to return everything…at least whole. I make no guarantees on ‘in working order’, though. ;)
Chapter: | 1 | 2 | 3 |
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Chapter 2
Soup in hand, Kirk trudged up the stairs towards McCoy’s apartment. The drive from the station and then the three-story climb at Bones’ apartment building gave him a few extra minutes to think. He used it well, contemplating his life, his accomplishments and most importantly, what he felt like he was leaving unfinished. ‘I really should have gone bungee jumping last weekend. That would have been bomb,’ he thought as he took the last few fateful steps towards his partner’s front door.
Yeah, important shit like that.
Jim raised his hand to knock on the door, but pulled it down just as quickly. ‘Jim Kirk’ and ‘predictability’ did not belong in the same sentence. No, if he was going out, he was going out with a bang. “Go hard or go home,” Kirk breathed to himself as he dropped gracefully to one knee in front of his partner’s door. He set the load of food next to him and reached deftly into his pocket, setting to work with the practiced ease of familiarity.
Not that he’d done it before (because really, an upstanding man like Jim Kirk would have never broken into his partner’s house in order to retrieve documents he’d accidentally left there, and he certainly wouldn’t have broken in again to simply ‘rearrange’ some things just for fun), but Kirk knew that the security on McCoy’s door was flimsy at best. Forget the lock-picking kit; all he needed to gain access to Bones’ place was a pen, a credit card, and about five seconds worth of time. Bada-bing, bada-boom; wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. With a flick of his wrist, the lock retracted. Jim picked up the soup from the floor, glided easily to his feet and turned the handle.
All joking aside, Kirk really did understand why McCoy was so pissed. While exposure to illness and disease was hardly a rare occurrence in police work, they’d both managed to avoid the nastier ones; MRSA, HIV/AIDS, Hep B and C weren’t really at the top of Kirk’s list to contract. So when cuffing a drunk and disorderly homeless man meant being bathed in a sea of germs from the man’s constant sneezing and coughing, McCoy was less than thrilled. Kirk knew that his partner was only comforted with the notion that Jim would probably be hurling his guts out in twenty-four hours after the same homeless petri dish puked all over Kirk’s shoes. But nearly seventy-two hours later, Jim was still the picture of health, and McCoy? Well, Bones was down for the count.
Kirk sidled into the apartment, kicking the door shut gently with the heel of his foot. He set the container of soup on the table next to the door and automatically dropped his keys into the dish sitting on the surface. So far, so good. The living room, situated directly in front of the door, was empty. McCoy’s favorite Lay-Z-Boy, the one with the imprints of his ass embedded into the cushion, was unoccupied, the afghan that permanently resided on the furniture neatly folded and resting on the back. To his right, McCoy’s kitchen table was unoccupied, as was the kitchen itself. The bathroom light was off, and as his partner’s place was a one-bedroom apartment, process of elimination left only one more location to check.
Jim toed off his shoes and picked up Lynn’s care package. He waved a hand in front of the threshold of the door to test for any flying bullets. When none came, Kirk stepped through…
…And nearly fell over laughing.
McCoy, the man with an opinion about everything, the man who swore in paragraphs without repeating himself, the man who could probably kill a person in forty thousand different ways without leaving a physical mark, was propped up by about eight fluffy pillows in bed and cocooned under six layers of blankets, reading from a Kindle held loosely in his right hand. The absurdity of the sight before him was staggering, and for once, Kirk was without words. It was very peculiar feeling. Bones was looking all…domestic. It just wasn’t right.
Jim had to make a concerted effort not to drop the soup.
“You ever heard of knocking, Jim? That would be polite. Nevermind - I’m forgetting who I’m talking to,” McCoy said while he slowly lowered the Kindle from his eye level and set it on the bed to his left.
“Hiya, Bones,” Kirk said, regaining his hold on the muscles that controlled his mouth. “Feeling any better?”
“No,” he answered flatly. “And annoying little children breaking into my home while I’m trying to rest aren’t helping matters. I hate you. Have I mentioned that?”
“Once or twice,” Kirk replied with a laugh.
McCoy snorted, picking through the veritable avalanche of used Kleenex tissues in his lap until he found the box of fresh ones hiding underneath. Pulling one from the holder, he blew his nose loudly. He folded over the tissue several times and repeated the process until he was happy with the results. Glaring at Kirk through red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, he sniffled loudly and then rasped out, “I thought I told you I’d kill you if you came by.”
