Author's Notes: I'm so, so sorry it's taken me a month to get this chapter up. Real life has been incredibly stressful for me of late – massive problems at work have compounded one on top of another and have left me at my wits' end with my job. Hopefully y'all will understand that my mind has been admittedly elsewhere (this is the first night in a month I've actually felt the urge to turn on my computer). Just know that I'm not trying to ignore anything or forget about posting.

Anyway, here's the last chapter of Thirteen. I hope you enjoy it and as always, any comments are greatly appreciated. (Especially right now!)

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I suspect I'd have an entirely different set of problems to deal with right now other than the ones I've got. Six of one; half-dozen of the other as it were. But in case it wasn't clear, Star Trek isn't mine, I make no money from my writing and do this only because it helps me hold on to the tiny shred of sanity I've got left.

Chapter 5

Chris often said that stupidity took many forms, and that it was most frequently found in the most unexpected of places. Ethan scoffed. He'd bet his next two paychecks that his old man never expected so much idiocy to emanate from his own flesh and blood.

After the Great Computer Shooting, life at Casa de Pike was tense at best. Chris and Ethan weren't at outright war with one another, but they weren't exactly on speaking terms, either. Both managed to be cordial, which included actually asking for the salt shaker or breadsticks at dinner instead of simply reaching across the table to grab them. If he needed help with homework, Chris was right there to offer it, but the study sessions were completely devoid of his father's famous smiles or well-timed jokes. Strictly business, Ethan slowly chipped away at the small mountain of backlogged work each and every night until he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was a blessed feeling to know that he might actually pass his classes.

In his fifteen years on the planet, Ethan couldn't recall one instance in which his father stayed mad at him for more than a couple of days, up to and including the infamous Scraper Incident. They were now approaching a fortnight, and the near-grudge Chris was holding was beginning to border on ridiculous. But each time Ethan would growl and groan about the loss of his freedom (and a good portion of his creature comfort privileges), he remembered what precipitated his father's anger and disappointment. And each time he thought about that letter, a new wave of shame and embarrassment washed over him. When he felt the burning in his cheeks or heard the rush of blood roar through his ears, he knew he deserved every bit of personal humiliation the memories garnered.

Honestly, if it weren't for one well-timed phone call from the object of said Facebook letter, Ethan thought he might be on his father's shit list until he was 40. The younger Pike knew that Chris showed McCoy a copy of what he'd written, and while it was mortifying at first, he shouldn't have expected anything different. His father never told him how Len reacted, which was both troubling and comforting at the same time. In his case, ignorance was bliss, at least for a while.

Chris gave him very little in the way of instruction as to why McCoy summoned him after two weeks of radio silence. He only told his offspring that he was to be at Len's place, ready to work at 1000 sharp on Saturday morning, and to expect to be there until McCoy told him to go home. Normally a man of precision and planning, the lack of direction was unsettling. But, he had to do it, for both selfish (getting off his father's shit list) and unselfish (executing the much-owed apology to Len) reasons. Ethan parked his bike near the stairs of the apartment building the sergeant inhabited and made his way up to the correct unit.

But what was he really supposed to say when he met McCoy face to face? "Uh hi, sorry I have a big mouth. It's an inherited family trait. Please forgive me?" Yeah, like that would fly with McCoy. As if he hadn't insulted the man enough in the past two weeks, opening with half-assed pacification like that would only serve to make matters worse. He pondered a little longer as his feet took him automatically towards the door at the end of the hallway. No closer to figuring out what he was supposed to say, Ethan sighed, raised his hand and knocked on the flimsy wood.

The door that divided McCoy's apartment from the hallway did little else than provide a physical curtain to ward off prying eyes. Leaning one ear towards the door as he waited, Ethan heard Len grunt as he presumably heaved himself from his favorite recliner. The sound of glasses clinking against one another resonated through the room, as did the light plip-plops of McCoy's footfalls. The deadbolt slid back, and with a rush of negative pressure, a bright glow of natural sunlight filled the dark hallway.

