Author's Note: Thank you so much for your comments last chapter. I greatly appreciate every single one. :)
There is no backtracking in this chapter. It picks up from where we left off, but in Matthew's POV.
Plumeria47, junker5, and diamondblue4 - thank you for the time you spend on the story, betaing and offering support. :) I'm so grateful. Hugs.
Warning posted in end notes.
oOo
And If I Stand Next to You
Chapter 18
I don't know what I've done (or if I like what I've begun)
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"I don't think anyone else will be coming out in this weather," Stanton said in time with a rumbling roll of thunder outside the bookstore. "It's raining harder than it was just a minute ago."
Matthew looked up from the counter, where he'd been crunching numbers. He wanted to expand and open several stores, including one in Europe where his Aunt Evie lived. His aunt and her friends had bought enough from his store over the years to have him considering an overseas expansion. Stores like his were an anomaly, and as rare as a smile from his stepfather. Yet, there were people out there who still had that strong desire to hold a real book in their hands.
He'd remain open as long as one person came to buy one book every week.
However, his step-father's opinion was correct. This was his hobby. He was busy enough as it was maintaining his investments and other businesses. Could he really afford to expand this business, one that wasn't as profitable as his other investments?
Unfortunately, since he was (still) a single man and had no other hobbies to speak of than the gym and piles of books, he had no choice but to answer his own question with a firm "yes."
"At least I parked close by." Stanton stood with his hands on his hips, staring out the large picture window up front. "No one in their right mind would be driving in this."
He couldn't even see across the street to the other side. "You're probably right," Matthew admitted.
No one was in the store. Their last customer had left a few minutes ago. The only other visitor had been his step-father, and he certainly didn't expect him to return anytime soon. If ever.
Which reminded him that he'd promised Peter he would go see his mother. He'd stalled, not wanting to get there while Peter was still there. He shouldn't have waited. Now it was raining cats and dogs, creating a tedious and hazardous drive.
He tapped his fingers on the counter, then walked around it to the customer side. "Let's lock up."
Stanton's hands dropped from his hips. "I didn't expect you to agree with me," he said, looking like Matthew had just told him he'd won the lottery.
His lips quirked into a smile. He couldn't fault Stanton for his surprise. The medical student had learned quickly that Matthew kept to a strict schedule when it came to this place.
Just because he didn't have a life, however, didn't mean that he wanted to stay here all day or his employees to do the same time when even the street was like a ghost town because of the rain.
He walked up to Stanton. "Well," Matthew said, clapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "The way I see it, with this storm, no one is going to be coming—"
He paused when the front doors slid open, and a strange feeling ran down his spine.
Clay Treadway? Here? Of all people...
"You go on," Matthew murmured to Stanton.
He eyed Treadway, who didn't give him or Matthew a second look but continued to sweep the rest of the store with a calculating gaze.
He wouldn't want to ruin the boy's opportunity to have a good night. Treadway had a scowl fixed on his face, as did the two men accompanying him inside the store.
A warning bell went off in his head, but maybe he'd read too many detective stories. He just didn't believe for one moment that these men had come in here to buy books.
"Ya sure?" Stanton asked.
"You bet." He smiled, or as much as he could now that one of Treadway's companions was giving him a dark look with a pair of beady eyes.
"Alright," Stanton said reluctantly. "Thanks, Boss."
"You're welcome," he affirmed jovially.
It wouldn't do to alert Stanton of his suspicions. It would be safer to have the boy out of the shop.
Matthew waited until Stanton had gathered his things and left before turning his attention to his "customers."
Treadway had taken a seat at one of the front tables for two. He leaned back, on leg crossed over the other at the ankle, his right arm slung across the top of the chair. His buddies stood by the door, like guards.
The warning bell went off again, loud and clear.
He pulled his shoulders back and met Treadway's gaze head on. "How can I help you?"
