FIC: Behind The Shield (STXI, Big Bang, Gen, PG-13) Act 1 (2/2)

[mrwubbles]

Title:Behind The Shield
Author:Yuma aka mrwubbles
Betas:myfieldnotes and penfold_x
Artist:squarededdie
Fanmixer: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)
Somewhere in the West Village, New York City

The stone faced building with its pillars and reliefs was once a sewing factory, long since converted into lofts when the neighborhood evolved from its industrial roots to accommodate it's more eclectic and artistic residents.

Leonard gestured wordlessly with a hand for everyone to stay back as soon as he exited his car. Uhura and the others frowned but remained where they were. SWAT—that idiot Komack insisted they needed SWAT even though Leonard had argued guns weren't Kirk's MO—stayed half a block away. Thankfully, despite Komack's instinct that they arm themselves to the teeth, NYPD's SWAT seemed happy enough to avoid a bloodbath and stayed by their response van.

"We should go up there with you," Sulu complained, one foot out of the car.

"Kirk's not the kind to shoot first," Leonard murmured, but he checked his weapon just in case. He slipped it back into his holster and tugged his charcoal suit jacket back into place.

"Three fistfights and a bout of isolation," Uhura pointed out in a dry voice. Damn that woman's perfect memory.

"All self-defense," Leonard returned as he pocketed his radio. "I see him, we'll talk and I'll call you guys in to take him."

Chekov's face twisted as something occurred to him. "And if he does shoot first?"

"Well, then skip step one and two and go right to three, all right?" Leonard huffed, shook his head at their scowls. "Kirk's MO is not—Yeah, yeah, I know. Three fistfights." He'd have to ask Kirk about those later.

"Good luck," Chekov whispered as Leonard went in the front door.

--

Even though he disputed Komack and Uhura's misgivings, Leonard was acutely aware of his gun sitting heavy in his shoulder holster as he made his way up to the top floor. He grimaced as the floor creaked.

It was no surprise Edith Keeler and Sam Kirk had co-signed for a loft on the top floor. The three lives seemed to be intertwined as far back as Leonard could trace, Leonard had often likened it to a mess of yarn. What Leonard didn't get was why two weeks before Edith delivered her apparent 'Dear John' in prison, Sam's name had been removed from the lease.

Leonard pressed his back to the wall as he walked sideways, drawing closer to the door left open. Even from here, he could see the apartment was empty of furniture save a pair of legs sprawled out from behind a round column.

"I would offer you a seat," Kirk roughly said out of the blue, "but as you can see…" An arm materialized from behind the pillar to wave weakly at the space around him.

Leonard stopped a few feet from the door. He stretched out an arm and nudged the door wider.

"See Edith moved out."

A light-colored head peered around the pillar at him. The one blue eye he could see widened. A smile curved then dropped. Kirk turned back around.

"Should I be flattered or insulted they got you for this?"

Leonard scoffed. By the threshold, he gave the room a quick survey; not really fraught with danger or hidey holes but he eyed the shadowed corners regardless. Even in its gutted state though, he could tell the place was once impressive. Satisfied the loft was clear save Kirk, Leonard stepped into the loft.

"I'm trying to decide," Leonard replied as he ventured closer to the pillar, "if I should feel flattered or insulted." He stilled in front of Kirk. The younger man sat there cradling a wine bottle in his hands, cushioned carefully on his lap.

Kirk blinked up at Leonard with red-rimmed eyes.

"Doesn't F.B.I. protocol dictate proceeding with caution?" Kirk gestured absently towards himself. "How do you know I'm not carrying?"

Leonard sobered, his hand twitching. It had been a few years after all.

"I mean," Kirk went on, "Prison's been known to change people. Maybe I have a blade hidden in me. Maybe I've mastered knife throwing in S.F.A."

"Didn't realize ninja skills were one of the vocational training courses," Leonard drawled. He studied Kirk's hands but they never strayed from the bottle.

"I could have a bazooka."

"A bazooka?" Leonard looked up and down Kirk's outfit.

"A very tiny bazooka," Kirk amended.

"You're right," Leonard shot back. "Prison has changed you: you think you're a lot funnier than you really are."

"One has to find a way to amuse oneself."

"Are you carrying?"

