Author's Notes: Last summer, I occupied myself with hours upon hours of Angry Birds. I'm glad I couldn't find a game timer within that app, because I know it would have depressed me if I'd seen how much time I wasted launching various birds at little green pigs. I'd probably have been able to write a couple of stories in that time! Or, I suppose I could have started about six fics and maybe completed one. Such is my life. This chapter was kind of the nucleus of the idea, with what the inclusion of Angry Birds into the cop!verse. And then it grew, and grew, and grew. I hope no one's complaining.

Disclaimer: I do not own. Please don't sue.


Chapter 3

"Do you think we should go out there and make sure they're killing each other? It kind of sounds like they need a referee."

From his seated perch atop the kitchen counter, Chris thought about it, shrugged, and then waved a dismissive hand toward his son. He dipped his hand in the veggie tray and snagged a couple of carrot sticks before dunking them liberally into the tub of ranch dressing nestled in the middle. Crunching loudly, he replied with his mouth half full, "Nah. I told Kirk that he couldn't go armed, and I know McCoy leaves his service weapon in his locker at the station. I think they're going to be okay."

"He still has that backup PM9 of his. You know, the one he carries on his right hip, inside the waistband of his pants when he's off duty?" Ethan answered, joining his father in the kitchen to attack the veggie tray. "If he hadn't left his house all day, Jim's probably fine, but if Len had anywhere to go beforehand, you can bet that he's got that thing on him."

Carrot halfway to his mouth, Chris stopped in shock. Ethan was observant, but that was ridiculous. Even more outrageous was that his son was right on every single account of how McCoy carried, both on and off duty. Quizzically, Pike looked at his progeny and asked, "Just how the hell did you know all that?"

Ethan waggled his eyebrows up and down before he reached in and fished a couple of snow pea pods from the tray. Shrugging, he leaned up against the apex of the counter and faced his father. "We've known him a long time, Dad. Remember when I was a little kid and I always wanted to try and wrestle him? I could feel the lip on the magazine and the top of the holster when his right side bumped me. Besides, it's not like you've never taken me to the range when he's been there, too. You taught me to shoot just as much as McCoy did," the teen added.

"Yeah, but I only started doing that a couple of years ago. McCoy's had that gun forever," Chris replied, flabbergasted his son picked up that much information without him noticing it.

"I live with a cop," he said with a mighty roll of his eyes. "I was born observant."

"Now that," Chris said, snorting while he pointed a celery stick at his son's face, "is mightily debatable."

The echo of voices coming up the stairs cut off Ethan's reply, though the kid's dramatically miffed expression said it all. Though the thick exterior door that separated the mudroom from the garage muffled the words, there was no mistaking McCoy's irritated, borderline angry tone flittering through. The Pikes and Chekov all subconsciously leaned toward the threshold, hoping to hear what was actually being said. The brass knob turned slowly, and the two in front of the door, Chris and Ethan, felt the instant rush of crisp early winter air snake into the house.

In terms of the epic factor, what they saw next was totally worth the extra wait.

McCoy's bitching was predictably prolific. From the moment Chris heard the three doors of Scotty's car open and close to the moment Len was marched up the stairs in the garage and into the house, his mouth never stopped moving against the grand injustice that was his life. Carrying on about everything from the weather to the set up that was the duty roster, McCoy paused long enough only to breathe. Idly, Pike wondered if he should have sent duct tape with Scotty and Kirk, because Len was taking full advantage of the fact they hadn't thought to tape his mouth shut.

McCoy cleared the doorway to the mudroom, kicked off his shoes on the appropriate mat opposite the washer and dryer out a force of habit, and zeroed in on the first target his sharp vision registered. He bellowed out, "Chris, goddammit, I know this kidnapping is your fault, and I don't appreciate it!" The sergeant's eyes shifted to the young man standing next to his superior officer; Ethan was doing a very poor job of disguising his laughter. McCoy's expression softened for a split second before he muttered, "Hey, Ethan."

"McCoy," the teen replied, going for the veggie tray as a convenient excuse to turn his back to hide his shit-eating smirk.

"And, happy birthday to you, Len," Pike replied, raising an eyebrow while the sentence rolled smoothly off his tongue. Hopping down from his seat on the recessed point of the counter, he added flippantly, "Nice of you to come."

