After the Rain Has Fallen
Chekov
The vodka bottle was in front of him, opened and begging to be drunk, but Chekov had no love in his heart for his native liquor tonight. Getting drunk, while it would erase the pain he felt in his heart, was not a good idea on the night before his captain's funeral.
James Kirk had been a father to him in many ways, more ways than his own had ever been to him. Andrei Chekov was not a loving man, nor very supportive, and definitely had a perspective unlike Kirk's. Whereas Kirk had seen large pictures and small frames, Andrei had just seen little pictures. Just as he had always seen his son.
Chekov balled his fist, tightening it as the memories swept over him. With a quick rap of his fist on the table, the memories halted. He hadn't come to this place, this bar, to remember his father. No, he came to honor the man who should've been.
It was barely a week ago, when he and the captain had come here. It was the day before the launch of the Enterprise-B. Kirk had come back from Vulcan, where he'd been visiting with Spock and McCoy, neither of whom would be present at the maiden voyage. Chekov himself had just come from the Academy, from another day of teaching brave men and women the fine art of being a security chief. They had met to reminisce, and reminisce they had. Now Chekov did it alone.
He remembered the laughing, hazel-eyed man who had sat across from him here, speaking fondly of encounters had in the previous Enterprise ships. Of Tholians and Horta, Klingons and Romulans, of the innocent Edith Keeler, of Khan, of Carol and David Marcus...the list seemed to dance from one fantastical tale to the next, and every time Chekov opened his mouth to contribute, he felt as though he could only diminish the great tales. He had been content to listen to his longtime friend and commanding officer, for Kirk's charisma had long exercised its power over men and women alike.
Now Chekov did it alone.
"Pardon me, Commander Chekov."
Chekov looked up, finding one of his security cadets before him. "Is there something I can do for you, Cadet Mueller?"
The young man fidgeted. "I'd like to express my condolences, sir. I know that Captain Kirk was a good friend of yours."
Chekov studied the earnest man before him, and noted with amusement that the man seemed to morph from Cadet Jonathan Mueller to Ensign Pavel Chekov. "Please sit, Cadet. And thank you."
"It's the least I can do, sir. I mean, I feel bad about it and I didn't know him." Mueller sat, unknowingly evicting the echo of Kirk from the chair across from Chekov.
"I think everyone knew the captain," Chekov replied. "Because he was like the best part of humanity right in front of us all."
"He was everything I wanted to be," Mueller whispered. "He was courageous and strong, loyal and honorable. He did so many impossible things, so many good things, and when I met him, just after entering the Academy, he was so modest. He was a good man."
"He was a good man," Chekov agreed. "I will never forget him."
Mueller looked at the older man, noting the bemused look in his eye. "Is there something on my face, sir?" He began rubbing his face self- consciously.
"No, no Mueller, there's nothing there." Chekov smiled at the man before him. "Right then, you sounded just like I used to. For a moment there, you reminded me of me."
The man smiled. "Thank you, sir. That's the highest compliment I've ever been paid." He stood. "I'll, uh, see you in class, sir." With that, he turned and left.
Chekov sat silently, staring at the chair he'd vacated for a few minutes. "So that's what it feels like," he murmured, "to be hero- worshipped." Taking the vodka bottle, he poured himself a drink and raised it. "To you, James T. Kirk. May you forever inspire generations of young Starfleet cadets." Downing the shot, he paid his bar bill and left.
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Don't forget to leave a comment on your way out! Thanks to the reviewers so far: Tavia, Mysterious Reviewer, Katharina-B, S. Mushita, and Miss Perfect. You guys rock.
And hey...I almost made it to a year without updating. I'll try to do better next time.