?

Log in

No account? Create an account

yesterday | tomorrow



Title:Behind The Shield
Author:Yuma aka mrwubbles
Betas:myfieldnotes and penfold_x
Artist:squarededdie
Fanmixer:[personal profile]epershand
Series: ST XI
Character(s):Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy
Rating:PG-13
Word Count:38,000+
Warnings: (if applicable) strong language
Summary: GEN - F.B.I. Special Agent Leonard McCoy of the White Collar Division wants to catch the Dutchman. But can the infamous James Kirk, a reformed young con artist, really help him? Or is this one big con, too? A revisit of White Collar's pilot episode, Star Trek Reboot style.

Previous Parts: Master Post| Teaser| Act 1 (1/2)| Act 1 (2/2)| Act 2 (1/4)| Act 2 (2/4)| Act 2 (3/4)| Act 2 (4/4)| Act 3 (1/2)| Act 3 (2/2)| Act 4 (1/2)

Act 4 (2/2)

A meeting with the F.B.I. team that Kirk didn't even pay attention to and an hour later, Kirk and Leonard were on their way out of the building. Exiting security and the glass doors, Kirk continued walking. Leonard stared after him, frustrated, but caught up to him, leaving Sulu behind at the security check out station, still waiting to clear through.

Their strides were more like they were racing each other until Kirk finally eased his pace as they drew near the federal plaza courtyard. Reholstering his weapon after inspection, Sulu hurried to catch up as well.

Leonard wanted to say something, but his phone was buzzing, Uhura again. He called for Kirk to hold up.

"I'm gonna to go grab some coffee," Kirk said all of the sudden, spotting the kiosk.

Leonard frowned as he tried to listen with one ear to what Uhura was saying. "Hey, I'll get it, I owe you that much."

Shoulders lifted. "It's okay."

"No, I mean it. It's been a shitty day." Leonard grunted into his phone. "Not you, Uhura."

"I'll start the order," Kirk made a capitulating sound. He hesitated and turned to call back.

"You ever figure out what you're going to do yet with your kid?"

"Hang on," Leonard tucked the cell into his ear and sighed. "Not yet, but I will." He smiled briefly to himself as he thought of the photo Jo sent him on his cell of the zoo she visited with her aunt. "She doesn't ask for much."

"No," Kirk said. "She doesn't. You need to take care of her." He glanced across the plaza. "I'll be quick, okay?"

Leonard surveyed the people standing around, noting the faces. He pulled out a familiar one. "Sulu, keep an eye on him."

"Okay," Sulu hollered back.

"Later," Kirk said subdued.

Leonard watched him turn away. His stomach knotted as he considered the figure walking away before his attention was drawn back to Nyota.

--

F.B.I., Lower Manhattan

"…and then the giraffe took the apple from my hand!"

Leonard chuckled softly into the phone. "Did you remember to thank Aunt Christine?"

"Uh huh. And she even got me pizza at that place you took me to last time. I ate two slices!"

"Wow, two slices, huh? Someone was hungry."

"Aunt Christine ate three but she said not to tell anyone. It's a secret."

Leonard lowered his voice. "I'm a federal agent. I know how to keep lots of secrets."

There was a giggle.

Leonard smiled sadly into the phone. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there, Jo." Again.

"That's okay. Maybe you can come back early for dinner?" Jo asked hopefully. "Aunt Christine is going to help me make Grandma's meatloaf."

"Sounds delicious. Eight?"

"Can we watch Toy Story?"

"Again?"

"Please?"

Leonard chuckled. Jo was going to fall asleep halfway again anyway. "Fine. I better go. I'll see you at eight."

"Promise?"

His throat suddenly tight, Leonard curled a fist and nodded. He croaked, "Promise."

"Okay, Dad. Catch lots of bad guys! Love you!"

"Me too," Leonard sighed to the dial tone. Glumly, he stared at his phone. At the knock, he raised his eyes.

Kirk lingered by the door, smelling faintly of coffee. He held up a slip of paper between two fingers. "I found Nero."