McCoy managed to work himself into a substantial rage on the way over, and it only took the sound of Chris' voice to trigger a refocus of all the negativity. His face twisted into a snarl, with the tone of his voice following suit. "Nice of me to come? Kiss my ass, Pike. It's insulting enough that I'm here instead of at my house where I belong without being blatantly patronized," Len bitched loudly. His eyes darted around the room, finally noticing the other occupants stationed strategically around the kitchen. "Does anyone else see anything at all wrong with this picture?"

Chris didn't give his family time to answer when he replied, "Well, you're here, aren't you?"

"Oh, you want to talk about how that happened? Great! Because I'd love to," McCoy began sarcastically. "I was tackled in my living room, dragged out the door, and thrown in the back of a car. I should charge all of you with unlawful imprisonment before I kick your asses." The jacket draped loosely around his shoulders slipped down his back and off his body. It landed on the kitchen floor with a loud 'plop' before Len rattled the handcuffs. "As soon as I'm loose, I am bringing you to the hospital so I can check you for dementia. It could be early onset, because I would hope you're not crazy enough to order an arrest of your subordinate."

Pike simply smirked triumphantly. Words were a moot point, for the superior-bordering-on-arrogant countenance on Chris' face said all that was necessary.

…Or maybe Pike was nuts enough to do it. His eyebrow ratcheting up a few more notches, Len said, "I am going to kill you. I don't know how, but I will."

"By all means, have at it," Pike replied, shoving a piece of cauliflower in his mouth. He chewed it and stared at his former partner while he waited for some kind of response. When none was forthcoming, Chris baited the hook just a little bit more with a sly, "You're the one still in cuffs in my kitchen." His expression dared McCoy to contradict him, which was clearly too much temptation for the sergeant to ignore. Well aware of all things McCoy, Pike knew that Len would A) Curse him out under his breath, and B) Find someone lower on the food chain to abuse in his stead, before C) Allowing his mouth to do some very fine verbal sparring.

Predictably, McCoy's jaw snapped shut while he silently seethed. He called Chris every name in the book in his head, taking a deep, not-so-calming breath in the process before the next volley of insults sprang from his mouth. "I'm blaming your poor judgment today on mob mentality and the influence of youthful idiocy," he started, narrowing his eyes in contempt at Pike. Chris caught and held the gaze, which was only interrupted by the incredulity of two men standing behind him.

"Hey!" Scotty and Kirk exclaimed at the same time, each wisely edging away from the angry sergeant to find a place next to Pike.

"This ain't a debate. You two are idiots," McCoy said succinctly while he shifted his barbed glare at his two kidnappers. "And I wasn't asking for your opinion. I'm stating facts." To Pike, he said, "As for you, this is low. I had my day all planned out, one that involved relaxation, peace and quiet," he began.

"Whatever," Pike muttered. "Don't think you can fool me, Len. I've known you too long to buy that line of bullshit. Without our intervention, your day of 'relaxation' today would have amounted to nothing but sitting on your ass in front of your TV, wallowing all by yourself in that apartment of yours. And you know what I think about that. I'm saving you from your own mediocrity."

Though his first instincts were to try and contradict his superior, the sergeant knew that Pike's point was more than valid. So, he settled on deflection instead. "I was just fine with my mediocrity. Unless your plan for the day involves a free trip to Hawaii, thanks but no thanks. I'm going home," McCoy ground out.

"Not happening, Len, at least not on my watch. Sorry," Chris apologized halfheartedly. He walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer and a ginger ale, popping the top of the longneck with the bottle opener on the counter. Pike took a healthy pull from the bottle, relishing the cool and slightly bitter flavor of the lager as it made its way down his throat. The lieutenant nudged the soda in the direction of his former partner before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, flipping dramatically through it until he found the one he wanted. He grabbed Len by the shoulder, flipped him around and stuck the tiny key in the cuffs. He caught Scotty's slightly nervous expression along with Jim's aloof one out of the corner of his eye. Before he flicked his wrist to unlock the metal bracelets, Pike asked, "If I un-cuff you, do you promise to play nice?"

McCoy snorted, his eyes sliding to the open beverage. "Do you mean, 'Will I kill them'?"

Chris nodded. "Yep. That."

"No, I won't kill either of them," McCoy sighed out. "Now get these damn things off me. I can't feel my hands."

Pike laughed. "McCoy, the whole point of cuffs is that they are uncomfortable. It's a subtle reminder to the general population that they should behave. Not that they ever actually get that memo," he added with a snort. Chris held McCoy's wrists steady, and with a click, popped the locking mechanism. He pulled on the cuffs open, the teeth of the metal clicking and snapping as they came free. With a flourish, Pike stuck his hand out and caught the metal bracelets when they fell away from Len's wrists. He reset and twisted them up with practiced ease, and laid the heavy cuffs on the counter.

