Star Trek Fic!Posted on 2012.05.06 at 22:49
Current Mood: tired
I've written a McChekov (McCoy & Chekov) fic (5 chapters) a while ago that I thought I'd share... cos you know... everyone knows that McCoy has a thing for the seventeen year old genius while Chekov likes older men who are grumpy, ignorant, yet damn fit.
So yeah... here's a little something I came up with (not the best of English I must say, I am Welsh after all) and as a bonus.. it includes some Kulu... Kirk & Sulu lovin!
Enjoy Trekkies! :)
And if I get positive feedback I might just post the next parts up in the next few days! :P
By: ninomiya-arashi (cymrutvxq)
Pairing/s: 2009 Star Trek - McChekov (McCoy/Chekov), Kulu (Kirk/Sulu)
Genre: Drama, Fluff
Length: 5 parts (1/5)
Warnings: Cockyness.. yeah, it's Kirk.
Summary: 'It was the silence that wound him the most. The deadly silence as every human and alien around the transporter room stood in disbelief, in fear, in distress for the woman who had fallen to her death, and the man who had just lost his mother.'
It hadn’t meant to turn out this way. It had meant to have worked, just like it did not five minutes before. He had done the same routine, punch in the codes, locate their positions, lock on and bring them back safely. All of them. Except this time not all had beamed aboard the Enterprise safely.
Pavel Chekov had felt like his heart had stopped in his chest when he heard the drowning sound of rubble through the communicator, a slight gasp of a helpless, frightened woman, and then the loud beaming that brought the Vulcans on board the ship.
It was the silence that wound him the most. The deadly silence as every human and alien around the transporter room stood in disbelief, in fear, in distress for the woman who had fallen to her death, and the man who had just lost his mother. It was so silent that the young navigator could hear their breathing, uneven and broken.
His face fell as his hands dropped onto the sides of the control board, mouth agape as he tried to breathe in and out, his eyes unfocused on the flashing lights on the screen. Spock’s mother was dead, and it was his fault. He could have saved her, but he was too slow, too imprecise, and too stupid to even lock onto one person when he had just saved two.
He could feel himself fall forward, his back slouching slowly as his head started spinning with the thought of the fear in the woman’s eyes as she fell. Her eyes looking into those of her sons, the last time she would see him.
Chekov’s breathing became irregular, his palms sweating in unease as he felt something prickling his skin, pinning him down into the chair like an invisible weight. The weight of everyone’s eyes on him, and him alone.
He knew they were looking at him. Blaming him for what had happened to the mother of Spock, cursing him for being such a foolish child for not having the ability to beam up a single person. Their stares were like vicious bullets to the chest, they’d rather see him dead than have him aboard a ship where he couldn’t even save lives and do things properly.
Chekov knew his friend Sulu was watching him, he knew the helmsman could sense his disquiet and see that his body had begun to shake slightly. Kirk was watching him, his hand gently settling onto Chekov’s shoulder, supposedly trying to reassure him of his mistake, a quiet ‘it’s not your fault’ spoken through the simple gesture.
And he could feel the burn of a dark gaze of the deceased woman’s son. Spock. Chekov knew for a fact the Vulcan’s emotionless eyes were settled upon him, he could feel his stare boring into him the most. Like he was mentally screaming at him, pushing him, hitting him, blaming him for the death of his own mother.
Vulcans never showed emotion, they couldn’t. But Chekov knew, he just knew that Spock was hurting as he looked up at the man. His head slowly lifted and his eyes locked with those of the Vulcans, Spock was staring at him, staring at him with this impassive expression that held no sign of grief or anger or sadness for his mother. But then his eyes showed what his face could not.
Chekov looked back into those eyes and he saw the emotion. He saw the anger there growing into a blazing fire, the sadness reaping at the corner of his brown orbs, and the hatred, the undeniable layer of hate sitting in the middle of it all. That emotion was left here for him. The hate the man felt for Chekov struck him hard.
Chekov couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the hatred that was aimed right at him, the deepening stares that held onto him as he felt himself shiver. His body began shaking on its own accord like he was sitting in the snow, his thoughts started swimming ferociously in his mind and a pool of tears were fighting to be released.