Treadway's lips lifted in a subtle smirk. "By getting me a...coffee. Black. I have a friend coming soon, and I'm pretty sure he'll need it. Oh, and your most recent issue of Wheels, if you've got it."
Matthew gritted his teeth and promised himself that he would not succumb to this man's manipulations. He knew the type. He'd learned how to deal with his stepfather after all these years, hadn't he?
But he wasn't sure he wanted to cross this man if he really was coming in for a chat with a friend out of the rain. Regular customers would walk up to the appropriate counter to order a coffee and grab the magazine of their choice from the display that was only a few feet away from the tables.
He got the impression Treadway wasn't a normal customer. In fact, he smelled trouble.
What did Jocelyn see in him?
He gave him his best smile.
"Coming right up."
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oOo
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She screamed his name, the man who hated being sick and stubbornly put up a fight when he was, every single time.
She helplessly watched him fall to the ground, like Joanna had done that day from the tree in the neighbor's yard and she hadn't been able to reach her in time to catch her.
She heard the word that escaped his lips, the one word she'd loathed for days, never warming up to the idea that her ex-husband had a best friend, who received more attention from Leonard than she had when she'd been his wife.
She felt her heart drop when his hands dug into his scalp, moments before his entire body went limp, collapsing to the ground. He was oblivious to the raindrops pelting his face, and his slack vulnerability frightened her more than anything else.
She wasted precious time in her shock, and it was their daughter's crushed face flashing through her mind that shook her out of it.
Len.
Jim.
No, Len.
Len was hurt.
"No, no," she breathed out, frantically scrambling to her knees beside him. "Len, wake up!"
Was he breathing?
Was it the bond?
Had something happened to Jim?
She tugged on the collar of his coat, loosening it, as well as undoing the top button of his shirt. She patted his cheek, then cradled his head in her hands, whimpering over him when he didn't awake.
"Len," she pleaded. "Please."
He didn't stir. He looked like death.
The rain plastered her hair against her cheek. She brushed it away from her face with an unsteady hand and pressed her trembling fingers against his wrist.
She cried out in relief when she felt his pulse against her fingertips. It was faint, but it was there.
Wiping her face, she stood, her mind racing with what to do next. He was too heavy for her to bring back inside the house, but she couldn't leave him out here in this wretched storm.
But she had no choice. Nora was inside, a well-trained nurse. She'd get her. And Mr. Spock…
Oh, God. Jim.
Something had happened to Jim.
It had to be the bond. She cupped a hand over her mouth, fresh emotion welling up within her chest, and turned and ran towards the house. She made it to the top of the front porch steps just as Spock stepped out of the house. She nearly crashed into him, coming to an abrupt halt.
Her hand fixed across her heart, could do little more than stare at him, her eyes wide and wet. The memories she'd seen in the meld mixed with the fear rising in her chest, causing her to doubt her own thoughts.
Spock's spine straightened and he pinned her with his dark, unreadable eyes.
It did not help calm the storm raging within her.
"Please," she whispered, closing her eyes against the Vulcan's intrusive and intense gaze. She could do that now, unlike hours earlier when she'd submitted herself to the meld and was helpless to what he'd wanted to show her. "He needs h-help."
"Where is Dr. McCoy?" he demanded.
"Th-there." She swallowed and opened her eyes to point towards Len's hovercraft. "He's on the g-ground."
Spock brushed passed her. Nora replaced his spot at the door, and Jocelyn glanced behind her to see if Joanna was there, too.
She wasn't.
Jocelyn's relief was ten-fold.
Thank God she wasn't there. The child didn't need to see her father passed out on the ground, looking pale and vulnerable. He was their daughter's hero, and always would be.
Nora took her by the shoulders, gently shaking her like she'd done when she'd tried to wake Leonard. "Are you alright?" she asked, coaxing her out of her thoughts. "Do you need to sit down?"
She looked into Nora's compassionate eyes, feeling herself slip into a safe place like she'd done when the commander had removed his fingers from her temple in her office.