Teetering from foot to foot, Ethan was still at a loss for words. He looked up at McCoy, then down at his feet then back up towards the man on the other side of the door. "Hi," he eventually said lamely.

McCoy's face was impassive but stony; though most of all, it was positively impossible to read. He didn't move an inch; the rising and falling of his chest along with the occasional blink of his eyes were the only motions that gave him away as human as he stared down the poor teen shuffling at his door.

Stammering, Ethan swallowed harshly and spit out in one rush, "Mr. McCoy, I didn't mean for any of this go so far or for it to be-"

Despite the obvious apprehension coloring his brownish-green eyes, McCoy still managed a look of exasperation as he heard Ethan's fleeting attempt at good manners. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Clearing his throat, Len admonished, "Ethan, you know better than that. 'Mr. McCoy' was my father. I'm Len. Or Bones. Or Sergeant. Or whatever the fuck you want, just not 'Mr.', okay?"

"Yes, sir," the teen agreed, blowing out a breath of relief.

McCoy shot Ethan another disapproving look before he set his jaw and said, "All right. Now that we've got that out of the way, why don't you come inside? You and I need to talk."

Gulping, Ethan nodded wordlessly and stepped through the threshold of the apartment. Len made a motion towards the kitchen table as he disappeared into the kitchen proper. The teen followed McCoy dutifully across the small living room and into the equally tiny dining area. It only took Ethan about a half dozen steps to cover the distance from the front door to the kitchen table, but it felt like an eternity, like he was being marched to his death. It also gave him a couple of seconds to observe both his surroundings and his companion, and he used the time wisely.

McCoy's place was really, really clean – spotless, even. Ethan had only been over a handful of times, but he didn't remember Len being such a neat freak. Yes, stuff was (sort of) put away and the dishes were (mostly) cleared from the sink, but there were always a few stray magazines or papers lying around, a jacket tossed haphazardly over a chair, or a random Playstation controller teetering on the back of the toilet that gave the place a very lived-in feel. Now, every single surface was perfectly wiped, stacked or otherwise organized, and when he took a deep breath, Ethan could smell the disinfectant that practically permeated the apartment.

While the state of the apartment was a vast improvement, McCoy himself certainly was not. Ethan knew he would have picked up on the physical differences right away, but he wondered if he would have noticed the more subtle personality shift had he seen Len more than a couple times over the past six months.

Whatever the case might have been, he sure as hell was party to both right now. McCoy still projected the requisite police sergeant bearing, but there was something off about the way he held himself aside from the obvious weight loss and more pronounced stress lines. Ethan tried to put a word to it, but the only adjective his mind willingly conjured was 'defeated'. McCoy's body language looked drained, matching Len's slightly pinched face and blank eyes Ethan saw when the older man opened the door a few minutes earlier.

Shaking off the worry that started to form in the pit of his stomach, Ethan grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it backwards. He sat down and waited for the onslaught of four syllable words interspersed by four letter ones he thought were headed his way. Instead, he was surprised when McCoy returned carrying two steaming hot beverage mugs.

Len plunked one down in front of Pike before he grabbed his own chair to sit down. Long fingers wrapped all the way around the oversized coffee mug as McCoy took a long, satisfied sip of the strong brew. He set it down and reached into his back pocket, fishing out his battered cell phone in the process. Dialing a number, he hit the 'send' button and handed it Ethan. "Your dad said you were coming. You're supposed to call him from this as soon as you got here so he knows you made it."

Bristling, Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. "He doesn't need to baby me."

"Doesn't he now?" McCoy asked with an arched eyebrow.

Kicking himself and his big mouth, Ethan flinched. Relenting, he admitted with a grimace, "I deserved that."

"Yes, you did," McCoy replied flatly as Chris answered the call.

"Dad?" Ethan said, "I'm at Len's place. Obviously, since I'm talking to you on his phone. I'm betting you have instructions for me."

'Ethan, put me on speaker.'

With a sigh, Ethan pulled the phone away from his ear and found the speaker option. Pressing it, he said, "Okay, Dad. Go."

