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ninety6tears[See Master Post]
By now I'd seen the whole nine hours.
They had apparently inherited a derelict upright piano along with the house; it first appeared in the footage on a bright loud day in their small but open living room. Gaila and Ken sat next to each other doodling along random keys while Toni apparently was the one recording them; the camera went over once to reveal that Will and Danek were on the couch and the armchair on the other side of the room but then neglected to show them again.
"I just feel like the room would look so empty if we sold it." Toni's voice from behind, and the two on the piano bench laughing as they competed over the middle keys, Ken trying to knuckle away Gaila's hand.
"Wait, we're thinking about selling it?" Gaila asked.
"Are we?" Ken said, "I mean, I did assume, since none of us plays."
The two of them, and you could assume Toni too, looked up and across the room at Danek or Will, quite possibly both.
Will said, "Oh, I wasn't putting my foot down about that...If somebody wants to keep it, that's fine. We can always sell it later."
Danek added, "I'm not concerned about the space."
I thought aloud, "That's interesting."
Chris had seemed about to say something about it too: "Yeah, I know, those little 'Let's ask Dad' moments. There's something later on that's kind of like that again."
"Who's on the lease?"
"All on equal shares."
"Huh."
The next day was when Chris told the residents that Will had been revived. We'd known that this was going to be sticky, managing to credibly claim that it was inadvisable for any of them to actually visit him because he was in a mentally fragile condition; Chris came up with the clever lie that Will had been given the opportunity to place a comm to them but had decided to wait once he was told he'd have to be supervised the entire time.
From what I'd heard a couple of them were pretty much chomping at the bit, even expressing some irritation that none of them had Will's power of attorney like that was the most unbelievable mistake. Chris had used that as a reason to ask yet again if they were sure they didn't know how to get in touch with any of Will's folks, and it had earned him the same answer but with an interesting new tone: Instead of one of them vaguely saying they just didn't know anything about his family, Ken had finally calmly given him, "We never talk about any of it," and left it at that.
Late that day Chris arrived at my apartment with a care package the residents had rushed together. It was a light blue plastic basket containing a research PADD, a couple handwritten notes ("I was going to kick your ass if you didn't wake up," Ken professed) and a bag of baked goodies.
"Try the brownies, they're killer," Chris said on his way to my bathroom.
"I think I'll pass." There was no indication of who had made them, but I guessed Will would have known. The second note was a shorter one with a sort of generic but sincere get-well sentiment from Toni. Belatedly I realized that there was a drawing on the other side of the sheet: I guessed it was some historical figure, a guy with a proud pout wearing a jerkin and culottes, rendered in a comic book style. It was pretty good; I may still have it somewhere.
There was nothing from Danek, unless he'd been entrusted with selecting the reading to send along, which I found frustrating. It gave me nothing to work with.
Chris and I would chat about nothing in particular for about five minutes at a time, but generally it was business almost non-stop whenever he came over. By now I had Will's schedules and class notes and unfinished essays strewn all over the data spread on my coffee table, casting looks down now and again to study them. We would watch footage a couple times in a row, three or four times, and during the interesting stuff Chris would pause it every ten seconds or so with something he wanted me to pay attention to.
"See how he turned the joke onto Gaila when she was hounding Ken about his shirt? He makes fun, but he avoids ganging up on people." And later: "There's that thing again, look how she's checking in with Danek about fixing the car. And you can see the girls aren't very physical with him. They both moved over a little when he sat on the couch, with Ken they'd just be bumping knees..."
By the third visit like this Chris was guiltily offering to pay to have dinner delivered, remembering to act like a guest; I almost wanted to tell him I was grateful for the company, happy just to have some noise at the place. Bones hung out with me a few times a week but was usually exhausted in the evening, and I'd had to get used to the type of quiet nights that often spat me out for long aimless walks just so I could get away from the unshakable feeling that a lot of things about my life were grinding to a boring halt.
Back when I was on Murder, Spock and I weren't just with each other most of the day but sometimes late into the night, putting in extra time on a case at his place or just passing the time and then crashing at mine. Other people at the office could hardly miss how we came in together looking hungover, leading to the plaguey assumptions that we were sleeping with each other. Once Spock had tersely made it known he didn't appreciate the other officers perpetuating rumors that could potentially get the two of us fired or at least split up, they'd realized it wasn't true, and moved on to the jokes about our "slumber parties" which managed in their implications to be just as snide. I had hated that crap at the time, but I almost missed being constantly parodied by the gossip at that godforsaken office, if only because it had meant that there was something quietly remarkable in my life.
On the screen now all five were in the car, and for much of this part it was too dark for me to make out who was even sitting where, but the person holding the cam was in the middle back seat and it was easiest to make out Danek's profile in the driver's seat.
Toni's voice to one side: "I mean, it's hard for me to take Korrison seriously when he's so synonymous with it, it's like he literally writes the music just for skating..."
"Oh, no, he does." Ken. "It's like practically manufactured for that like, 'Oh, I heard you guys like roaring choirs for your ice prancing, so...'"
Gaila laughed—she had to be behind the camera—and Toni said, "So you didn't really like it either?"
"No, I just don't care enough to push it, so we use that stuff all the time. But I swear, the first time we did the routine to the music, that one part with the Latin comes in...I almost dropped Kara on her ass cause I started laughing."
Will appeared to be looking back from shotgun while Gaila giggled darkly. "I wasn't going to say anything..."
Gaila interrupted, "You've been saying since forever how much you hate the music!"
