Chekov bolted out of bed. Dizzy, he looked at his chronometer. 4:00 a.m. Cradling his head in his hands, he felt the pounding in his temples. Getting up, he took a shower, turning it up as hot as he could bear.
Feeling better, he got dressed, and went to the galley. He got hot black tea, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. The hunger of yesterday came back to him with a vengeance, and he went and got a second plate. Satisfied, he went back to his room.
Turning on his computer, he looked again at the area of space surrounding Serenoa II. Not only was it near the Neutral Zone, he saw, but also a strange gas cloud. The gas cloud was huge, able to contain a whole star system, but had never been explored as long range sensors had been unable to function inside the cloud. There had been disappearances, also, along the rim of the cloud over the years. Checking the time, Chekov decided to be early for his shift.
Getting out of the turbo lift, he relieved the navigator and sat down. To his irritation, he realized that all the adjustments he had made earlier were now totally gone. From the little things, like the pressure of the controls, to the larger things, like the shortcut he had routed into the system. Squaring his jaw, he became engrossed in reinstalling it all again, and making them permanent.
So involved did he get, he was not aware when Sulu sat down next to him. In fact, he did not even notice when the captain had entered the bridge.
"Mr. Chekov, you will report to Doctor McCoy when your shift is over." Chekov started.
"Pardon, sair?" What had he done now?
"Your physical, Mr. Chekov." Damn. He hated hospitals, ever since his mother had taken him to one for a shattered arm when he was six. He had spent the whole time alone, confused, and frightened. And after that, every time he went to a hospital, it was for a severe injury that his mother or uncles could not treat. Understandably he now avoided hospitals and labs like the plague, but this time there was no way out.
"Aye, sair." At least he had time to mentally get ready.
It was with great trepidation that he made his way down the hall to sickbay. Bracing himself, he stepped into the waiting room. He sat down and waited for the inevitable.
McCoy stepped from his office into the waiting area, and found the person he was looking for. But instead of getting up, the ensign seemed to be staring intently at the wall, his whole body tense, unaware that he had entered.
Raising an eyebrow at this, McCoy said, "Come on, then." Leading to the examining room, McCoy asked, "Ensign Pavel Chekov, correct?"
"Yes sair." very tense, he decided.
"Well, take off your shirt and have a seat on the table." After hesitating, Chekov complied, already feeling the strain of controlling his anxiety.
"Lay down and try to relax." Chekov slowly laid back, his eyes shut tight. How does someone who's heart's jumping out of his chest relax? He felt his throat and chest tightening painfully, choking him.
McCoy took his medical tricorder and held it above Chekov's body. His eyes widened, and he felt Chekov's pulse. It was faster than it had any right to be, and breathing was nonexistent. Quickly grabbing a light sedative, he quickly spayed it into Chekov's bloodstream. He watched in relief as the heart rate slowed, and his breathing evened out.
Chekov blinked. He felt much better, but inside he was ashamed that the doctor had had to administer medicine for his stress.
"Let's start out with weight and measurement," suggested McCoy, troubled by what had just happened. Standing on the scale, the reading came as 150 pounds. The height reading was 5 foot, 5 inches.
Next McCoy checked his eyes, ears, throat, endurance, and reflexes all without incident. After taking notes, he took a blood sample to do a blood work. When that was finished, McCoy decided to try the scan again.
"Is it alright if I take a few scans?" Chekov nodded. This time, to McCoy's great relief, it passed with out incident. Heart rate, breathing rate, metabolism, bone structure, brain waves ... his instruments gave a beep which meant some abnormal reading. Looking closely, he pinpointed the source. Underneath Chekov's thick brown hair, there was a vicious scar. Examining it carefully, McCoy found it was made by impact by a blunt object. He pushed speculations from his mind. Time for that later. Turning off his medical tricorder, he told Chekov to put his shirt back on.
"Now, I'd like to ask some questions." Getting no answer, he continued.
"I was looking over your file. You're nineteen, correct?" A nod. "You seemed to have lots of injuries in your early years. Any particular reason?"
Chekov gave a weak smile. "I vas wery clumsy." And not fast enough to dodge.
"Uh huh. Any problems lately? You looked rather ill last night."
"I am uncomfortable around lots of people."
"Have you always been?" When Chekov hesitated, McCoy decided to lay down the line. "I want to make a few things clear. Anything you confide to me is private, as long as it does not jeopardize the ship. I am not just here to fix up wounds and fractures, I'm here to make sure everyone onboard is fit. Not just physically, but mentally and to some point, emotionally. And above all, I'm here to help you. Now, have you always been uncomfortable around crowds?"
"Nyet."
At least he's talking, thought McCoy. Out loud, he continued. "Do you know when it started?"
"Vhen I was nine."
"For any particular reason?"
"I... hed a bad experience."
"Was that where you got the head wound?" Chekov looked at his hands and mumbled something.
"I can see you've had good medical treatment. None of your injuries have left marks, except for that one. Why?"
"I did not vant to trouble my mother."
McCoy sighed. "I want you here for a psychological evaluation soon. I'll notify you. Anything else?"
"Ny- No."
"Alright then, I'm finished. But I want you to remember," he added, "That I am here anytime if you need help. Or just someone to talk to."
Chekov nodded and left. McCoy hit the intercom. "Jim, can I see you in my office?"
"Yes. What is it, Bones?"
"It's about your new navigator."
"On my way."
Kirk stepped into McCoy's office three minutes later, and took a seat. McCoy decided to cut to the chase.