Chris' smooth, authoritative voice boomed through the tinny, microscopic speakers. Even over a cell phone, the man still managed to be intimidating. Without preamble, Pike practically ordered, 'I want to be perfectly clear: McCoy owns your ass for the afternoon, or more if he feels like it. If he tells you clean his entire apartment from top to bottom, the next thing that comes out of your mouth had better be a request for a toothbrush. And if he tells you to do it all again, you do it again. Twice. You are to adhere to Corps level discipline while in his presence. If I hear any inclination that you've behaved otherwise, you and I will have another come to Jesus. If you thought that last one was bad—Don't test me, son.'

Ethan bit down hard on his lip to keep any smart assed retorts at bay. Swallowing his pride, he agreed, "Okay, Dad. Got it. Anything else?"

'No. That'll do it this time. Len, if he steps out of line, you have my permission to fire away. Be creative if you need to. Talk to you boys soon,' he said and cut the connection.

"Wow," McCoy said, cringing as he rubbed his forehead "I've never heard that tone before. Hell, I don't even think Jim has ever heard that tone."

"Yeah, he's been a little pissed at me lately," Ethan replied as he took a whiff of what was in the cup McCoy handed him. Pleasantly surprised, the teen's eyes lit up when his brain registered the contents. Hot chocolate and coffee – in his opinion, they were the best combination on the face of the planet. (Well, hot chocolate with a little splash of coffee – he wasn't an adult just yet.) He took a sip and savored the sweet flavor of the hot chocolate and the pop of the nuclear strength coffee he knew the sergeant preferred. Ethan sat quietly and watched McCoy as he digested his last sentence.

Unsurprisingly, McCoy snorted. "A little? After that, I think coming to talk to me would be a treat."

"Yeah, probably," the teen agreed. He let the silence stretch with the hope McCoy would fill it with something other than a heavy stare. When the sergeant didn't make a move, Ethan drummed his fingers against the solid wood tabletop and began, "So."

"So," McCoy answered flatly, staring at Ethan over the rim of the coffee cup he held in both hands.

Taking a breath, Ethan dived straight into the choppy headwaters. "Len, I don't know what to say, other than I'm here to make penance. And to say I'm sorry, because I really am. I never meant what I said-"

"Yes you did," McCoy said, cutting him off completely with a sharply punctuated sentence and an even sharper expression.

"What?"

Len shifted in his seat. Lifting his eyes from the coffee mug to the teen, he clarified, "Of course you meant it. You wouldn't have written the damned thing in the first place if you hadn't."

Ethan tried to formulate a proper sentence, but it was like his brain was misfiring on every single application of speech. Instead of what he wanted to say, the only sounds that cleared the threshold that was his mouth were unintelligent sputters that could barely be classified as English.

McCoy pursed his lips and held up his right hand, palm out. "Ethan, stop before you hurt yourself."

The younger Pike drew in a deep breath and practically bit his tongue to keep his mouth from moving further. "Okay."

"Just let me explain. That letter of yours wasn't easy for me to read," McCoy said, holding Ethan's eyes.

The teen visibly flinched. Swallowing hard, he admitted, "I know, and I'm sorry. Like, sorrier than anything you can ever imagine. It honestly makes me sick when I think about what I did and what I said," Ethan concluded earnestly. He was trying to figure out what he should say next when McCoy's voice absolutely stunned him silent.

"But you were right. Everything you said was one hundred percent true," Len amended quietly.

Ethan's head snapped up from where it was resting on his chest. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in towards the man seated opposite him at the table. "What?" he practically snapped. "It's been a really long couple of weeks – don't think I have to tell you that, so don't play with me. Please. What do you mean?"

McCoy turned his coffee cup around in a small circle on the table, wiping away some of the brown liquid that dribbled free of the mug with his hand. His entire body tensed, as if he was a fox fleeing a hunt. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes up to find the young man's face. Stripping away all the snark and false bravado normally present in his voice, he finally said tiredly, "I'm not gonna sit here and bullshit you. You've been through enough lately, and most of it's been on my account. I think I owe you an explanation why…and an apology."