Leonard arched an eyebrow at him.

"There's this warehouse, down by the docks. Nero runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

Skeptically, Leonard studied Kirk. "We didn't know about this, how did you?"

Kirk's shrug was unconvincing. Leonard felt about as good as pond scum. Kid's spirits were obviously at an all time low thanks to him. "I don't think you rely on rumor as much as I do."

"Uh huh." Leonard was not going to push because he knew he'll only end up hating the answer. He grabbed his jacket. "Let's go."

--

Queens, New York City

A lone foghorn bayed in the distance. It was the only sound in the rundown dock. Leonard nodded to Kirk to come closer. They both crouched by a door.

"Do you hear that?" Kirk pressed his ear to the corrugated metal siding.

Leonard screwed up his face, straining to listen. "Hear what?"

"Kind of a rhythmic…" Kirk made a shushing sound as he tried to mimic what was inside. Kirk's eyes widened. "That's a press." Kirk pointed frantically at the building. "He's printing bonds in there right now, you can hear him!"

Leonard leaned into the wall for another listen. Damn. Kirk was right. "How long until they're done?"

"A multicolor print shop as complicated as the Goya? Test proofs, ink formulation, perfection registration…"

"Kirk!" Leonard hissed as Kirk sank into mumbling.

Kirk snapped out of it. "Days. He'll be running it for days."

The cell phone nearly tumbled out of his hands as he pulled it out. "Chekov."

"Boss?"

"I need recording equipment down here immediately."

"You got it."

Leonard snapped the phone shut, in time to snag Kirk by the collar. "Where do you think you're going?"

Kirk stared at him like he was an idiot. "Inside."

Vehemently shaking his head, Leonard held fast. "No way. Not by ourselves. We can't go in there. Let's go."

Kirk tugged away from Leonard. "You can hear them. We can catch them in the act!"

"And have our case throw out of court because we went in without cause?" Leonard hissed.

Kirk gaped at him. "Cause? Nero had a man killed. You can hear the presses inside. They're obviously—"

With a growl, Leonard pulled Kirk by his tie. "Obvious is not admissible in a court of law."

Kirk jerked back. He straightened his tie, his mouth set. "And this is why it took you guys all this time and got nothing until I helped you." He said pointedly.

Christ, Leonard wanted to swing a fist at the kid here and now but while he was bound by law not to go in, Nero's men would have no qualms in coming out.

"We're leaving," he grated. "Now."

--

F.B.I., Lower Manhattan

"Okay," McCoy announced, "So Nero is our guy. We still don't have enough for a warrant."

"We know the bonds are there," Jim argued for what seemed like the thousandth time, "that should be enough."

A heavy tome glided across the table, stopping at the edge in front of him. Jim picked it up.

"Warrant Law?" he read the cover.

McCoy gestured at the volume. "All I've got is sound coming out of a warehouse and no way to link him to the bond." McCoy pursed his lips and considered Jim.

"I've got to talk to your friend."

"Friend?" Jim fought back the surprise springing in his chest. "What friend?" he asked evenly.

"The guy who made your coffee." McCoy nodded to his desk on the note Jim had handed him before.

Jim stiffened. "I have no—"

McCoy gave him a look. "You think Sulu is an idiot?"

Jim set his jaw. "Maybe the guy Sulu saw was just an engineering maestro with an espresso machine."

" I have to know how he connected Nero to the warehouse." McCoy opened his hands. "You gotta trust me."

Jim clamped his mouth shut and stared at the table.

"Look, unless you can find me another legitimate reason to bust in there, your friend is our best shot." McCoy ran a hand through his hair. "We can't get a warrant to his warehouse without justifiable cause. No warrant, no bonds. No bonds, no Dutchman. No Dutchman—Do I need to go on?"

No, he didn't. Jim sighed.

"I'll bring you to him."

"When?"

"First thing tomorrow."

--

87 Riverside Dr, New York City

Warrant Law was boring.

