Author's Notes: I'm really sorry for the week between postings, everyone. Real life is kind of hectic this month through the 15th of April (tax filing deadline in the US). I'm really hoping to have this story completely posted before then, but if I don't, please know that it's only because I'm super busy and don't have the time. Anyway, done blabbering. Enjoy chapter three. As always, reviews are loved, but never required.

Disclaimer: I can't make the IRS any nicer any more than they can develop personalities. So, because I don't have a magic wand to wave, I therefore cannot own Star Trek. I do this only for entertainment and make no money from my work.

Chapter 3

Strangely, James Tiberius Kirk was actually beginning to feel like an adult.

And he thought it flat-out sucked.

Kirk's anointed role, the one that he'd readily accepted from Pike, was that of resident pain in the ass. Every police department needed one. He was the one his superiors fretted over, yelled at, disciplined, and occasionally, after all the aforementioned acts were done, praised. He was responsible for aging the shift's lieutenant ten years, and would quite probably scare Greg Serdeski into a heart attack before retirement simply for the hell of it.

Jim used to joke about the high probability of his actions driving McCoy to drink. He'd lost count of how many times Bones muttered, 'You're going to be the death of me, kid,' after Kirk did something ballsy, stupid and probably incredibly brave. He used to think the heroics were just part of the job, just like 'part of the job' was tipping back a couple of beers after the conclusion of shift with his partner at their favorite watering hole. Jim was good at partying it up, but a little bit of maturity taught him how to do it at the appropriate times. He really had no idea when two became five and five became ten for McCoy. All he knew was that he screwed the pooch on Bones' behalf, and screwed it hard.

So now, it was Jim's turn to be the adult. Without McCoy in the car to act as his voice of reason, Kirk was forced to rely on his own instincts, and the training Bones managed to drill into his thick skull before his temporary lay-off. The sergeant must have done something right, because not only was Jim still alive and well, he was voluntarily hanging out at the station after shift on a Saturday night in order to fix his boss' son's computer. Indeed, it was a cold day in hell.

But it wasn't all out of the goodness of his heart. It was a win-win; Pike saved some cash by utilizing Jim to do the work, and Kirk could count on a twelve-pack of beer thrown his way in reciprocation. Plus, he really wanted an update on McCoy, one he could only obtain away from the prying eyes and listening ears of an operating police station. As popular as Bones was within the department, there were still a few cops within the ranks who would have loved the knowledge Kirk and Pike possessed, and Jim would be damned if he was about to feed the scuttlebutt machine. McCoy had enough to worry about on his own.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I actually miss listening to Bones' bitching," Kirk admitted while he turned the silver and black notebook computer over a couple of times and inspected the battery placement, memory bay door and keyboard design.

Pike didn't bother to even look up. Instead, he nodded his head in time with the beat of AC/DC's 'Shoot to Thrill' playing from the speakers on his desk. With a grumble, the lieutenant tapped an errant, rolling screw with the tip of his pen towards the pile of technological junk surrounding Jim. "I hear that," he answered after a long pause, shooting Kirk and annoyed glance while he looked pointedly at the state of disarray that was his desk.

Undaunted (or uncaring, it was hard to tell which), Jim ignored his boss' gaze and stared straight ahead at the wall. Introspective, he said, "It's kind of sad. I used to think that it would be nice to go home from one shift without more hearing damage in my left ear, courtesy of Bones talking it off. You know I contemplated using my outdoor range ears just to tune him out when we're in the car together?"

"Might have been the first smart thing you've done your whole life, Kirk. But I doubt it would have worked. McCoy's too loud for those little things to have any effect. Nice idea, but not enough noise reduction."

Jim set the screwdriver he was holding down on the desk and held the laptop loosely against his thighs. Leveling a disapproving glance in Pike's direction, he said, "Funny, Lieu," with more joy than he felt. Jim sighed, brushed a hand through his hair and dropped his head. Quieter, he added forlornly, "But really, the lack of hum there right now is just weird."

