FIC: Behind The Shield (STXI, Big Bang, Gen, PG-13) Act 2 (1/4)

[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)

Act 2 (1/4)
Federal Plaza, New York City

He was being watched.

Leonard raised an eyebrow at the scattered gathering in the lobby as he went through the metal detectors. He could hear muttering, eyes surreptitiously cast his way, hastily averted when he met them dead on.

What is this, med school? It was like walking down a corridor again full of gawking residents who didn't know how to mind their own business.

Leonard gave a head shake as he walked down in a determined clip towards Uhura and Sulu, waiting for him by the main elevators.

"Morning," Leonard greeted. "What's got the belt and suspender boys all riled up?"

"You."

"Me?" Leonard stopped. He eyed the other agents behind them. They failed miserably pretending to look at something else. "What'd I do?"

Uhura handed him the folder under her arm. She walked along with him, waiting until he read the first page.

"Kirk was right. That stuff from the bank vault?"

Sulu jumped in. "Security fibers for the Canadian hundred."

Leonard found himself stopping again. He let out his breath in a whoosh. "I'll be damned."

"Apparently, the formulation's still classified." Uhura grinned. "The Canadian Secret Service are very curious to know how you figured it out."

"Chekov was politely cursed out in French," Sulu added. He chuckled under his breath as Leonard skimmed the file.

"You may have started an international incident," Uhura told him.

It irked him that his agents had the nerve to look excited. He was damning himself as well for feeling a quiver of anticipation in his own gut.

"This should be fun." Leonard grumbled halfheartedly before he made a beeline for the coffee kiosk by the elevator.

--

S.F.A. Correctional Facility, Upstate New York

"So how'd you know?"

La finta semplice humming in Jim's head petered out as the waiting room door opened. He looked up at McCoy and grinned.

"C'mon, Bones. It's what I do."

McCoy scowled. "Don't call me that."

Jim's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Call me Bones. We're not on a nickname basis and what the hell kind of name is Bones anyway?"

Jim spelled out the name in Latin then Russian on the table with a finger. "Weren't you going to be a doctor before you were recruited?"

"Yeah," McCoy replied evenly.

"Surgical residency, right?" Jim remembered. Jim wasn't sure why McCoy sounded so pissed. "Graduated from medical school early. A regular Doogie Howser at least until you went back to Harvard, then Quantico."

McCoy grunted, unimpressed and if anything, appeared even more pissed. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "Your point being?"

"So, Bones seems apt, short for 'Sawbones' like how they—"

"I know what it means."

Jim smirked. "Or I could call you Scully. Take your pick."

"McCoy is fine."

"That wasn't one of the choices," Jim pointed out.

"Well, it is one of mine." McCoy faced him and frowned at the bruise Jim knew was still visible under his right cheekbone.

"Heard you got into a fight during the transfer back here."

Jim shrugged. "A scuffle between me and my handlers. I don't like to be manhandled."

"Uh huh." McCoy's eyes bore into him. "Any particular reason why?"

None that he wanted to think about. Jim cleared his throat."So how upset were the Canadians?"

McCoy blinked at the abrupt change of topic but he let it pass. He shrugged one shoulder. "As upset as Canadians can get."

McCoy waited standing there. He stared at Jim, eyeing the bruise again, and then down at the other man's absently tapping fingers against a thin folder. "Mozart? Really?"

Jim gave a careless shrug but didn't stop tapping.

McCoy opened his arms wide. "Alright, so, I agreed to a meeting. We're meeting. Now what?"

"I know why you call him the Dutchman." Jim fought back the smile at McCoy's startled expression. "Like the ghost ship, he disappears whenever you get close."

McCoy's eyes shrank into slits. "How do you know anything about him?"

Jim sniffed. He shrugged. "You chased me for how long? You know my life; you don't think I know yours?" Jim grinned obviously pleased making McCoy's glower only intensify. Jim's smile widened innocently. "By the way, did you get the birthday cards?"

The shadows receded. McCoy rolled his eyes. "Nice touch."

