In Los Angeles, in a little room, sat a man with crown of gray hair. Many joked about his age and his graying hair, at the prime age of fifty-nine, but he has had gray since as long as he could remember. It had to be the job. The job he took at the tender age of thirty-eight, he had been an idealist then, thought he could change the world. But the world, hell the universe, still remains ever changing, never yielding, always treacherous. He learned that the hard way, and he had the scars to prove it. But a part of him, a small part, still wanted to be an idealist. He liked to believe that he could make a change in the universe.

He was twenty-five when he officially joined the Intergalactic Investigative Federation (or commonly known as IIF). At first he was a young cadet getting sent from planet to planet solving little problems. Like dealing with theft crimes, or resolving domestic disputes. It was simple enough. That was until he caught those smugglers at the border, and instantly they were shipping his ass back home. He could of shitted himself, as he sat in this same office, a stern, muscular man staring him down.

"Don't expect to be going anywhere soon," the man grumbled passing him a pink slip.

That was how he got here, and he hasn't left since. Working his way up into this small office. The walls are plain white, but old pictures and holographs frame the walls. The old and the new both making him feel safe and secure behind his ancient, oak desk. On said desk, are more framed pictures, and even a stack of papers. Which, these days, it is completely unnecessary to write on paper, but deny it or not, he was a sentimental man.

At approximately five minutes before the clock hit eight that evening, there was a sharp buzz that awoke the man from his thoughts. He pressed the com. "Yes?"

"Chief, Detective Kirk is here?"

He smiles at Gaila's hesitant tone,"buzz him in, Gaila."

"Aye, aye, Chief-o," comes the lazy reply, which is sharply saved by, "sir."

He grins, not offended, but rather charmed by his young sergeant's spunk. He looks down to sort through his papers, just before the whirl wind appears in front of his desk. He looks to his unruly visitor, his hair a tangled and spiked, golden in the soft light of the office. His eyebrows are sharp and pushed down in furious suspicion, and despite it his face is almost soft with youth.

There is something so familiar about him, and those insane, ice blue eyes that sends the old Chief over a sea of nostalgia. A bright, pink scar curves from his left brown down to his cheekbone, setting the mood between something dangerous and fragile.

"Pike? You did call me down here for a reason, right?"

He blinks at the sound of his name, irked by the lack of title, but not angered. "Jim," he greets, easing back into his chair, gesturing for the young man to take a seat. He watches as Jim pulls out the chair slowly, biting his lip to keep from wincing as he lowers himself, but it is a useless effort. "How's the ribs healing?"

"They're healin'," scoffs Jim at his scarred palms.

"Good," Pike says softly, allowing relief to flood through his veins. Jim was in a bad way for a while, and being that he was so allergic to everything, the doctor thought it would be best to just let his ribs heal on their own good time... After all, it had been the least of the kid's injuries. Only twenty-six. Twenty-six, so young, just a kid.

"I expect you didn't just call be here to see how I was doing."

The words are sharpened with an edge, and as Pike glances up at the young boy's cold stare, he can't help but look away. He sighs, brushing a hand through his gray hair... Things like this, they are never easy to say. He stands, crossing the room to look at a particular photograph on the wall. In the frame stand two young men, one with brown hair and an bright, idealistic smile. The other is a man with golden hair, warm eyes, and a confident, quiet smirk. Their arms are draped over each other's shoulders, eased in a comfortable companionship.

"Chief?"

Ah, and there was the forgotten titles. He smiled wryly at the picture, clasping his hands behind his back. "Kirk, I called you here for your phaser and badge."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, shortly followed by a rustling, and then the heavy press of metal against his oak desk.

"Believe me it gives me no pleasure to do this to one of my best detectives, but after what happened-"

"I get it," Jim cuts in tersely. He turns to see the Kirk schooling his expression, jaw clenched tight and knuckles white around the arm rests. "I get it," he repeats, this time softer.

Unsettled, Pike can do nothing but nod. Pausing on his way back to his desk to lay a hand on one stiff shoulder. "This isn't the end, you know, I fully expect you to be reinstated in a years time."

He lets his hand slide away, heaving himself back down into his seat as Kirk stands in response. A smirk tugs at the end of his lips, a shadow of his old self as he clearly states, "best make that bet for six months, sir."

Surprised, Pike chuckles at Kirk's retreating back. "Alrighty then," he murmurs mostly to himself, leaning forward to watch the doors slip open. But then there was one thing he forgot.

"Ah, Kirk, wait!" Jim freezes in the door frame. "I heard news about... and he's doing okay. Actually, he's doing really well... And he asked to see you."

Whatever old Kirk had come before, quickly retreats back into it's shell. The man in his doorway stiffens head to toe, and gives a very short nod. "Yeah, right," he murmurs, before disappearing as quickly as is physically possible.

And goddamnit, if Chris just didn't shove his foot in his mouth. He sighs heavily, picking up the badge left glistening on his desk, and tucking it away into a drawer for safe keeping. Six months? He smiled. That sounded a bit idealistic.

A/N: Hey! This is my first time writing these characters, so I really hope that didn't fall flat. Urgh.
But I've been wanting to read a cop AU with the gang for a while, and eventually it wormed its way into my brain to where I had to write it. I have lots of angst and hurt/comfort planned. I am sitting here, rubbing my hands together, hoping to make this suspenseful and intense. But, let's be honest, this is most likely going to be just lots of bickering about who gets to drive and what-not. I will not apologize.

Anyway, I hope you will join me on this journey. Thanks for reading this far. 3