Kirk shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing for me that you leave your service weapon in your locker at the station then, right?”
“I still have my backup,” McCoy answered, though passed through his congested sinuses, it sounded more like, “Ahh still habve my dackup.”
To keep from laughing in his partner’s face, Jim bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. Only McCoy would attempt to appear somewhat intimidating while he cleared a small river of mucous from his nasal passages. Success on that front, however, was debatable. Kirk took a step forward, the sudden weight of the container in his left hand reminded him why he was there in the first place. “I, uh, brought you some soup. It’s from Lynn. You want some now?”
McCoy face contorted into a grimace right before he coughed loudly. He raised a hand and waved towards the kitchen. “I’m not sure it’ll stay down. Throw it in the refrigerator, will you?” he asked gruffly.
Jim nodded but narrowed his eyes. His face fell as his observational skills booted his earlier amusement to the back of his brain. Bones asking something nicely (well, as nicely as McCoy was capable of posing a question) would have thrown him a few years earlier. But now, his partner’s futile attempts at civility did little to distract Jim. He didn’t miss the slight tremor in his friend’s hand when he pointed, nor did the harshness of McCoy’s breathing escape his prevue. Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and returned the glare, completely ignoring McCoy’s request. “You went to see your doctor, right?”
“Of course I did,” McCoy replied sharply as he conveniently coughed into the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt.
Kirk felt a pang of sympathy run through his chest. McCoy’s cough sounded wet and painful, and like the voicemail he’d left earlier, it was prolonged. But what Jim wasn’t able to see over the phone he was seeing now, and he didn’t like it. Bones’ face went from pale to bright red by the time he was done attempting to rearrange the order of his insides. The coughing fit left Bones breathless and gasping as he struggled to pull in enough air to replace what he’d lost. His face finally faded back to the standard sickly grey, save for two splotches of red on his cheekbones that indicated he was indeed running a fever.
With his lips pursed, Kirk spun wordlessly on his heel and marched into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and shoved the soup container in while he searched for some sort of beverage good for restoring lost electrolytes. Finding nothing, Kirk settled on water, pulling a glass down from the cabinet above the sink as he ran the tap. He filled the glass to the brim, killed the faucet, and made his way back to his partner. “Here,” Kirk said, handing the glass to the Bones when he reached the older man.
“Thanks,” McCoy said gratefully. He took a couple of small sips and then set the glass on the bedside table and leaned backwards. He let his head sink deeper into the pillows while he swallowed harshly. Closing his eyes, the sergeant announced plainly, “This sucks.”
“I’m sure it does,” Kirk agreed as he settled at the foot of McCoy’s bed, right on the corner. “But I wasn’t kidding before. You saw someone for this, right?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” McCoy sighed and then started coughing again. Thankfully, it only lasted a second or two. “I went to urgent care.”
“Bones…”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass. All right, so it’s self-diagnosis. But Jim, I don’t need a doctor. Dammit, I was going to be a doctor,” McCoy proclaimed with as much ferocity he could muster.
Kirk made a little ‘tutting’ noise as he saw his partner’s eyes glaze over, right before Bones blinked hard to clear his vision. Softer, Jim reminded him, “’Almost’ only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Pike too long, picking up his stupid phrases,” McCoy muttered while he searched for another tissue.
Kirk nodded. “Probably true. But still, someone has to make sure you’re not lying dead in here. I’d hate to have to find a new partner, now that I’ve gotten used you.”
“Is that gratitude?”
“Whatever you want to make it.” Jim shrugged. “Now, like the man said in Braveheart, ‘Don’t change the subject. Just answer the fooking question.’ You’re miserable. Do I have to drag you to the hospital? You know I will, and there’ll be a line of people behind me ready to help me do it.”
Bones crossed his arms over his chest, pursed his lips and rasped out, “I’d love to see them try. Bring your posse, Jim.”
Kirk rolled his eyes and met McCoy’s stare while the older man glared at him for a solid ten seconds. But, the normally piercing expression lacked all of its usual effectiveness. Along with the red rimmed eyes and pale face, McCoy just looked drained, like it was an effort to simply stay awake. Jim shook his head and broke the Mexican stand-off. “Don’t make me.”
McCoy grumbled unintelligible under his breath one last time before he reached for his phone. Picking it up, he unlocked the screen, dialed the clinic on speaker, and made an appointment. He stabbed the ‘end’ button with much more force than needed while he tossed the device down hard on the nightstand. “There, mother. Happy?”