Pike finally broke concentration and looked up from the report lying open across his desk. Reader glasses slipping down his nose, he reached up and grabbed them from his face. He clasped his hands in front on his mouth and smiled sadly, his face awash with a mixture of pity and empathy for his younger patrolman. He tilted his head to the side and agreed, "It's not the same without his constant commentary on the sorry state of the world, is it?"

Kirk set the plastic housing on the table, took a swig of rapidly cooling coffee from the mug and gently removed the battery from the laptop. Setting it down on top the files in Pike's inbox, Jim grunted to the affirmative. "No, man. It's just…boring."

"Yeah," Pike agreed with a despondent, distracted sigh as he tried in vain to finish his reports.

Going back to his project, Jim allowed the companionable silence take over the room. He made quick work of the stick accessible through the memory bay door, replacing the outdated RAM with ease. He closed the hatch, flipped the computer over and fidgeted with the keyboard access. After a couple of seconds of finessing, he was able to pry off the shroud that hid the keyboard screws. Kirk was reaching for a mini Phillips when his hands abruptly stopped moving.

Pike caught the unexpected all-stop and halted his work, giving Kirk his undivided attention. It was rare when he saw trepidation in the brash young officer's eyes, but the uncertainty flittering through was as plain to him as the night sky. Tilting his head to the side, he folded his hands on top of his desk and asked, "What is, Jim? Spit it out, son."

Kirk turned the screwdriver in his hand over a half dozen times, trying to find the right words. He chewed nervously at his lower lip hard enough to draw a faint river of blood from one of the chapped cracks littering the surface. Finally, he looked Pike in the eye and responded with, "How is he? Have you seen Bones today?"

Knowing exactly what Kirk meant, Chris inwardly flinched. He felt badly for Jim. Kirk, the one person who understood the unfairness of life as much or more than any other person in the department; Kirk, the seemingly immature kid who only wanted to help; Kirk the best man for the job – was the one McCoy cut completely out of his life when alcohol became his main (and only) concern. But Jim – bless him – hadn't shown any signs that he was ready to throw in the proverbial towel and write McCoy off as a lost cause. No matter how nasty Len's tirades were, no matter how low, Kirk was always right there, offering whatever he could and doing it with a smile.

Pike knew Jim was hurting; he'd have to have been blind to miss it. Even if he tried to play it off as if it were no big deal, as if McCoy's personal and snide insults didn't cut straight to the core, Chris could see the pain in Jim's eyes every time Len dragged something up from Kirk's past that Jim didn't particularly care to rehash. There had been a couple of moments in the past few months that Chris thought the partners might come to blows, but Jim showed surprising maturity and restraint. For Kirk, the anger dissipated just as quickly as it formed. And given McCoy's instability, Jim's levelheadedness was a blessing in disguise.

After all the swearing and yelling, the name-calling and the finger pointing, Pike was continually surprised that Kirk still cared about his partner enough to genuinely ask for a SITREP every day. It was testament to the young man's character, and if McCoy weren't already armpits-deep in a pile of his own shit, Pike would have probably pistol-whipped his former partner for being such an insensitive prick.

Shifting in his chair, the lieutenant debated how much to tell his patrolman. After a moment's hesitation, he settled on, "Same as yesterday. And the day before. And last week. And the week before that. He's still angry."

"At me?" Jim asked, notes of disappointment coloring his words.

Pike shook his head. "No, not at you, just at the world in general. But he didn't tell me to go fuck myself with a rusty railroad spike when I stopped by today, though I think that had more to do with my wife's earlier visit than anything else."

Jim actually looked hopeful. "Well, I guess it's a start."

"Yeah. I hope it can only get better from here," Pike said, letting out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Here, here," Kirk replied, raising the coffee mug in the air and saluting his lieutenant.

Chris cleared his throat to rid the heavy weight of dread from his chest. He tipped his head right and then left, cracking his neck gloriously. Chris motioned towards the pile of technology heaped on his desk and asked with a huff, "Do you really know what you're doing, or are you just making it up as you go along like you do for every other aspect of your life?"

