Title: Defining Family
Author: Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!verse AU. Blood relation isn't always the most accurate barometer when defining family members. Sometimes, "family" are the people that everyone loves, but wants to shoot at the same time.
Author's Notes: *cringes* I have been sitting on this completed story for over a year now with no good reasoning as to why. I kept telling myself that I needed to get off my ass and post it, but never did. Sorry, guys. Anyway, point the first: this story takes place a couple of years after Accidentally on Purpose. Point the second: even though I haven't formally introduced them yet, Chekov is BFFs with Chris's teenage son Ethan, and Scotty is the chief (and only) mechanic for the Iowa City PD. Finally, Kilala10 over at Livejournal drew some spectacular art to go with this story (OMG, THANK YOU – YOU'RE SO AWESOME!). A link to the win will be posted with the appropriate chapter. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Star Trek. But, since I don't and make no monetary profit from anything I write, I want to make it clear that I have no legal claim to anything Trek. Just sayin'.
When he was physically able, McCoy made a mental note to give Jim Kirk the most epic ass whooping of his entire life, up to the point that the kid wouldn't be able to sit for a week. The indignity of his current dilemma demanded nothing less.
Hindsight being twenty-twenty, he knew he shouldn't have opened the door when he saw Kirk's face on the other side of the peep hole. McCoy cursed his own damned stupidity for not thinking it through before he unbolted the lock to talk to his infant partner. He'd gotten only, "Jim, there are these things called phones," out of his mouth before the kid rushed him, throwing him on the ground of the apartment with a resounding 'thud'. It took the sergeant by surprise, as did the ease at which Jim was able to put his stronger, bulkier and much heavier partner none-too-gently on the ground and in a fully restrained position.
Before he could mutter one well-formed insult, McCoy was face down, nose buried in the carpet of his living room. The knee that Jim was rudely grinding into his spine was uncomfortable, but the twinge in his shoulders from how Kirk was holding his hands behind his back was more painful that he cared to admit aloud. The sergeant felt Jim's grip tighten on his fingers, bending his hands up in the general direction of his head. It put more pressure on his wrists and shoulders, and the increased pain shooting through the lower half of arms definitely decreased his zeal to fight back. Kirk's weight shifted as he reached for something, and, blinking in shock, McCoy heard the telltale rattle of a set of handcuffs being pulled from their pouch.
Well, this was certainly odd. McCoy never realized just how cold handcuffs were when they were being applied on him instead of by him. The metal was heavy; the double bar style Smith and Wesson hinged cuffs both Kirk and Pike preferred felt like lead weights on his wrists and the sharp edges dug uncomfortably into the soft, sensitive recesses of his joints. He flinched when the cold bars hit his skin, feeling the tingle of the pressure point through his hands when Jim slapped the bracelets over his watch. Bones shook off the shock and bucked under Jim's weight in a futile effort to dislodge his partner. "Goddammit, Jim. This isn't funny! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kirk clicked the restraints down to the point he knew McCoy wouldn't be able to slip them, feeling almost sorry for his partner when the sergeant winced. "I'm under order, Bones. Sorry man."
"Orders? Who the hell from?" McCoy growled when Jim helped him sit up. His eyes widened when he saw the third person standing in his doorway, iPhone up at the ready and clearly recording. He groaned and put his face back down on the carpet, which earned a laugh from Kirk. For God's sake, he really must have pissed someone off in a former life to be forced to endure this kind of torture from people that were supposedly his friends. Maybe if he wished harder, the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. That would actually be preferable.
Over Kirk's left shoulder, a triumphant Scotty waved a friendly hello. "From our fearless CO, that's who," the mechanic said from behind his phone. "We are under orders from Lieutenant Pike to, 'Either get our sorry asses back to his house with you, or to not come back at all.' His words, not mine. But it was Jim's idea to handcuff you," Scotty backpedaled quickly, pointing frantically with one finger towards Jim when McCoy picked his head up off the floor and sent a laser of a stare in his general direction.
