Summery: Weeks into the aftermath following the encounter with Nero, Chekov is struggling to come to terms with one fateful incident. Rated K+
A/N: I'm not exactly sure where this came from, honestly. I've never, ever had any ideas or even the desire to write for the Star Trek universe and I probably never will again, but after watching all three of the reboots this week, something struck me about the scene where Chekov tries to beam up the Vulcan survivors and…loses one.
How would that affect him in the following days, knowing he was the one at the controls? How, being a seventeen year old kid at the time, would he deal with this? I don't have all the answers, not yet, anyway, and since I'm a complete novice in this universe I can't guarantee that everything's canon and/or in character and I'm not necessarily looking for comments or critiques… It's just a scene that I needed to write down.
The Corridor
It was quiet. A rare and blessed day of relative calm. There were no alerts, no interruptions, no sudden calamities (at least not yet), and everything was running remarkably smoothly. With most of the crew off enjoying some much-deserved shore leave, the place felt oddly deserted, corridors clear of the chaotic congestion of a busy starship, the stillness only broken by footsteps as a tall figure made his way to the bridge.
Usually, James T. Kirk would have taken this as a sign that something big was about to drop, probably something epic and disastrous. Today, however, he was content, willing to hold on to this peaceful anomaly for as long as it lasted, maybe get a thing or two done around here while there were no distractions. And the sooner the better, because he was next in line for some downtime.
As he neared the lift, another sound, a sort of snuffling, coughing sob from just beyond the entrance, caught his attention, drawing him out of the familiar one-track buzz of a captain's thought process he had begun to adopt as the norm. This wasn't a sound one tended to hear within the circulating passages of the Enterprise, even with no one else around. Curious, he paused, one foot still poised to take him where he knew he should be by now, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he should take a second to check it out.
Kirk had never been one to go against gut instinct and backtracked automatically, poking his head around the corner…
He froze, stomach sinking.
At the farthest end of the adjoining corridor was a hunched human figure, gold shirt, black pants, sitting with forehead resting on drawn-up knees while hands gripped at hair. And there were tears. Kirk couldn't see them, but there was no doubt they were there.
The kid was a complete whiz. Pure genius with a bright future and all the enthusiasm to back it…but he was still just a kid. Seventeen, in fact. Barely old enough to drive on Earth let alone navigate a Federation starship through uncharted space.
And yet here he was. One of the crew. Part of the family.
Naturally, Chekov was expected to be at peak performance, mentally, physically and emotionally, no matter the situation, but even the senior staff, of which he happened to be a member, needed a break here and there. What was he doing still aboard the ship while pretty much everyone else was recharging and living it up on the planet below?
It occurred to Kirk then that it had been several weeks since their harrowing encounter with Nero. Without Chekov's brilliant, quick-witted calculations at the transporter console, Kirk and several others would no longer be here. For that and his more than admirable conduct during the entire ordeal, the Ensign had been subjected to a long string of generous commendations, always accepting them with a modest nod and his friendly smile. However, it soon became evident that there was something dark and guilt-ridden eating at him beneath the forced cheerful exterior. It was hard to miss, even for those who didn't know him well.
Day by day, they observed as the smile faded, the shoulders drooped, the eyes dulled, eclipsing the vibrant personality everyone had grown to love. Obviously, this wasn't typical Chekov behavior and now that he thought about it, really thought about it, Kirk finally came to a conclusion and had to wonder how the boy had managed to keep it bottled up inside for this long.
Well, until now.
Chekov appeared to have collapsed here in the hall on the way to his destination, façade shattered, emotions left raw and exposed. It pained Kirk to imagine how many times the kid must have repeated this journey within the last month - retreating to the safety of some private sanctuary, letting it all out, gathering a shred of composure in order to face the world again, only for it to come to a crashing end on the floor of a mostly empty starship.
It was never Kirk's intention to callously glaze over the Nero incident and shove onward. The newly-promoted Captain of the Enterprise had simply been so busy handling the aftermath and juggling new responsibilities that he'd hardly stopped to think about how it might have affected everyone else…how it might have affected their youngest shipmate, a key player in one event in particular.
He needed to address this, he needed to fix this, right here, right now. Clearing his throat, the Captain stepped around the corner.
Chekov started, head snapping up and face draining of all color when he saw who was joining him.
"Keptin!" he spluttered, drawing a sleeve across his face in a pointless attempt to clear the evidence of his distress while scrambling unsuccessfully to jump to his feet. "I'm sorry, Keptin, I was just…"
Coming toward him, Kirk lifted a hand. "No, no, as you were, Mister Chekov. I think I know why you're here."
"Y-you do?" There was a note of worry in the crewman's voice.
Kirk came to a standstill, then lowered himself to claim a patch of floor a few feet away from the young man. Chekov stiffened a little, not entirely sure what to think of this move.
It was Kirk who broke the slightly awkward silence. "I've noticed a pretty sizable drop in your performance lately."
The teen's features dissolved into a poorly concealed expression of intense anxiety.
"Something you want to talk about?"
As expected, the answer came a little too fast, a little too abruptly.
"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll…I'll try to do better." The navigator made to get up again, eager to be free from the scrutiny of his commanding officer.
"Whoa, hold on a sec, you're not in trouble and I'm not gonna chew you out or anything like that, so relax. I'm just very concerned. We all are."
The kid nodded, settling again (albeit uneasily) with his arms folded on top of his knees, unable to return Kirk's gaze and swallowing hard before opening his mouth. For a second, the Captain thought he'd coaxed out a response, but within the same beat, Chekov was chewing a lip instead of offering answers. Perhaps another angle?
"Chekov, all I want...no, all we want is for you to be ok. You're part of this crew. A big part. And when somebody isn't pulling his weight…well, you probably get where I'm headed with this speech, so I'll skip to the end where I ask you, both as your Captain and friend…what's going on?"
The muscle working in the younger crewman's temple hinted at the difficult battle being waged within.
"It's…it's just…" he said at last, "a few weeks ago…in ze transporter room when…"
Kirk waited.
"Keptin…I lost her. I should hef been able… I…lost C-commander Spock's m-m…" Chekov choked on the last word, face falling again while his fists clenched.
This was as much of an explanation as Kirk was going to get, but it was all he needed.
"I understand," he said, crossing his arms atop his own knees. "It was truly, unfathomably…horrific, but it was ultimately an accident. Beyond your control. Beyond anyone's control. And I need you to understand that as much as we want and try to, we can't always save everyone."
Chekov remained silent, a single tear escaping his failing emotional ruse as he closed his eyes.
"It's the grittier end of what we do out here and it hurts, I know. It hurts like the mother of all…" the senior officer caught himself, deciding that now was not exactly the time for expletives. "It wasn't your fault. Any of it. And don't you dare think for a second that anybody aboard this ship blames you."
"Y-yes, Keptin," came the rather unconvincing reply.
"The only one still beating you up about it is…well, yourself. It's killing you from the inside and you have got to stop. That's an order."
A slight nod. "Aye, Keptin."
Kirk sighed. "Listen, you're not alone on the Enterprise and we're gonna get through this. Together. People care about you and want to help you climb out of this hole, me included. And one day you'll realize that…that things just…happen. Things we can't predict, things we can't control or change and we may never figure out why they go the way they do. That doesn't make them any less painful or real, but…"
Kirk drifted, offering a raised eyebrow and an encouraging smile as Chekov at last turned a pair of bloodshot eyes toward him.
"In the meantime, our job is to be here for each other, to remember what we've lost and cherish what we have left…and hang on for the next ride."