McCoy used the first few seconds of freedom to shake some circulation back into his numb hands while he massaged his sore wrists. "Thanks," he muttered. He shot a fleeting, grateful look towards Pike before he turned a murderous glare towards Kirk. The icy cold beverage he was lusting after moments earlier was instantly forgotten. It sat forlornly on the counter, dripping condensation onto the surface while Len growled, balled up his fists, and advanced on his current partner.

"Bones, you said you wouldn't kill me!" Kirk said with a laugh, backing up into the kitchen.

Fixated on nothing but the need to inflict a little suffering as payback, McCoy hissed out simply, "I never said that I wouldn't beat your ass into the carpet, you little shit."

Kirk, busy trying to keep his partner from killing him, tried several tactics in evasive maneuvers, none of which were particularity effective. First, he attempted to simply avoid McCoy, but there were too many (breakable) obstacles inside Chris' house for the strategy to be effective. He thought that perhaps he could use Pike as a human shield, since it was his order, but all that materialized from that idea was a hefty shove back toward said angry sergeant. Resigned to his fate and ready to take one for the team, Jim stopped in the middle of the kitchen, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the inevitable.

But instead of the MMA style thrashing Kirk thought he was going to receive, a shrill whistle grabbed everyone's attention (and hurt a couple of eardrums in the process). The room's thrumming motion came to a crashing, screeching halt while six sets of eyes darted toward the source. Lynn dropped her hand from her mouth, set one hand on her hip and said sternly, "Okay, gentlemen. That's enough. Len, you don't have permission to kill your partner, and Chris, stop antagonizing everyone."

"What did I do?" Pike asked incredulously, placing one hand over his chest.

Lynn simply glared in silent reply. "You know what you did."

Kirk picked that very moment to chime in, "Yeah, he interferes. He can't help it. It's what he does. Hey, do you think that trait genetic?" he asked, looking toward Ethan.

"Thank you, Jim. That will be all," Pike said, taking a deep breath to quell the spike in his blood pressure before it made him light-headed. 'Goddamned kids.'

Rolling her eyes, Lynn suppressed the urge to smack all three of them. Scotty kept himself wisely silent; the only sound that was coming from the mechanic was the occasional snicker, and the Pike matriarch wished that her husband and his two subordinates would take note. Cutting into the conversation, she stepped over to McCoy's side. She put her arm around his shoulders and angled him away from Kirk. "Len, you can't be anti-social forever. It's not allowed," she started in her typical, no bullshit fashion. "But for once, you can't really be mad at Jim and Chris. This party was my idea, so you're venting your anger at the wrong people."

McCoy arched a surprisingly neat eyebrow up while, at the same time, he looked down into Lynn's soft blue eyes. Len physically towered over her, but her amazing presence in a room was positively mind-blowing. Because of Lynn's larger-than-life persona, McCoy often forgot what a slight woman she was. Face faltering, he said, "Your idea? Lynn, you should have just called and saved yourself the trouble. You know what I feel about stuff like this," he said, doing his best not to squirm in front of her.

"I know you hate being the center of attention, but it's been too long since we've done anything for you," she replied, patting him gently on the arm.

"You should have kept it that way," Len muttered, not entirely under his breath. The tension in his voice was painfully audible, and he cursed himself silently for letting it slip past his defenses. It took sheer will to force down the rosy pink shade that was trying to work its way through to his cheeks. The complete dissection of his psyche under of Lynn's motherly stare always made Len feel like he was six years old again, caught with his hand firmly entrenched in the cookie jar. Yes, even on occasions during which he did nothing wrong. McCoy cleared his throat, shifted his stance and pursed his lips. "I hate parties. Always have. You know that."

Ethan and Pavel, somehow silent through the entire debacle, chose just the right moment to pipe up. "Don't say that until you see your cake, McCoy," the younger Pike shot out. His vocal enthusiasm was contagious; even if his expert timing was a hereditary gift, there was no mistaking just how thrilled the teen was at whatever was about to happen.

As energized as Ethan clearly was, McCoy was equal parts confused. Anger, embarrassment and frustration forgotten, his eyebrows descended downward to form a deep, creased valley on his forehead. Wariness, he learned early on, was a wise default setting around members of the Pike family. They were all like little children - too much silence was a bad thing, and big, happy faces normally meant he was about to get punked. "My cake? What?" The sergeant spun around on one foot toward the sound of the younger Pike's voice.