"Ah," Ken mock-accused, "so that's why you had a study group last time."
"Aw, Ken."
"I'm just playing."
Danek chipped in, "You all have to understand that Will has the musical preferences of a Nietzschean philosopher, which is somewhat limiting in itself."
There was one of those stunned moments of no one understanding before Will seemed to remember something it referenced, and abruptly let out into a low laugh that wouldn't quit, his head thunking back against the rest.
"I don't get it," Toni said.
"He means that Will only likes really old music."
"That isn't what I meant," Danek said, a calm note of aloof amusement in his voice.
A few seconds after that it became obvious Will was trying to figure out what had happened to his PADD, sending everyone in the back into a fit until he saw the camera trained on him, scoffed and held out his hand with a mild look of chagrin.
A moment later I curiously asked, "What do you know about Sulu?"
"You know I'm not supposed to tell you."
I gave Chris an expression of You're not actually going to give me that? He relented pretty quickly, setting down the drink he'd been nursing with a slightly impish smile.
"Fine. Well, I've never met him but he's one of Barnett's, and pretty obviously his favorite. This kid..." Chris shook his head in a bewildered way. "He knows over half a dozen types of combat, which is probably what got him the job at a young age. He's been doing this hardcore gig for several years over in Chainley; he started with this gang that has every reason to be paranoid, most of the time not even being able to carry a gun because of the weird seniority systems those syndicates have. Apparently this alias got shelved when his cover got burned a few years back and he managed to krav maga his way out of a little confab that went really bloody."
"Damn," I exclaimed.
"Cigarette."
I grunted in frustration at the reminder, adjusted the way I was holding my smoke; Will always tucks his cigarette between his pinky and fourth finger as if he's in the habit of wanting to free up the rest of his hand.
"He should have been passing out in relief that he was still alive, but he didn't even take a break, really. He went to California to spend the holidays with his parents and was back in a week requesting a spot in the rival gang." I started to laugh, and he added, "Yeah, I imagine the two of you would get along."
It made me feel weird to realize how glad I was he'd said that. Sulu sounded like the type of undercover who was born for the job, a person Chris may have once had hopes I would turn out to be. It takes getting into some really dark stuff to tell the stark difference between Undercover and everyone else, but once you do it's plain as day that they're the type of people who will do virtually anything—they'll walk through fire, light up their whole lives and throw them away like a grenade if that's what it takes to get their big villain. I have felt like that guy from time to time, but I didn't want it to become my whole life.
For a long time after I transferred out of UCD, Chris and I had awkwardly lost touch for a while when I'd been unable to get rid of the impression that I'd let him down. It's generally impossible for people to make me feel much of anything about disappointing anybody if I'm sure that I'm doing what I want to do; I didn't like to go near the reason that Chris was one of the exceptions when I wasn't even entirely sure where I stood with him outside of work.
We took a break when Bones gave me a call; I'd asked him to give me a good run-down of how to act post-coma with a side of amnesia. Will was supposed to have no memory of what had happened after he ate dinner that night, which would make it easy for me to shrug and tell them I'd had no idea what I was even doing on that part of town, much less what my attacker had looked like. Chris and I wanted to think this experience would make Will at least a bit jumpy, but only because we could use a touch of trauma to our advantage.
Shortly after I hung up, Chris conversationally asked me how long Bones and I had been friends.
"Hmm, we would've met maybe four months after I transferred...Why?"
"Just wondering. I hadn't known until recently you two were even close."
"Ah. Yeah, I don't know what I'd do without the guy."
We didn't say anything for a couple minutes while I was trying to decipher this weird note-taking system Will had been using in one of his electives. Eventually I heard Chris say, "Jim, listen."
I looked up.
"I didn't want to have to bring this up, but the fact is, I really didn't know about it until after I'd already cooked up this whole idea. Though I should've suspected, with how things went the night the body was found, and some things I noticed afterwards..." He sighed. "McCoy told me that you and Spock had some huge falling-out?"
My eyes want back down to the notes. After a couple seconds I neutrally nodded, shrugged. "It's true."
"I know you've probably already worked out whether it's going to be a problem, but I've got to check in. That's his clone in there, and if it makes things harder..."
"It's a non-issue. Danek isn't Spock. I know that," I insisted, then shrugged again. "If anything, it'll make it easier. You know, keep things in perspective."
I don't think Chris thought for a second that what he was getting on the surface was everything I could have said, but he was able to confirm that I'd thought about it. He considered my response for only a second before he decided he believed me, nodded and left it alone.
"Who's Susan Creevey?"
"Professor of Economics, I have her on Tuesdays and Thursdays at two, room 305 at Dillinger Hall."
"What do you do after class on Thursdays?"
"Thursday is my night to cook. Danek has an evening lecture and Gaila usually drops him off so she can take the car to a study group. If she's back early enough Ken and I will sometimes take the car to pick up Danek and get something at the bakery on the way back."
"How are you doing in Absurdist Lit?"
"It's the only class I'm not acing, but I should have my grade pulled up if I cram for the next exam."
"Wednesday."
"Lit at nine, lunch with the girls, Klingon Civil Wars at noon."
"John Alexie."
"My partner on my economics presentation, which is about mercantilism of pre-contact Earth."
"How do you like Professor Danes?"
"Quite a lot, as a person. Gaila would say he doesn't challenge us enough."
"How early do you wake up?"
"I'm always up between seven and eight, but I'm slow in the morning. On the weekends I sleep in only about an hour longer than that, even when I drink."