Kirk grimaced. "You know I don't like guns."

"Well, there you go." Leonard cocked his head and studied the bottle Kirk rolled between his hands. He knew enough about wine to raise an eyebrow at the label. "They leave you a message in that?"

Kirk shrugged. "The bottle is the message." He squinted up at Leonard as if just realizing he was there. "It's been a while."

Leonard rocked a hand in the air. "Yeah, few years, give or take."

"And here I was hoping you were lamenting about my absence in your diary." It was painful to see Kirk smile, as if he'd forgotten how. He nodded towards Leonard. "Don't you have better things to do than chase me?"

"I do," Leonard grumbled. "You got everyone confused."

"I'm a complicated guy."

Leonard folded his arms in front of him. "They asked me, what makes a guy like you pull a boneheaded escape with three months to go?"

Kirk sighed heavily. He lowered his eyes to the bottle, his hand stroking the label. "A very good question," he murmured.

"Edith says adios to you in prison and gets busy with her disappearing act." Leonard gestured lazily around the loft. "The trail ends here. But you already know that."

Cloudy eyes stared at his own feet. "Missed her by two days. Sam's gone, too."

Ah hell, kid, Leonard sighed inwardly. It didn't matter Kirk was not that much younger than him. Leonard was feeling decades older right now. A thread of irritation rippled through him. This was all wrong. He shouldn't be feeling sympathetic for a con.

"Still. Only took you a month and a half to escape one of Uncle Sam's finest," Leonard acknowledged. He rocked on his heels and studied Kirk. "Damn impressive."

Kirk smirked tiredly.

Leonard's radio suddenly crackled with life. He rolled his eyes. His team was never known to be patient. He grabbed his walkie-talkie.

"Subject identified and unarmed."

"Roger that."

Kirk eyed Leonard's walkie-talkie. "We surrounded?"

"Yup." Leonard nodded as he gestured at Kirk with his radio. "Always have to be the center of attention."

Kirk's mouth twisted. "Nice to be missed." He paused. "How many?"

"Including my agents, and the Marshals? All of them, I think."

"That's it?"

Leonard barked out a laugh. "Hey, you've been in prison for a few years. Maybe they think you'd be rusty." He smirked. "Or they figured there are no quarries and '67 Chevy Impalas for you to crash—"

"It was a '69," Kirk corrected him almost absentmindedly. He palmed the wine bottle in his hands. "I would never crash a '67."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Right." He considered Kirk. "The bottle. What's the message?"

Kirk gingerly set the empty bottle down and stared at the equally empty apartment. "Good-bye."

"Nice," Leonard grunted. At least it wasn't a text during a stakeout, telling him she didn't think it would be a good idea he came home.

"They're gonna give you another four years for this, you know," Leonard told him.

Kirk swept a hand down his dark trousers rubbing at his knee. "I don't care." It came out more a sigh than an actual reply.

"You should," Leonard muttered.

Kirk snorted but didn't comment. He looked up at Leonard. He shook his head and grimaced.

"What?"

Kirk slowly got to his feet. "That's the same suit you were wearing the last time you arrested me."

Leonard scowled. He checked himself and took inventory of the light gray suit, the striped black tie, the white shirt. "How do you know?"

Kirk tapped two fingers to his temple. "Photographic memory, remember?"

Leonard brushed a hand across the suit. Come to think of it, he might have worn this to testify against Kirk, too. "Classics never go out of style—"

"Unless they get old," Kirk quipped. "It's a nice cut, but you should consider darker tones." He hesitated, his eyes settling on Leonard's shoulder. He took a step forward, his hands up until Leonard nodded warily. Kirk approached slowly. He made sure Leonard saw where his hand was as he drifted it over his shoulder before plucking something off. Kirk lifted a red filament up for Leonard to see. Kirk stared hard at it, looking cross-eyed for a second before his gaze snapped up to him.

"You know what this is?"

Leonard grunted. "No idea. I got that from a case I was supposed to be working on before they yanked me off to find you."

"You think you'll catch him?"

Leonard shrugged. "Don't know. He's good." He nodded towards what Kirk held. "Maybe as good as you."

Kirk scoffed. "Maybe." Kirk glanced over his shoulder as the hallway echoed with the rush of footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned back to Leonard.