"No…" Her voice strained against the small lie.
She felt as if she'd aged a million years, gaining an understanding she'd never expected.
She felt as if she were four years old again, wanting to crawl under the covers and avoid the outside world.
"He'll be okay," Nora murmured, taking her into her arms.
Her mother-in-law had never done that before. Not even when Jocelyn and Leonard had married.
Jocelyn wondered if she always been aloof, even cold towards Nora, avoiding any comforting touch from her mother-in-law, unlike a normal bride. And not just Nora, but others, as well, always holding a part of herself back.
She melted into the embrace. For once, she allowed herself to be held.
"Jim had an accident, but he's shielding again, and Mr. Spock is protecting Leonard," Nora whispered into her hair. "It'll be alright, dear."
Surely she could believe her, her own mother-in-law. She breathed a sigh as thunder rolled across the sky.
"He'll be alright," Nora repeated. "Len has a hard head."
She wasn't sure if Nora realized she was more worried about Jim than Leonard.
"Joanna?" she asked thickly.
"She's curled on the couch, reading her new book again."
"I h-have to help them," she said in determination, pulling away from the older woman. "I need to find Jim."
"Are you sure?" Nora still grasped her by the arms, gently, but her eyes looked right through her.
Was she? She glanced behind to where Len had fallen, steeling herself for bad news.
Spock had knelt beside Leonard, who was blinking up at him as if he were coming out of a deep sleep.
"If something like that should happen again, to both of them, I need to be in the driver's seat." She wouldn't have it any other way. "Besides, I'm less worried about getting a speeding ticket than Len, and I doubt Commander Spock likes to break the law."
Nora smiled, brushed Jocelyn's hair from her face.
She couldn't remember a time in the past few years that anyone had been so kind to her. In fact, Clay had hardly touched her in recent weeks.
"It sounds like they both need you. I'll take care of Joanna," Nora assured her.
Her reply caught in her throat. She nodded, instead, and made her way back to the craft, her legs jelly, feeling as if they would crumble underneath her.
Spock had helped Leonard sit up, his arm around Leonard's back in support until he regained his balance.
"Leonard." She crouched down, also, ignoring the rain seeping through her clothing. "Are you okay?"
At first, she wasn't sure he'd even heard her. He looked dazed and closed off, like she'd felt after the meld with Spock.
She glanced at Spock, who shook his head slightly. "He requires time to regain clarity," Spock explained.
She could hardly stand the brief silence that followed, and her own hypersensitivity to her surroundings. She was aware of the exact second it stopped raining, of the last drop that fell on her face.
Leonard finally lifted his head. Despite the pain burgeoning in his eyes, a hidden strength shone through.
But not for long.
His body swayed loosely back and forth, his expression lost again.
"Len, maybe you should wait at home," she cautioned. "Let Spock and me search for Jim."
He shook his head, his arms stiffening at his sides. "No," he said hoarsely. He pushed himself forward like the stubborn man he was, with his fists clenched and digging into the ground, and a determined set to his chin, demanding, "What the hell happened to Jim?"
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oOo
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Matthew tried not to shoot daggers at his unwelcome guests. The rain had died down soon after their arrival, as if the universe was taunting him by stealing away a perfectly good excuse to kick them out because he was closing. Even if it was a rude excuse.
It was annoying but also dangerous, and not for the first time he considered sending his buddy at the local police station a message to see if he'd come down just to check things out.
But he didn't want to invite trouble. Not yet. Treadway and his gang were still at his store, not budging an inch, and acting like they owned the place without even doing anything. In an odd way, they seemed...harmless. And Treadway had purchased a beverage and a magazine for himself, two very common purchases.
He bit back another sigh. The man obviously wasn't thinking of anything beyond himself, not even making the effort to look for a book for his girlfriend's daughter.