"Good." Chris looked over. "Cigarette."
"Shit."
"Since when do you smoke Slatroys?" Bones asked.
"I don't. Will does. I've got to break in a packet."
Bones let out a smirking sigh. We'd had this conversation before: "I think the whole subculture of Slatroys is mostly in your head, Jim."
"No, it's not. The only people on this planet who smoke who aren't an active part of 'addiction culture,' are cops, and people who smoke Slatroys."
"Why cops?"
"It's currency," Chris submitted. "Gets you far in an interrogation."
"Anyway, I've never met anyone who smoked Slats who wasn't pretentious as hell," I complained. "I am probably the first cop in history to ever put one in my mouth, that's for sure."
"Well, considering cigarettes are totally domestic, and we could use more officers..."
"You know what, Bones, I don't even know how I'm going to survive without your sass for...God knows how long."
"You should at least be happy Will smokes at all," Chris put in.
"Why?" Bones said, "He could use a reason to get off it."
"I'm not addicted," I protested. "I'll go weeks without it if I'm not stressed. It relaxes me."
In an unusual throw of pure deadpan, Bones nodded and said, "Well, that explains why you're so relaxed all the time." Chris wasn't able to tamper down his laugh before it got out, and I glared at both of them.
"I don't know why you get on this anyway. I'm not sure if you've heard, but we can cure cancer now," I said with lilting sarcasm.
Bones grumbled, "We can cure Orion sting fever too, but I'm not about to lick the backside of a—"
Chris cleared his throat loudly as he noticed the server approaching.
It was lunch at The Patio, the diner close to senior headquarters which became something of the unofficial cop dive a while back. We were helped by a sweet-looking waitress who distractedly took our drink orders, and a minute after she walked away Chris said, "I think Will could get her number."
Bones thought Chris was kidding, but I just winked at him and sat up straighter, thinking fast.
Chris was throwing me into a tricky spot: We both had seen that Will's style of flirting was very different from mine. I tended to be pretty direct and verbal about things so that I could just get accepted or shut down and move on, but Gaila had recorded him working his more gentlemanly magic on some store owner in the process of getting a picture of this huge sculpture they'd been really fascinated by, and Will had definitely been the type to convey it all in an expression. I generally felt like I had no idea how to do that without it coming off creepy, but surely I could learn a couple things from him. When the server came by again I stopped her with, "Excuse me, ma'am."
I'd talked like we were in a library, and she stepped in closer to our table.
"Actually, I just wanted to tell you..." I was enunciating and pacing my words in what Bones probably thought was a completely unrecognizable way; Will spoke in everyday speech the way I only spoke when I was in the same room as a judge. "I come here often, so I know that you're new. I don't want to make you self-conscious, but I thought I should warn you: That elderly couple you're waiting on—the lady who came in with the yellow gloves? Every single time they come in here, the husband orders the tuna salad and doesn't specify that he wants it on rye, and then complains when they bring it to him on wheat, so if I were you I'd just go with the rye."
"Oh." The server flinched into a laughing little smile; I was hitting her full force with what I hoped was the kind of grin that was charming in how unselfconscious it was, as if I didn't realize at all that I was looking a few seconds too long. She double took me and said, "Thanks."
"Ah, don't mention it. What's your name?"
"Joan. And yeah, you're right, I started just yesterday."
"I look forward to seeing you here, then. Detective Kirk. Call me Jim." It felt parodying, using my own name as I reached out to give her one of those serious squeezes for handshakes. I thought I heard Bones spluttering a suppressed laugh into some of his drink.
She said, "Nice to meet you," and I nodded and she went off. I got back out of character, slouching a little and yanking one of our appetizers off of the table, and then gave a sly grin to Chris and Bones.
Fifteen minutes later when my PADD lit up with my updated tab, it had a memo attached. It was a comm number with a 'J' next to it. I slid it over for Chris to see without any comment. He looked down, up, and then distantly considered for a moment before he said, "I'm putting you in tomorrow night."
It shocked me a little. I pressed my fist over my mouth and then slapped the table after a second, giddily hissing some curse.
Bones finished off his burger and looked generally unreadable for the rest of the day, until he settled for offering to take me out for a congratulatory drink.
He was squinting at me over his beer as he remembered to ask, "Was that even true? About the sandwich ordeal?"
I smirked. "Sort of. I've seen it happen once."
He laughed shortly. "Isn't that kinda cheating?"
"Nah. It would have been if I'd never seen them before in my life. But the best lies are like that. It's harder to dress up absolutes."
He considered me for a second. "It's crazy to think that I never asked you much about your undercover days, now that we've come back to it. I'd never thought much of it until lately."
I stretched my arm across the back of the booth, shrugged. "I don't know if you picked up on it or not, but I never really liked to talk about it that much."
"Yeah, I guess." Bones twisted his mouth a bit thoughtfully. "I hope this question doesn't rub you the wrong way."
"What?"
"You sort of...well, you've got to be pretty good at fooling people, obviously. You even kind of have to manipulate them, and you being so good at it...for some reason it's not something I ever pictured." He was hesitating. "I guess I'm just curious, have you always worked people like that just to get what you need? Not in any big way, just some harmless little white lying?"
I blinked, taking a while to say anything in reply. "You mean just like any day? Not when I'm at work?"
Bones grimaced, looking off to the side. "You're pissed."