The Russian broke eye contact with the Vulcan without delay, and in an instant Chekov shot up off his chair in a hurried pace. He felt his body almost give up on him as his vision went blurry, the door looking so far away as he ran towards it and didn’t look back, he wouldn’t look back.
Chekov ran like the wind through the transporter room’s exit, his feet carrying him anywhere, as long as it was far away from the occupants of that room. He ignored the concerned calls from his best friend as he ran away, the loud voice of Kirk calling his name, the slightly stunned gasps of officers as he ran by them in a hurry, pushing past with his head down.
His feet carried him down the long and winding corridors of the ship, his breath catching in his chest as his tears began to fall freely. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do, but all he knew was that he just wanted to fall, fall down onto the ground and cry until the guilt would seep out of him until it was gone.
The white walls were making him feel dizzy, the bright lights lining the ceiling flashed in his eyes like the intense glow of a thousand stars, and he tried to drown out all the noise around him, doors shutting, machines churning, people whispering, echoes of their curiosity and confusion following him down the halls.
Chekov didn’t know when it happened but he had suddenly flown down a dim part of the hallway through double doors, and then he was sitting on a floor in a darkened room, a carpeted floor. His back fell against a hard wall, as he brought his knees up against his chest, winding his arms around his slim legs he let his head fall down and rest on his knees and allowed a stream of tears to run down his pale cheeks.
All he could think about was the poor woman that he had let die on that planet that no longer existed, Spock who had seen her take her last breath, and the other Starfleet officers. What would they think of him once they found out what he’d done? What if Sulu suddenly saw the grief in Spocks eyes too and never wanted to speak to Chekov again? What if he was relieved of duty from the Starship Enterprise for making one stupid mistake?
He didn’t want those things to happen! Chekov knew he could do better, he really did, and he has the capability to save other people with his skills, his dedication. It was just one mistake, one lousy mistake that anyone could make, he didn’t mean to lose her, he didn’t mean to let it happen.
As Chekov sat alone in the dark crying, his eyes falling shut and his breathing slowly going steady, the thoughts scrambled around in his head like a film reel playing the events. He hugged himself tighter as he buried his face in his arms, wishing to be swallowed by the darkness surrounding him in the quiet room.
It wasn’t long before the Russian navigator tired himself out, his crying growing faint before he fell into a light doze on the floor. Although he was asleep Chekov’s thoughts haunted him in his slumber, a woman’s bright eyes staring at him, fear deepening the shades of blue.
Chekov didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but it felt like days. His head hurt like a brick had been thrown at it, and his body ached all over. He could feel the tear stains dried up on his face, he’d cried so much that the sleeves of his jumper were still somewhat damp.
He awoke in a daze, not knowing where he was or why he was there, just the feeling of emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Then Chekov almost jumped as he felt something resting gently on his shoulder, a hand, a comforting hand gripping him softly like he was too delicate to touch.
The ensign lifted his head from the warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his eyes felt dry and tight as he opened them to see through the darkness ahead of him. The glow emitting from the small, round glass tops in the roof streamed down into the room giving off a speck of light, Chekov could see the outline of a silhouette kneeling beside him.
The person had its hand kept in place on Chekov’s shoulder, and then the young officer felt its fingers tap him lightly. “You alright kid?”
The man’s voice sounded deep and rigid in the emptiness of the place, his concern came through clearly in the question though Chekov couldn’t see the man’s expression. And he knew that voice, Chekov recognized the thick American accent that fell from his lips, the southern pronunciation rolling off his tongue.
“Chekov?” The man said his name softly, making the young Russian feel at ease in the shadows of his own thoughts. “Kid, you awake? I can’t see a damn thing in this place! Wait… I think I’ve got…”
Chekov recognized him then, that voice that he’d heard not long ago on the bridge, calling after a stumbling Kirk who’d barged into the sector babbling about Romulans and traps. A tall, handsome man wearing the Starfleet’s blue uniform shirt, a medical officer he’d understood as the Doctor had informed Captain Pike of Kirk’s influence from a vaccine.
Pike had mentioned his name; he’d said it just the one time while Kirk tried his best to get through to the ship’s captain. But Chekov couldn’t remember it, it was there on the tip of his tongue but not quite visible in his mind.