“Yep. And Lynn will be, too,” Jim replied with an emphatic nod.
At the mention of Lynn Pike’s name, McCoy’s facial expression softened. He shifted in bed, ducked his chin to hide the smile and said, “Tell her I said ‘thanks’ for the soup.”
“I will. Better yet, you could tell her yourself.” He stood from the bed, wandered through the room and began poking through a stack of books sitting on McCoy’s dresser. He lifted each one, scanning the back for a synopsis. When he reached the bottom of the stack, Jim stopped. A burned orange book dangled from his fingertips, the shape and position of his hand drawing eerie similarities to the cutouts carved into the front cover. Kirk’s eyes darted over the dresser top until a he found what he was searching for - a small rectangular business card emblazoned with the NCIS logo on it. He picked it up and then leaned against the dresser. Holding up his find, Kirk asked, “This is the book you lent Ziva when they were here, didn’t you? Talked to her lately?”
“No,” McCoy replied flatly, avoiding eye contact.
“Uh, huh,” Jim said with a smile, clearly indicating he wasn’t at all convinced of the truthfulness of his partner’s reply. “I’ll bet if I checked your phone’s call history, it would tell me a different story.”
Wordlessly, McCoy picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and, with a slightly maniacal look on his face, stuck out his tongue licked the screen from top to bottom. He extended his hand with his phone and said, “Here. Go ahead and check.”
Kirk recoiled, curling his lip up as he turned his body to the side. His hip bumped the edge of the dresser and he winced as the sharp point hit a sensitive bundle of nerves in his leg. Shaking his head at the proffered germy mess, he said, “No thanks, man. The fever must really be boiling your brain because that was disgusting. You have a screen protector on that thing?”
“Of course I do. I hang around you - it’s required equipment,” McCoy replied, setting his newly infected phone down beside his body. He pointed one finger at Jim and added, “You didn’t get it last winter, and you don’t get it now. But I’ll say it again for the benefit of the mentally unfit: we’re just friends. It is possible for a man and woman to have a platonic relationship, jackass.”
“I never said it wasn’t, but ‘friends’ don’t share a romantic dinner for two at Ribisi’s during one of the worst blizzards we’ve seen in the past five years. Just sayin’,” Kirk replied as he flipped through Dead of Night. He snorted as he skimmed the first few pages of the book. Lifting his head, Jim held up the book in his right hand and fixed his partner with an incredulous gaze. “Are you for real, man? You read this stuff?”
McCoy went suddenly defensive. “Well, why the hell not? What else am I supposed to read? Police procedurals?”
“Well no, but of all the things I thought you’d dig, zombie novels aren’t high on my list.” Kirk paused, putting on his most serious expression. “Bones, am I going to have to worry about you trying to eat my brain all of a sudden?”
McCoy responded non-verbally by hurling a used tissue at Jim’s head.
“I’m not picking that up,” Kirk announced, pointing to the tissue lying on the floor. He deftly sidestepped the bacteria-laden projectile as he took two steps towards McCoy’s bed. With his palm face-up, he flicked the fingers of his hand a couple of times in unison as he motioned at the Kindle. “Let me see that thing.”
“No!” the sergeant replied as his hands moved instinctively towards the e-reader he left lying out in the open on the bed. He snatched the Kindle up in both hands and tucked it protectively under his left hip, further shielding it from Kirk.
“You have something on there you don’t want me to see?”
McCoy conveniently ignored Kirk’s question. “Jim, everything you touch ends up angry, broken or CS sprayed. I just bought this thing using the money I get paid babysitting you, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to be the one to break it before I get to enjoy it. So go. Get. Your. Own.”
“Bones, we’re partners. We don’t have any secrets,” Kirk said as he tried to steer the conversation back to his original question.
McCoy scoffed loudly. “Are you deaf? I already said this ain’t about secrets! This is about the preservation of my personal property and boundaries, something you clearly do not understand. Besides, if you actually looked at something that wasn’t porn, your head would probably explode, with all the words and shit overloading your brain.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kirk sputtered, indignant.
“Let me put it in terms you can understand. You are like the catcher in Major League. Remember? The one who couldn’t throw the ball to second base without thinking about Playboy?”
“Baker was two things: one, he was awesome, and two: he was quoting the articles that he read, just like I do!” Kirk fired back, pointing one finger at McCoy’s head. “Come on, you can’t think I'm that uncultured.”
McCoy finally arched one slightly shaggy eyebrow up his forehead. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“After all these years, you should know that it’s not an insult.”