He remained behind the counter, one eye on his work, the other on the three mysteriously silent men. He wanted to move them along, but it was impossible without him making up some wild excuse for closing the store. Or, to reveal that he was in a hurry to see his ill mother. He liked to keep his personal life private from his customers. Treadway and his ilk were the last people he'd tell.
One of Treadway's men moved to look out the window. "Boss."
Treadway's head lifted. So did Matthew's.
"Someone's coming down the street," the man murmured.
Treadway cocked his head and cast a casual glance outside. "Not him."
"Well, he's coming in, just the same."
Matthew's heart began to race. A customer? Now?
His bad feeling about the situation had never left. He didn't want anyone coming inside.
His finger was above the button that would darken the windows and lock his doors, when Treadway's men crowded the figure out. Right before Matthew could get a good look at him.
Turned out he didn't have to.
"Step aside," a familiar voice said coldly. "I'm here to see my son."
His stepfather had tough skin, but he didn't like the way Treadway's partners seemed to have bullied Peter straight out of a path into the store.
"I'm sorry but you'll have to come back later," the other man said.
"You don't work for him," Peter said. "Get out of my way."
Matthew began his walk towards the door to take control of the situation, when Treadway exhaled a large breath.
It was obnoxious enough to halt him in his tracks.
"Is there something you needed?" Matthew clipped.
Treadway nodded. "A quiet house."
"I don't catch your meaning," Matthew replied, knowing perfectly well what he meant.
His heart dropped when he realized he'd left his counter open for Treadway's partners to access, just like one of them was doing now. A move that would prevent him from calling for help.
"Let me put it this way. I don't think you're open," Treadway stated, his hand moving discreetly out from under his jacket.
Frozen, his gaze remained on Treadway's hand, not leaving until his other partner suddenly backed away from Peter, the movement freeing him and providing a window just large enough that he was able to lock eyes with his stepfather.
"Matthew." Peter's eyes flickered in question. "I thought you were coming to the hospital."
He thought he was, too.
"This place is closed," Treadway spoke slowly and quietly.
The phaser, hidden discreetly by the table and Treadway's own hand, pointed straight at Matthew.
His pulse racing, he pulled his eyes up from the weapon and met Peter's gaze. "I got tied up."
Peter waited a beat, then said, "I'll take you over, if you want."
Matthew paused, more than a little shocked. Peter had never offered him a ride in the past, not even to the doctor's office when his leg acted up and he couldn't wear the prosthetic comfortably.
Not that he had time to dwell on Peter and damn rides to the doctor's when it was apparent that Treadway wanted to meet this mystery friend of his here in his bookstore alone.
Treadway's brow arched. "Move him along," he said in a low voice that was for his ears only.
"Matthew?" Peter asked, stepping forward only to be blocked once more by Treadway's partner.
"I'll come visit my brother after we close," he said, somehow not panicking as he stared at his stepfather, who was currently his only link to the outside world. "Which will be soon. Rain leaked in the children's section. The curse of an old building."
If Peter was confused by his answer—the brother he didn't have and his old building that wasn't that old—he didn't show it.
Score one for that cold personality of his.
Hopefully he'll get the hint that something wasn't right—and then do something about it. Peter might be inconsiderate, but surely he wouldn't leave him here with these men.
"I'll tell him," Peter said, already turning away. "Make sure you bring a picture of your new dog. He's talked about nothing else since I told him you were coming."
Matthew watched him leave, baffled but impressed by his improvisation. His new dog?
"Very good," Treadway said softly. "Now, close up shop but don't try anything stupid. When the captain gets here—"
"Captain?" He turned to him in confused anger. "I don't know what makes you think you can take over here, but it's not right."
Treadway shrugged, placing his comm on the table with his free hand. "Don't blame me. Kirk was the one who suggested this place."
Kirk.
It wasn't possible, was it?
Kirk, as in Captain Kirk?