“Chekov,” He said his name again this time more clear and firm, and the navigator could hear him fidget on his knees beside him. “I’m going to put a small light on, just so we can see each other, ok?”
Chekov hesitated for a second; wanting to wallow in the darkness just a little longer, forget that he was a part of the ship and forget what he’d done. But a part of him was glad that the older man was there with him, someone who wasn’t there when he’d let Spock’s mother fall into the pit of blackness, who didn’t witness his ten seconds of complete failure.
So Chekov nodded, forgetting the fact that the man couldn’t see him in the darkness of the room, sitting close against the wall like he didn’t want to be found. Another shuffle from the man followed by a quiet curse and there was a speck of light coming from a diminutive torch, the man held it up in his hand and aimed it at the ceiling, giving off enough luminosity to see each other in the virtually pitch black space.
“That’s better.” He mumbled. “How are you feeling kid?”
Chekov could see the man’s features now, his dark hair combed to the side like that of a nineteen forties Englishman, his thin lips pursed with his eyebrows scrunched together like he was thinking intensely about something. Then his eyes, his dark orbs looking straight at Chekov just like the others who’d been gazing at him not long ago, eyes full of anger, sadness, and hate.
Chekov looked at him, into his brown eyes, searching for that same emotion that was held in the eyes of the Vulcan. But he couldn’t find it there; he couldn’t find that flame of fury that hid deep inside, instead his eyes held something else. It was pure worry, the Doctor was watching him with concern in his eyes like he wanted to help him, wanted to show him that he cared.
“Chekov, talk to me.” The Doctor moved closer, shifting his legs from under him to sit against the wall beside the younger man. With a contented sigh he spoke to him. “I heard what happened in the transporter room.”
At those words Chekov’s form stiffened, he wound his arms tighter around himself as he suddenly felt a stab of guilt in his chest. The ensign’s head fell forward and he shut his eyes so tight it hurt, he could feel the tears that were at the brink of escaping.
The Doctor glanced at him; the young navigator held himself so close that he looked like a small child hiding from the monsters in the dark, so fragile and afraid. Chekov was shaking again like a sudden draft had made its way into the room, cold fingers crawling across his skin.
“I heard you saved Kirk and Sulu’s lives Ensign.” The doctor said, noticing how Chekov’s hands gripped tighter onto his yellow sleeves as he said it. “You did good kid. Kirk told me how amazing you were on the controls.”
The Doctor blinked in surprise at the harshness of the boy’s tone, that one simple word sounding like it could mean a thousand things. Chekov shook his head and opened his eyes to stare into nothingness, his lips quivering as bitter tears rolled down his cheeks freely.
“No.” He repeated in English, his voice scratchy as his next words stumbled out. “I am no good… no good at it… I… I let her f-fall… s-she fell… she…”
“Chekov.” The doctor leaned forward; he lowered his voice into a slight murmur. “Is that why you ran? You ran because you think it’s because of you she didn’t make it?”
“I-I do not think,” Chekov stuttered, his stare breaking from the spot on the wall to look into the Doctor’s eyes. “I know.” He said seriously. “It was my fault... I-I could have saved her… b-but… I…”
“Wow now!” The older officer placed his hand gently onto the ensign’s back; the boy looked so distressed, his sad green eyes overflowing with tears as his fingers dug painfully into his arms, turning his knuckles white. “Don’t go blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault Ensign.”
Chekov’s lips parted ready to throw more ridiculous sentences at the Doctor. “No!” He interrupted, while his southern accent thickened in bafflement at Chekov’s argument. “It is not your fault Chekov, it’s nobody’s fault except for those who destroyed the planet, the bastards who care nothing of the lives of others.”
The doctor’s hand moved carefully to rest on Chekov’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “You shouldn’t blame yourself Chekov, there was nothing you or anyone else could have done. No one could have saved her; she fell too quickly before anyone could do anything.”
Chekov loosened his grip around his arms, his eyes drifting to the floor as the Doctor’s words sunk in. His thoughts turned to the moment when it all happened. He’d locked onto the other Vulcans, they were beaming up from the surface, and then one had started to fall. Chekov’s fingers had frantically skid over the screen, his voice growing with panic as he saw a symbol disappear. One had not beamed onto the Starship.