"You've been after the Dutchman almost as long as you were after me." Jim leaned into his elbows and met McCoy's gaze. "I'll help you catch him."

"Really?" McCoy, Jim had noticed, tended to react with varying degrees of eyebrows. He considered Jim now with a skeptical '"You're shitting me" raised one. "And tell me, how exactly does that work? You wanna be prison pen pals? Running out of Hallmark cards?"

Jim stared at him for a long moment, then took a deep breath. He slid over a folder towards McCoy, who hesitated before taking it. The agent opened it gingerly as if it was a bomb. As if.

"You can get me out of here. There's case law, precedent, I can be released into your custody—"

McCoy scanned the pages but he was already shaking his head. "Nice. This is very nice. But you're right, I do know your type. I know the second I get you out, you'll take off after Edith and your brother."

Jim swallowed. "I'm not going to run," he said in a lower voice. When the agent sniffed in disbelief, Jim pointed to the second page of the printout. "GPS tracking anklet. The new ones are tamper proof, never been skipped on. Not once."

"There's always a first time." McCoy sat down across from him. He shoved the folder back at him. "You were quite the Houdini back then."

"And who better to catch a con artist than Houdini? Think about it."

McCoy stared at him in disbelief. "Think about it? What's there to think about? The answer's no." McCoy gestured at the folder. "I finally got you in here, you think I'm going to open the door and give you a free pass?"

"I told you. The GPS—"

"Is not perfect." McCoy scooted his chair back. "Not a chance I'm willing to take. Not with you."

Jim fought down the edge of desperation. Nobody ever gave you free food if they knew you were hungry. "Not even to catch the Dutchman? The Dutchman. A much badder guy than I ever was?" He held his breath when McCoy paused but his stomach dropped when the agent shook his head.

"Nope. Not even for the Dutchman." McCoy rose to his feet. He gave Jim a pat on the shoulder as he walked out. "Nice try."

--

It always came as a surprise.

It didn't matter that by ten he was an expert at reading Frank's volatile moods. The stench of booze in the house served as a barometer going from Number One Dad to Number One Asshole. Lately, since she'd been away more, it had been more and more of the latter.

Still, as he sat there on the floor, wishing Sam was back from school already, barely able to breathe through his swollen nose, the second fist came as a surprise.

The boot too.

As usual, Jim woke silently. Yelling, no matter whatever the reason, drew far too much unneeded attention: turns out something from his childhood matched up exactly with prison.

It took a few minutes to reorient himself because when he now turned over in his bed, Edith's smooth, warm shoulder was absent. He wasn't four anymore, creeping over to see if Sam awake and willing to let him crawl in. And Sam and Eddy weren't here either to talk out the shadows distracting him with the planning of the next challenge.

Jim adapted, incarcerated or not. A habit borne out of when Sam and he ran away because sleeping on filthy ground or in dirty bus stations was better than sleeping under the same roof with Frank any longer.

The bare bulb sparked to life and Jim stared at the sallow light as it swung above him like a hack hypnotist's pocket watch.

You're getting sleepy. Sleeeepy.

Nope. Not working.

"Lights out, Bobby, shut 'em down."

Jim blinked blearily at the crackle of a radio. Heavy, familiar footsteps stopped by his cell.

"Jim, gotta turn that off," the guard muttered with a bit of apology. Jim smiled tiredly. Bobby was all right.

"Get one more minute, Bobby?" Jim whispered back.

The guard paused before sighing, relenting. "Okay, one more minute."

"Is it midnight yet?"

"Yeah, it's midnight."

Jim sat up, nodded gratefully at Bobby as he lumbered on his patrol. He stared transfixed on the bulb before one swing revealed the hatch marks on the wall. Another swing revealed everything had been stripped down off the walls. Bobby told him it was the rules; Jim was pretty sure it was Nogura's passive aggressive way to tell Jim 'fuck you'.

There was a way out of this. Jim knew it even if right now, he didn't know how. So McCoy wasn't onboard. Yet. Jim would find another way. Because there was another way. Jim was sure of it.