Shaking off his earlier melancholy like an unneeded blanket, Kirk shot a cocky glance at the older man. "I got skills, Lieu. Admit it. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked me to fix Ethan's ancient computer."

"No, I asked you because we can't afford to buy him a new one right now, and you were the first guy I thought of who could help."

"Aww, I'm touched," Jim said, dramatically batting his eyelashes while he placed one hand over his heart. "That's sweet."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Don't be so proud. You were just the lesser of two evils. Since I refuse to use the Geek Squad ever again after they broke my phone, it was you or that Russian kid. You won only because I can actually understand what you're saying, not that I want to most days. Besides, I can pay you in beer."

Kirk waved a hand. "You don't have to pay me at all. Just have Ethan do something for someone else when they need it." The scowl that broke out across the lieutenant's face caused Kirk's grin to fade. "Was it something I said?"

Pike jammed the heels of his hands in his eyes. He let out a loud groan before he stood up and stretched, keys and gear rattling around on his duty rig. Plopping back down in his chair, he slouched and massaged his head at his temples. "No, Jim. For once, you're not the reason for my headache."

"Wow. That's gotta be a first."

"It is," Pike confirmed flatly. Sighing, he said, "It's my kid this time. He seems to have hit that age where everything is bullshit, everyone is out to screw him, and his parents are the lamest thing he's ever seen because we're imposing discipline."

Kirk laughed quietly and then sobered when he realized how miserable his boss looked. "I hate to tell you, but you've been lucky he's held off this long. I think it's been a long time coming. You should have seen me at his age. Now that was scary! I'm not sure how my mother survived!"

"One of these days, I'll have to call her and ask her. Maybe she can give me some tips on how to deal with my own delinquent child." Pike cracked his knuckles loudly and shook his head, though the faintest hints of a smile graced his lips for a split second as he thought about what a little hellion Kirk was in his early and mid teens. "I'm sorry, Jim. That wasn't right. I didn't mean to unload on you, and I'm sure you don't want to hear all about my boring family life. It's just that—stress, you know?"

"I think we've all felt a little bit of that in the past couple of months, Chris," Jim said earnestly.

The use of his given name caught Pike by surprise; he could count on one hand the number of times Kirk had called him anything other than 'Lieu' or 'Pike', and each instance had happened during the past six months. Chris swallowed and agreed. "Yeah. Yeah, we have."

"…Which brings us back to Ethan," Jim gently coaxed.

"Right. My pain in the ass son. He should be considering himself lucky that I even entertained the idea to upgrade his laptop. I sure as hell didn't want to fix it because he doesn't deserve it, seeing as how he's failing four of six classes and barely passing the other two."

"That's why you stormed out of here the other day, huh? I heard Serdeski yapping about it with Gaila when I brought that crazy cat lady in to booking," Jim replied while he unscrewed the three tiny screws holding in the keyboard tray. He removed each one carefully and placed them in his empty coffee mug for safekeeping.

"Serdeski still running his mouth again?" Pike grumbled lowly, glaring out to where the desk sergeant would have been sitting if it weren't after hours. "I'll have to remember to have a little chat with him about appropriate things to do with scuttlebutt. That man is the worst gossip I've ever seen."

"Go easy on the guy, Lieu. Gaila just about tore him apart for spreading your business through the station like that," Kirk answered with a laugh. "It was masterful. Seriously, remind me to never piss that lady off. Greg looked like he was ready to cry by the time she got done with him."

"Gaila? Gaila, as in our department's PIO, gave him the business? The one who's always smiling and is constantly peppy? We're talking about the same girl, right? The one who couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it?" Pike responded, one eyebrow raised in state of positive befuddlement.

Coyly, Jim answered, "Yeah, we are. Funny, right?"

"I wish you would have gotten it on tape. I would have loved to have used that as blackmail to get Serdeski to cooperate every once in a blue moon."

"I'm sure I could find you something if you really needed it. After all, we're talking about Serdeski here," Kirk said with a shrug.

"I'll wait until the situation is dire, but thanks for the offer, Kirk."