"No. I mean, I don't know..." I shifted in my seat. I was thinking of all the shortcuts I had for changing subjects, brushing off jokes, making people feel safe by fibbing that what they're reading is my favorite author, making them on edge with the vaguest possible implications...I laughed uncomfortably. Maybe I was pissed. "Jesus. You know how I feel about people like that, why would you say that?"
Bones looked alarmed. "Hey, I didn't mean it like getting your way is ever a bad thing. I just mean...You've always had a way of influencing people to do what's right even when you're not in charge, or sometimes you sort of...get the tension out of a room by saying just the right thing. I wondered if that was something you picked up doing this stuff. That's all."
"Oh." I wore a little cringe now, my hand trying to wave off the tightness in the air. "I don't know, my mind just went off somewhere you totally didn't mean to send me. Sorry."
Bones was fixing me with a muted shock when I looked directly at him. "...What, were you thinking about Sarah March?"
"Change the subject," I said predictably, then bitterly muttered, "before I make you want to change it."
"Jim," Bones said, and it was in a tired whine. A moment passed in silence.
I leaned back and sighed heavily. "Man, I'm sorry. This is the last we're gonna see of each other before I start and I'm being an asshole. I wasn't even feeling wound up about it until now."
Bones gave some impatiently forgiving gesture and took a long swig of his drink. After a few seconds he curiously thought to ask, "So what's Danek like?"
He looked uncertain about whether it was even a safe topic, but I just shrugged. "He's definitely sometimes expressive, which is weird, but it's not like anyone could pull him into a police station for not seeming Vulcan enough when his ID claims he was raised there. But he kind of talks like he walked out of the Victorian era sometimes. I guess he's what you'd expect from a geeky guy with the capacity to hold a huge vocabulary."
"Except that you just described yourself there."
"Why do people always say that? I'm not a geek."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Fuck you. Cops aren't geeks." But I was laughing, reaching my glass out for a wordless toast.
Bones refused to hug me or anything when we split up later, saying he didn't need to feel like I was "going off to fucking war." He reminded me that I could give him a call any time I got the chance and we left each other at the transport station.
I should have been exhausted by the time I got home, but I could hardly sleep. I did some farewell organizing of my apartment before making myself take a sleep aid and get in a few hours. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so excited about anything.
Chris was waiting for me and I was in the bathroom putting on Will's new button-up over the double-checked and checked-again surveillance kit. It hadn't taken more than parting my hair just right to get it to look like Will's softer, less styled look. When I buttoned the last button of the shirt and picked up the canvas work jacket and held it over my shoulder, I looked in the mirror again and was caught by what I saw for a moment. I took in a deep breath and then took a Slatroy out of the weathered-in pocket pack and nudged it behind my ear. As if that was the final touch of some long-labored work, I stopped going over the details and nuances and relaxed into my instincts, turned off the light and emerged to meet Chris with my lips crooking up slightly.
His eyebrows hopped up briefly in an almost teasing return of the smile. "You're expected in about half an hour, so, ready when you are."
I had my officer's ID nudged into a hidden inner pocket of Will's wallet, but I handed over my personal comm and my house chip to Chris, who tucked them safely into his jacket.
I gave a brief look around my apartment, trying to remember if there was anything else I needed to take care of. The place felt cold and indifferent to my departure. I wondered if it would feel the same whenever I finally got back.
I nodded. "Ready."
I'd learned a long time before I was even on undercover to recognize when I have no room to get nervous. Of course I was just a little bit, but I was making sure to channel it just right. My entire mind and body were stretching and flexing as if ready to do some kind of acrobatic stunt, feeling mentally through the touchstones of all the times I'd practiced the way Will walks and talks and smirks.
Mostly what I was worried about was making sure my knee didn't bob up and down like it used to when I was jogging my memory in class exams; Will ran at a lower speed than I did, and it was all "Think fast—but not too fast."
We were halfway there when Chris explained, "I've got my rookie on you for third shift, but I'll be listening in as often as I can. If you get into trouble and it's nothing we can hear, make some comment that your head hurts. Just make sure that if you actually do get a headache you keep your mouth shut about it."
"Yes sir."
There was nothing much left to say; I complained about Chris' music again almost for the rest of the ride, imitating one of the singers to make him lighten up as if he was the one with all the nerves. It was the last time Chris was able to smile when it was just knowingly for me; we were pulling up close enough to be in character, and his face fell to a solemn frown and he just said, "Deep breath."
The place looked somehow smaller in real life than in the photos Chris had provided, and there were some details I hadn't noticed before: the upstairs loft had these gauzy white curtains that gave the room beyond some innocently young, non-secretive personality. The narrow white stretch of the building looked well taken care of from the outside, the door painted a subtle pastel hue. It had the surreal beauty of all the spotlessly kept houses I'd been trained to see as a little too perfect, having found too many skeletons underneath.
Chris got out faster than me in my tired slip out of the driver's side, and even though I vaguely observed the motion of someone banging right out of the front door, I didn't move as if I had while he came around and handed me my small suitcase from the back seat.
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Pike." I reached out my hand for him to shake.
"You be sure to look after yourself. Don't hesitate to comm if you remember anything or have any questions, you hear?"
Of course I'm going to tell you that it all seemed to happen very fast. It was a flash of footsteps pattering down the short drive and a little squeak of excitement, a tall explosion of soft hair as a pair of green arms came squeezing tightly up around my shoulders.
There was a catapulting snap in the air; I felt some motion moving through me as when something breakable goes flipping off a table and then spins and lands with an improbable clap safely on its head, intact. I reached my arms up and wrapped them around Gaila.