Ethan nearly dropped the half full mug of hot liquid all over his lap. His eyebrows knit together, creasing so deeply in between his eyes that the ends of his brows virtually touched. "Wait, what? Back up. You're apologizing to me? Why for? You're not the one who posted something hurtful and angry for the whole world to read."

Lifting his mug, McCoy took a long swig of coffee, draining the contents in one gulp. He stood silently, walked to the kitchen and refilled it with the deep black liquid, not for the first time wishing it were something stronger. Padding back to the table, he rubbed one hand over his face as he sat down. "No, you were just honest with your thoughts. You're allowed to do that," McCoy corrected with a shrug of his shoulders and a self-deprecating sigh. "That kind of transparency with my feelings isn't a skill I've mastered yet. Go figure."

"Well, my parents haven't actually been very forthcoming about what's been going on lately, either. That was most of the reason I was so mad, because I figured honesty could be a two-way street. They didn't agree. And it sucked."

"I know. It may not have been the right thing for them to do, but they were just trying to protect you, Ethan. There were a lot of things that happened over the past few months that I'm not proud of, and I'm glad you didn't see them. I didn't want to hurt you," McCoy concluded, biting off the, 'Like I hurt everyone else,' that was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"But they don't need to protect me! I have eyes – I can see things! And even when I figured it out on my own, they still wouldn't cough up the truth!" Ethan half-shouted at his longtime family friend. He slouched in the chair, and as proof that he was not quite yet an adult, pouted gloriously. Arms crossed over his chest and lower lip puffed out in defiance, he looked more like an angry four year old than a hurt teenager. "It's such bullshit," he muttered, echoing the sentiments he vocalized to his father.

"You're a smart kid. There's no denying that," McCoy told the teen as he stretched a sore point in his shoulder. "And that's why I called your dad to have you meet me. I know you're hurt, and I wanted to give you a chance to clear the air. You deserve that much."

"I know I don't deserve a chance to talk to you after what I said, but I think that would be good. You're right – I've got questions," he began as he scrutinized McCoy's face. Narrowing his eyes critically and tilting his head to the side, Ethan added, "But it's not just because of my curiosity, at least not anymore. I was worried about you – I sill am. I haven't seen you in months. And now that I'm starting to hear things, I'm not sure what to make of it."

"You and me both, kid. You and me both," McCoy half-whispered as he turned his head towards the patio door and the sunshine streaming in through the living room.

Ethan picked at the half-disintegrated price tag label still stuck to the bottom of his mug. He let the tension in the room swell, unsure what he should say. He watched McCoy's jaw work back and forth; clearly the sergeant was fighting a similar battle. A million and one questions were rapid-firing through his brain, faster than he could realistically process them. Everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to know, and all the frustration that kept festering like an open, gaping wound during the past six months – it all got stuck right on the tip of his tongue in a jumbled, unintelligible mess.

But as his head spun and his thoughts began to clear, Ethan realized that maybe he didn't want to know all of what was going on with his dad's old partner. The conclusions he drew on his own about McCoy's fading health and his associated problems, which were looking closer to correct the more he learned, were scary enough. Even in the unlikely event Len was willing to open up and go in-depth, was he really ready to hear all the sordid details?

Simply put, not really.

A glance across the table confirmed Ethan's gut suspicions, and solidified his resolve to back off. As a man who was never shy about his opinions, it was disconcerting to watch so much open hesitation march across Len's face. The teen chewed away at his lip as he tried to figure out how best to broach the million-dollar question dangling on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he settled with simplicity. "Are you okay?" Ethan asked quietly after screwing up the guts to actually spit the words out.

The Adam's apple in McCoy's throat bobbed up and down twice – hard. His eyes danced across various points of the ceiling before they roamed back to Ethan's face. "I will be," he replied honestly. "…Eventually."

