Walking down the hall toward the sickbay, Ensign Pavil Chekov tried not to limp. It wasn't really that bad of a pain, but it ached in a way that made him wince when he pulled his leg too far forward. He'd thought pulled something, but as time had gone on, he'd found the pain growing to where the captain and others on the bridge began to ask him if he was alright because moving his leg to sit at his station was almost more than he could manage. Had it been up to him, he'd not be going to bother the medical staff with something that the didn't think would matter in the first place, but Kirk had ordered him, telling him that if he couldn't move properly and they were attacked, Chekov would put himself and others in danger. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he walked into the sickbay. The pleasant greeting from Nurse Chapel did nothing to elevate his mood, but he offered a weak smile anyways, not wanting to take out his displeasure on her.
"What's wrong, Ensign?" she asked, rather surprised. Nothing had happened for the past few weeks on the ship so very few people were coming to the sickbay, most of those who did simply feeling a bit of a cold that was going around. She didn't see the young ensign very often, as he was in the prime of health.
"Eet eez nossing big," he said, finding it difficult to enunciate though is teeth, "ze only reason I came to get eet checked ees because ze keptin ordered me to. I sink I owervorked a muscle or somesing."
"Please come and sit," Chapel said, motioning to the examination table. Chekov did as he was told, moving as carefully as possible without showing that he was moving carefully. Of course he still managed to do something wrong and he hissed slightly in pain, halting suddenly with one hand on the side of the table. Nurse Chapel's brows raised and she immediately moved to assist him. "I thought that you said it was nothing!" she practically cried. Chekov made a face at himself.
"Eet ees nossing," he insisted, "really, I seemply moofed rrong."
"If you have the ability to put yourself into pain simply by moving something wrong, then it's not nothing," she stated, wondering if he was really this knuckle headed or if it was just a day where he happened to lack some brain. "Now tell me what happened to you."
"I am not rreally sure," Chekov answered as he was sat down on the bed with her assistance, "at first I sought zat I had pulled ze muscle and eet vas just sore. But eet has not gotten better at all. At zis point eet eez greatly annoying." He ran his palms over his thighs. They'd been sweating due to the effort of walking here without limping. Out of the corner of his eye he saw McCoy looking over a clipboard, but he didn't turn to look at him.
"Exactly where is the pain?" Chapel asked. Chekov ran his finger from the area on his right leg just below his buttock to where the muscle ended above the back of is knee.
"Here," he said.
"Had you been doing any heavy lifting when this pain came around?" Chekov made a face. He was put on the Enterprise for his smarts, not his strength.
"Not zat I can remember," he said, trying to be as polite as he could. He normally was polite, but talking through annoyances or pain had never been something that he'd been good at. Chapel brought out the tricorder and gave him a one over with it, then focused on his leg.
"If you haven't been doing anything hefty than I have to wonder how you managed to pull this off..." she said, "and you're covered in bruises, big and small... what did you do to yourself?" McCoy looked up then, moving closer to look over Chapel's shoulder at the tricorder.
"I am not ze most grraceful of Ensigns," he said, his face flushing slightly. He'd known this was going to happen at some point, "I run eento sings and trrip a lot. Zey are seemply leetle bruises from zat." McCoy took the tricorder from the nurse, her mouth slightly agape. Annoyance was written clear across his face.
"Look, kid," he said, "for 'clumsy' there are only so many bruises that you can get. But you have far too many to be able to brush it off as merely all accidents." He motioned for Chapel to close the curtain around them. She did so, still looking quite perplexed, and McCoy glared down at the boy on the bed. "Strip," he said. Chekov stared at him as though all knowledge of the English language was suddenly completely gone from his mind. The doctor only paused for a moment to give him a chance to move, then brandished a hypospray at him. "As chief medical officer of this ship, I order you to strip to your tighty whiteys or I'll be forced to sedate you and strip you myself!" Chekov gulped heavily and then slowly began to pull off his shirt, keeping his eyes closed and hating himself for simply being too embarrassed about what was happening to have been able to tell anyone in the first place. Soon both of his shirts were off and he'd folded them carefully and lay them on the bed beside him. He kicked of his boots and then carefully stood, wincing as he did.