What business did Kirk have with Treadway? Why had he picked here to take care of it? Did McCoy know his friend was here? Wasn't he sick? Too ill to leave home? If he was, McCoy would have never let him arrange a meeting st the bookstore. That meant...Kirk had slipped out of the house without the doctor knowing. Which indicated this so-called meeting was a threat to someone's health and well-being.
Before he could ask if he was referring to the captain, a man's shadow moved along the storefront.
"Speak of the devil," Treadway said with a dark chuckle. "Here he comes now."
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oOo
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Fear. Hurt. Rage. Disappointment.
Betrayal.
McCoy couldn't settle on only one goddamn emotion to feel out the million that were stabbing him in his heart. He needed to focus, to ignore the buffering internal emotional storm in order to survive. The truth of what Jim had done threatened to finish him off by breaking what fragile trust was left between them.
Jim had broken into his supplies—had stolen them—taking the Agrediphine. And not one dose, which was enough to make him high, but two.
And another drug, maybe even another stimulant, on top of it.
The repercussions of Jim's actions fell on him and him alone. Not Spock. Not Starfleet. Nobody but him.
He was a doctor. Jim's attending physician. He had to choose. He had to choose, and he knew exactly what he had to do.
He had to push aside his hurt and anger at whatever the cost to himself. Jim's health mattered more to him than dwelling on Jim's poor choices and the continued breach of trust. For now, those things weren't important. Later, however…Jim would have hell to pay. McCoy couldn't sweep his actions under the rug. Not this time.
"He's gonna overdose," he whispered, kneading a still-tingling spot on his temple.
If he hadn't already. And if Jim was trying to deal with Treadway or come to the rescue of someone else, he wasn't going to be as quick as he thought he'd be after taking the stimulant, or as smart.
One dose of Agrediphine stripped away any ability to exercise logic and reasoning a person had. It was no wonder Jim had crashed then taken something else. He wasn't thinking clearly, and wouldn't be for a long time as he came down from the drugs. Agrediphine was under lock and key, to only be used in extreme circumstances and even then, under direct medical supervision, for that very reason.
He had a beta blocker in the house, the one thing he hadn't packed before running out the door.
It was a good thing he had been stopped from leaving with Jocelyn, even if it had resulted in the headache from hell, or he would not be prepared to help Jim.
"We'll need an ambulance. He'll have to be admitted to the hospital, but I have to get to him first, Spock," he said, gritting his teeth. "I have to get there now."
They didn't have time to drive downtown. Jim didn't have time. If Jim took the last drug, whatever it was, it would kill him within minutes without the proper medical intervention. He also had some type of head laceration, from the way Spock explained things. McCoy was worried that he had more than just a head wound, given that Jim hadn't recognized he'd been injured from wiping out on the bike in the first place.
His heart squeezed with pain, so intense that it stole his breath away.
Jim. Why?
It was the question he always asked himself whenever Jim ran into trouble.
Why did Jim have to put himself last every single time someone was in trouble or needed him? Why did he have to be so damn heroic and noble, despite the cost to himself? Why did he leap without looking, always expecting McCoy to bail him out, heal him, and save his sorry hide?
And why did he—McCoy—always do it?
"Is there any way the police can beam you there directly?" Jocelyn asked.
He hadn't thought of that. By the look on Spock's face, the Vulcan hadn't either.
The lack of logic—in both of them—and the fact that it took Jocelyn to call them out made him realize that some would argue they were too close to the situation and needed to step away from it. Part of him would have to agree, not that he'd willingly hand over the job of healing Jim to anyone else.
Not even now, when he wanted to kill Jim for what he'd done once he got to him.
"Indeed, there is," Spock said, and lifted his comm. "Jim's shields dropped briefly, allowing me to see where he was two point three minutes ago. The police station is near the road on which he crashed. I'll request the two of us to be beamed immediately to that location and we will search for Jim in that area."
