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A Final Word

~Chapter 1~

"Ow! Would you stop doing that?" Jim said irritably, rubbing at his sore neck in what was undoubtedly becoming an all too common occurrence. He and Spock had been no more than fifteen minutes into their chess game when McCoy had barged into his quarters, courtesy of his medical code, and administered a hypo loaded with a routine vitamin supplement.

"You give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you back to medbay right now." McCoy said indignantly.

"What are you talking about?" Jim snapped.

"You missed your physical again."

"Your point?" Jim pressed, still sulking.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "We've been over this, Jim. It's mandatory."

"Bones, that's highly overrated."

"Not to mention," McCoy went on, "You've been exhausted since our last mission and it's about time you got some shut-eye."

"Can't you see that Spock and I are in the middle of a game?" Jim asked incredulously. He knew he was in denial, knew that he was doing everything he could to avoid sleep, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. Especially Bones.

"Captain," Spock intervened, "Perhaps it would be more prudent to continue the game at a later time."

"No, Spock. That's not necessary."

"He's right, Jim."

"No." Jim said flat-out. "He's staying. You're welcome to stay, Bones. If you drop the hypo."

"I'm not going to tell you again, Jim." McCoy said sternly. "Last chance. Go get some sleep."

"I'm fine without it."

McCoy breathed a sigh of frustration, "Then you've left me with no choice." He pulled out another hypo that Jim swore came out of nowhere, and he took a step closer.

"Oh no you don't." Jim scooted backwards, nearly hitting the chess set on the table in the process, and looked to Spock for backup. Spock remained neutral from where he sat, but would later go on to say that the commotion was "quite unnecessary, considering the fact that the doctor's treatment was well merited."

"Jim…" McCoy began warningly, but Jim wasn't having any of it. He side stepped instead, this time managing to knock the chess set off the table. The pieces went scattering across the floor, and he had to keep himself in check in order to avoid losing his balance altogether.

"You know," McCoy said exasperatedly, "you could make this a lot easier on both of us if you would just cooperate for once."

"Why would I do that?" Jim deflected, smirking slightly when the doctor made another feeble attempt towards him and nearly lost his own balance.

"You're such an infant. No, worse than an infant. At least they accept help when they need it."

"Bones, that's the point. I don't need it."

"And why is that, Jim?" McCoy challenged. "You think it'll help?"

"Maybe." Jim responded, but it was obvious he was deflecting. Unnerved at the sudden change in mood, he planned his next defense, but McCoy beat him to it.

"It won't change anything."

The room fell silent. Whatever Jim was going to say next…he didn't. He wasn't going there. Wasn't even going to begin to go there. Not while it was still so fresh, and certainly not when he couldn't make sense of it.

"Jim," Spock approached delicately, "the doctor is correct. I too have been concerned for your well-being since Mr. Chekov's passing."

Jim felt a flush of embarrassment under their scrutiny, but managed to steel his resolve rather quickly. "Well don't be."

"Jim, we need to talk about this." McCoy reasoned.

"What is there to talk about? He died. End of story."

Yes, it was blunt, insensitive, and Jim felt like a jerk for saying it. But there was some level of truth to it, he reasoned. A truth that prickled at the corners of his eyes, and made each new breath that much harder to swallow. A truth that made it far too real, and sent his mind reeling. A truth that made him numb, because Chekov had been too young... far too young. Why couldn't he accept that?

"I think we all know that doesn't cover it." McCoy said, his voice surprisingly soft. Jim looked away, his throat inexplicably tight around the lump forming there.

In the weeks following the funeral, Jim had been noticeably different, so much so that it raised concerned glances and questions among the other crew members. Where he had once been eager for conversation, he now felt quiet and reserved. Where he often lingered on the recreation deck with Spock and McCoy after his shift, he found himself hurrying to the solitude of his quarters. Before, he would have gladly taken up Sulu's offer to a duel, annoyed Uhura with his silly antics, laughed over a drink with Chekov while the kid exuberantly took on the task of teaching him Russian, because Jim was always up for a challenge, but now….it was different.

While the others grieved in their own time and in their own way, Jim had preferred to not grieve at all. It was easier that way, he reasoned. Easier to avoid the resentment he felt each time he glanced over and half-expected to see their young Russian friend in his seat, only to see his temporary replacement. The new ensign was well capable, of course; Jim would not have approved her otherwise, but it wasn't the same. She would be highly considered among many other eagerly waiting applicants when the time came; when he would be forced to begin looking for a permanent replacement for their once vibrant, beautifully authentic navigator.

