I have decided to write this story mostly from Sulu's point of view because that is how I am most comfortable. Everything in here comes from personal experience of watching a close friend of mine and I dedicate this to her.

Please be kind and considerate in your reviews. Remember that how one person's recovery (I use this term loosely) happened can be vastly different from another's. This is based off true events following a friend of mine and also extensive research I did to help my friend while she struggled.

Also, beware, I have attempted Scott and Chekov's accents.

Xxxxxxx

As far as days on board the Starship Enterprise had gone so for, this one was boring. The crippled ship, still bearing members of the Vulcan High Council, was struggling toward Earth, minus her core.

They had at least another two days to go, and it had already been nearly a week, because the rest of the fleet was too far away to be of any help until then. With nothing to do, Sulu had begun memorizing everything he could about his ship and crew mates to pass the time.

Uhura flipped her ponytail more the more the Captain tried to flirt with her.

In fact, Kirk flirted with any woman who entered the bridge, and teased and mocked every man. He mocked on Sulu over the parking brake (who ever told him was going to find out exactly how good Sulu was with a sword), and picked on McCoy for hating space, but Chekov seemed to get the worse of it, as Kirk was still calling him 'Whizz,' and 'Jailbait,' every other word.

The Russian himself had a nervous habit of pulling on his shirt sleeves when bored, and rubbing the tops of his legs when stressed or being picked on, however playfully, by the Captain. When people played with his curls (usually Uhura and the occasional female Yeoman, but Kirk had been known to do so) he would slap a smile on his face that Sulu knew was forced, he just couldn't get the younger man to admit to it.

Spock was the hardest crew member to read, and Sulu would give nearly anything to know what went on in his head at any given point. However he knew there must still be emotion in him somewhere, because he still claimed to be emotionally compromised, and had left Kirk in charge.

Doctor McCoy was almost always complaining about something, usually about the Captain or the many dangers of space, or even Spock the 'Green Blooded Hobgoblin.'

The Former Captain Pike was still in sickbay, so Sulu hadn't been able to observe him yet, but he had decided that he must be as crazy as everyone else. Somehow.

Scotty, who Kirk had picked up off Delta Vega, was becoming rapidly obsessed with the Enterprise, and nearly every time Sulu saw him he would announce, "I like this ship!" And clap him on the back.

For a moment Sulu wondered if he was the only sane person left on the ship, but then realized that merely wanting to stay on this ship made him just as crazy.

The Enterprise herself was truly amazing, and Sulu understood Scotty's immediate love of her. Even without her core, she was still perhaps the smoothest ship Sulu had ever been on (not that he'd been on many. At this rate he thought he could stay on the Enterprise forever).

Kirk called the end of their shift, and Sulu saw Chekov wince a little as he stood up. "Chekov?" Sulu asked, "Are you alight?"

"Da." The Russian replied.

They both entered the same turbo lift, "Join me for dinner?" Sulu asked. Chekov nodded and began his nervous habit of rubbing his legs. "I don't bite."

"Huh?" Chekov's head jerked up, confusion writ on his face.

"I said I don't bite." Sulu smiled, "I've noticed you do that when you're nervous."

"Vhat else have you noticed?" Chekov looked frightened by the thought that Sulu had watched him.

Sulu shrugged, "I think you're nice, and don't seem to like people messing with your hair or being called Jailbait."

With a grin the Russian agreed, "Da."

"Lieutenant Uhura seems to like your hair. A lot."

Chekov nodded, "I do not mind her so much. She iz nice about et. The ozers, not so much." Sulu nodded, cataloguing that into his memory banks of things to remember about Chekov and Uhura.

The Lift doors opened and they both stepped out and started down the hall, toward the Cafeteria. Once they arrived they silently grabbed food from the replicators and sat down, still silent. Sulu scanned the room for a topic of conversation, but it turned out he didn't have to.

"Mister Scott seems to like sandvitches." The Russian was watching the engineer chew his way through a chicken sandwich, grinning happily.

"Yes, he does."

"Have you met him yet? He iz wery nice."

"No. No I haven't."

The Russian leapt to his feet, "I vill introduce you!" Before Sulu could stop him he was talking to the Engineer, and bringing the Engineer over to their table. "Mister Scott, this is Lieutenant Hik-A-Ru Soolu."

