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Chapter Text

[act 4]

St. Boniface Cathedral, Third Street, Brooklyn

There was something about the smell of colored oils Jim found intoxicating.

Sam said it was because he was sniffing the fixative in the oils. Sometimes his brother had no soul.

"This is it." McCoy murmured as he gave the vaulted ceilings and the arches a long glance one that said maybe he felt a little bit of what Jim did too.

Jim whispered back. "This is it."

With a tug of his suit, McCoy took another step forward only to be aborted by a priest coming up the aisle.

"You can't come in, we're closed for restoration."
 
McCoy grimaced but nodded. He backtracked. "Sorry, Father."
 
Jim eyed the vignette at the end of the rows of seats. He sidestepped around McCoy, ignoring the grumbled, "Hey" and touched the priest's sleeve. "Oh, could we just…could we just have a moment?"

McCoy stared at the back of his head. "What are you—"

Jim steered the priest neatly around McCoy. He waved the agent back with a hand behind him.

"Father," Jim murmured respectfully. "Please, my best friend is having a crisis of the soul. He's a federal agent who chases down criminals, studies them, and over time feels like he knows them almost better than family. He becomes consumed by finding them, changing them. He forgets to eat. To sleep. Even forgets about his own daughter coming to town to visit." Jim made a face. "But can he truly change what's in their souls? Aren't some of these people just born broken?"

The priest sighed and sadly shook his head. "It's very common today, to struggle like this. To want to change those around us to be the way we would wish them to be."
 
"Exactly. He is consumed. It destroyed his marriage and now… I fear this need to change things…well…. He can't fix everyone can he? For some of them it's just too late, isn't it?" Jim muttered under his breath, "I mean don't get me started on the last one. A total con artist. A problem child from the day he was born. His own family cast him aside. And here's my friend trying to see some good in him but at what cost? I've tried talking to him about this need to fix things that aren't fixable, but…" Jim turned the priest towards McCoy inspecting the pulpit. "But he's very spiritual," Jim added.
 
The priest eyed McCoy, who raised a puzzled eyebrow back.

Jim cleared his throat. "I know this is the place where my words will have the most effect."

The priest started to steer him to the door. "This is the city of churches. We're closed. Surely, there's another place—"
 
"This is where he was married, where his daughter was baptized," Jim interrupted, "I figure if this doesn't remind him of what he needs to focus on, his daughter, his own life, rather than saving the soul of one messed up broken criminal…well…" Jim pretended to let his voice tremble.

The priest eyed McCoy. He shook his head sadly at McCoy and sighed. "Five minutes."
 
Jim shook the priest's hand. "Thank you, thank you, Father." He trotted back to a scowling McCoy. "Sorry about that," Jim whispered, "we've got five."

"Did you just lie to a priest?" McCoy hissed.

Jim blinked. "Nope."

McCoy, taken aback, asked somewhat suspiciously. "Really?"

 Jim clapped McCoy soundly on the back. "Trust me, Bones. I just told him the truth. The whole truth. And nothing but...." He left his hand on McCoy's shoulder and prodded him towards the back vignette even as McCoy muttered to stop calling him that, his tone indicating that he still didn't believe Jim, which was funny all things considered. Jim had opened his mouth to spin a yarn about an illicit office romance and Uhura and Bones but halfway there he'd found himself changing his mind. It had shocked him that Bones, after the initial bluster, had let him hang out with him and Jo this morning. Him. Like he really wasn't a bad guy just like Jo had said. Which was just a little bit messed up wasn't it? Maybe when they were done he really would have the priest give Bones a little talking to after they got what they were came for. His breath caught at the golden sheen of the painting. Which was right there.
 
"Extraordinary," Jim breathed. His hands twitched as he caught sight of paintbrushes someone had left behind.
 
McCoy, "Yeah, it is." He scanned the artwork up and down. "Well, if this Nero guy is as good as you say, how come I've never heard of him?"
 
Jim, still gazing at the perfect trinity of space and form, murmured, distracted. "You only know the guys who got caught. You know the second best criminals."
 
"What's that say about you?"
 