At least Spock had seen that much, though it was very little to go on. It was the only way to find their foolhardy captain as soon as possible, though it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Jim was headed for a place that started with a 'b.' It wasn't much to go on, but maybe it was enough.
"Two? They better beam three of us out," Jocelyn demanded, glaring at Spock. "I'm coming with you."
Where had his ex-wife gone and who was this person?
"Let her come, Spock." He began to walk backwards towards the house, pointing his finger at Spock. "But don't let them beam us out until I'm back out here with what I need to help stop the effects of the Agrediphine," he ordered.
He had the same horrible, sinking feeling that he'd had when Jim had been carted into his sickbay in a bodybag.
The feeling that, no matter how fast they're beamed out, they would still be too late.
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oOo
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It wasn't a Starfleet officer who walked up to the front door of Matthew's bookstore.
It was a ghost, one who was soaked to the skin with blood dripping down his face.
As Kirk stumbled inside, Matthew saw the captain's features in the light, and a jolt of pure shock coursed down his body. This man couldn't be Kirk. This man was too thin, his skin pallor sickly, his eyes dilated and constantly moving left and right, and his body language the kind that one would associate with someone who was intoxicated or on drugs—or both. His walk was crazily stilted one second, purposeful and energized the next. The same could be said of his expression, which changed from a lost and almost blank look to one of grit and determination in the blink of an eye. Obviously, whatever had gotten him here had taken its toll.
It didn't add up. Kirk couldn't be intoxicated or on drugs. At least, he didn't think that would be something Starfleet's flagship captain would do if he was sick. And he was clearly a sick man, yet his appearance went beyond that of someone who was unwell because of a common illness or an injury.
Kirk sneered at Treadway's partner at the door, who looked like he didn't know whether to give Kirk a hand or steer clear of him. After a quick glance at Treadway, the man opted to take two steps back. He did so just in time. Kirk swung around abruptly, the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder barely missing the man's jaw.
"You're late," Treadway said with a smirk, one that Matthew felt like wiping off his face for calling Kirk out when he obviously was unwell.
Kirk's smile was cold and humorless as he walked up to Treadway's table. "Yeah? Well, you're an asshole," he retorted, setting his bag down on the table with a solid thud.
Matthew moved quietly, so he could have a better viewpoint watching the exchange. He wanted to help Kirk, if he could, but he didn't want to risk Treadway's wrath like Kirk was doing with that comment, even though it had been amusing.
Treadway was a big man, and Kirk's frame, which he knew from watching the news had once shown off a healthy physique, was now slight. Not only thin and wasted. And drooping on one side.
What had happened to him?
"You're lucky I didn't follow through on my threat." Treadway leaned forward menacingly.
Kirk plopped into the chair across from him. "You're lucky I know how to break into locked things or you wouldn't have your money."
Treadway's expression grew wary. "You stole it?"
Kirk's eyes filled with confusion. "What?"
Treadway narrowed his eyes on him. "You stole the money?" he asked flatly.
"I did?" Kirk's brow wrinkled oddly, the lines appearing on just one side.
"Did you?"
"Steal somethin'?"
"Yes," Treadway replied, with an exasperated breath. "Steal."
"Oh." Kirk smiled a little. "Yeah."
Treadways' brows shot up.
So did Matthew's.
"Jesus, Kirk," Treadway breathed. "Did anyone see you?"
Kirk blinked. "Naw, it was dark, but I managed to unlock the gate an' push that baby out w'out makin' a sound."
Treadway shook his head. "You're not making any sense. What did you steal?"
Kirk rolled his eyes. "The bike."
"You stole the bike, too?" Treadway tensed. "There's no way that you did all that without anyone noticing."
"No. Jus'."
"You didn't steal the money. You took the bike," Treadway said slowly, now getting to his feet. "That's a big problem. Huge, actually. If the police followed you, you just endangered your friends."
And with that, the bravado left Kirk's expression.