Jim flipped to the next page of the book before he gave up and set it down on his bare stomach. Chris Pike had loaned him a few law books as well which Jim had skimmed through. Why Pike had them, he wouldn't say but cryptically mentioned they were well used. They were. The spines were cracked, pages yellowed at the corners. Jim found himself distracted at times trying to decipher the odd penciled in notations along the margins.

Pike said the answer was most likely not in the books but maybe between the lines—whatever the hell that meant. Jim eyed the tome again and gazed past his outstretched legs to the clock.

Bringing Scotty to McCoy was not an option. Scotty was fifty percent paranoia and fifty percent pure genius. Poor guy would expire the moment he set foot on the first step. He fled to Iceland for four months for Pete's sake under the fear that feds had found out his real name.

Jim exhaled. He turned his head into the sofa. His brother, right now, would argue Scotty was the only way to get the Dutchman and keep the facsimile of freedom tethered to his ankle. Just give Scotty up to McCoy, let the OCD Rottweiler have a go at Scotty to pick on everything he knows.

No way.

Jim gnashed his teeth together. He flipped back up the law book, reading a few more pages before an idea squirmed in the back of his mind. He tapped a finger to his lower lip while he reread the section.

"Can't be that simple, right?" Jim murmured. He set down the book again. His eyes drifted down to his ankle and the steady green pinprick glow.

Huh.

--

Brooklyn, New York City

The cell phone buzzed only once before Leonard's hand snaked out from under the covers and slapped over it.

"Yeah?" he answered fuzzily.

"He's running," Uhura said without preamble.

Damn it, Jim.

--

Queens, New York City

Sam told him once that people who have something to hide don't like attention. Any attention: whether a wave, a call or even a parking ticket. To be forgettable, they shouldn't be memorable.

Jim was pretty sure they were so going to hate this.

As soon as he parked the car (it was a good thing Pike left his car keys each night in the same spot on the entry table) Jim sauntered over to the warehouse and began snapping pictures.

"Hey!"

Yup. Hate it.

Jim took a snapshot of the sign, of the asphalt, of the three goons stalking his way. Wait, one of them looked familiar. Jim grimaced to himself when he realized where he had seen that badly sparse goatee before. He absently wondered if the guy would remember him.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" One of them grabbed his camera. "What're you doing? You can't be here."

"Oh, I'm taking a class over at the Annex," Jim said brightly, "and pictures of rusty sheet metal are a surefire A." Jim backtracked as if he was leaving. Sure enough, a hand shot to his elbow.

"I think you better come with us, Cupcake."

Oh yeah. He remembered.

"Let's take him to the docks," the other suggested.

Jim held up his hands as he pressed the camera to them. He grit his teeth. This wasn't going to be fun, but the docks weren't what he wanted. He thought quickly as he watched them stomp on the camera body. Maybe he should point out that it was a digital SLR and short of a truck running it over, the flash card inside would remain intact.

"Hey, you could take that if you want. Never could get used to that ISO aperture thing. I already got some decent ones with my point-and-shoot camera that my teacher—"

A fist grabbed him by the peacoat's lapels and hauled him up to balance on his toes.

"Where's the camera?"

Jim smiled, blinking wide eyed up at them. "What camera?"

--

F.B.I., Lower Manhattan

Uhura gave Jo a fond smile when Leonard pulled out a chair for her to sit on in the conference room. Jo yawned, waved sleepily at Uhura and Sulu and went right back to sleep on the desktop.

"What do you have?" Leonard asked tersely as soon as he shut the door. He jogged down the steps and perched over Chekov's shoulder and eyed the tracking monitor.

"It stopped moving about five minutes ago," Chekov reported as he typed in the location. "Pulling up the GPS coordinates now."

As the address scrolled onto the screen, Leonard blinked.

And smiled.

"Kirk, you crazy son of a bitch."

--

Queens, New York City

Not one of his better ideas.