Jim smoothed a palm on the wall over his bed. He fumbled for the piece of charcoal that had been stuffed into his mattress. With a deliberate stroke, Jim made one more mark. He stared at it for a long time. Finally, when Bobby came back whispering regretfully. Jim laid back on his bunk as the guard flipped off the cell block light.

Staring at the short mark on the wall, Jim drifted back to sleep.

Thankfully, this time, it was a dreamless one.

--

Three months later…
Brooklyn, New York

The cupcake looked ridiculous.

The square card with the pink frosted cupcake on it looked like the very thing a doctor, a practicing one at least, would argue you shouldn't feed a little kid to eat.

"So did you catch him yet, Dad?"

Leonard smiled fondly at the tiny question in his earpiece. "Not yet, honey," he sighed.

"Is he as hard to catch as James Kirk?"

There was no resentment in Joanna's voice. She was too young to remember three years of late working hours and hasty notes. At the time, Jo was still trying to figure out why Billy pushing her off the monkey bars meant he liked her, how to color within the lines and why Daddy was in New York and she was in Atlanta with her mother.

"I caught him again a few months ago," he murmured as he flipped to another card; this one was a dog wearing a stethoscope. Christ, where the hell did Kirk get these?

"He ran away from jail?" Jo was old enough now to know that was bad.

"He'd be out today." Leonard pinched a spot between his nose. Why the hell had he pulled these out anyway when he should be reviewing the notes on the Dutchman like he'd planned?

"Then why did he run away again?"

"So I could catch him and let him go again," Leonard muttered.

There was a pause. He could see his girl wrinkling her nose.

"That didn't make sense, Dad."

Leonard chuckled. "Neither does Jim Kirk."

"Um…do you think he's tricking you?"

"Maybe." Leonard leaned into the couch and glowered at the retriever staring at him from under the dining table. The dog wisely didn't jump onto the couch. Of course, when Jo visited, all training went out the window. "It's a working theory. He says he wants to help me find the Dutchman."

"You were looking for a very long time."

Leonard sobered. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

Jo's bright answer loosened something in his chest. "That's okay." She yawned. "You'll catch him. Maybe with James Kirk? Mommy said he was super smart."

Leonard scowled. "He's not that smart."

"Not as smart as you, Daddy," Jo chirped. Another yawn; this one was loud enough that he could hear his ex chiding her in the background.

Leonard chuckled. "I think it's past someone's bedtime there." He smiled softly as he touched the earpiece. "It's getting late over there."

"It's late where you are too," Jo pointed out.

"That's enough sass from you," Leonard pretended to growl. "Go to bed, young lady."

"Night, Daddy! See you soon!"

Leonard's smile broadened. Two weeks. "Right after camp," he promised. "We'll do something fun, okay?"

Jo babbled in his ear, with all the energy of a nine year old, Leonard envied. He bade her good night two more times, laughing as he could hear his ex make the final decision by plopping daughter and phone into the bed. Jo landed with a squeak.

"Finally." Jocelyn came on the phone with an exasperated sigh. "I think she takes after you, Len. She doesn't sleep."

"Just keep her away from the coffee," he replied gruffly. It was still strange to be back on speaking terms with Jocelyn. Time and several states apart had done what apparently sixteen marriage counseling sessions couldn't. "Don't get her started on that habit."

"Between your night owl habits and my own addiction to caffeine, I think it's too late," she said dryly. "So what's this I hear about Jim Kirk?"

Leonard groaned. "Joss, I've had to hear that name for years. Please."

There was a light chuckle that echoed Jo's—or would that be the other way around. "You think you're tired of hearing his name? Do you remember how many times I had to explain to Jo when she was little that James wasn't her lost big brother? The way you used to go on about him. I heard he escaped. Wasn't he going to be released soon anyway? Why would he do that? He was almost out."

"Today, actually."

"Ah, hence the extra long call."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. School's out. You and I agreed so long as it didn't interfere with school."

"Thanks."

Jocelyn hummed. "So what's going on with Jim now?" She paused. "That deal you were telling me about before? You're considering it, aren't you?"