Sitting back in his chair, the younger Pike thought back on his life. Like a bolt of lightening, a flash of realization buzzed through Ethan's head. His parents' vagueness and McCoy's lack of communication hurt because he cared. And not only did he care, so did his parents – about McCoy himself, and protecting their son from the harsh realties of life. In that instant, it became clear that maybe Chris and Lynn had done right by him, even if being treated like a child bristled his ego. His mother told him to always trust his heart, and in his heart, Ethan was selfishly glad he wasn't around to witness the worst of Len's struggles.

Chris always told his son that there was a method to his madness for just about everything he did, and Ethan tried not to smirk when he finally deduced why his old man sent him over to his sergeant's home. It wasn't so McCoy could embarrass him or give him yet another (albeit deserved) tongue-lashing. He did it because he knew his son needed the confirmation from McCoy as much as Len needed it for himself. For as long as he could remember, Leonard McCoy had been anointed an honorary Pike, and Ethan knew that his family was big on taking care of one another.

Tough love was most certainly included in that package.

A genuine, thousand-watt smile broke out across Ethan's youthful face. It caught McCoy by surprise; the sergeant looked like deer caught in the proverbial headlights.

"What?" Len asked gruffly.

"Nothing," Ethan replied, still smirking, and shaking his head. He dipped his chin and bit his lip. As corny as it sounded, he felt like a huge weight was just lifted from his shoulders. Suddenly, the world didn't seem like such an oppressive place anymore. He raised his head and found McCoy's gaze. Licking his lips, he said, "I'm just glad you're on your way back."

"Back to where?" McCoy questioned.

"Back to where you used to be, before all this drama happened. Back to hanging around with all of us, and being the coolest asshole I know."

The comment earned a real snort of amusement from McCoy. "Now I'm back to being the coolest asshole you know? I wasn't sure if I should have been honored or insulted by that one."

"Probably both, to be honest with you," Ethan answered with a minute cringe as he shoved his mug aside. With wisdom beyond his years that surprised even his own teenage brain he added, "Look, I know you're not fine yet. And right now, that's okay. But I guess I just wanted you know that, whatever you need, we're here. Even if I have acted like a little asshat lately."

For the second time in a day, Len swallowed a back a lump that unexpectedly took up residence in his throat. He inhaled through his nose and blinked hard a couple of times. Hoarsely, he said simply, "Thanks. It means a lot."

"Well, you mean a lot to us, in case you haven't noticed. We all miss you. Mom's gotten kind of sick of using Jim as her guinea pig when she's making something new. Since he can't cook worth a shit, he thinks everything she makes is the best thing ever. You're at least honest enough to tell her when it sucks," he said as he ran a critical eye over McCoy's drawn, pale face. "And from the looks of it, you could use a couple of good meals. Or cookies. Or…a whole friggin' cake."

"I won't lie, I have missed all of the above," McCoy admitted, scratching behind his left ear.

"I'll bet. And then there's Dad, who I know wishes you were at poker night. You're the only one who can give him a run for his money. Everyone else is too easy. He said it's gotten really boring beating up on Serdeski every week." Ethan laughed lightly before sobering. He nibbled on his lip, adding, "And, I've missed hanging out with you, even if it's listening to you bitch about your job, your partner and my dad. It's just been…I dunno. Really weird without you around. Like something's missing."

The expression of open shock plastered all over McCoy's face would have, in any other situation, been comical. But given the nature of the conversation and Len's personality, Ethan was entirely unsurprised. Covering his obvious discomfort at being dissected by a fifteen year old, he replied gruffly, "You mean you miss my gentle personality and soft touch?"

"Yeah, something like that," Ethan retorted before changing gears with, "But for the record, I also think you're an idiot."

Somehow, without so many words, the two men managed to reach an unspoken understanding of one another. Decoding the message, McCoy raised an eyebrow at the younger Pike and told him, "I hate to break it to you Ethan, but Jim's already told me that. And so has your dad. And, I guess, so has your mom, but her language was a little more colorful than that."

"Well, then I'll be the fourth one to say it, because you are."