Could he have locked onto her? He didn’t know. Chekov didn’t know if it was possible or not, but he was positive he could have done something, anything to save a life. Maybe concentrate more, use a different tactic, or move a little faster. He should have done something.
“I… I made a mistake.” Chekov felt a single tear run slowly down his cheek, instantly he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I should have reacted quicker, I-I should have... should have done something, I was so stupid!”
“No you weren’t,” The doctor inched forward a little, catching the ensign’s attention so that he would look him in the eye, to see how serious he was being. “Everyone in the world makes mistakes Chekov, even the Captain of the Enterprise, even me. Hell, I’ve made so many mistakes in my life I’ve lost count.”
At the hint of humour in the Doctor’s voice Chekov felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. Feeling like his mood was lightened by the other man’s words, Chekov rubbed at his eyes with his palms harshly, leaving them red and glistening from the lingering tears.
“Chekov, what you did back there saved lives.” He continued. “You saved more than one life, and you should be proud of that. Don’t blame yourself over something that clearly wasn’t your fault, because no one else blames you. In fact, I bet they all want to thank you.”
Chekov’s gaze lingered on the Doctors, his lips parting slightly as the words he wanted to speak came out in a mere whisper. “Spock,” he said. “He… he blames me… he looked at me when-“
“Hey,” The doctor’s expression softened at the genuinely worried voice Chekov created. “He most definitely does not blame you Ensign; in fact, it was Spock who sent me and some of the crew around the ship to find you, he was worried when you ran out of the transporter room, he said you looked rather stressed.”
At that Chekov’s eyes widened in surprise, his intensely green eyes catching the light of the torch. Spock was the one who wanted to find him, he sent people around the ship to find him. Did that mean that he wasn’t mad at him, if he was worried then that meant he couldn’t be?
New thoughts and feelings were buzzing around like a cluster of bees inside his head, and Chekov didn’t know what to do, what he could say. All the young navigator could think of was what everyone else was really thinking, what did Spock really think of what happened?
“Kid, you spacing out on me again?” The doctor tapped him lightly on the shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You ok?”
Chekov nodded slowly, his arms relaxing around his slender frame as he leaned back against the wall. “I thought that… Spock was angry at me.”
“No,” The older officer got back onto his knees, grunting like an old man as his bones clicked and clacked from sitting down for too long. “He’s not angry with you at all, he just wants to talk to you, and he’ll probably tell you exactly what I’ve told you.”
Chekov suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Although he still had that nagging feeling at the back of his head, telling him the Vulcan and the crew would never forgive him, he wanted to push it away because deep down the Doctors words were hitting him hard.
“Thank you doctor.” Chekov spoke softly, his gaze landing on the man beside him as he smiled sweetly.
“You’re welcome ensign,” he smiled back, withdrawing his hand before standing up unhurriedly, his legs starting to feel like they weren’t even there. “I think we should get you back to the bridge.”
Chekov looked up at the Doctor, who to his surprise had his hand held out towards him. The man’s eyebrow shot up into his fringe like before, making Chekov want to laugh somewhat at the habit. He suddenly felt relieved, and maybe a little happy being in the company of the doctor.
Without hesitation Chekov took hold of the older man’s hand, gripping it tightly he was lifted up off the hard floor. His legs felt as stiff as a board, his back aching from bending and sitting for too long, not to mention the headache that had grudgingly formed.
“You alright there kid?” The doctor released his hand from the tight grip he had on the ensigns, his Doctor Mode switching on without delay as he saw Chekov’s hand fly to his head.
“Y-Yes sir,” Chekov answered dazedly, his hand lowering to his side as he smiled stiffly up at the doctor. “I am fine, just a headache.”
The Doctor wasn’t having it; he frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a teacher about to tell his student off which kind of made Chekov feel like he shouldn’t get on the man’s bad side. Chekov bit his lip fretfully, waiting for the Doctor’s ruling.
“I’m taking you to sickbay.” Was what he said.
That was the last place Chekov wanted to be at the minute. So many people sauntered and ran around in the medical section of the ship that he didn’t want to be there, in the midst of it all, around other people. He just wanted to get back to the bridge, and carry on with his work.