By now I'd seen the whole nine hours.
They had apparently inherited a derelict upright piano along with the house; it first appeared in the footage on a bright loud day in their small but open living room. Gaila and Ken sat next to each other doodling along random keys while Toni apparently was the one recording them; the camera went over once to reveal that Will and Danek were on the couch and the armchair on the other side of the room but then neglected to show them again.
"I just feel like the room would look so empty if we sold it." Toni's voice from behind, and the two on the piano bench laughing as they competed over the middle keys, Ken trying to knuckle away Gaila's hand.
"Wait, we're thinking about selling it?" Gaila asked.
"Are we?" Ken said, "I mean, I did assume, since none of us plays."
The two of them, and you could assume Toni too, looked up and across the room at Danek or Will, quite possibly both.
Will said, "Oh, I wasn't putting my foot down about that...If somebody wants to keep it, that's fine. We can always sell it later."
Danek added, "I'm not concerned about the space."
I thought aloud, "That's interesting."
Chris had seemed about to say something about it too: "Yeah, I know, those little 'Let's ask Dad' moments. There's something later on that's kind of like that again."
"Who's on the lease?"
"All on equal shares."
"Huh."
The next day was when Chris told the residents that Will had been revived. We'd known that this was going to be sticky, managing to credibly claim that it was inadvisable for any of them to actually visit him because he was in a mentally fragile condition; Chris came up with the clever lie that Will had been given the opportunity to place a comm to them but had decided to wait once he was told he'd have to be supervised the entire time.
From what I'd heard a couple of them were pretty much chomping at the bit, even expressing some irritation that none of them had Will's power of attorney like that was the most unbelievable mistake. Chris had used that as a reason to ask yet again if they were sure they didn't know how to get in touch with any of Will's folks, and it had earned him the same answer but with an interesting new tone: Instead of one of them vaguely saying they just didn't know anything about his family, Ken had finally calmly given him, "We never talk about any of it," and left it at that.
Late that day Chris arrived at my apartment with a care package the residents had rushed together. It was a light blue plastic basket containing a research PADD, a couple handwritten notes ("I was going to kick your ass if you didn't wake up," Ken professed) and a bag of baked goodies.
"Try the brownies, they're killer," Chris said on his way to my bathroom.
"I think I'll pass." There was no indication of who had made them, but I guessed Will would have known. The second note was a shorter one with a sort of generic but sincere get-well sentiment from Toni. Belatedly I realized that there was a drawing on the other side of the sheet: I guessed it was some historical figure, a guy with a proud pout wearing a jerkin and culottes, rendered in a comic book style. It was pretty good; I may still have it somewhere.
There was nothing from Danek, unless he'd been entrusted with selecting the reading to send along, which I found frustrating. It gave me nothing to work with.
Chris and I would chat about nothing in particular for about five minutes at a time, but generally it was business almost non-stop whenever he came over. By now I had Will's schedules and class notes and unfinished essays strewn all over the data spread on my coffee table, casting looks down now and again to study them. We would watch footage a couple times in a row, three or four times, and during the interesting stuff Chris would pause it every ten seconds or so with something he wanted me to pay attention to.
"See how he turned the joke onto Gaila when she was hounding Ken about his shirt? He makes fun, but he avoids ganging up on people." And later: "There's that thing again, look how she's checking in with Danek about fixing the car. And you can see the girls aren't very physical with him. They both moved over a little when he sat on the couch, with Ken they'd just be bumping knees..."
By the third visit like this Chris was guiltily offering to pay to have dinner delivered, remembering to act like a guest; I almost wanted to tell him I was grateful for the company, happy just to have some noise at the place. Bones hung out with me a few times a week but was usually exhausted in the evening, and I'd had to get used to the type of quiet nights that often spat me out for long aimless walks just so I could get away from the unshakable feeling that a lot of things about my life were grinding to a boring halt.
Back when I was on Murder, Spock and I weren't just with each other most of the day but sometimes late into the night, putting in extra time on a case at his place or just passing the time and then crashing at mine. Other people at the office could hardly miss how we came in together looking hungover, leading to the plaguey assumptions that we were sleeping with each other. Once Spock had tersely made it known he didn't appreciate the other officers perpetuating rumors that could potentially get the two of us fired or at least split up, they'd realized it wasn't true, and moved on to the jokes about our "slumber parties" which managed in their implications to be just as snide. I had hated that crap at the time, but I almost missed being constantly parodied by the gossip at that godforsaken office, if only because it had meant that there was something quietly remarkable in my life.
On the screen now all five were in the car, and for much of this part it was too dark for me to make out who was even sitting where, but the person holding the cam was in the middle back seat and it was easiest to make out Danek's profile in the driver's seat.
Toni's voice to one side: "I mean, it's hard for me to take Korrison seriously when he's so synonymous with it, it's like he literally writes the music just for skating..."
"Oh, no, he does." Ken. "It's like practically manufactured for that like, 'Oh, I heard you guys like roaring choirs for your ice prancing, so...'"
Gaila laughed—she had to be behind the camera—and Toni said, "So you didn't really like it either?"
"No, I just don't care enough to push it, so we use that stuff all the time. But I swear, the first time we did the routine to the music, that one part with the Latin comes in...I almost dropped Kara on her ass cause I started laughing."
Will appeared to be looking back from shotgun while Gaila giggled darkly. "I wasn't going to say anything..."
Gaila interrupted, "You've been saying since forever how much you hate the music!"