Jim nodded, letting the room fall into a comfortable silence as he went back to work. With the touch of a surgeon, he gently pried the keyboard from its tray, lifted the plastic carefully and inspected the guts of the machine underneath as he looked for pay dirt. He nodded satisfactorily as he saw what he needed. With his hands still moving, he asked, "So, now I have a question: if you're so pissed at Ethan, why am I fixing his computer? Kind of seems counterproductive to discipline. Not that I'd know anything about that."

Chris sighed again for the umpteenth time that evening. "He doesn't deserve it. His ass, for this, was saved because he does have a lot of work to finish and we've been limping this computer along now for the past three years. I was going to make him do it himself, but I figured he'd just do more harm than good. Like father, like son, apparently."

"He's a teenager. He can't be that shit with a computer."

"Not as bad as me, no, but close. It's damned embarrassing is what it is," Pike grumbled.

"Well, I suppose it's better than buying him a new one," Kirk supplied. Jim crinkled his nose in disgust as he removed the old stick of memory and tossed it in the trash next to Chris' desk. Reaching for the new package, he popped it open while he talked. "I know he hasn't been himself lately, but it's cruel and unusual punishment to make your kid use a computer this ancient. Jesus, do you know how annoying it would be use try and do work on this? It had under a gig of RAM."

"Whatever the hell that means," Pike replied with a raised eyebrow.

"It means it's slow, Lieu. Really, really, painfully slow," Jim answered with a laugh. "I might have put a bullet through it, just to make me feel better."

"And with the way you're sitting there jacking your jaws and not working, you're moving as slow as that computer. Put the thing back together and let's get the hell out of here," Pike half-ordered with a loud yawn. "It's past this old man's bedtime."

Kirk scoffed and shook his head. "You know, this isn't as easy as it looks. You take me for granted."

"No, I take silence for granted," Pike replied with a smile, tossing the stress ball he kept on his desk for Kirk-related incidents at Jim himself. It bounced harmlessly off the side of Kirk's head, earning him a strangled yelp from the younger man sitting in his office. Propping his feet up on the desk, Chris conceded defeat against paperwork. He slapped the folder he was trying to finish shut and interlaced his fingers behind his head. "Now, less talking, more working. I wasn't kidding about wanting to go home. It's been a hell of a day."

"Roger that," Kirk answered, addressing both Pike's request to get his ass in gear and Chris' observation of another emotionally taxing day. Jim's hands moved at warp speed as he quickly installed the second stick, replaced the keyboard and shroud, put the battery back in and pressed the power button. "Moment of truth," he said, smiling.

Pike got up from his chair and walked around his desk. He took his customary place next to Kirk and silently waited. The little machine beeped once, whirled and produced a few mechanical noises as it sputtered to life. Jim logged in, checked the specs and handed the laptop proudly to his lieutenant. Brushing his hands off dramatically, he said, "Done and done!"

Chris reached over the mess of manila folders and rooted around for his glasses. Snagging them, he slipped them on and opened the Firefox icon on the desktop. He scowled when he received an error message. "Kirk, what the hell's wrong with thing? I thought you said it was working fine."

"It is working just fine," Jim replied, rolling his eyes. "You just have to connect to the network-You know what, nevermind. Here, give me that thing before you break it and render all my awesomeness null and void." Kirk's fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in the station's wireless network password. He hit enter and let the connection finish before handing the computer back to his boss.

Chris reached out and accepted the bulky contraption. Over the tops of his glasses, Pike stared at Jim. "Let's get this straight, Kirk – you don't have 'awesomeness'. That title is reserved for me."

"All right, how about we say that I'm not technologically inept like you are. Seriously, Lieu, how do you even manage to check your email when you don't know that you have to be connected to the internet to do it?"

"Who says I check my emails?"

Jim's head shot up. "Huh. So is that why my last four days of overtime never got approved?"

"Probably," Pike answered honestly.

"Good to know. I'll hand you the paper copy request next time," Kirk decided. His gaze wandered to the mess on his superior's desk and, with a cringe, he amended, "…Or maybe I'll just get you a calendar so I can write it on there."