Jim smirked. "Who says you caught me? Maybe I waited for you?" He pointed at the netted borders at the bottom as McCoy sputtered.

"What? Why? No way."

It had given enough time for Sam and Edith to get away and it had finally allowed him to meet the man who had followed him for so long. Course it had ended in prison. Showing again that Jim didn't think long term very well sometimes. Jim just shrugged. "Look."
 
"Where?"
 
Jim huffed, using one of Sam's favorite phrases with him. "Do I have to do everything?" Jim took him by the elbow and nudged him closer. He pulled out his magnifying piece. "Right there. Right—there."
 
Squinting, McCoy peered through the lens at the carved dress edge. "There? Maybe," he muttered begrudgingly.

"What do you mean maybe?" This time, he gave in to the urge to smack McCoy on the arm. "That's an N and you can clearly see—."

"Can I help you, gentleman?"

Jim straightened and smiled at the man in an art smock. Tall, broad shouldered, Nero walked as if he had an Armani suit on. "That's all right," Jim said cheerfully. "Just trying to instill some culture in my friend here." Jim took a step to the side to avoid the heel of McCoy's shoe.

"Your face…" Nero rubbed his chin. Dark eyes studied Jim and narrowed. "I know your face."

Jim perked up. "Really?"

"Oh for crying out loud," McCoy muttered behind him.

"Maybe I've seen it on the news…" Nero's eyes narrowed. "Or on a most wanted web page."

Oh. Jim kept the smile on his face as he extended his hand. "James T. Kirk."
 
Nero merely eyed it. He slipped his hands into his pockets. "Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief."

Asshole. Jim's smile thinned. "I was never arrested for art theft."
 
"Not arrested, but as I recall you were known as quite the flashy criminal." Nero considered Jim carefully, his mouth twisted into a smirk Jim wanted to wipe off. "So you can understand my concern at having you in my space." Nero turned to McCoy as if he just noticed him.

"And you are?"
 
"Just a friend," McCoy rumbled.
 
Nero chuckled lightly. "Well…friend." He stepped to the side and gestured towards the doors. "This church is closed."
 
McCoy nodded, shrugging as if leaving was his intention all along. "I've had enough culture."

Jim matched his long stride. "Did you see it?" he whispered.
 
"Okay, you've got me curious," McCoy admitted, "we'll check him out."
 
"Listen to the friend, son, not all those who wander can be turned back to the path," the priest called out to McCoy not unkindly.
 
"Uh, right." Leonard glanced over, baffled. "What's that about?"

"Friend, more like ball and chain." Jim muttered glancing woefully at his leg tracker, "Can we please get something to eat in a good area first? I'm starved."

"Oh, right, like you can't find anything good to eat in that palace you're staying in."

"It's very limiting."

"You're only limited by your imagination."

"I have plenty of imagination."

"For crime, not food."

"Details. Details."

--

F.B.I., Lower Manhattan

No sooner had Kirk walked into Leonard's office than he was ordered to shut the door.

Kirk opened his hands and froze in front of his desk.

"Whatever it was, I was here the whole time and Sulu did it."

"Funny." Leonard tossed him over a folder. "Need your opinion on this."

"You need my opinion? And what have I been doing up until now?" Kirk stared.

Leonard glared. Kirk cleared his throat.
 
"This the information on Nero?"
 
"No, Uhura's on her way with that. This is sort of research on something else." Leonard's face was stony.
 
Kirk hesitated, flipping open the folder, realizing what he was perusing, he slowed and started at the front of the stack again. He squinted at them, lifting up one to the light. "Uh…These are travel brochures."

"Uh huh." Leonard grunted. "Handed in my vacation request for when Jo's back here again. Thought we would go on a trip together. Except. Except I'm not good at these things. So I need an opinion."

"Why not Uhura or Sulu? Even Chekov's probably good with this sort of thing."

"Yeah, well, I'm not asking them. I asked you."

Leonard's look promised Kirk he'd do something evil and permanent to him if Kirk made a joke out of that statement. He was serious about asking Kirk's advice. Kirk looked at the pamphlets again. "But what about now?" he asked quietly.