"Yes, your cake," Ethan replied slowly, sticking his head through the small opening made between the countertop and the bottom of the cabinets. Pointing, he added, "The one that's over here."

McCoy stepped around the obstructive cabinets, opened his mouth to make his obligatory smart-assed remark, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the huge cake sprawled across the table. His eyes flickered toward Ethan and Pavel in time for his brain to register the fact that both teens were wearing identical, massive grins while silently guffawing. He read the green lettering on the cake once, and then read it again just to be sure. Blinking in shock, McCoy simply stood, rooted firmly in place as if his feet were suddenly glued to the floor. His jaw opened, closed, opened again, and stayed hanging down by his toes.

Leonard McCoy was stunned silent. Well, praise Jesus from whom all blessings flow and many other types of happy bullshit.

Pike, Jim, Scotty and Lynn all walked around the counter of the kitchen to the dining area. They came to a halt directly behind McCoy to watch his reaction, all neatly pleased with the sound that was not coming out of his mouth. Scotty quietly pulled his iPhone from his pocket and hit the 'record' button while Jim peeked over the mechanic's shoulder to watch. Kirk stifled a giggle, wondering how fast the video would go viral once Scotty posted it.

"I don't know what to say," Len said after a beat he needed to take in order to let the speech center of his brain recover.

"How about, 'thank you'," Chris supplied, giving McCoy a manly pat on the back.

Caught off guard, Pike's slap jolted Len forward a foot, but also kick-started his brain back in motion. He turned toward Chris and, fighting a wide grin, replied genuinely, "Thank you. I don't know how you guys did it, but this is really cool." McCoy turned toward Jim and Scotty and added gruffly, "The cake, not the handcuffs."

"Don't look at me, McCoy. You know I can't cook worth a shit. You're thanking the wrong person," Pike said, laughing to break the stare down stalemate. "Thank my wife, but I'm sure even you could have figured that out."

With the smirk off the corner of his mouth growing into a full-blown smile, McCoy shoved Jim and Scotty aside to get to Lynn. But instead of the verbal gratitude the room was expecting, Len reached out and engulfed her in a huge bear hug. She returned it with matching ferocity and held it for a few seconds. Stepping back, he grasped her by the shoulders and said, "Thank you. I don't know where the idea came from, but I love it. Almost makes the bullshit of how you got me over here worth it."

"Wow. He's agreeing with us. And he was silent. That's a whole can of amazing, twice in one day," Jim stated succinctly. Popping the door open, he reached in the fridge to procure two beers, one for himself and the other for Scotty. Juggling the two open bottles in one hand, Kirk pulled a pen from the drawer in the kitchen with the other. He walked over to the calendar Lynn kept tacked on the wall next to the refrigerator, stopping in front of it while he thought of what to say. Smirking, he lifted the pen and wrote, 'Bones agrees that Jim is awesome,' on the correct day before shoving the writing utensil back where it belonged.

"I said 'almost' Jim. I didn't say it was totally worth it," McCoy instantly corrected before he walked over to take a look at his cake. "And stop writing that crap on Lynn's calendar, or I'll cite you for property damage."

The phrase might have been vintage McCoy, but insulting Jim was so automatic, the sentence tumbled from his mouth without much conscious thought. Len was completely engrossed in his cake, walking around it much like Ethan did when he first saw it. Tempted to play, McCoy gingerly tested the slingshot's durability, making a pleased grunt when kept pulling with a hefty amount of force. The small projectile vehicle stayed firmly in place while Len went on to explore the other facets of the masterful design. Both Ethan and Chekov leaned forward, anxious to help the sergeant 'explore' the cake. Kirk and Scotty joined the trio at the table, and before long, the quintet broke into comfortable banter over who was the best at Angry Birds. Cell phones magically appeared from pockets, the five comparing high scores, Mighty Eagle feathers, and captured golden eggs.

Lynn looked on with a satisfied smirk. Knowing they'd be well occupied for at least a few minutes, she turned toward the kitchen and busied herself with the dinner she'd planned on serving. The luscious, savory smell of her homemade lasagna wafted from the oven, and by Chris' poorly-disguised hovering, it was clear he was hungry. All afternoon, he managed to find little excuses that allowed him to stay in the kitchen while she worked on the from-scratch pasta sauce with her homegrown tomatoes. He'd attempted to sneak a taste while she layered in the meat and cheese over the noodles. Lynn finally banished Chris from the kitchen entirely (after delivering a hard whack to his knuckles via her wooden spatula) after she caught him cutting a, "little, tiny corner," from the edge of the uncooked pan.