Sulu tried not to wince at the damage Chekov's accent did to his name. "Would you like to join us?" He asked.

Scott dropped his tray onto the table with a grin, "Aye laddie, ye don't haffta ask me twice."

Chekov sat back at his own food, taking small bites. To Sulu it looked completely foreign, and he assumed it was something Russian, thick, and creamy, and hot. Sulu would never tell the Russian, but it didn't look like something he would eat.

Scott's food was a chicken sandwich that he seemed to be enjoying every second of, Sulu wasn't paying much attention to him, but in between bites he was telling stories about someone named Keenser he had met on Delta Vega.

Chekov was grinning, and looking quite happy, nearly finished with his food when his eyes widened with shock. Sulu didn't get the chance to ask what was happening before his question was answered.

"Mind if we join you?" Kirk was already sitting down, and Sulu could see Doctor McCoy and Mister Spock headed toward them.

As Sulu and Scotty assured the captain that it would be wonderful, Sulu watched his Russian friend's eyes slowly grow wider and his body slowly grow more tense. McCoy sat down first, and Chekov seemed fine, but as Spock came closer Chekov suddenly stood and said, "Sorry Keptain, I just remembered somezing I have to do."

"Oh!" Kirk said in alarm, "Well I'll see you around?" But Chekov was already gone, out the door at a speed that would have put a warp engine to shame.

"This isn't our fault is it?" McCoy asked, eying the empty seat where Chekov had been sitting.

"I don't know." Sulu admitted.

Xxxxxxx

Pavel Chekov hated the sight of blood. It was thick and clumpy once it began to dry, but oozy and runny when the wound first opened. It was so acidic smelling and had that awful coppery tang. Yet he loved to see it running down his own arm. Maybe he loved the cuts so much, because he hated the blood as much as he hated himself.

Spock's mother had died, and he couldn't save her. He had seen Spock reach for the woman as he materialized, but of course, he had to know she was already gone.

Gone and dead, along with everyone else, all the others Chekov didn't even have a chance to save.

Once Chekov had looked up to Spock, admired him, and hoped to catch his attention, to be told he was 'adequate' or 'acceptable' or any other strange form of Vulcan praise. But now all Chekov wanted was to hide from him, to not see the pain and hurt in his commanding officer's eye.

He wrapped his arms tighter around his body, and leaned against the wall. Today had been a hard day, full of near misses. When Sulu had mentioned having noticed Chekov's nervous habit, he had been afraid he had been found out. Then when Mister Spock had started across the Cafeteria toward them, Chekov had known it was time to run.

He didn't want to see the hurt in the Vulcan's eyes. Would there be disappointment? Anger? Loneliness? Something else?

Chekov finally stood from where he had hidden in the corner. His leg muscles ached and protested, but he forced them to work. Once again he silently thanked Starfleet for deciding that he was too young to share a bathroom with another. He could share one if he picked someone, but if someone else had quarters on the other side of his bathroom, they'd see the knife he hid in the drawer, or the blood if he didn't get it up. They would hear him cry as he sat on the tub and opened wounds in his legs and arms.

They would think he was weak, and he couldn't stand that.

He entered the bathroom silently and got the knife out of the door. Usually he cut as soon as possible after eating, so the wounds had time to close before he slept and he wouldn't have to risk them opening in his sleep.

The destruction of Vulcan hadn't been the only cause, just the straw that broke the camel's back. As he slid the knife into his flesh, he remembered sitting locked into the bathroom in his dorm at the Academy, a knife in his hand, missing home and having no friends to care for him. He remembered the betrayal in his friend's eyes as he told them he was leaving. His mother's constant calls that he had stopped returning.

It wasn't just Vulcan and Spock's mother. It was so many other things, things his seventeen year old mind was too young to process, but he didn't understand that, he just thought there was something wrong with him.

So he sat there, opening wounds in his body, and remembering how it cleared his mind, if he just applied pressure to them during his shift, rubbing his legs and squeezing his wrists. It was punishment. It was justice. It was right.

Because he, Pavel Chekov, was an awful person.

Xxxxxxx

Please, if you self harm or have a friend who self harms, get help. There are guidance councilors at schools and anonymous sites on the web (befrienders . org is what I have experience with).