"No," Leonard grumbled.

"Liar."

"See? This is why we divorced."

"No, we divorced because you couldn't let go. It was always one more guy for you to go after. It never ends."

Leonard winced at the dig. "I wasn't that bad."

"No, you were worse." Jocelyn exhaled. "They're not all to blame for David, you know."

Setting his mouth, Leonard said nothing.

Jocelyn sighed. "That Dutchman is now your new James Kirk. Bet you're even looking at those weird cards Kirk sent you again."

Leonard jerked his hands back from the folder. "Not."

Jocelyn merely chuckled. "You have to admit. Kirk's smart; probably smarter than those Ivy League Co-eds they throw at you. You said it yourself a few times you wished he were on your side."

"Maybe," Leonard grumbled. "He certainly figured out some things my team couldn't." He fingered the newest card he'd received from Kirk a month back that told him to check the wire transfers. Sure enough, Chekov found a link, but they were three days too late. The office the wire had come from was gone.

"So, what's the problem?"

Leonard scowled. "This is not the way it's supposed to go. You get caught, you do your time. There's more to this, more to this than some lost love. Kirk's a con. There's some side angle he's playing. That's what they all do."

"So you suggest he escapes a high security prison, knowing full well that you'd catch him, just so he could trick you into letting him out again?" Jocelyn paused. "Jo was right. That doesn't make sense. You should keep working on that." Jocelyn sighed.

"Is it so hard for you to believe a man would do that for the woman he loves?"

Leonard grunted. "He just bought himself four more years in prison. For what?"

Jocelyn grew quiet. "Seven years ago, you're saying you wouldn't have run for Jo and me?"

--

S.F.A. Correctional Facility, Upstate New York

It was an odd sense of déjà vu stepping out of the double doors. Jim shielded his eyes with his hand but stared up towards the sky anyway.

McCoy waited, beyond the gates, sitting on the hood of his car. Jim stood there then walked forward spreading his arms wide as he grinned at him.

McCoy crossed his arms. "Let me see it."

Jim's smile dropped. "Hello to you, too," he grumbled as he hitched up his pant leg, revealing the black band of the tracker tight around his ankle.

"You understand how this works?"

"I'm being released into the custody of the F.B.I., under your supervision." Jim was tempted to quote back the paperwork to him, but McCoy would probably say he was being a show-off. Jim limped a little for show. "And this thing chafe's my leg. Anything I'm missing?"

McCoy looked steadily at him. "If you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I'm two and zero. You run on me and you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good."

Jim swallowed but nodded.

"I know you're tempted to look for Sam and Edith." McCoy straightened away from the car. "Don't."

Jim's shoulders slumped. "I told you," he said quietly, "the bottle meant good-bye."

There was an odd flicker that went across McCoy's expression and the grim lines eased a fraction.

"All right," McCoy replied just as quietly. "Then leave it at that for now." Jim was surprised when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his eyes and met McCoy's. "This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent."

Jim nodded slowly. "Sounds fair." He eased into the passenger seat. "Right. So, where we headed, Bones?" he asked when McCoy climbed in.

To Jim's amusement, McCoy glared at him. "To your new home. And don't call me that."

Jim snickered as they drove away from S.F.A. in a more leisurely pace than Jim had adopted months before. He smirked to himself as McCoy grumbled, "Bones" under his breath. Something in Jim's chest loosened hearing the oddly familiar muttering next to him.

Years ago, he'd given Eddy her nickname and she had hated it.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the man next to him before looking back out the passenger window.

It had only taken three years. But he'd convinced her she was stuck with it and him. No take backs.

After all, convincing people was what Jim was good at.

--

Corner of West and Barrow Street, New York City

"You're kidding…right?" Kirk stared at the rusty 'Hotel' sign swaying in the Hudson River breeze.

Leonard rolled his eyes.

"That's the worst example of urban decay I've ever—Hey!" Kirk yelped when McCoy grabbed him by the back of the thick pea coat and dragged him in.

He stood stiffly by Leonard as he tried to get the clerk's attention. Kirk made a point of not lean into the counter. Leonard glanced at the stained wood and silently agreed; he took a step back.

