Watching Chekov Sleep

Jim Kirk was feeling old.

He laughed at himself, the smallest bit, for indulging the thought – but there was an element of truth in it.

He had been so used to being the boy-wonder genius juvenile-delinquent-turned-star-pupil-at-the-Academy that his head hurt a little when he was faced with – Well, pretty much everybody he worked with, now, on a daily basis.

Any conversation with his Science Officer made him feel like an idiot. It didn't help that the Vulcan clearly talked slowly a lot of the time and carefully picked words his colleagues would get (with less than perfect success, if truth be told), just so they could keep up. The unintentional eyebrow that Spock employed when the Captain was being particularly dense didn't make Jim feel any smarter, for that matter. But Spock was too courteous to actually use the word "simpleton," and he kept up the polite fiction of intellectual equality with well bred dignity. The fact that he was kind about it just made the situation weirder. Spock had an excuse, Jim conceded: He was of genetically superior stock, even if it pretty much sucked to be Vulcan.

The Chief Engineer was brilliant, of course, in his field. But Jim and Scotty were kindred spirits - and Scotty would get wound up on his own particular rant, and carry Jim along for the ride. Jim already had a bent for the mechanical, and sub-spec'ed in Engineering, so it wasn't all new. Anything he didn't get, he could blame on the accent - and if he looked doubtful, Scott would wind back up… Besides, Scotty's natural expectation that Jim was gonna get it, pretty much ensured that he did, most of the time.

But Chekov? Chekov made him feel old.

A certified genius, the Navigator was the fresh-faced wunderkind of two continents. When his mind was engaged, he was a half-intelligible whirlwind of enthusiasm. His words came fast and thick, and he switched between Russian thought and Standard words in the blink of an eye. He and Spock could converse about astrophysics and tactics at full speed, and Spock would then turn to confirm and interpret what Chekov had said.

The rest of the time, Pavel was a wide-eyed eighteen.

The Captain was aware, from the records, that Chekov's gifts had been recognized early. Special schools, and specialized training, were what he knew. He had probably known few children, and had little experience being one: He had been surrounded by adults, and grown-up expectations, from his youngest days. He still was eager to please - and had the self-awareness to know that he had a natural ability to do so. This confidence stood him in good stead: After initial shock at his boyish appearance, once he spoke, people generally took him at his own estimation, quickly forgetting to count his years.

But, now, as the shuttle carried them shipward, Chekov slept.

Nearly everyone looks younger as he sleeps, Jim knew. But Chekov was young – and he possessed so few that a few years melting away made him look almost childlike.

Watching him sleep, Jim was reminded once again, of the fragility of human life.

Doctor McCoy could dream up a million things that could go wrong out here, point out a million ways they could die. But Bones would fight, to his last breath, to keep any one of them alive.

It was Captain Kirk's job to make sure he didn't have to.

Way too often, Jim Kirk failed miserably.

He was surrounded by the best and brightest. They gave their all - the best days of their youth, most of them – at his command. They had to believe that he knew what he was doing…

He remembered watching Captain Pike, and thinking that Pike had all the answers. There were times that he thought that, since he did not agree 100%, there must just be information Pike possessed of which he, Kirk, was simply not aware.

Then Pike had shown he was human.

In frustration Jim Kirk had challenged Spock's reasoning on the Bridge. The Vulcan was in command – by talent, by training, by experience - rightly so. And Jim, disgraced cadet and former boy-wonder, had challenged his superior's decisions.

In the end, he had been rewarded for it.

He glanced, now, to where Spock sat, firmly focused on the task of piloting the shuttle craft. It was strange to think that, as a starship captain, the ship's own forces were the least of what Kirk had at his command.

Like Spock, like Pike – like all of the ships' commanders going back through the ages – Jim Kirk was making it up as he went along. He did his best, acted according to his conscience, tried to guess right. His best was its best when he trusted in those under him (now there was a humbling thought) and he ignored them at his peril – a peril, then, they all would share.

Jim Kirk looked around at the faces of his crew.

Chekov's curls were flattened against the headrest, and his shoulders hunched a little to keep his head from lolling. Not a single line marked his smooth soft face… Long lashes curled on his pink-and-white cheeks.

On Pavel Chekov's sleeping face, he saw all of the trust and innocence that his own had lost long before it had ever gained its first scar.

Jim Kirk hoped his decisions and actions would not wipe away what he saw there. He hoped he could bring the boy safely home.

Pavel Andreivich slept – and Captain Kirk felt old.