Nonplussed about being blamed yet again for another brilliant plan gone wrong, Jim stepped back and allowed McCoy to squirm around enough to get to his knees. "Scotty, I'd say he looks pissed," Kirk said in a dramatic whisper over his shoulder. On the floor, Kirk watched while Bones struggled to get to his feet without assistance, a proposition the sergeant was finding rather lofty. Jim smirked triumphantly when his partner, finally conceding defeat in the battle against gravity, toppled back to the carpet with a curse.
Equally amused, Scotty kept recording. He held up one hand and said, "Oh, aye. I think that's a fine point you have there, Mr. Kirk."
On the floor, McCoy most definitely resembled a terribly uncoordinated pile of limbs and elbows instead of a highly training, vastly experienced and athletic Iowa City Police sergeant. One leg tucked under his butt from his previous fall, the other was stretched out in front of him. He was still listing dangerously to port, and it was only the side of the couch that kept him from tumbling over completely. Huffing, McCoy glared at Scotty, who actually looked a little bit contrite. Kirk, on the other hand, was practically oozing giddy satisfaction. It was an expression the more experienced cop wanted desperately to wipe off his smug partner's face, preferably with his fist.
Kirk could see the simmering pot of emotions roiling through the older man by the telltale quiver of his partner's lower lip. Unable to control his glee, Jim rubbed his hands together and asked, "Problems, Sergeant?"
"No, Jim. I'm perfectly fine," Bones started in his trademark sarcastic fashion, working his way up into a proper pissed-off rage. Predictably, the vein in his neck jumped out from under the skin and his face took on a slightly red tinge. His right eyebrow jumped three solid notches, and his eyes bulged almost maniacally. McCoy's shoulders flicked as if he was about to try and cross his arms over his chest, but the presence of the restraints prohibited him from completing the motion. "I really enjoy being ambushed in my own home, tackled, handcuffed and told I'm about to be dragged to my CO's house for God only knows why."
"Bones, when you say it like that, you make it sound so barbaric," Jim replied, all but laughing in his partner's face despite the scowl practically imprinted on his features.
"And you." McCoy turned his withering glare toward Scotty. As his partner, Kirk might be immune to his angry stares and had managed to develop an ability to ignore his rants, but he knew the mechanic wasn't quite so fortunate. Straightening up as much as a man handcuffed and on his knees could (God that even sounded dirty in his head, never mind what Kirk would have thought), the sergeant growled, "If that video turns up on YouTube, so help me Scotty, I will kick your ass all the way back across the pond to that ridiculous island you claim to call home."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, McCoy. I would never do such a terrible thing to a friend," Scotty lied cheerfully while he tapped away at a couple of buttons on his phone surreptitiously. His intent was to save and upload his video directly to the video sharing site, but his finger hovered over the 'post' button before deciding on 'cancel' instead. The night was young; the chances were high that, before he took his leave, something else spectacular would happen that would warrant YouTubeabe. It would be a pity to waste his golden opportunity on a less than golden moment, or so the Scotsman thought.
Jim clapped his hands together, face alight with entirely too much glee. He took a couple of steps toward his partner, grabbed the man by the bicep and gave him a solid tug. "Now, upsidaisy. Time to go see Pike, Bones."
McCoy shirked back, dug his heels into the floor and attempted to make himself as heavy as possible in his partner's grip. "I wasn't kidding, Jim. If you think I'm going with you to Pike's, you're even thicker than that hockey stick I hit you with last week. I am perfectly content right here, watching the Falcons in my own living roof. It's my day off, and I want to spend it doing absolutely nothing."
Kirk let out something that sounded auspiciously like a giggle while he looked McCoy up and down. "I can see that, Bones," he replied noncommittally. "But it's also your birthday, and we've decided that you're not allowed to spend it all by yourself. There's a rule against that. There's also a rule against your mustache, but that's another matter entirely. Seriously, man. You just look cheesy." Jim cocked his head to the side, extended his hand up and, in a motion only he had the balls to actually try, patted gently at the facial hair adorning the sergeant's upper lip in a vain effort to shape it.