"What's it worth if I tell you what this is? Is it worth a meeting?" Kirk asked abruptly.

Leonard's brow rose. "Meeting? What are you talking about—?"

Kirk stepped closer and Leonard found himself taking a step back even though Kirk made sure his hands were in view. "If I tell you what this is, right now, will you agree to meet me back in prison in one week?"

Leonard stared at him. His eyes narrowed as he considered Kirk and pressed his mouth together. "A meeting," he repeated flatly.

"Just a meeting," Kirk stressed.

"Hallway, clear! You two, now get moving!"

Kirk glanced back. He made a frustrated sound and faced him again. He kept his eyes on Leonard when he dropped the fiber into Leonard's palm. "It's a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill."

At that moment, SWAT burst into the room, a swarm of Kevlar and boots and shouting.

"Federal agents!"

"Hands in the air!"

"Step away from him!"

"Back away from him!"

It occurred too late to Leonard that the proximity was probably a danger sign to the agents who stormed in but before he could shout out he was fine—that Kirk was unarmed, damn it—one of the Marshals grabbed Kirk's arms from his raised position and yanked them behind him.

Don't hold him like that, don't hold him down like that!

A memory of Sam Kirk's panicked shouting back echoed in Leonard's head. His voice had reverberated in the temporary holding cell when his younger brother reared back against the Iowan prison guards. Two, three, it took four to hold him down, Sam crouched on the ground on his hands and knees, talking to the younger Kirk in low, urgent tones to calm down, to calm down. It was okay. It was okay.

"He's unarmed! He has no gun!" Leonard snapped but too late, he saw that same flare in Kirk's eyes the moment the agent braced their knees to his lower back, their arms looped around him to hold him under them. Slapping a handcuff around one wrist.

The jerk of the shoulders had the marshals tightening their grip. And James Kirk lost it. Leonard's own cursing went unheeded and some well-intentioned agent tried to tug him away from Kirk. One stumbled back holding his nose, another retaliated by slamming Kirk's face into the floorboards.

"Back off!" Leonard wrenched free and staggered to Kirk. He dropped to one knee, a hand on Kirk's shoulder. He could feel muscles, tendons bunching under his hand in reaction.

"Calm down," Leonard hissed close to Kirk's ear. "Stop fightin—Jim!"

Kirk started. He stilled. The agents around them stood over them like barbed wire but did nothing when Leonard impatiently waved them off. Leonard waited as the ragged breathing slowed and Kirk lifted his head.

"Sam?" came the reedy whisper. "Are they gone?"

Leonard gripped Kirk's shoulder and gave him a firm shake. He could hear Uhura snapping at everyone to step back.

"No," Leonard said clearly. "Listen to me. Calm down. Don't make things worse for yourself."

Blue eyes cleared and Kirk focused on Leonard with an intensity that left him at a loss for words.

"All right?" Leonard asked low. The blue stare was unnerving. "You with me?"

An aborted nod was all Leonard got.

"One week," Kirk said shakily. At Leonard's hesitation, Kirk repeated it, his voice firmer. "One week."

"Let's go." With a sharp click of the handcuffs, Kirk was dragged away but Leonard could him his gaze pinned at him, still mouthing "One week" at him.

"What was that all about?" Uhura asked, joining him to watch Kirk being led away.

Leonard held up the shiny thread. "You know what this is?" he asked evenly.

"No one has figured it out yet."

"Kirk did."

Leonard could feel Uhura next to him stiffen in surprise. "What is it?"

"Apparently," Leonard said slowly, "it's a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill."

"Huh," Uhura muttered staring after the shadowy figures in the stairwell. "We'll see about that." Holding the thin piece, she walked out of the loft, her direction determined and resolute as she went after the Marshals.

Leonard shook his head. He checked around the loft. All that was left was the footprints of the agents who had charged in, the crumpled yellow windbreaker in the corner and that damn bottle which somehow had survived the fiasco intact. Leonard wiped a hand across his face and trudged towards the door.

He stopped.

Leonard scowled to himself.

"Fuck," he exhaled and abruptly pivoted on his heels back into the loft. He bent down and grabbed the wine bottle.

For evidence, Leonard told himself as he carried the damn thing down with both hands.



| Act 2 (1/4) |