Leonard rubbed his forehead. "We don't know when this case will close and she has to fly back to Atlanta at the end of next week and get ready for school."

"Somehow I don't think a trip to a talking mouse and a fake German castle is going to make up for it," Kirk pointed out.

Leonard leaned into his chair. He heaved a sigh. "I know."

Kirk scrutinized the next glossy brochure. "Nor is going down a water slide day after day."

"You don't think? She likes swimming."

"She could get an ear infection—"

"All right! Then what?"

Kirk set the pamphlets down. "Maybe we'll close this case soon."

Shaking his head, Leonard eyed him. "It took me over two years, you're offering to do it in—what? Two weeks?"

Kirk shrugged. "I'll make you a deal."

"You already did," Leonard reminded him.

"I'll make you another one." Kirk hesitated. "I help you close this case so you have time with Jo and you get me something."

"What?"

"The wine bottle," Kirk said subdued. "I just want the wine bottle."

Leonard studied him. "Why?"

"It's an '82 Bordeaux."

Leonard nodded. "Yeah, costs eight hundred bucks a pop."

"It does when it's full." Jim shrugged. "I got it empty."
 
Leonard frowned. "Empty?"
 
Kirk stared at a spot past his ear. "When Eddy and I met, we had nothing. I got that bottle when we got together." He laughed awkwardly. "A sign that we could fix things. That they would get better. I used to fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could afford and we'd sit in our crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were living in the Cote d’Azur."
 
Leonard smiled grimly. "And how'd that work out for you?"
 
"It didn't." Kirk cleared his throat. "That bottle was a promise of a better life. What Eddy got was a guy locked away for half a decade." Kirk rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. "I promised her Sam would watch out for her but he's gone too. She was left alone and I promised her that would never happen." Blue eyes squarely met his. "Make your little girl any promises?"

Before Leonard could answer—Uhura knocked on the door.

"Hey," Leonard said, inexplicably relieved. He frowned at his probie's unsmiling face. "What've you got?"
 
Uhura handed him a printout. "Nero is leaving the country. He booked a flight through a private charter company in Barcelona for the 19th."
 
"One week?" Leonard reread the form. His jaw clenched. "Damn it, seeing us must've tipped him off."
 
"He's going to Spain, that's something," Kirk pointed out.
 
It was something; just not something he could use. "Is there any connection to our books, the bonds, or the murder?"
 
Uhura's mouth twisted unhappily. "Nero's as impressive as hell. A lot of international holdings, but he keeps himself out of the muck."

"You get every available agent on this," Leonard ordered. "You know the good ones, steal 'em if you have to. I want to know every single thing about this guy and I don't want any excuses from other field operatives that they can't spare them. Anything gets in your way—"
 
"Forge your signature. Always do."

Leonard's mouth snapped shut. "I didn't hear that!" he hollered to her departing back. Leonard shook his head and turned to Kirk.
 
"Looks like you'll get your deal. If you're right about Nero, we have one week to connect him to the bond." Leonard stared at him steadily. "If we lose him on the 19th though…Jim, if we lose him, you're back in." Leonard's stomach churned. "I can't save you."

Kirk didn't flinch. He nodded gravely.
 
--

87 Riverside Dr, New York City

The piano was Steinway, flawless in tone, pitch and made a hell of a surface when Jim slid his hat across it.

"You're late," Scotty chided out of the dark as he caught the hat and plopped it on his own head.

"Hey, give me a break." Jim walked around and retrieved the hat. It wasn't a good look for Scotty. "I'm a working man now."
 
Scotty tracked Jim patiently as he paced the length of the piano.

"Well, laddie?"

Jim stopped in his tracks. "We were right about Nero."
 
Scotty sniffed. "Of course we were right."
 
Jim sighed. "And I was stupid and impulsive and he saw me. I have one week to link him to the bonds."
 
Scotty's eyes drew to slits. "Or what?"

Jim shrugged, his throat working.

Scotty tensed. "They cannae do that."

Jim's throat worked. He stared at the polished surface. "I think they can."

"No, no, no…" Scotty drummed his fingers on the piano top, the pattern going faster and faster as his brow furrowed. "We'll figure this out."