If he were anyone else, McCoy probably would have killed Jim where he stood. Well, if Jim were anyone else, and if his hands were free. But, because Kirk was his annoying but lovable partner, he settled on a simple, "For fuck's sake, Jim," instead. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Trying to corral the jungle, man. You look like you're trying to impersonate Tom Selleck with the size of that thing, and you're not doing a very good job," Kirk replied, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "It's still a little poofy, I think."
"Touch my face again, and I swear I will eviscerate you," McCoy said, shooting Jim a death glare. Bones ducked his head out of the way of Jim's wandering hands and cursed Pike blue for the thousandth time that month. He was never, ever going to play pool with the man again, especially when the loss of said pool match meant mandatory participation in 'Movember' as payment. Though McCoy would never go back on his word, his ingrained sense of integrity said nothing about taking the loss with a smile. The sergeant complained vehemently but resigned himself to his fate, one that included looking positively ridiculous for thirty agonizing calendar days.
Kirk shrugged and walked around to McCoy's side. As if he were leading out a suspect from a crime scene (which he was, sort of), Jim placed one hand firmly on the sergeant's bicep and gently urged the man forward. Scotty came around to the other side to flank the pair. He finally pocketed his iPhone, much to McCoy's relief. Kirk tugged his partner toward the door and asked, "Ready to go Bones?"
"Well, that's really too bad, because we're going anyway." Kirk clapped his partner on the shoulder and turned to face him. His entire body hummed with amusement; it wasn't every day Kirk got to arrest his superior officer and partner on the orders of his boss' boss, and he was taking every advantage of the situation. Scotty, and his affinity for his phone's video camera and the internet, might have a been a little bit of overkill, but when the mechanic showed up at Pike's, Jim could hardly say no to the extra set of hands.
"I don't suppose I get a say in this," Bones asked while Scotty fetched a jacket from the closet and laid it over McCoy's shoulders. A pair of shoes appeared magically in front of him for use. Sighing against the futility that had somehow become his life, the sergeant reluctantly slipped his feet into his worn, comfortable pair of Puma low-cut sneakers and met Scotty's happy whistling with a well-executed roll of his eyes.
"Nope. Your say was overruled when you didn't come to Pike's earlier today. This could have all been avoided if you weren't so anti-social." With his eyes twinkling and half-smirk on his lips, Kirk said to McCoy in the gravest voice he could muster, "Leonard McCoy, you are under arrest for having absolutely no sense of fun, for failing to show up at your own birthday party, and most seriously, for trying to hide from your partner who was looking for you to drag you to said birthday party. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of Lieutenant Pike."
Bones grumbled something inaudible under his breath. Kirk grabbed McCoy's keys off the small table next to the door, led the trio into the hallway, turned around and locked the door. Tossing the key set to Scotty, Kirk navigated the hallway and stairs down to Scotty's M5 in the parking lot. McCoy tried his best to ignore the pointed stares he was getting from his neighbors, for no doubt this would be the talk of the complex for the next week. The only saving grace for Kirk and Scotty's lives was that all his neighbors knew the two men well, and knew they were colleagues. They also knew what kind of person and police officer McCoy was, so at least being led out in handcuffs didn't garner a reaction more significant than a few raised eyebrows and a lot of throaty chuckles.
Scotty trotted ahead and unlocked the doors to his car. He really needed to fix the keyless entry one of these days. Or, he needed to not run the damned thing over with the lawnmower. He shoved the key into the driver's door lock and turned it twice, popping his open to wait for Kirk and McCoy. He set his arms on the roof of the car and squinted against the glare of the sun. Jim's hand was on the door handle of the backseat of the car when Scotty asked, "He really hit you with a hockey stick?"
Kirk waved dismissively. "Relax, Scotty. It was already broken when it happened, so it wasn't a big deal at all."