"Ah," Ken mock-accused, "so that's why you had a study group last time."
"Aw, Ken."
"I'm just playing."
Danek chipped in, "You all have to understand that Will has the musical preferences of a Nietzschean philosopher, which is somewhat limiting in itself."
There was one of those stunned moments of no one understanding before Will seemed to remember something it referenced, and abruptly let out into a low laugh that wouldn't quit, his head thunking back against the rest.
"I don't get it," Toni said.
"He means that Will only likes really old music."
"That isn't what I meant," Danek said, a calm note of aloof amusement in his voice.
A few seconds after that it became obvious Will was trying to figure out what had happened to his PADD, sending everyone in the back into a fit until he saw the camera trained on him, scoffed and held out his hand with a mild look of chagrin.
A moment later I curiously asked, "What do you know about Sulu?"
"You know I'm not supposed to tell you."
I gave Chris an expression of You're not actually going to give me that? He relented pretty quickly, setting down the drink he'd been nursing with a slightly impish smile.
"Fine. Well, I've never met him but he's one of Barnett's, and pretty obviously his favorite. This kid..." Chris shook his head in a bewildered way. "He knows over half a dozen types of combat, which is probably what got him the job at a young age. He's been doing this hardcore gig for several years over in Chainley; he started with this gang that has every reason to be paranoid, most of the time not even being able to carry a gun because of the weird seniority systems those syndicates have. Apparently this alias got shelved when his cover got burned a few years back and he managed to krav maga his way out of a little confab that went really bloody."
"Damn," I exclaimed.
"Cigarette."
I grunted in frustration at the reminder, adjusted the way I was holding my smoke; Will always tucks his cigarette between his pinky and fourth finger as if he's in the habit of wanting to free up the rest of his hand.
"He should have been passing out in relief that he was still alive, but he didn't even take a break, really. He went to California to spend the holidays with his parents and was back in a week requesting a spot in the rival gang." I started to laugh, and he added, "Yeah, I imagine the two of you would get along."
It made me feel weird to realize how glad I was he'd said that. Sulu sounded like the type of undercover who was born for the job, a person Chris may have once had hopes I would turn out to be. It takes getting into some really dark stuff to tell the stark difference between Undercover and everyone else, but once you do it's plain as day that they're the type of people who will do virtually anything—they'll walk through fire, light up their whole lives and throw them away like a grenade if that's what it takes to get their big villain. I have felt like that guy from time to time, but I didn't want it to become my whole life.
For a long time after I transferred out of UCD, Chris and I had awkwardly lost touch for a while when I'd been unable to get rid of the impression that I'd let him down. It's generally impossible for people to make me feel much of anything about disappointing anybody if I'm sure that I'm doing what I want to do; I didn't like to go near the reason that Chris was one of the exceptions when I wasn't even entirely sure where I stood with him outside of work.
We took a break when Bones gave me a call; I'd asked him to give me a good run-down of how to act post-coma with a side of amnesia. Will was supposed to have no memory of what had happened after he ate dinner that night, which would make it easy for me to shrug and tell them I'd had no idea what I was even doing on that part of town, much less what my attacker had looked like. Chris and I wanted to think this experience would make Will at least a bit jumpy, but only because we could use a touch of trauma to our advantage.
Shortly after I hung up, Chris conversationally asked me how long Bones and I had been friends.
"Hmm, we would've met maybe four months after I transferred...Why?"
"Just wondering. I hadn't known until recently you two were even close."
"Ah. Yeah, I don't know what I'd do without the guy."
We didn't say anything for a couple minutes while I was trying to decipher this weird note-taking system Will had been using in one of his electives. Eventually I heard Chris say, "Jim, listen."
I looked up.
"I didn't want to have to bring this up, but the fact is, I really didn't know about it until after I'd already cooked up this whole idea. Though I should've suspected, with how things went the night the body was found, and some things I noticed afterwards..." He sighed. "McCoy told me that you and Spock had some huge falling-out?"
My eyes want back down to the notes. After a couple seconds I neutrally nodded, shrugged. "It's true."
"I know you've probably already worked out whether it's going to be a problem, but I've got to check in. That's his clone in there, and if it makes things harder..."
"It's a non-issue. Danek isn't Spock. I know that," I insisted, then shrugged again. "If anything, it'll make it easier. You know, keep things in perspective."
I don't think Chris thought for a second that what he was getting on the surface was everything I could have said, but he was able to confirm that I'd thought about it. He considered my response for only a second before he decided he believed me, nodded and left it alone.
"Who's Susan Creevey?"
"Professor of Economics, I have her on Tuesdays and Thursdays at two, room 305 at Dillinger Hall."
"What do you do after class on Thursdays?"
"Thursday is my night to cook. Danek has an evening lecture and Gaila usually drops him off so she can take the car to a study group. If she's back early enough Ken and I will sometimes take the car to pick up Danek and get something at the bakery on the way back."
"How are you doing in Absurdist Lit?"
"It's the only class I'm not acing, but I should have my grade pulled up if I cram for the next exam."
"Wednesday."
"Lit at nine, lunch with the girls, Klingon Civil Wars at noon."
"John Alexie."
"My partner on my economics presentation, which is about mercantilism of pre-contact Earth."
"How do you like Professor Danes?"
"Quite a lot, as a person. Gaila would say he doesn't challenge us enough."
"How early do you wake up?"
"I'm always up between seven and eight, but I'm slow in the morning. On the weekends I sleep in only about an hour longer than that, even when I drink."