Jim's mouth quirked wearily. "Yeah." Good ole Scotty. He turned the hat in his hands. "Did you find anything about Sam or Eddy?"

Scotty's fingers stopped mid-beat. "Apparently, a tree falls in the forest, it does make a sound."

The photo traveled just as easily across the surface like his hat. Jim gingerly picked up the photo. He pressed his lips together at the image of Eddy looking off to her shoulder at the hand resting there.

"Recognize the ring?" Scotty asked.

Jim numbly shook his head.

"Maybe it's Sam's?"

"No. The hand's all wrong. I…I don't think it's him."

Scotty rotated the picture back towards himself. "You sure? Lass donnae look scared of him."

Shaking his head, Jim bit his lower lip.  "I may lose her again, Scotty."
 
"Lose her? I just bloody found her!"
 
Jim pointed to the hand with the ring. "But so did he."

--

F.B.I., Lower Manhattan

Despite the morning traffic blaring outside, Kirk's careful question was loud and clear.

"Remember when you told me not to look for Sam or Eddy?"
 
Leonard closed his eyes briefly. He should have known. Kirk was far too quiet when he picked him up this morning. "Yeah," he said warily. He tracked Kirk making his way to a chair, taking a little too much care not to wrinkle the navy pinstripe trousers when he sat down. Kirk ran a hand across his jacket before pulling something out.
 
A photo slid across the desk to Leonard; he focused on a black and white image of Edith Keeler, then exhaled sharply. He stood up and walked around to sit on the edge of his desk so he could see Kirk better. He took a deep, steadying breath before he could trust himself to speak.

"Where did you get this?"
 
Kirk, as usual, ignored the question he didn't want to answer. "These were taken four days ago at a San Diego ATM. She's going under the name Edith Perdue. You know what Perdue means in French?"

"It means 'lost'," Leonard translated. Was Keeler lost to him or was she lost without him? Leonard could see the question in Kirk's eyes. He held a hand up before Kirk continued. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Look, I just need a couple of days after this Dutchman thing is over, a couple days to go to San Diego. You can send an agent with me. You can come with me—Sea World's in San Diego. Bring Jo if you want."

"Was your brother there, too?"

Startled, Kirk shook his head.

Leonard folded his arms. "So what happens if you find a photo of him? Do you need a couple of days for that as well?"

"I—"
 
Leonard gripped Kirk by the arms. Kirk went rigid so he let go. "I'm sorry. But does it even occur to you that they could have contacted you? Left you a note? Anything more than a wine bottle as a fucking message? Look how hard you're looking for them and you've got an F.B.I. approved ankle bracelet on for crying out loud. You don't think they could try just as good, even better? You come up with a photo. What do they try to come up with? Nothing. I think…I think that's because they're not looking." Leonard told him firmly. He wanted to give Kirk a shake. "How many times are you going to screw up your life for this girl? Or for your brother? When they're the ones who got you sent to jail in the first place!"

--

Jim's eyes flared. "Sam didn't—"

"Sam let you take the fall for all of it. I hate to break it you, kid, but think. Edith. Sam. I think she was with him. With him."

"That's not true."

"It is true. Do you think I want it to be? Why do you think I haven't ever said anything before now?"

"It's not true. It's not." Jim whispered. But McCoy kept talking over him.

"I saw them both on the monitors when we reviewed them that day we caught you, they didn't look worried, or concern, or, hell and tarnation, anything of those things I would have looked if I had left you behind."

"Not true."

"Do you think I want it to be true? If I'd wanted it to be true to hurt you I would have told you all this when I saw it, back on that day when we caught you."

"Not true." Sam protected him. That's the way it was. Except who had Sam left behind to face Frank? It was only when Jim had run away and caught up with his brother, his eye swelling nearly shut that Sam had let him join him. 

"Who went to prison? How many times did Eddy visit you? Why not Sam? He wasn't there and it makes me wonder. Why the hell not? Look at your file. Who was taking care of whom? I want to be wrong. I really do. I'm sorry. But don't throw your life away for them. Not again."