Treadway watched Kirk, who appeared to have checked out of the conversation as he slumped in his seat. "I know I'm repeating myself," the bigger man murmured, "but you look worse than the last time I saw you."
"Wrecked m'bike," Kirk slurred, bringing a shaking fist up to his left eye, the one filling with blood from his wound, and wiping at it. "Damn, evr'thn's blurry."
Treadway cocked his head. "Are you drunk? You are, aren't you?"
"Uh-uh." Kirk squinted at him. "Not th'stupid."
The other man blinked, then began to laugh. "Holy shit, Kirk. You're stoned."
Matthew's chest tightened as Treadway began to mock the captain. He wanted to deny the truth of Treadway's observation but he couldn't.
Kirk didn't seem to be the type who would use drugs. Had he needed them to get here? But how had he gotten them in the first place?
Treadway put his hands on the table, bracing his arms as he leaned forward with a smirk. "I bet I could do anything to you right now, couldn't I?" His eyes followed the lines of Kirk's face, down to his chest and then to his crotch. "And I mean anything."
A chill went down Matthew's spine. Surely Treadway wouldn't go there, taking advantage of someone so ill he couldn't even respond normally to a simple question.
"You're a real fucker," Kirk said, his eyes lighting with anger.
"I didn't make you take anything," the other man laughed again.
"Died," Kirk slurred, his lashes fluttering closed then opening again.
Died? What was Kirk talking about?
Treadway grew quiet. "You sure you want to spread that news around, Kirk?"
Kirk looked at Matthew for the first time. "Books," he said with a blink.
"Damn." Treadway whistled. "He's really gone."
Finding Kirk's blank stare disturbing, Matthew grabbed at the chance to cut in and hopefully regain the captain's attention. "That's right, Mr. Kirk. Books. I'm Matthew, the bookstore owner."
Treadway waved the phaser at him. "You know each other?"
Matthew chose to ignore the question. "You got what you wanted from him," he said to Treadway. "Leave him and get out of here."
"Wasn't planning on sticking around." Treadway grabbed the bag Kirk had brought and unzipped it. "It better all be in here, Kirk."
Kirk leaned against the window beside him, his body nearly sliding off the chair. Matthew started forward, intent on helping him, but then Kirk shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of paper. Kirk set the paper on the table with exaggerated movements then slumped back into his seat again, as if the action had exerted him completely.
With one eye on Kirk, Treadway grabbed the papers and rifled through them. "A thousand Orion notes?" he asked, quirking a brow. "Not sure why you're giving me this, but I'll ta—"
"Boss," the man at the door barked, cutting Treadway off. He lowered his binoculars and glanced back at him. "There's someone running down the street. He's not police. There's another man a little ways behind him. Looks like it could be the commander. Maybe Jocelyn's ex, too."
A wave of relief washed over Matthew. It had to be Spock and McCoy. If anyone could stop this man, it would be them. Maybe his stepfather had called the police, giving them the lead they needed to find Kirk.
"Shit," Treadway muttered. "I doubt Kirk told them, but somehow they figured it out," he continued, talking about the captain as if he wasn't even there.
And, maybe he wasn't.
"Doesn't matter if he did tell him." Treadway slung the bag over his shoulder. "He has McCoy wrapped around his finger. Wouldn't be surprised if that's how he got his drugs. He probably needed them to get here."
Matthew swallowed his fear and walked up to Kirk. Placing his hand on the captain's shoulder, the jacket that was still slick with rain, he nudged him. "Captain?"
Kirk didn't snap out of it.
"I wouldn't bother," Treadway said. "He must have taken too much of whatever he's stoned on."
Anger stirred in Matthew's chest. "Because of you," he accused.
"Watch your mouth," Treadway snapped.
"Jim?" Matthew asked Kirk, gently shaking him.