“That’s the part that pisses me off,” McCoy mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, what I’m reading is none of your damned business.”
“As your partner, yes it is. And since you won’t tell me, I’m going to have to guess. So, what is it, Bones? Cookbooks?”
“No,” McCoy replied flatly.
Jim looked slightly frightened when he asked almost tentatively, “Please tell me you’re not reading Twilight.”
“Do I look like the type of guy who would read about sparkling vampires, Kirk? So help me, I will drag myself out of this bed just to kick your ass if you thought for one second--”
Kirk harrumphed and let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God. Guess I can cross that abomination off my list. I might have had to spearhead another intervention if you’d discovered Meyer and thought she was any good. Okay, final guess: something really cheesy and romantic?”
McCoy’s face took on a nice pink hue as he began coughing again in earnest. Through gasps of breath, he managed to growl out, “You’re giving me a damned headache. Don’t you have someone else to harass?”
Kirk laughed, holding up both hands in front of his chest, palms out. “Okay, okay. Relax, will you? I don’t want to have to tell Pike you stroked out over my interrogation of your reading selection.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets of his pants, shifted on one foot and dropped his chin to his chest. He watched as McCoy’s eyelids drooped while he bravely fought off sleep. It reminded Kirk why he was there in the first place, and that he should probably make a quick exit. “Look, man. We can discuss your reading habits when you’re back on duty. You look beat. I’ll jet so you can get some more sleep.”
McCoy’s yawn was answer enough. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Can I get you anything before I go?” Jim asked, the genuine concern shining through his tone.
A small smile formed at the corners of the sergeant’s lips. Shaking his head, he answered, “Nah, I’ll be fine.”
“All right. Be good, Bones,” Kirk said as he spun around to take his leave. He stopped, turned in a slow circle and raised a finger in the air. “But I have to tell you, the criminal element must know you’re down for the count. The street’s been hopping the past couple of nights.”
“Better you than me,” McCoy replied with a snort.
“What are you talking about? It’s been awesome!”
The sergeant growled. “I am not doing your paperwork when I’m back.”
Jim flashed Bones a big smile. “Isn’t that what restricted duty is for? Catching up on paperwork?”
Kirk watched as McCoy willed his sluggish brain to pull together a proper insult. But before he could aim and fire, the sergeant’s phone, still abandoned on the nightstand, sang out. Electronic turntabled sounds faded into a light mix of horns, maracas, and barely-there snare drum and high-hat cymbals. For a second, Kirk thought he was hearing old school west-coast rap until a language that certainly wasn’t English wafted from the speakers. Jim cocked his head to the side and listened to the accented words, especially on the ‘kcha’, ‘szcha’ and ‘zha’ sounds. A light bulb went off in his head - he’d heard this language before, but not from anyone who lived within 3,000 miles of Iowa City.
“Don’t even start with me. I’m not in the mood,” McCoy warned as he read the expression on Jim’s face.
Jim was smug. Oh, he was so going there. “Dude, you are so full of shit. That’s a nice ringtone in Hebrew you have there, Bones. Bet I know who it belongs to.”
McCoy closed his eyes and shook his head imperceptibly as his phone hit the chorus of the song. He turned his head and glared until the call rolled to voicemail and let out a sigh of relief as the room descended into silence. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a challenging eyebrow. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that you’re full of shit. I’m sure Lieu is going to love to hear about this. You know, I think he might have some tips for you on this whole long-distance relationship thing. I think I heard he and Lynn were together while he was on active duty in the Gulf, so he probably knows a few tricks,” Kirk helpfully supplied.
“I do not need relationship advice from my former partner, and I don’t want relationship advice from my current partner. Besides, the point is moot because Ziva and I are just friends!” McCoy countered.
Jim’s face lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. “That’s great, but I really don’t remember mentioning any specific names here. But now that you’ve confirmed it…”
The sergeant’s face went blank and then contorted up in anger as he realized his gaffe. “You are a miserable bastard. It’s not right to interrogate the sick and dying. It’s confession by coercion and completely inadmissible.”
“So can I talk to her?” Jim asked, practically bouncing on his toes.
“Who?” McCoy half-yelled before mighty sneeze seized control of his body.
Jim wordlessly handed his another tissue. He waited until Bones was done blowing his nose and said, “Ziva! She called, you didn’t answer. I figured the polite thing was to call her right back. I’ll take one for the team, since you’re sick and dying.”