"Good." Chris looked over. "Cigarette."
"Shit."
"Since when do you smoke Slatroys?" Bones asked.
"I don't. Will does. I've got to break in a packet."
Bones let out a smirking sigh. We'd had this conversation before: "I think the whole subculture of Slatroys is mostly in your head, Jim."
"No, it's not. The only people on this planet who smoke who aren't an active part of 'addiction culture,' are cops, and people who smoke Slatroys."
"Why cops?"
"It's currency," Chris submitted. "Gets you far in an interrogation."
"Anyway, I've never met anyone who smoked Slats who wasn't pretentious as hell," I complained. "I am probably the first cop in history to ever put one in my mouth, that's for sure."
"Well, considering cigarettes are totally domestic, and we could use more officers..."
"You know what, Bones, I don't even know how I'm going to survive without your sass for...God knows how long."
"You should at least be happy Will smokes at all," Chris put in.
"Why?" Bones said, "He could use a reason to get off it."
"I'm not addicted," I protested. "I'll go weeks without it if I'm not stressed. It relaxes me."
In an unusual throw of pure deadpan, Bones nodded and said, "Well, that explains why you're so relaxed all the time." Chris wasn't able to tamper down his laugh before it got out, and I glared at both of them.
"I don't know why you get on this anyway. I'm not sure if you've heard, but we can cure cancer now," I said with lilting sarcasm.
Bones grumbled, "We can cure Orion sting fever too, but I'm not about to lick the backside of a—"
Chris cleared his throat loudly as he noticed the server approaching.
It was lunch at The Patio, the diner close to senior headquarters which became something of the unofficial cop dive a while back. We were helped by a sweet-looking waitress who distractedly took our drink orders, and a minute after she walked away Chris said, "I think Will could get her number."
Bones thought Chris was kidding, but I just winked at him and sat up straighter, thinking fast.
Chris was throwing me into a tricky spot: We both had seen that Will's style of flirting was very different from mine. I tended to be pretty direct and verbal about things so that I could just get accepted or shut down and move on, but Gaila had recorded him working his more gentlemanly magic on some store owner in the process of getting a picture of this huge sculpture they'd been really fascinated by, and Will had definitely been the type to convey it all in an expression. I generally felt like I had no idea how to do that without it coming off creepy, but surely I could learn a couple things from him. When the server came by again I stopped her with, "Excuse me, ma'am."
I'd talked like we were in a library, and she stepped in closer to our table.
"Actually, I just wanted to tell you..." I was enunciating and pacing my words in what Bones probably thought was a completely unrecognizable way; Will spoke in everyday speech the way I only spoke when I was in the same room as a judge. "I come here often, so I know that you're new. I don't want to make you self-conscious, but I thought I should warn you: That elderly couple you're waiting on—the lady who came in with the yellow gloves? Every single time they come in here, the husband orders the tuna salad and doesn't specify that he wants it on rye, and then complains when they bring it to him on wheat, so if I were you I'd just go with the rye."
"Oh." The server flinched into a laughing little smile; I was hitting her full force with what I hoped was the kind of grin that was charming in how unselfconscious it was, as if I didn't realize at all that I was looking a few seconds too long. She double took me and said, "Thanks."
"Ah, don't mention it. What's your name?"
"Joan. And yeah, you're right, I started just yesterday."
"I look forward to seeing you here, then. Detective Kirk. Call me Jim." It felt parodying, using my own name as I reached out to give her one of those serious squeezes for handshakes. I thought I heard Bones spluttering a suppressed laugh into some of his drink.
She said, "Nice to meet you," and I nodded and she went off. I got back out of character, slouching a little and yanking one of our appetizers off of the table, and then gave a sly grin to Chris and Bones.
Fifteen minutes later when my PADD lit up with my updated tab, it had a memo attached. It was a comm number with a 'J' next to it. I slid it over for Chris to see without any comment. He looked down, up, and then distantly considered for a moment before he said, "I'm putting you in tomorrow night."
It shocked me a little. I pressed my fist over my mouth and then slapped the table after a second, giddily hissing some curse.
Bones finished off his burger and looked generally unreadable for the rest of the day, until he settled for offering to take me out for a congratulatory drink.
He was squinting at me over his beer as he remembered to ask, "Was that even true? About the sandwich ordeal?"
I smirked. "Sort of. I've seen it happen once."
He laughed shortly. "Isn't that kinda cheating?"
"Nah. It would have been if I'd never seen them before in my life. But the best lies are like that. It's harder to dress up absolutes."
He considered me for a second. "It's crazy to think that I never asked you much about your undercover days, now that we've come back to it. I'd never thought much of it until lately."
I stretched my arm across the back of the booth, shrugged. "I don't know if you picked up on it or not, but I never really liked to talk about it that much."
"Yeah, I guess." Bones twisted his mouth a bit thoughtfully. "I hope this question doesn't rub you the wrong way."
"What?"
"You sort of...well, you've got to be pretty good at fooling people, obviously. You even kind of have to manipulate them, and you being so good at it...for some reason it's not something I ever pictured." He was hesitating. "I guess I'm just curious, have you always worked people like that just to get what you need? Not in any big way, just some harmless little white lying?"
I blinked, taking a while to say anything in reply. "You mean just like any day? Not when I'm at work?"
Bones grimaced, looking off to the side. "You're pissed."