"No." Something hurt inside Jim. Something all the way to the center of him. Like he'd been shot. He breathed shallowly. If he didn't have Sam and Eddy what did he have? It couldn't be true. "No, you don't know them."

Jim jutted his chin out trying to breathe but it hurt. "You're wrong. Sam wouldn't do that to me. He's my brother. And Eddy… I know there's more to our story. She's the one. Sam wouldn't. They need me."

McCoy shook his head. "Jim…" he sighed. He handed the photo back to Jim. His mouth thinned as he watched Jim carefully folding it and tucking it back into his pocket.

"I brought this to you," Jim said softly. "Doesn't that count for something?"
 
Bones looked like he was tempted to grab the photo and shred it. "We made a deal. Okay. We'll stick to it. Let's get this case done and see where we're at then. Maybe something else will come up. Just don't go doing something crazy until then. Okay?"
 
Jim pressed his lips together.

Leaning closer, Bones lowered his voice. "Please, Jim. Once this is done, if you still feel this way. I'll see what we can find out about them. Promise me."

Before Jim could answer—what the answer would be, he didn't have a clue—there was a knock at the door. Sulu leaned into the room. His gaze darted between them. He failed to hide his grimace.

"Hey, you told me to remind you about the meeting?" Sulu nodded to the side. "Everyone's here." Sulu gave Jim an apologetic one-shoulder shrug before escaping.

Jim could feel McCoy staring at his back as he rose to his feet. He didn't turn around until he reached the door.

Jim gave him a brittle smile over his shoulder, "A promise. From a felon? Really, Leonard? Are you sure you can trust me?"

McCoy winced. 

--

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."

--

87 Riverside Dr, New York City

"Can't beat that view."

Jim lowered his paper and blinked blearily at McCoy standing by the door.

"You still look like shit," McCoy told him bluntly.

"It's only been two days." Jim rolled his eye—the other was too puffy to do anything more than stay shut—and lifted up the paper again.

"Here."

There was a quiet, hollow sounding thunk. Jim turned back and stared at the wine bottle in the center of the table. He looked up at McCoy. The agent shrugged.

"A deal's a deal." McCoy tilted the bottle towards him. "Good-bye. That's all the bottle says?"

Jim brushed his knuckles across the label. "That's what I think."

McCoy fell silent. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood by the table, studying the bottle.

Jim cleared his throat. "Coffee?"
 
McCoy shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" McCoy paused. "Italian roast?"

"Absolutely."

"Is that cream or milk in there?"

"Please, as if I would destroy it that way."

"Alright, then." It took some effort not to snicker when McCoy sat down and poured himself a cup.

Jim watched as McCoy took a deep appreciative drink before speaking.

"Thanks."

McCoy nodded and turned to look at the view.

"I know you don't think it will help to have this." He touched the wine bottle again brushing his fingers across it. "But I think I need it right now."

"I know." McCoy exhaled slowly. He took another sip of coffee, his face thoughtful as he considered something on the horizon.

"My father was terminally ill," McCoy told him quietly, a beat later, still not looking over. "Pretty much was given a timeline and that was it. But my mother…She was desperate. Looked at alternatives: treatments in Europe, Eastern medicine, everything…" He shook his head.

Jim waited.

McCoy sighed. "Then this guy approached, this…this—"

"Con artist," Jim guessed quietly.

"Yeah," McCoy said shortly, "He came in, showed them a lot of convincing data, offered this blasted treatment, pills and powders…" McCoy darkened. "If they had only come to me, I could have—we buried my father a lot sooner than we should have. Four months later I was in training for the agency and set on finding him. There were fourteen other families just like mine that man used like a personal banking system."

Jim cast his eyes down at the table. "I guess I can understand why you think we're all alike," Jim relented.

"No, not all of you."

Jim blinked at McCoy. The agent smiled faintly at Jim.

Tentatively, Jim smiled back. He went back to his coffee.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not keeping my eye on you."

Jim snorted. "My very own stalker. I'll have to mark that down in my journal."

"You have a journal?" McCoy sat up.

"You wish."

Chuckling, McCoy reached over to snag a cranberry muffin. Jim glared at him when McCoy gestured vaguely for the butter by his hand. The agent didn't relent until Jim begrudgingly slid it over.