"That would work," Pike said distractedly as he opened the dropdown list of Ethan's favorite websites. He clicked the first one he knew wouldn't draw the ICPD's Internet Police's attention and logged on. His Facebook profile popped up, complete with a picture of a smiling, in-uniform lieutenant, down on one knee and holding the unsteady hands of a toddler as she reached out to grab the shiny gold badge attached to his shirt. Navigating over to his friends list, Pike looked for his son's familiar picture. He scrolled through the list – Lynn, his mother, his brother and his nieces and nephew's names all populated, but the one glaring omission was his son's. "What the hell?" he snorted. "Why is Ethan's Facebook page not here?"

Kirk's posture deflated. "Oh. I, ah, I think he de-friended you, Lynn and Bones. I saw that this morning when I was on. Why, what are you trying to do?"

Pike's expression, a mash up of shocked and slightly uneasy, spoke volumes. Pointing to the screen, he said, "Well, I was going to tell him that his laptop was working again, seeing as how this is the best way to communicate with the younger generation these days. But if he's going to do something childish like that because he's throwing a temper tantrum, maybe I should just have you take that…RAM thing back out."

"It'd be more work than it's worth, honestly."

"Still," Pike said, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly miffed. "That's not the point. It's about principle."

"You know what? Why don't I just leave a post on his Facebook page? I don't think he's dropped me, at least not yet," Kirk supplied helpfully, pulling his phone from his pocket. He fired up the correct app and navigated to Ethan's wall. He was about to click on the 'Write Post' option, but the beginnings of a message, specifically a few key phrases in the post, caught his attention instead. Jim scrolled with his finger and began reading, his scowl deepening the farther down he got in Ethan's marathon writing session.

"What is it?" Pike asked, acutely aware of the expression on Kirk's normally casual face.

Wordlessly, Jim walked around his boss' desk and shooed Pike aside. He logged Chris out of Facebook and replaced the credentials with his own email and password. "You need to see something," Kirk said cryptically as he clicked furiously away at the site. Finally reaching his destination, he opened up the page-long rant on the younger Pike's wall, spun the computer around to face his boss, and waited for the proverbial shit to hit the fan.

Chris' leg bounced up and down as he read, the rhythmic tapping of the heel of his shoe against the floor growing louder and quickening with each passing line of text. He finished after what seemed like a lifetime, sitting back in his chair while he exhaled one loud, long groan of dissatisfaction. Pike ran a hand through his hair and then over his face as his eyes drifted towards the ceiling. He sucked in a couple of deep, calming breaths to help slow the blood that was racing with rage through his veins before he finally spoke. "Jim? I think I'm going to authorize some of that overtime right now. Stop by Spock's office and grab that video camera of his. You know, the high-def one? When you've got it, meet me on the range with your service weapon. I need your help to teach my son a little lesson in humility."

Kirk inwardly cringed. Pike needed his help teaching Ethan a lesson in humility? Kirk, the proverbial poster child from misbehavior, wasn't usually called upon unless Pike was using him as an example of what not to do. The role reversal was just strange, and it made Jim's skin crawl. He suppressed a shudder and looked at his boss questioningly. "Lieu?"

Pike pursed his lips and held up a hand, his features blank and stony. An outside observer wouldn't have known anything was amiss by Chris' facial expression or the tone of his voice, but anyone who knew the lieutenant well would be able to see the fire shooting through his icy eyes with one short glance. The fury dancing about them was enough to make even the ballsiest of cops back off, and Pike knew Jim was no exception. "Just do it. That's an order. You'll see why in a little bit."

Jim nodded wordlessly. Oh, this was not going to end well. Kirk sent a silent prayer heavenward that Ethan survived whatever Chris was planning as he set off towards Spock's perfectly ordered office. Quite suddenly, Kirk realized he was glad to have never found himself on the receiving end of Lieutenant Chris Pike's Really Creative Discipline.

Clearly, it was about to be on like Donkey Kong.

Next Up: For once, Jim Kirk is not the one on Chris Pike's shit list. In fact, Kirk is sure he never wants to see his boss that angry ever again.