"This is Jim Kirk, my office called earlier?" Leonard nodded towards Kirk before taking a sip of the coffee he bought from the cart outside. He gagged and made a note to pass the location to the city's health department.

The portly man snorted. He reeked of tobacco and…well, he reeked. He nodded, distracted, his eyes rolling around to look anywhere but at them. "There you go," the clerk announced after he fumbled blindly behind him for the keys. He dropped a keychain tagged with a sticky plastic tab. He gave his thinning white head a scratch. "Snake Eyes."

"Thanks," Kirk managed to choke out. He tugged at Leonard's elbow. "Can I talk to you for a second?" Leonard sighed. He went along until they stopped by the wall mounted rack of outdated New York pamphlets. A man, dressed in rags and smelling like boiled hot dogs was leaning on that wall. He winked at them both.

"Maybe a little farther down," Leonard suggested. Kirk seemed more than happy to oblige.

Thonk! Over by the counter, the clerk smacked the ping pong racket he was holding onto the counter. Someone guffawed. Jesus.

Kirk leaned in, still holding onto Leonard's sleeve. "Do I really have to stay here?" he whispered fiercely.

Leonard looked around. Inwardly, he grimaced. He steeled himself though. This wasn't a vacation. It wasn't supposed to be.

Kirk made a face. "I think you should get this place condemned." He looked at the people around him. "Even prison was cleaner. This place is like communicable disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

Thonk went the ping pong paddle again.

"Well, maybe not the silence part."

"How very Conrad of you," Leonard rolled his eyes.

"You're taking me too literal. I think I was more Dostoyevsky."

Leonard made a face at a stain on the wall he suspected was not the typical water stain. Even if he wanted to do this differently there weren't a lot of options here. "Look, it costs seven hundred a month to house you on the inside," Leonard hissed, "And that's all they give for you. For the money, this is as good as it gets." He slapped Jim's hand off his sleeve. "Cowboy up."

Kirk blinked at him. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

Leonard gritted his teeth. This place was a rat hole, but what else could he do? "All right, you find something better for the same cost—take it."

"Really?"

"Legally," Leonard bit out. Kirk was too appeased for his liking.

Kirk looked affronted. "Hey, I'm reformed." He grinned toothily at Leonard. He peered down at himself and plucked at the white undershirt. "What about clothes? I'm wearing my entire wardrobe."

"You like thrift stores? There's one at the end of the block." Leonard held up a hand when Kirk opened his mouth. Did Kirk even have any idea how much paperwork it had taken to get him out. His bosses had not been about to dip in for extras. "No, don't start, no, no and no." He gestured at the woman perched on the stairs swinging her beaded pink purse. She winked at them and adjusted her…top. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Out. Among people. Oh, look at her, you don't get that invitation for socializing in prison much, do you?"

"Hey, sugar."

Leonard blanched when he realized she was looking at him, not Kirk. This just kept getting better and better. Kirk was out. He was a felon. He'd stayed in much worse places. The file said so. It was stupid to feel anything about this. This should be a done deal. Yet, McCoy hesitated at Kirk's dejected expression. Why did he feel like he'd just kicked a puppy?

"Listen," Leonard tried again, "your tracking anklet is set up so you can go out anywhere you want within two miles of this place." He sighed when Kirk didn't respond. Leonard clenched his teeth. There was no way he was apologizing for this. Just because Kirk got out of prison, months after when he should have gotten out because he'd pulled that harebrained escape, it didn't mean he could go back to his old life lying and cheating people, staying in fancy hotel rooms paid by other people's pockets.

"Here's your homework." Leonard handed Kirk a stack of files. He gave the younger man an awkward pat on the back. "Remember, two miles." He lingered, unsure if there was anything more to say. Or if there were what it should be. "I'll see you tomorrow at seven, okay?" He turned to leave.

"Hey."

Leonard checked over his shoulder.

Kirk smiled wanly at him. "Where's that thrift store again?"



| Act 2 (2/4) |