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

[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)| 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)
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 hummed, agreeing. "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.



| Act 4 (2/2) |