“But Doctor,” Chekov implored. “It is just a headache! I will be fine, honestly!”
“No.” The medical officer said simply, unfolding his arms and stepping forward. “I’ll take you there first, give you a painkiller and test you for any other stress related signs.”
“Stress?” Chekov sulked at the thought of a hypospray being jabbed into his neck; he’d had enough of those injections back at the academy to put him off for a lifetime. “I-I have no stress Sir, I will be ok once I-“
“Enough Ensign,” The doctor cut in, putting his hand between Chekov’s shoulder blades and gently pushing him towards the sliding doors whilst he placed his torch back into his side bag. “I’m going to check on you first, then you can go have a word with Spock, and then you can go back to your duties. Understand?”
Chekov nodded in acceptance, although he desperately wanted to go straight to Spock to ease his mind and talk with the Vulcan to get his thoughts off his chest. But judging by the Doctor’s serious displeasure and the challenging glint in his eyes he wouldn’t get away that easily.
The navigator was led through the darkened room and passed the soundless automatic doors where they both stepped into the faintly lit hallway, there were no souls in sight except for a majority of security officers entering and leaving through doors on the side. It was like stepping into a different world, away from the dark and silent where Chekov could be invisible.
The simple touch of the Doctor’s hand on his back made Chekov feel warm and content, to know that someone was there with him, caring for him and telling him that all was going to be just like it was. That nobody was blaming him for anything. What happened hours ago wasn’t his fault.
Chekov couldn’t help but think he had been a little impractical back there, even though it killed him to see the look on those people’s faces. He should have kept himself together, looked away and wait until someone else had said something, do something, or even breathe a sigh.
But that was all over with now. And no one was blaming him for what happened on the Vulcan planet, and for that he was grateful. He was reminded of the lives that he had been able to save, and the Doctor had told him it was something to be proud of. And that, he was.
Chekov felt a smile grace his features as he was led down the corridor by the Doctor, coming into the brightly lit hallways of the ship. The man’s hand was still resting gently between his shoulder blades, silently guiding him towards the medical offices.
Chekov felt a sort of comfort at the kind touch, which made him think about the man’s habitual reaction at taking care of his patients. And as Chekov took a sly glance to his left, just to study the Doctor’s dark eyes, furrowed eyebrows and serious expression, the ensign had realized one thing.
“Doctor?” he said, as they turned a corner.
The tall man looked at him questioningly. “Yes ensign?”
“I…” Chekov stammered, feeling a slight blush creep its way up his cheeks. “What… is your name...? Sir?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow, something he must do regularly Chekov thought, and as they came to a halt in front of a sliding door the doctor dialled in the frequency.
“It’s McCoy.” He said, as the doors slid open to reveal a rather busy sickbay.
Chekov caught his eye and smiled, the name suiting the southern American perfectly. “Doctor McCoy.” He said, testing the name on his lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”
And with that said, Chekov stepped through the entrance into the busy medical room, where nurses and senior doctors went about doing their job to patients laying in beds or getting frequent checkups. He made sure to keep his head down, not wanting to talk to anyone just yet.
Doctor McCoy was left standing in the doorway, eyes tracing every step the young navigator made as he walked calmly through the room. He suddenly had a bizarre interest in the Russian ensign, the boy’s sweet smile and soft tone of voice as he said his name making him stop whatever it was he was doing.
But before McCoy could think any longer Chekov had turned around with his eyes wide in confusion as the doctor still stood by the threshold, the young man somehow looked like a lost puppy in the middle of a bustling street. Gathering himself up and muttering who knows what and when, McCoy strolled into the room with his stern work face in place.
Chekov had his eyes on McCoy as he sauntered past without a word, head nodding in the direction of a free bed at the end of the room, equipment stacked and spread across the metal shelving. Following McCoy over to the bed, Chekov couldn’t help but feel so much better than he did not long ago.As McCoy prepared a vaccine full of painkiller fluids to inject into the ensign, he dropped, tipped and almost stabbed himself with the jab, making him curse and grumble about being a doctor and the lack of decent medical equipment. All the while Chekov watched and he laughed quietly to himself at the doctor, a wide smile brightening his spirit.