Jim spit out blood from his cut lip as the thugs dragged him into the warehouse. He grunted as his legs were dragged over the door frame without apology. He didn't do anything more than that though; a token resistance was all he could afford to do but geez, did they have to hit so hard? Or so enthusiastically? Stupid steel toed boots.

As the metal door was kicked open, Jim's ringing ears pounded with the clacking sounds of presses slapping over pale cream parchment paper. Iron tinged ink wafted in the air. It smelled like blood.

No, wait. That's me.

Pallets of Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos stood like tiny towers around the warehouse. Jim gave them a glance and felt a thin heat of satisfaction coil inside of him.

"Go get Nero!"

Without warning, they tossed Jim into the freestanding glass office in the back of the warehouse. Jim landed, hard. He rolled onto his hands and knees. He coughed.

"What exactly is going on here?"

Jim staggered, nearly collapsing into the door as he pushed it shut and turned the bolt in their faces. He grinned at the stunned look on Nero's face as he ran towards the office.

"Why'd you bring him inside?" Nero demanded.

"He was taking pictures."

Jim scowled as someone used a gun handle to bang on the glass. "Open the door! You're a dead man!"

Jim rolled his eyes. As if. He rapped on the glass with his scraped knuckles. "That sounds like inch-thick Lexan," he mused out loud.

Nero snapped at someone, who bolted off. He stepped up to the glass and met Jim's eyes.

"Keys are on the way," Nero said low. "Then you and I are going to have a talk, James T. Kirk."

Jim shrugged. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of a sleeve. He limped over to the sturdy desk. "Nice," Jim commented as he patted the seamless workmanship. Hm, nineteenth century, perhaps. The makeshift office was furnished with bookcases, a desk, even a small standing wet bar. He eased himself into the padded chair with a happy groan. "Very nice. I could get used to this chair." He swung his legs up onto the desk and crossed his ankles. He stared back at Nero, met his glower unblinkingly.

"You shouldn't have signed the bonds," Jim tsked. He casually brushed a hand across the edge of the desk. "I'm no stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse."

"I'm going to kill you," Nero swore. He slapped angrily at the glass. "You're going to pay with your hide!"

Jim darkened. "Were the bonds worth Field's life?"

"They're worth yours," Nero snarled. He jabbed a finger at the glass. "They're definitely worth more than yours and Field's miserable lives, Kirk. I hope whatever they're giving you, it's worth it."

Jim grinned as his keen hearing picked up the sirens. Right on time. "It is." He smirked when everyone outside looked up. Jim waggled his eyebrows and tugged up his pants leg to reveal his tracking anklet and its steady red light.

Nero punched the glass with both fists. "You are a particular kind of bastard, Kirk!"

Jim shrugged. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He eyed the corner of the desk at the humidor with piqued interest.

"Say, is that Cuban?"

--

If he didn't think it would make him look like an idiot, he would rub his hands together in glee.

"Gentlemen," Leonard declared as he climbed out of his car, "we have a fugitive hiding in this building." He made a grand sweeping gesture with his hands. "Knock down those doors!"

Metal gave away easily behind a battering ram. Leonard gestured 'After you' to Uhura. After all, his mama raised him to have manners. Uhura smirked as she stepped in before him.

"Freeze!"

"Get in there!"

"Federal Agents! Get 'em up in the air!"

"This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance," Leonard declared as he walked into the warehouse. He pivoted on his heel and grinned at Sulu and Chekov behind him. "Any of you Harvard grads know what that is, huh? No hands? Nyota?"

"Exigent circumstance allows us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant," Uhura cited as they drew near a handcuffed Nero scowling at them.

Leonard picked up a stray bond that had fluttered to the floor. "And to seize any and all evidence that is discovered in plain view," Leonard continued. He shook the bond at Nero. "Regardless of the connection to the original crime."

A wolfish grin spread across his face. "Hey, remember me…Friend?" He handed the bond to Uhura and stepped over a stack of books. He snickered as he caught a familiar face. "Oh hey, Sulu, there's his lawyer."