"Going right for the jugular, just like your mother," McCoy muttered with a shake of his head. "God help us all when you grow up."

"With your luck, I'll end up being like her and Jim."

"If you do that, I might just shoot you," McCoy answered with wide, crazy eyes.

Slapping one hand on the table, Ethan pointed then pumped one fist. "Thhaaat's the expression I was looking for!"

McCoy pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. "Laugh it up all you want Ethan, but remember I own you for the next couple of hours."

Deflating, the teen shrugged. "If that's what my dad says, then that's what we should probably do. You gonna make me clean the toilets with a toothbrush, like he claims he had to do in the Corps?"

And evil glint passed through McCoy's eyes. He stood from the table, snagging the two mugs as he went by. Motioning with his head, he slipped on a pair of worn, comfortable sneakers and said, "I could, but I figured I'd have you help me with something better. Tell me: how do you feel about classic cars?"

"Is that a trick question? We watch Top Gear together. You know the answer to that," Ethan replied as he adjusted his Boston Red Sox baseball hat. He followed the Iowa City sergeant out the door and down the small bank of garages behind the complex. Len fished his keys out of his pocket, and flipping through the key ring to find the right one, unlocked the oversized pad lock on the door. The metal door squealed, and the dark, somewhat damp garage suddenly gave way to the brightness of the natural sunlight. McCoy's stall housed the normal things; boxes sat piled neatly in one corner, as well as a pedal bike and random yard tools in the other (for what reason Len had yard stuff was beyond him – the man didn't have a yard).

But what drew Ethan's eye was a large, curtained shape stuck smack-dab in the middle of the cement slab. Shrouded in a custom car cover, the teen wasn't sure what McCoy was planning until Len walked up to the beige lump and began to fold back the dry-fit protectant. Ethan felt his heart pole-vault into his chest. In the same instant, he felt a cold breeze suck all the air from his chest as the object beneath the cover was revealed. He pointed, unable to move his body any further. A couple of un-manly squeaks left his mouth as his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. Giving his brain a solid kick, he asked, "Is that—Is that what I think it is?"

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest proudly and smiled. Bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, he replied with a succinct, "Yep."

"Ohmygod," Ethan whispered as his feet took an automatic step towards the piece of engineering brilliance before him.

Eleanor.

A 1967 Shelby GT 500.

His dream car.

Holyshit.

Ethan reached out one hand, but pulled it straight back. "I'm sorry. Can I touch it?"

"Of course you can. You're going to be the one helping me fix it up, so you'd better get used to it."

"I'm—what?!" Ethan yelled in abject shock.

McCoy walked up and leaned on the hood of the car, taking a place next to the teen. "When I opened my mom's safe deposit box after she died, I found a set of keys to a storage unit. Inside the unit was this car – my dad's dream car – with a note from her in the glove box. She said he bought it years ago with the intent of fixing it up as a gift for me when I graduated medical school. Never got to it, like I never got around to med school," he said with a lift of his eyebrows. "When he died and I moved, she couldn't bring herself to sell it. She asked me in that note if I'd finish the project for both of them. I guess I feel like I owe them, a little bit like I feel I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything, Len."

"Well, if you don't want to, I can always enlist Jim to help me," McCoy joked.

"No! No! That's not what I meant!" Ethan replied, backpedaling as quickly as he possibly could. "Besides, you two would kill each other before you even had the engine out, and then this project really would never get done."

Turning his attention back to the most awesome car he'd ever seen in person, Ethan rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Part of him couldn't believe that another soul was willing to trust him with such a fine (and insanely valuable) piece of classic American muscle, but the other half of him was so excited, he didn't really care. Besides, wasn't it his father who always said, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?' Ethan did a quick walk-around the car, squatting and kneeling as he inspected the vehicle. He popped the hood, leaned on the support near the latch and asked, "So, when do start our project?"

McCoy smiled and clapped Ethan on the shoulder. The teen's inadvertent double meaning was plain, and Len found himself smiling at the prospect of his 'projects'. He handed him a set of wrenches and said simply, "Right now."

-FIN-