"No. I mean, I don't know..." I shifted in my seat. I was thinking of all the shortcuts I had for changing subjects, brushing off jokes, making people feel safe by fibbing that what they're reading is my favorite author, making them on edge with the vaguest possible implications...I laughed uncomfortably. Maybe I was pissed. "Jesus. You know how I feel about people like that, why would you say that?"
Bones looked alarmed. "Hey, I didn't mean it like getting your way is ever a bad thing. I just mean...You've always had a way of influencing people to do what's right even when you're not in charge, or sometimes you sort of...get the tension out of a room by saying just the right thing. I wondered if that was something you picked up doing this stuff. That's all."
"Oh." I wore a little cringe now, my hand trying to wave off the tightness in the air. "I don't know, my mind just went off somewhere you totally didn't mean to send me. Sorry."
Bones was fixing me with a muted shock when I looked directly at him. "...What, were you thinking about Sarah March?"
"Change the subject," I said predictably, then bitterly muttered, "before I make you want to change it."
"Jim," Bones said, and it was in a tired whine. A moment passed in silence.
I leaned back and sighed heavily. "Man, I'm sorry. This is the last we're gonna see of each other before I start and I'm being an asshole. I wasn't even feeling wound up about it until now."
Bones gave some impatiently forgiving gesture and took a long swig of his drink. After a few seconds he curiously thought to ask, "So what's Danek like?"
He looked uncertain about whether it was even a safe topic, but I just shrugged. "He's definitely sometimes expressive, which is weird, but it's not like anyone could pull him into a police station for not seeming Vulcan enough when his ID claims he was raised there. But he kind of talks like he walked out of the Victorian era sometimes. I guess he's what you'd expect from a geeky guy with the capacity to hold a huge vocabulary."
"Except that you just described yourself there."
"Why do people always say that? I'm not a geek."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Fuck you. Cops aren't geeks." But I was laughing, reaching my glass out for a wordless toast.
Bones refused to hug me or anything when we split up later, saying he didn't need to feel like I was "going off to fucking war." He reminded me that I could give him a call any time I got the chance and we left each other at the transport station.
I should have been exhausted by the time I got home, but I could hardly sleep. I did some farewell organizing of my apartment before making myself take a sleep aid and get in a few hours. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so excited about anything.
Chris was waiting for me and I was in the bathroom putting on Will's new button-up over the double-checked and checked-again surveillance kit. It hadn't taken more than parting my hair just right to get it to look like Will's softer, less styled look. When I buttoned the last button of the shirt and picked up the canvas work jacket and held it over my shoulder, I looked in the mirror again and was caught by what I saw for a moment. I took in a deep breath and then took a Slatroy out of the weathered-in pocket pack and nudged it behind my ear. As if that was the final touch of some long-labored work, I stopped going over the details and nuances and relaxed into my instincts, turned off the light and emerged to meet Chris with my lips crooking up slightly.
His eyebrows hopped up briefly in an almost teasing return of the smile. "You're expected in about half an hour, so, ready when you are."
I had my officer's ID nudged into a hidden inner pocket of Will's wallet, but I handed over my personal comm and my house chip to Chris, who tucked them safely into his jacket.
I gave a brief look around my apartment, trying to remember if there was anything else I needed to take care of. The place felt cold and indifferent to my departure. I wondered if it would feel the same whenever I finally got back.
I nodded. "Ready."
I'd learned a long time before I was even on undercover to recognize when I have no room to get nervous. Of course I was just a little bit, but I was making sure to channel it just right. My entire mind and body were stretching and flexing as if ready to do some kind of acrobatic stunt, feeling mentally through the touchstones of all the times I'd practiced the way Will walks and talks and smirks.
Mostly what I was worried about was making sure my knee didn't bob up and down like it used to when I was jogging my memory in class exams; Will ran at a lower speed than I did, and it was all "Think fast—but not too fast."
We were halfway there when Chris explained, "I've got my rookie on you for third shift, but I'll be listening in as often as I can. If you get into trouble and it's nothing we can hear, make some comment that your head hurts. Just make sure that if you actually do get a headache you keep your mouth shut about it."
"Yes sir."
There was nothing much left to say; I complained about Chris' music again almost for the rest of the ride, imitating one of the singers to make him lighten up as if he was the one with all the nerves. It was the last time Chris was able to smile when it was just knowingly for me; we were pulling up close enough to be in character, and his face fell to a solemn frown and he just said, "Deep breath."
The place looked somehow smaller in real life than in the photos Chris had provided, and there were some details I hadn't noticed before: the upstairs loft had these gauzy white curtains that gave the room beyond some innocently young, non-secretive personality. The narrow white stretch of the building looked well taken care of from the outside, the door painted a subtle pastel hue. It had the surreal beauty of all the spotlessly kept houses I'd been trained to see as a little too perfect, having found too many skeletons underneath.
Chris got out faster than me in my tired slip out of the driver's side, and even though I vaguely observed the motion of someone banging right out of the front door, I didn't move as if I had while he came around and handed me my small suitcase from the back seat.
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Pike." I reached out my hand for him to shake.
"You be sure to look after yourself. Don't hesitate to comm if you remember anything or have any questions, you hear?"
Of course I'm going to tell you that it all seemed to happen very fast. It was a flash of footsteps pattering down the short drive and a little squeak of excitement, a tall explosion of soft hair as a pair of green arms came squeezing tightly up around my shoulders.
There was a catapulting snap in the air; I felt some motion moving through me as when something breakable goes flipping off a table and then spins and lands with an improbable clap safely on its head, intact. I reached my arms up and wrapped them around Gaila.