From her vantage point below the cupboards, the Pike matriarch was happy to see that Jim, for once, doing a semi-acceptable job of keeping himself clear of the kitchen. Normally, having Kirk over for a meal meant Lynn spent a good portion of her time attempting to pare his advances while he tried to sample whatever it was she was making. This time, the cake she made was a convenient distraction as McCoy, Kirk, Scotty, Chekov and Ethan all bickered over the best way to completely demolish the level. It was both adorable and frightening at the same time, given two of the men currently yelling at one another over which Angry Bird was better were both allowed to carry fully loaded firearms on a daily basis.

'There is no such thing as a dull day in the Pike household,' she thought. Glancing over his shoulder, Lynn pulled the ingredients for a Caesar salad from the fridge and shoved the gathered bowl in her husband's chest. "Here," she said in the authoritative mother tone, "If you're going to stand in my kitchen while I cook, at least make yourself useful. You can handle putting together the salad."

"That's about all he's good for in the kitchen," McCoy supplied from the vicinity of the table while he examined the durability of the fondant birds. It seemed like such an innocent phrase, and normally, it would have been. Just not today.

All motion in the home stopped. For a brief moment, all seven people sat, slack jawed and unsure what to do or say, but for different reasons. But after a couple brief seconds and at exactly the same time, Pike snorted, Lynn giggled, Ethan paled a solid three shades, and Chekov made a sound that was suspiciously close to a gag.

Scotty's eyebrows jumped to his hairline while leaned over to where Jim sat. Kirk was clearly both confused and amused; his head was ping ponging about the room while he studied the three Pikes and their "adopted" Russian. In a faux whisper, Scotty said, "I think we missed something here, but I'm not entirely sure I want to know what it is. Look at the lads there. I think they might just explode if we're not careful."

Jim grunted in agreement. "Probably, but I," he started, pausing long enough to drape his arm around Scotty's neck, "actually want to know what it was. Sounds juicy, man. Spill. Cop's orders."

"Dude, you have no idea. Just don't go there. Trust me," Ethan said in response, unsuccessfully repressing a full-body shudder. He knew he'd never be able to absolutely wipe his mind of the images from earlier, but he did not need to be reminded of them.

"Jim, leave the kid alone before he has a heart attack," McCoy said over his shoulder. "Not everyone needs to be as corrupted as you."

"I am not corrupted, Bones. I'm unique. Don't hate the player. Hate the game," Jim replied with a very, very smug grin.

McCoy swiveled around in his chair, the strings on his sweatshirt whirling about before they hit him in the face. He pointed one long finger at his partner and said, "Kid, it's my birthday, as you've rudely reminded me, so that apparently gives me the right to do whatever I want, to whomever I want. And right now, I swear I will find a 'unique' way to 'hate' on you if you don't shut up!"

"Right on, McCoy!" Ethan said, giving an empathic fist-pump in the air.

Jim glared at the younger Pike. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

Ethan shrugged. "Well, normally I am, but that was just really good. Sorry, man."

Len leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He raised one eyebrow in a silent challenge to Kirk, thinking he'd won the argument.

Out of visual range of the table's occupants, Chris was not as sure. He exchanged a glance with his wife while he dumped the contents of the bag of lettuce in the bowl. Without so much as a hitch in his motions, he replied, "Careful, McCoy. Keep that shit up, and I'll make sure you don't get any lasagna." He added the croutons and cheese and gave the lettuce a toss with the forks he'd extracted from the drawer, totally unaffected by the equal parts confusion and disgust in the room.

McCoy scowled silently at Pike while weighing his odds on success if he chose to engage his boss in a verbal sparring match. Thinking better of it, he cursed under his breath before conceding reluctant defeat. Lynn's lasagna was to die for, enough to the point that he'd shut his mouth and do exactly as he was told if the alternative was that he got none at all. "Fine," he groused, poking at the pigs lining the bridge of the cake. He turned his head back toward Chris in the kitchen, and making eye contact with the man, added a threatening, "But if you idiots think you're singing to me, you all have another thing coming." To accentuate his point, McCoy pulled up the hem of his sweatshirt to expose the small holster and off duty weapon attached to his belt, situated above his right pocket.

Ethan barked a laugh and turned toward his father. "Told you."


Next Up: McCoy, with no thanks to Kirk, finds out if the cake is actually playable.