The sergeant sniffled loudly and threw the used tissue down in the pile with all the others. He sat back and sent a baleful glare in Jim’s direction before he shifted, grabbed the Kindle and handed it over. “I know I’m going to regret this, but here.”
Surprised, Kirk nearly fumbled the handoff as McCoy all but shoved the e-reader into his grasp. He looked up, shocked, at his still grumbling partner. “Bones?” he queried, the memory of Ziva’s phone call shoved to a back corner of his brain.
“Well, I can’t very well embarrass myself any further tonight, seeing how you’re hellbent on usin’ those interrogation tactics you probably learned from the Hobgoblin,” McCoy began, his drawl thickening like molasses on a cold day. “So I’m gonna cut my losses and give you what you wanted. Now go ahead and gloat, and let me die in peace.”
Jim watched as McCoy groaned and lowered his head face-first into the pile of pillows off to his side. Kirk scoffed and turned back to the Kindle, firing up the screen to see what Bones was reading when he made his grand entrance. He started at the top of the page, skimming his way through the words in front of him. Kirk cocked his head, started over, and read slower this time in order to process the absolute absurdity Bones willingly put before him.
His partner was reading a romance novel. A cheesy, totally unbelievable, horrible, ridiculous romance novel. Jim fought the grin that was creeping over face, licking his lips to forestall its appearance.
Settling into her seat, Gabriella couldn’t believe the energy buzzing through the room. The catwalk was directly in front of her, and she was bounded on either side by waify, familiar-looking starlets who someone said had been on TV, but didn’t seem old enough to be out without parents. Photographers were everywhere firing pictures furiously, though the show was still minutes away.
But suddenly the lights changed and the music began to pound, Gabriella looked around excitedly, feeling the energy and excitement of the crowd, but was stunned…
Jim blinked once, then twice. He stopped, raised an eyebrow and slowly pulled the Kindle down from his face. He tried with every fiber of his being to hold it in, but the laughter bubbling up from his stomach launched a tidal wave of sound from his diaphragm to his throat. Jim howled out loud, doubled over at the waist and tossed the e-reader back at his partner.
“Laugh it up, asshole. Don’t mind the nearly dead in the bed in front of you,” the sergeant growled out, adding in a cough for dramatic effect.
Kirk wiped a couple of stray tears from the side of his face and stared at McCoy incredulously. He placed his fingertips on his hips while he tried to formulate a sentence that wouldn’t sound like an outright insult. “All right, I just have to ask. And don’t take this as an insult, because you know I love you, man. But…why? Seriously? Why? I’m starting to question your sanity here!”
“The reality of working with you is that you invite shenanigans into my formerly ordered world. This,” he started, waving a hand at the Kindle, “Is what I mock to make myself feel better about my life.”
Without missing a beat, Kirk replied, “You don’t have an ordered world, Bones. Why try and change it now?”
“Jim, for once in your life, say nothing. I don’t want to hear your voice, I don’t want to hear you form words with that giant mouth of yours. Just shut up.”
“Actually, that’s not a problem this time. I’m speechless, man. Really, I am. I just never pictured you reading something so…girly.”
“It’s not girly,” McCoy grumbled. “It’s horribly entertaining. Do you realize how stupid these books are? They put you to shame, which is a feat in and of itself.”
“Whatever, man,” Kirk said, wiping a couple tears of mirth from the corner of his eyes while he waved his right hand through the air. Jim’s gaze flicked towards his partner, and with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “I’m sure hearing about this will make Lieu laugh like hell, though.”
McCoy pursed his lips and set his face stony. “Try it, and I guarantee you that you won’t like the results. Ziva’s a good teacher.”
Kirk gulped. “All right. Kidding,” he said with trepidation as he raised his hands and took a couple of steps away from McCoy’s bed. “This stays between us. Bromance promise.”
“Good. Keep it that way. And while you’re at it, why don’t you march your ass straight outta my house,” McCoy fired back. When Jim didn’t move any muscles other than his lips to laugh, the sergeant raised his voice and tried again. “That wasn’t a suggestion! Out! Now!”
“All right! Going!” Kirk replied, laughing. “Get better quick, partner. You have no idea how unfair it is to you when you’re not around to defend yourself when I start telling stories that aren’t about what I saw here today.”
McCoy’s sputtering, coughing reply was cut off by Jim slamming the apartment door.
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Next Up: Jim proves just how well he knows his partner in a slightly nefarious, delinquent kind of way.