When his clothes were folded beside him on the bed and he was sitting once again, McCoy was back at his side, this time without the tricorder. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were the cold calculating eyes of a doctor with a terribly ill patient. The problem was that Chekov wasn't terribly ill, just horrifyingly embarrassed. The bruises on his arms were clearly in the shape of fingers squeezing far too tight. The blue welts on his chest and torso were mangled circles that had come from fists. McCoy soon grabbed his most trusted medical tool and pressed a few buttons the thing buzzing slightly as it gave him all of the information he needed and sent what information he wanted to save to the main computer terminal of the sickbay. It was far too quiet.
"Erm..." Chekov cleared his throat. "Doktor..."
"Who did this?" McCoy interrupted, not looking at the boy, but at his tricorder.
"какой?" Chekov gasped, "ничто! Er... nossing... nobody... I told you Doktor, I'm wery-"
"Clumsy, I know," McCoy said, finally raising his cold eyes from the tricorder to stare into Chekov's, "but you're not this clumsy. You can't punch yourself in the chest or twist to grab your own arm from behind like that. Who's been hurting you?" Chekov looked away, sticking out his chin stubbornly.
"Nobody has hurt me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
McCoy let out a slow breath. There was very little keeping him from cuffing the boy upside the head. Was his pride really enough to let him get himself get beaten up and not seek assistance to end the problem? The very first person to stand up for him would be the captain! Chekov had powerful people alongside him! Why would he just sit back and take this!
"If you're not going to tell me then I'll have to get someone who can change your mind," he said, heading for the edge of the curtain, "get dressed. I'll get you something for your leg. But if you're not back here when I come back, I'm coming after you and you won't know the ceiling from the floor..." Without waiting for a response, he moved past the curtain, making his way toward the opposite end of the room. 'Fuck!'
Kirk had no idea why he was being called to the sickbay. Nothing had happened to give him a reason for it. Was there a new version of the flu going around or something? He entered the room to find Chekov half cowering under McCoy's icy gaze. At the sound of the door, the doctor barely turned, most of his attention on the young Ensign.
"Bones?" Kirk stared between the two for a moment, "what did you call me for? And why are you torturing my navigator?" McCoy shook his head.
"Jim, get the fuck over here..." his voice was the growl of an angry grizzly and even the captain didn't dare question him. He moved to his best friends side, casting a questioning look at the young Russian. The boy looked away, as though he knew what was coming and didn't like the thought of it at all.
"What-"
"Ensign Pavil Chekov," McCoy started, speaking slowly to control his obviously overwhelming anger, "tell the captain. Tell him or else you risk losing your station and being sent to the brig." Kirk's mouth fell open.
"Bones," he said, "I only ordered him to come here, I haven't-" those dagger eyes focused on him now.
"Then. Order. It." Kirk stepped back, but before his feet had even moved, McCoy was on Pavel again. He looked at the boy. Whatever it was it must have been something serious or else the most level headed of the crew wouldn't be acting like Chekov had been caught doing drugs. Of course, at that thought, the captain had to wonder.
"Chekov-"
"I am clumsy, keptain," the Ensign pleaded, shaking his head pleadingly, "zat ees all eet eez. I am just wery clumsy." At the look on his face Kirk had to halt. Just what was going on! Before he could ask, McCoy darted forward, grabbing Chekov's wrist so tightly the boy cried out in pain, the nurses on the other side of the room immediately turning in surprise and staring as the doctor dragged their shipmate's sleeve up his arm to reveal big purple splotches that he apparently hadn't done anything to help yet. Several of them gasped. Kirk himself couldn't help the fact that his mouth dropped open for a moment or two.
"Look at them, Jim!" McCoy shouted, "look at them closely!" The man did just that, then held out a hand over one of them, finding that the shape of the purple matched the shadow the light cast from him perfectly. He grimaced.
"Ensign Pavel Chekov," Kirk said slowly, "I order you to tell me who is the one that did this to you." McCoy let the boy go and he fell back against the wall, looking as though he didn't know whether to yell or cry. He hid his face by looking at the floor as he slid down the wall.
"I- I do not know," he murmured, "but... not one... not just one..."