"I'm going to be frank, Jim, and I don't want what we're discussing to leave here. I'm concerned about Chekov."
Kirk started. "Why? Is he unfit?"
"No, he's perfectly fit. Physically, that is. According to his records, he was hospitalized at various times in his childhood. He's had a shattered humerus, internal bleeding and head trauma on various occasions, and more bruises and lacerations than I can count. He passed them off as his clumsiness. If he had not had treatment for these, he would be a cripple." He left out Chekov's panic attack earlier.
"Is he mentally sound?"
"I'm going to do a psychological evaluation tomorrow, and then we'll see. But from I've gathered, he's a hardy young man that has great potential. He just needs a little time to adjust."
Chekov climbed out of the swimming pool in the gym, dripping wet and tired. He had swam at least 600 yards, but was feeling better than he had all day. He saw Sulu over by the weights, and caught his eye. Giving a wave, Sulu came over.
"You wanna go to get a drink or something?"
"Sure." After getting his uniform on, they walked down the hall to rec room 3.
"So, how did your physical go?" asked Sulu.
"Doctair McCoy is a wery good physician," Chekov said neutrally. "I haf never had a painless medical wisit before." He mentally kicked himself. Idiot, for letting that slip.
Sulu's ears perked at that, but decided to leave sleeping dogs lie. Instead, they talked about nothing in particular: work, favorite pastimes. Everything was going fine until Sulu mentioned his brother's wedding.
"Obechi's getting married soon. He's my older brother. What's your family like, Chekov?"
"Vell, my mother's dead. I hed no siblings."
"I'm so sorry to hear that. What about your father?"
What was he supposed to say? In prison? He gave a vague answer. "I do not talk to him anymore." He busied himself with his drink.
A huge meaty hand grabbed Chekov's shoulder and roughly spun him around. He was staring into the grinning red face of Lt Callahan.
"There you are. Been hiding?" He looked at Sulu, who had one hand on the table, ready to jump up. "I see you made a friend. What'd you have to do for it?" He leered.
Chekov's face went pale with rage. He had been pushed around, bullied, and beaten since he could remember. But now he was big enough to fight back capably. "Get away from me, sobaka," he spat, throwing Callahan's hand off his shoulder.
"You little Russian bastard!" growled Callahan, and yanked Chekov out of his chair and threw him. He fell into another table, upsetting it. By now people were aware of a fight. Some crowded around, while others left. Chekov whirled around and dodged Callahan's fist.
It became clear that the fight was in Chekov's favor. His small size was compensated with his speed and wiry strength. Callahan, while stronger and bigger, was slow and did not land many blows. Chekov grimly took the hits, but dodged most and landed many of his own. Sweeping his legs out from under him, Callahan grabbed Chekov by the throat.
Chekov's eyes widened in terror as memories rushed back.
slammed into a wall, scrambling away, lifted up by his neck- O God-
Fear gave him strength. He broke the hold around his neck, and mindlessly attacked Callahan. He punched, again and again, until he was aware that security had come and pulled him away. Still he struggled to get at Callahan. Then he saw a figure at the door. Kirk.
The fight left him in an instant and he sagged between the two men. They went to carry him out, but as they passed Kirk, he stopped them.
"Gentlemen, what just happened?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were sparking with anger. Callahan was quick to supply his version of events.
"That...boy," he spat, "Insulted, then assaulted a superior officer! Which is against regulations!"
"Yes, I know it's against regulations, but was there a reason?"
"I merely asked him if he had made a friend."
"Mr Chekov, do you have anything to say?"
Chekov was at a loss of what to say. That Callahan had insinuated that he had... acquired Sulu's friendship? Unthinkable. That Callahan was a bully and was threatening him? Just as absurd. For one thing, he had no proof, other than his word.
"No, sair."
Scotty came out from the crowd. "Sir, the lad wasnae in the wrong! He was mindin' his own business, and Callahan came up and put his hand on his shoulder and said somethin' that I dinnae hear. Then he said somethin' and threw his hand off, then next thing, Callahan threw him intae me table!" Sulu nodded his agreement, as did other witnesses.
"So, Callahan, you started it. Go to your quarters."
"But sir-"
"Now!"
Callahan left in a storm. Kirk turned the the security personnel holding Chekov. "Let him go. Are you alright, Mr. Chekov?"
"Yes sair. It vould take more than him to harm me. I'm Russian."
Kirk smiled a little. "I should have known. However, I'd like to advice you to not brawl onboard again, Russian or no." Then he left.
After assuring Sulu he was alright, Chekov bid him good night, and went to his room. Flopping on his bed, he stared at the ceiling. Well, he had come off rather unhurt in that fight. But the memories! God, he was trembling. They haunted him like shadows, surfacing from innocent words or actions around him. Would he ever be rid of them? At the academy, he had been to busy and too tired to notice them. But now that he was here, they clawed at him ceaselessly.
Wiping the sweat from his face, he got out of his uniform and got into bed. As he drifted off, he thought of Sulu and Scott, two men who were willing to put themselves in harm's way for him, their friend.
His sleep was without dreams.
The Almighty Panamint: Hope you haven't hurt yourself with all those backflips I'm glad you're enjoying it! Love your stories!
Smiley: Thank you. "Beam me up, Scotty!" (The most famous line never spoken ;)
lettuchi: Glad you like. Where are your stories? I'm intrigued.
Next up: Why Chekov was chosen for Enterprise! Uncles Yuri and Yoni! And finally, Action!
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