The smile faded somewhat when Leonard approached the office. Kirk was smirking—although it was hard to tell with the swollen jaw and rapidly blackening eye—smoking a cigar as he hobbled over to open the door for him.

"More local color?" Leonard deadpanned.

Kirk couldn't hide the wince when he shrugged. Leonard caught the way his left arm wrapped around his middle. "You know me. Making friends everywhere I go."

"Uh huh. You are a natural diplomat." He motioned Kirk to sit on the edge of the desk. He tipped Kirk's head back, grunting before he pulled away.

"Jim," Leonard shook his head. "What were you thinking?"

"'Those circumstances that would cause a reasonable person to believe that entry (or other relevant prompt action) was necessary to prevent physical harm to the officers or other persons, the destruction of relevant evidence, the escape of a suspect, or some other consequence improperly frustrating legitimate law enforcement efforts,'" Kirk quoted. His eyebrows went up and down. "United States v. McConney," he added. "Hey, you told me to read that book."

Leonard barked a laugh. "And you listened?"

Kirk answered with a cloud of smoke and a bloody grin. He sobered, his attention outside, Leonard tracked his gaze to Collins and Sulu taking an extraordinary delight in reading him his rights.

"Will this be enough?" Kirk asked. The cigar sagged between his teeth.

Leonard watched as Collins was led away, followed by Nero. "Yeah. We got him now. Both of them."

Kirk nodded, his gaze still troubled.

"No one comes back from being dead," Kirk said out of the blue. Smoke puffed out angrily between his teeth.

"No," Leonard agreed somberly. He studied Kirk out of the corner of his eyes. "But now no one else is going to die either."

Blinking, Kirk turned to him. He seemed to think about it. Shadows eased and he nodded, satisfied. He faced forward again and watched the proceedings with a faint smile.

"I could have sworn," Leonard remarked, "you were going to bring your friend in this morning."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Trust me, it wouldn't be doing either one of you any favors."

"It could have gotten us that warrant. I said—"

"You said to bring him in unless I could find you another legitimate reason to be here." Kirk tapped his head. "Perfect recall."

Leonard stared at him, his mouth opened. He snapped it shut, looked down at the anklet around Kirk's leg and grunted.

"You cheated."

"I did not!" Kirk sat up straighter and glowered. "I just…found a better solution."

"Oh yeah, I'm going to have a fun time explaining that to Spock," Leonard muttered under his breath. He didn't relish the meeting with the A.D.A. He shook his head. Only Kirk.

"You know," Leonard said slowly with a smirk, "you're really bad at this escape thing."

Kirk shrugged, winced again and raised his cigar. "Cigar?"

"Cuban?"

Kirk swung his legs as he puffed on it. "You should arrest me."

Leonard snorted. "I'll let the cigar go, but you are a fleeing suspect." He paused when Kirk smirked and nodded behind him to an open safe. A very familiar looking parchment laid out in open view.

His grin broadened. "Well, well, is that what I think it is?"

"Why, yes," Kirk smugly taking out the cigar and rubbing it out, "yes it is."

Laughing, Leonard took up Jim's stogie and took a deep forbidden inhale across its skin, taking in the distinctive Cuban scent. "You know this makes me 3 and 0?" Leonard drawled as he twirled the unlit cigar.

"Yeah?" Kirk mused. "Maybe I'm not trying hard enough."

"…You cracked that safe open, didn't you?"

"Bones, you gotta learn to stop asking so many questions."

"And you gotta stop calling me 'Bones'."

--

St. Vincent's Hospital, New York City

"So have you decided?"

Leonard lifted his head to consider Kirk on the gurney. Luckily, Kirk hadn't tried sitting up again and took Leonard's threat to handcuff him to the bed seriously and stayed put.

"Decided if I would handcuff you?" Leonard replied. He grunted and went back to his Blackberry to review his emails. "Yes. They said the X-rays are done. We can wait to hear if that thick skull of yours really does have concussion first."