By no means did he allow this to affect his duties; In fact, it was quite the opposite. Against McCoy's better judgment, Jim began working overtime; taking on double shifts where he could, and avoiding sleep whenever possible when the solitude eventually wasn't enough. And just when it seemed as though he would catch a break, he would make his way to the gym during off-hours, pushing his body to new limits, always preparing for the next mission.

Jim had just finished showering and dressing after a workout, prepared to ignore yet another insistent call from McCoy to come to medbay for his routine physical, when Spock had shown up to his quarters. Having offered no other reason for his unannounced visit and making it quite clear the subject was not up for debate, his first officer had challenged the captain to a chess game. Little was said in conversation as they played, but Jim had the nagging suspicion that something else was at play here when McCoy soon made his dramatic entrance.

Jim's mind was forced back to the present when he noticed Spock and McCoy eyeing him meaningfully, and he cleared his throat, hoping it would alleviate the lump that had continued to persist each time he swallowed.

"Listen, Jim," McCoy began carefully, "You still need to complete your physical. You're not getting around that. And… under the circumstances, I'm ordering you to have a psychological evaluation."

"Bones, I'm not having a psych eval."

"I'm afraid it's not up for discussion."

Jim heard the familiar beep of a communicator chime in, and Spock dropped his attention from the other two to address the call. Jim was momentarily grateful for the interruption, but he could not take his eyes off the doctor as the other man's gaze remained fixed in his direction.

The tension only lessoned when Spock's voice broke in suddenly. "Captain, I am needed elsewhere for the time being."

"I'll go with you." Jim offered, holding McCoy's gaze for a few more moments before he finally turned and headed for the door.

"You're not going anywhere."

Jim froze momentarily, wondering if he heard right. "What did you say?"

"I thought I made myself quite clear." McCoy reiterated, glancing at Spock with a knowing look that unnerved Jim more than he cared to admit. "You're off duty for the next 48 hours."

"Bones, you can't do that—"

"Oh, yes I can. Go on, Spock."

The Vulcan looked nearly torn for a moment before giving a slight nod and continuing once more on his trajectory. The room fell silent when the doors whooshed shut, and Jim breathed a heavy sigh of frustration. "This is a mistake."

He was met with no response, and he hastily moved to his desk, hands shaking slightly when he picked up a data PADD to file through some paper work. His vision was blurring around the edges due to lack of sleep, but he continued regardless. He scanned to the next page.

"You can't hide behind your work anymore, Jim."

Jim paused, still looking at the screen.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Jim swiped to the next page, but he wasn't really reading the text at all anymore. His throat constricting painfully, he managed to meet his friend's gaze. "Bones, I don't want to talk right now."

"We all miss him, Jim. But it's different with you." McCoy said, his voice carrying something poignant that Jim had rarely heard from him. "That kid looked up to you."

Please stop…

Jim's entire vision blurred now, but for an entirely different reason, and he averted his gaze. "We're not talking about this."

"We have to!" McCoy snapped, and Jim startled visibly.

"It won't accomplish anything."

"Or you just don't want to deal with it. Jim, he deserves more than that."

And that was the final straw. Jim shook his head, giving a laugh that would have sounded incredulous had he not been so tired, and he slammed his fist down on the desk. The action, eliciting the pain he needed, was enough to distract him. Even if it was short-lived.

"Talk to me, Jim." McCoy said quietly, and he patiently waited for his friend to respond.

"There is something I haven't told you," Jim finally admitted, his voice raw with emotion. He reached over, opening the desk drawer to retrieve a brown leather book, which he carefully placed on his desk.

"What's this?" McCoy asked. He stepped closer to get a better view, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity as Jim opened the first page.

The Russian title was the first to be noticed in its stark black text against the light-colored border. The second was the familiar handwriting, and it was painfully evident who had written it when they examined the unique style of its owner. It was obvious who the book was from, but it was even more clear for whom it was meant. For below the title was a dedication in English; one that could not be mistaken for anything else:

To James T. Kirk: The hero of legends

To be continued….

A/N: Thank you SO much to DakotaBeor for making this beautiful cover art for my story! You are so incredibly talented as a graphic design artist and writer! A huge thank you to A Petal on the Rose for her awesome beta work, and to Mijan for answering some questions I had along the way so I could be sure a few things were accurate. :)

For those of you reading this, thank you! Anton's death came as a complete shock to everyone, I'm sure, and I'm hoping that this small story will help bring some closure. There are some interesting references I will make from interviews I've seen; Let me know if you catch them. ;)

I would love to produce this story into audiobook someday, much like our collaborative story, "Brothers in Arms." If that is something you would like to see happen, let me know in the review section.

As always, your feedback, thoughts, and comments are appreciated!

~ Warrior717