Treadway sighed and shook his head. "You're wasting your time. It's time for us to go. Our ride's meeting us here," he said, his lip curling into another mocking smile as he turned away. "Thanks, Matthew, for the coffee. And, Kirk, for the money. We'll let ourselves out the back door."
Matthew would realize, much later, that Kirk had a high tolerance for what McCoy had had in his possession. That Kirk, though damaged, innately knew what to do. That Kirk was one tough son of a bitch.
But now, as Kirk suddenly lurched forward, out from under Matthew's hand, and shoved the table straight towards Treadway, all he could think of was that it was their last chance to stop the bastard once and for all.
The unexpected force threw Treadway against the wall, knocking the phaser out of his hand. It clattered to the ground just beyond the man's reach.
But not Kirk's. Or Matthew's.
Kirk dove for the ground first, leaving Matthew standing above him. Before either he or Treadway could come to their senses, Kirk shoved his foot at Matthew's prosthetic leg. It made impact, sweeping him onto the floor.
The wind knocked out of him, he stared up at the ceiling, gasping for air, stunned that Kirk had taken him out with one simple move. That he'd known which leg to strike and that he'd had the wherewithal to do it at all.
He groaned, cursing the imbalance that had plagued him ever since he'd lost his leg.
He almost missed the very reason why Kirk had made him fall.
Kirk fired the weapon, dropping one of Treadway's men behind Matthew, though it took him four shots. The other man fled towards the back of the shop before Kirk could fire at him, his hasty departure accompanied by a loud pounding at the door.
Matthew lifted his head to see Commander Spock back up and fire at the glass with his phaser.
Matthew wanted to motion to him to try the larger window, instead, because the door could withstand those shots. But he was suddenly distracted by Treadway's fit of rage.
"You little fuck," Treadway roared, grabbing Kirk by the neck and heaving him to his feet. "It was set to kill, you bastard. You killed him."
Kirk's hand went limp and the weapon fell to the ground for a second time. While Treadway kept one arm around Kirk's neck, dragging him back, Matthew grabbed the phaser.
Treadway and Kirk wrestled, but the bigger man had no trouble gaining the upperhand. Kirk choked, weak, gurgling sounds escaping his lips.
"You'll pay for this," Treadway growled in the captain's ear. "And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."
Treadway squeezed harder, his arm muscles bulging from the effort. Kirk's face flushed red, his eyes widening then fluttering shut. He tugged at Treadway's forearms with both hands, but only for a few seconds. His hands dropped to his sides, his body slowly going limp even as he continued to struggle.
Kirk wouldn't last long. Treadway clearly intended to kill him.
And Matthew was certain that if it was his intention, he would succeed in minutes. Maybe less.
Matthew's finger touched the trigger, but he didn't pull it back.
He wasn't a marksman.
He couldn't fire at one without risking that he'd shoot the other. Worse, with one quick look he determined that the phaser required a code to switch the setting back to stun. Even if he let the commander in, Treadway would still have the upper hand. Treadway was strong enough that he could break Kirk's neck quickly and without much effort. Or, he'd use Kirk as a bargaining chip, dragging the sick and drugged man away until he was out of sight.
As Matthew stood there like a fool, debating his next move, Treadway slammed Kirk against the glass, grinning wickedly as the force knocked Kirk into a daze. The window vibrated from the force of the blow.
As Treadway shoved Kirk's body into the window a second time, making Kirk cry out, Matthew made his decision.
He fired at the window.
In particular, at the sweet spot. Just because he didn't know the first thing about phasers didn't mean that he didn't know his own windows, which he'd designed to be an emergency exit.
A frivolous and unnecessary expenditure, according to his stepfather.
"This is all your fault," Treadway snarled, slamming the captain's head against the window with a sickening smack. "You and your friends ruined everything. I had her eating out of my hand."
Matthew fired again.
Treadway and Kirk barreled through the window as it shattered.
Author's Note: WARNING: Descriptions of violence.
Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you! I'll be working on the next chapter right away.