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe not so much a stalker." He gave Jim a crooked smile. "Maybe more like a friend."

"I don't know what I'd do with a friend." Jim said casually, pretending to consider this, "Would you plan heists with me?"

"No."

"Show me the forged art the F.B.I. has in its evidence vaults?"

"No."

"Be my wing man as I ask Nyota out?"

"Hell, no. Though it might be fun to watch her break you like a toothpick if you tried."

"Doesn't sound like having a friend would be much fun then," Jim muttered but there was a gleam of something just a little bit pleased in his face. Warmth spread across his chest like a blanket over him.

"So, what do I get out of this then?"

"Beats the hell out of me." Leonard shrugged, looking distinctly ill at ease now.

"Do I get to call you Bones? If we're friends I should get to call you whatever I want, right."

"Not in this life time." Leonard objected even as Jim interrupted him.

"So…Bones, heard you're going on vacation?" Jim said casually as soon as McCoy popped a buttered morsel in his mouth.

"How did you…" McCoy coughed. He covered his mouth with the napkin Jim threw at him, his narrowed eyes glaring over his fist."Never you mind."

Jim smirked. He folded the paper. "So I guess you decided."

McCoy shrugged, but Jim could see him fighting back a grin. "Going to fly back with her to Atlanta. Talked to my ex. Thought this year I'll do the back-to-school shopping, let my girl be the tour guide for once. Take me to her favorite museums."

"Dinosaurs?" Jim guessed.

McCoy grimaced.

"You know, that makes 'Bones' all the more poignant," Jim wheedled.

"I already have a name I was born with," McCoy grumbled.

"It's quirky."

"So is your face right now."

Jim sniffed and sat back in his seat. He looked out into the view.

"So," Jim said. "Going on vacation."
 
McCoy pried himself away from his coffee long enough to reply. "I'll be back in a week."
 
Jim looked McCoy up and down. "Still wearing that suit," Jim noted.
 
The glower above the cup rim was comical. "I love this suit." McCoy sat back.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"
 
Jim took a sip from his cup. He deliberately took his time setting down the cup. His hand trembled a little. "Did they make a decision?"

McCoy pulled out a card fold. He grinned and flipped it open to reveal a badge and Jim's photo ID. "Figured if we didn't, you'd end up making one of these on your own."

A knot loosened in his chest. Jim laughed as he took the badge. "I'm official!"
 
"You're a consultant and I own you for four years." McCoy glared at Jim's arched eyebrow. "You know what I mean." He cleared his throat. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah." Jim spared the bottle a glance though.

"Jim."

Raising his eyes, Jim found McCoy studying him with a serious expression.

"This is a second chance you're holding there."

Jim nodded.

"I know," Jim said before McCoy could continue. "I just don't get why you're giving me this second chance."

McCoy chewed his lower lip as he considered Jim.

"Because you showed me you're not like every con," McCoy said finally.

"That's what I'd been trying to tell you," Jim reminded him without any heat.

McCoy shrugged. "I'm a slow listener. But I'm listening now."

Speechless, Jim could only nod again.

McCoy coughed in a fist and mumbled about a meeting. He rose to his feet, but hesitated, his eyes meeting with Jim's.

"You'll be here when I get back?" McCoy asked quietly.
 
Pulling up his pants leg to reveal the tracker, Jim chuckled wanly. "Where else am I gonna go?" He sobered when he realized McCoy wasn't laughing. "Yeah. I'll be here."

McCoy nodded, looking satisfied for some reason. To Jim's amusement, McCoy drained his cup before leaving.

"Hey!" Jim shouted after him. "Take a picture under a dinosaur, Bones!" At McCoy's one-fingered response, Jim smirked. "It'll be funny!"

"No, it won't!" McCoy snarled back before he slammed the door to his apartment.
 
Jim chuckled but as soon as his eyes drifted to the bottle, he sobered. Jim eyed the holder McCoy had left for him. He opened it. For the first time since finding Sam and Eddy gone, the drifting sensation inside him settled. Friends, huh? He considered the badge.

And smiled.

The End