"Bullshit," McCoy interrupted. "I cracked the damn thing over your head."
"After I'd already broken it! Bones, don't claim all the credit for smashing that stick in half over my head. You're not that awesome." Kirk turned to face McCoy, who had done the same. Both men were leaning against Scotty's car, arguing as if nothing was amiss between the two of them. The only difference was that McCoy's normally animated, gesticulating hands were still, but he seemed to be using his mouth quite well to make up for it.
The mechanic's jaw fell open with a creak, emulating the door he still needed to fix on Jim and Bones' cruiser. Scotty's brain processed the fact that there was an argument taking place in front of him, but the words were coming out like a giant foghorn. He knew Jim and McCoy had a penchant for arguing, but physical assault was nearing the level of ridiculous. No wonder Pike was going grey as the pair's unofficial referee. Scotty replayed the words he did understand in his mind and pressed his fingertips to his forehead. To McCoy, he said, "Wait, wait, wait. You hit him over the head? What would you do a thing like that for? You could have hurt him, mate!"
McCoy scoffed loudly. "How could I hurt him, Scotty? Look at him! He's a reformed juvenile delinquent. Any damage done was a preexisting condition, not my fault. Besides, he was wearing a helmet."
"Oh, and that's a valid excuse now?" Scotty replied. "I'd love to see you pull those with the Lieutenant."
"Valid enough for that one," McCoy said with a jerk of his head in Jim's direction. "After all the shit he's put us both through in the last two years, I'm sure Pike would back me up."
"Which part, Bones?" Kirk asked.
"Both," McCoy growled in response. "You're the damned fool who heckled me the entire game, and then deflected a shot right at my head. As far as I'm concerned, you deserved it, idiot."
Scotty scratched his head and dropped in the driver's seat. "Actually, I'm not sure which one of you lot looks like the bigger idiot right about now."
Two heads snapped in the mechanic's direction, but before McCoy could say anything, Kirk recovered and shoved his partner through the open door and into the backseat of Scotty's car. He slammed the door hard in Bones' face, ignoring the stream of protest that started flowing from the man's mouth. Kirk grabbed his sunglasses from his pocket and slapped them on his face before he opened the door and slid easily into the buttery leather seat. He craned his neck around and stuck one index finger into McCoy's face as a warning. "Bitch all you want Bones, but we're going. I didn't risk death or great bodily injury for nothing, so just deal with it. Chris wants you at his place because he doesn't want you spending your birthday sitting alone in your apartment. And besides, I hear Lynn has a surprise for you, so just humor us and take it like a man."
"Aye," Scotty said. He started the engine for the car, put the clutch in and dropped the car into reverse. Backing out, he added, "From what I understand, it's a grand surprise. Frankly, I'm rather excited to see it."
"Me, too," Jim replied with a nod of his head while Scotty pulled out into traffic, heading west back to Pike's place. "What about you, Bones?"
McCoy sunk deeper into the seat of the car. The pain of the handcuffs on his wrists was nothing compared to the agony of well-meaning friends. He swore in his head, silently counted backwards from ten, and when that didn't work, let out a 'woo-sahh' in a vain attempt to calm himself down. Audibly, he settled on a simply muttered, "Fucking A," before blocking out every attempt at communication for the duration of the ride.
Right then and there, McCoy decided that mission was to get through the day without making a total ass of himself in front of his CO and friend, and more importantly, his CO's wife. It wouldn't kill him to be a little social, and there was a niggling part of his brain that was curious as to what Lynn Pike had planned. The woman was a basketful of surprises, and Len knew she wouldn't disappoint. After all, she'd practically adopted him. Resigned to make the best of an annoying situation, he set his jaw and prepared to face the music from a very irritated Chris Pike.
But on Monday, Jim Kirk was going to die.
Next Up: Chris and Lynn burn their son's eyes with PDAs, and the birthday boy arrives at Casa de Pike.