Hi all! Sorry I haven't been updating - I've been writing as much of this fic as I can. So far, the grand total is 96 pages and I'm not even done yet - apparently, Chekov has a long way to go before he can finally get better. The good news is that there's a ton more material to come! The bad news (for me at least) is that the late night writing continues indefinitely. Which is a good thing. I'd rather have a lot to say than nothing at all, and hey! I at least know where I am going to end :)
Your reviews, follows and favourites are very much appreciated, as always! Big high fives to y'all.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, NOOOTHING.
{March, 2264}
His twenty-third birthday comes and goes without any fanfare. Scotty calls once to say hello and wish him a happy birthday, but the call doesn't last very long; Chekov hears something that sounds vaguely like gunshots before Scotty yells into the receiver, "Happy birthday, Pavel, I'll see you soon!" before dropping the phone.
He hasn't heard from him since, but he figures that he'd know if something happened to the Scotsman.
Sulu doesn't call, but Chekov knows better than to expect anything from the new captain. He understands the difficulty of placing a long-distance call when you're light years and hundreds of quadrants away from Earth. Still, he can't help but feel a bubble of resentment well up in his throat. He could have tried.
No he couldn't, the logical part of him says sternly. Chekov listens to this part because the alternative – that Sulu just doesn't care, or worse, is dead – is harder to think about.
His parents don't call, of course, and Chekov is thankful for that because it means that he doesn't have to tiptoe around their questions. His mother, inevitably, would ask when he was going to go back to work and his father – well, there was no telling what his father might do. Probably demand to know why his only son was sitting on his ass and not doing any bloody work. This is all Chekov needs to think about any time he thinks about returning to Russia. It's scarily effective in quashing any hopes for homecoming.
So his birthday comes and goes like any normal day. Chekov doesn't mention it at his new job, and nobody asks. Starfleet apparently remembers, because a small card stiffly wishing him a happy birthday arrives in his mailbox, but it's so formally written that Chekov tears it up and throws it away. "There's more warmth in the freezer," he mutters bitterly.
He spends the night paging through photos of the last time the Enterprise had celebrated his birthday. They're all stored on the small screen Sulu had tossed at him during his angry exit almost six months ago, and Chekov can't help but turn the cold object over in his hands, searching for some sort of message Sulu had left for him. Instead, all he finds are the photos, and a file labeled 'videos' that Chekov can't yet bring himself to watch.
He finds his favourite snapshot very quickly – it's a shot where Uhura is leaning her cheek on his head, arms wrapped around both him and Spock. He remembers this moment, can still smell her jasmine perfume that he'd bought for her (with Sulu and Kirk's help) for her birthday three months earlier. In the background, Kirk is animatedly waving his hands around as Bones covers his face – such a testament of their relationship. Sulu and Scotty are busy talking about something on Chekov's right side, their eyes alight with youthful excitement.
It's such a simple shot, but Chekov feels himself longing for the easy days of the Enterprise, when he could be useful and needed and loved. He belonged out there in space with these people, not stuck in a tiny, cramped flat with no one but his convoluted thoughts and memories. He didn't belong to this moment. How long before you are rendered obsolete?
He falls asleep in front of the hologram, and wakes to the sound of buzzing at the main door. The clock reads eight a.m. and Chekov groans. "It's inhuman to be awake before noon on a weekend," he grumbles to the room.
His fridge hums, which he takes as a sign of agreement.
The buzzer sounds again, much more persistently this time, so Chekov sighs and rolls out of bed. "If it's that damn postman again-"
He slides his finger across the computerized screen and the machine hums to life. "You have a guest, Mr. Chekov," the female voice announces.
"Tell me something I don't know." Chekov hits the 'open' button without even checking who it is. "Yeah, come on in, Scotty."
He's expecting Scotty to come barreling through the door, brimming with stories and excitement and general sunny joy oozing from his pores, but instead, there are just three raps on the door. Chekov's pulse quickens. He recognizes those taps – they'd woken him up every morning on the Enterprise, those standardized military knocks.
So when he swings the door open, he's not surprised to see Sulu standing there, hands in his pockets. "Surprise," Sulu says, smiling wanly. "Sorry I'm so late. Happy birthday."
I do love me some Sulu.
Reviews as always, much appreciated :)
Much love,ohlookrandom
