Pavel Chekov sat in the bow of the schooner, legs stretched out before him as he happily watched the water rush at the hull. The spray covered his face and hair with a delicious mist.

The boat steerer's eyes were fixed on the harbor they approached. Small water craft, moored against the encroaching tide, were already dotting the horizon. Kirk shifted uncomfortably and glanced down again at the silent radio in the binnacle box.

This harbor was so familiar, the Captain was sure he could almost navigate it with his eyes closed. The positions of the craft bobbing in the water were predictable and he knew the feel of the sea as it ebbed easily against the land now hedging it in.

That was with his sailboat, however. A schooner this size required contact and directions from the Harbormaster. Kirk had expected to hear from them by now as they were well visible. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was supposed to initiate the contact. He was not entirely versed in the regulations covering larger watercraft.

"Pavel! Chekov!"

The Navigator smiled cryptically and kept staring at the whitecaps that were being thrown up by the wind.

"Chekov!" While it had been a friendly entreaty before, the tone was a commanding one now. Captains... He twisted around after a moment to peer at the man at the wheel.

"We need to start getting these sails in."

Brown eyes wide and innocent, Chekov flashed a brilliant smile at Kirk. "Wait."

"Pavel!" Kirk shifted again. "What's the Harbormaster's frequency?"

He shook his head and shrugged. Turning back around, he waved a hand in dismissal.

"Pav...! Uhura," the Captain spat out. "Take the wheel."

Kirk swept forward, taking the companionway in one leap and jogging up to where the Navigator sat. "Chekov," he informed him evenly. "We're far past the point of needing to be under engine power. Come up and take over the steering. We'll get the sails in while you deal with the Harbormaster."

The Navigator sighed visibly and remained staring out at the water filling the harbor they approached. Finally, he crossed his ankles leisurely and folded his arms across his chest. "Nyet," he said broadly. "You go ahead."

Hazel eyes frozen on him, Chekov made no indication that he knew the man was still standing there. Kirk finally squat down so that he was eye level with the younger man. "It wasn't your fault, Pavel."

"There are storm shields around the land," the Navigator said without looking at him. "No sane person goes to sea with the same assumption. Checking the weather report was a priority."

"A man must be mad to venture out upon the seas," the Captain quoted. "It's pretty much inherent in the whole thing. Pavel, I knew you weren't the kind of man who was going to lose your ship."

"Yes," Chekov agreed thoughtfully. "The ship belongs to the Captain." He glanced over at Kirk with cryptic gleam in his dark eyes. "But the lifeboats belong to the crew."

James Kirk laughed, hazel eyes sparkling. "I never thought of it in those terms. Gives a commanding officer good incentive to save the ship."

"Yes," the Navigator agreed again. He turned his gaze back to the water, but stopped the older man before he spoke. "Captain, I was the crew. I've been out of the Academy less than a year. It was a reminder that when the ship is the only thing keeping you safe–either from the expansive sea or the vacuum of space–even small mistakes by her commander can be life-altering. In the worse way."

Kirk sighed. "Pavel, you're so hard on yourself, you pretty much eliminate any requirement for me to discipline you."

"Anything to make your job easier."

The Captain studied the young man's features. It wasn't surprising that the Navigator found a kindred spirit in the Enterprise's First Officer: Chekov had no tolerance for his own human faults. His heart held boundless understanding for the same in others, however. He stood up.

"Pavel, you have to come take the wheel."

"Eventually."

"Now."

Dark eyes glanced up at the Captain sharply. "Jim, you have control issues. Exactly who is in command of this ship?"

"You are," Kirk said. "Which means you are going to be held responsible for bringing this ship in with everything flying. The fines and the time in the penal colony are going to be all yours."

"I'll accept that."

Lines furrowing his brow, the older man eyed Chekov, disgruntled. What he'd said earlier was a boldfaced lie. There was no way anyone would hold a newly commissioned Ensign responsible when there was an experienced flag officer aboard. "You do have a Master's license?" he asked suddenly as the thought occurred to him.

"Why would you assume I do just because I know how to clean decks with a brick? Hornblower was an officer, I was a sailor. I've still got the scars on my knees to prove it."

"You don't have any scars," Kirk retorted.

Chekov gave him a strange look. "I had no idea you'd taken the time to check out my legs."

"Of course I checked them out," he said. "You won the contest."

His soulful eyes widened and Kirk smirked. The wholesome, innocent facade the young man carefully perfected had become completely opaque to him. Chekov was full of shit. "Ensign, you'd be surprised the things a captain knows.

"Now let's start getting these sails in."

He was surprised when the younger man still shook his head. "Not yet. Go steer and I'll let you know when."

"We're past the legal limit," Kirk insisted.

Smiling, Chekov's eyes were warm: a shine in their dark depths. "I'll take care of the Harbormaster. Trust me, Jim."

The Navigator's use of his given name was downright calculating, Kirk thought with as much care. "Pavel," he drew out after a moment. "Tell me that you're not planning to bring her into the harbor under sail."

Cocking his head, Chekov grinned devilishly. "It was your idea."

"My... it was a random observation!" the Captain retorted. "Not a suggestion. It is so far beyond legal..."

"And James Kirk would never push a regulation," the Navigator observed wryly.

Kirk blinked, straightening. He hadn't really considered the race a team building exercise. When they'd left the Enterprise, however, he never would have expected his Chief Navigator to stand toe to toe with them like he'd been doing. Results came from unexpected sources.

"Face it, you want to sail her in," the young man said.

"Yes," the Captain admitted. "I'm not sure it's worth the time in a penal colony."

A massive pout took over the Navigator's face as he fell into a sulk. "You don't trust me."

Hazel eyes narrowing, Kirk studied the young man thoughtfully. "Pavel, did you already make arrangements to do this?" he demanded suddenly, glancing briefly toward the unseen Harbormaster's office.

Chekov laughed, a wild, crooked grin splitting his face. "You'd be surprised at the power beind the Russian Navy. Go for it, Jim."