"I know what they'll say: ribs cracked not broken, no concussion, no internal injuries—"

"You don't know that," Leonard interrupted for the third time.

The eye roll was audible. "Please, I know enough."

"Yeah?" Leonard folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow at Kirk. "Enlighten me. Last I checked, you had two fake PhD's, three MBA's, taught under two of them, but I don't recall an MD somewhere in your falsified resume."

"Well…you know…" Kirk waved lazily a hand in the air. "Experience and stuff."

Doing the math, Leonard grimaced. "Experience, huh?"

The hand froze mid-circle and lowered. "Sure beats book learning sometimes," Kirk nodded. He folded his hands across his stomach and fell silent. "Trust me, I'm fine."

"Hey," Leonard said gruffly, "I was the one with all those years in medical school. You were the one who threw up on me."

"But I feel fine."

"You'll live," Leonard relented. "You'll probably not be happy about it for the next few days but you'll live."

Kirk winced as he touched his cut cheek. "But will I still be pretty?"

"Were you ever?" Leonard shot back. "Just lie back and wait for the results." He went back to pretending to read his email but not before frowning at his watch. The resident was taking a long time though. The films were clear, right? They wouldn't have triaged him back into the ER otherwise. But what if they'd found a—

"You didn't answer my question."

"What?" Leonard was momentarily distracted from the list of possible conditions. He peered up at Kirk.

Gingerly propping up on his elbows, Kirk met his eyes. "My question: have you decided?"

"Decided?" Leonard parroted.

"For your kid."

Sagging, Leonard shook his head. By now, Christine was picking up Jo from the office and the number of days she was still going to be there had shrunk by one. Was it worth planning something for only the day or two left? After he hadn't been there all this time?

Kirk looked at him steadily before averting his gaze. "You know, I never knew my father," he said quietly. "Lost him day I was born."

Startled, Leonard could only say, "I didn't know that."

There was a quicksilver smirk to him. "There's a lot you don't know." The smile faded to a weary twist of the mouth.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not trying to get your sympathy."

Leonard didn't think so. "So, you're telling me this because…"

"Because I know your kid wouldn't care where you take her," Kirk said carefully. "She just wants you there."

Leonard didn't realize he was gaping at Kirk until the other cleared his throat, his ears pinking. Kirk's gaze slid away.

"I know that sounds clichéd—"

"I'll say." Now it was Leonard's turn to look elsewhere. He scratched his jaw. "But it doesn't mean you don't have a point."

"Maybe you don't have to be the best, you just have to be there." Kirk said quietly, his voice curiously absent of its usual teasing.

"You know I guess that's good advice." Leonard knew the same could be said about brothers and Sam. He had run the database. Sam was just gone. And he ran Edith—although part of him argued the wisdom of that—and she was gone as well; her aliases, her movements disappearing after intersecting Sam Kirk's.

Leonard stared at the stubborn bruised face. Sometimes it was hard to let go of the family image you had in your head. It had been that way with him for a long time too. Maybe a friend, a good friend, waited until you were ready to go there instead of forcing you to see the truth. He hoped he'll be able to one day convince Jim this really was a good thing; that being abandoned didn't mean he was left alone.

He sighed; when had he started thinking about Jim Kirk being his friend?

"Bones?" Jim asked tentatively, a little uncertain.

Leonard shrugged. "Jo's a good kid. She's never wanted much."

"She is a good kid," Kirk agreed. He paused. "Must take after her mother." Kirk snickered when Leonard whipped around at him. Kirk dropped back onto the gurney, chuckling.

Grumbling, Leonard turned away and faced the curtains. Where was that damn doctor anyway?

"So…" Kirk said slowly.

"What?"

"Her name's Nyota, huh?"

Leonard winced, thinking back to the raid. "You did not hear that from me."



| Epilogue |

TV Quote of the Day

Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?

~ Gandalf "The Hobbit"

Latest Month

July 2015
S M T W T F S
   1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031 
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow