AN: I just love the concept of papa bear Bones and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!
The living room was vacant by the time Chekov rose and dressed the next morning. He read the clock.
5:48 a.m.
Rain tapped against the windows. He stood for a moment, savouring the silence. His fists clenched.
Padding down the hall, he cracked open the door for Bones' room. It had a different layout, less Spartan than his own space. Children's drawings adorned one wall. The doctor had rolled onto his stomach at some point, a cocoon of down and fleece. Only his scruff of hair poked out the top. Chekov shut the door and began to clean up empty boxes, sweep the floors, and put on a load of laundry.
Hours passed and Chekov grew concerned. Surely they ate consistent meals? Breakfast was the most important!
With this in mind, Pavel headed for the kitchen. A peruse of the fridge and pantry drawers left him even more worried. He bit at his lower lip.
"They forgot groceries," he whispered to himself. "Zis won't do."
Mind made up, Chekov marched to the door. He patted his trouser pockets and found his keys and wallet. He counted the slips.
Should be enough for some fruit and eggs. Oh! And of course milk for the cereal. Perhaps I could buy a package of Bones' beloved bacon…
After locking the door, he trundled down the stairs and out into the wet streets. Even at the early hour, droves of people milled about the tight alleys.
Chekov shivered, his breath puffing out in snowy bursts, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Droplets hung off his frizzy curls. The late October temperatures didn't help any, a breath of ice over Pavel's nose and ears.
Around trash can fires, unshaven faces and hard eyes tracked Chekov's clip-clop through the streets. He kept his head down and wandered around for the small food mart he'd seen on the way here.
"Need a place to lay your head, boy?"
Chekov refused to make eye contact with the brawny, brown-toothed man. "No, sir."
The man yelled something else, but Pavel spied the general store and made a dash for its doors. It sat at the corner of a narrow side street. Only once the door shut behind him did he heave a long breath, eyes closed.
Despite the store's small size, Chekov marveled at the novelty food items and wide ethnic selection. Down one aisle he found waffle mix and in the deli, they had every kind of bacon imaginable, from turkey bacon to yak jerky.
The walk back—mercifully—proved less eventful. Chekov, however, couldn't stop his shivering. His body convulsed in angry spasms. Every finger and toe had lost feeling.
This didn't stop his proud grin.
They'll wake to the best breakfast of their lives!
The smile didn't even drop when he stumbled on his way up the stairs. Pavel panted slightly, balancing the two paper bags in each arm while fiddling for his keys.
"Here ve are."
The key jangled for a moment and then gave way. Before Pavel could get two feet in the door, strong arms latched around him and yanked him inside. Chekov shielded himself with the bags.
Bones held him at arm's length after a long minute. "Where the devil have you been? No note! No, 'Hey, Bones, just went out for a suicidal walk in the freezing, near-winter temperatures deluge without a coat.' What were you thinking?"
"Bones…" Jim warned.
Pavel blinked, stunned. "I—"
"And your lips are blue! Didn't anyone ever teach you proper personal care?" Bones' face was red, but Chekov couldn't tell what the bright shine to his eyes signaled. The doctor's fingers scrabbled over the navigator's chest. "Your lungs are vulnerable!"
"Bones." Jim finally shushed his friend with a glare. Pavel felt a heavy comforter flip over his frame. The cover scrubbed up and over Pavel's hair, now stiff with cold. "I'm just glad you're in one piece. You're allowed to go as you please, Pasha. We just like some warning."
"Oh," said Chekov. "I'll remember zat."
"You'd better," groused Bones.
"This isn't a friendly neighborhood either," Jim added. "A lot of thefts and…other things happen here."
"I…" Chekov struggled. "I was going to make you breakfast."
The older men finally honed in on the bags in Pavel's numb hands. Bones gasped.
"It's the most important meal of the day," the youth finished weakly.
Bones and Jim caught one another's eye. They shared an intense gaze. Jim set both hands on his hips.
What is their problem? Okay, the coat thing is bad. I'll remember to stay warm. But it's just a fifteen minute walk! Why are they so upset?
Chekov shuffled from foot to foot. He eyed the bags and wondered if his butter was melting. The milk would surely go bad if he didn't put it away…
"Pavel?"
"Pasha?"
He straightened to meet their eyes. Pavel realized their expressions were troubled.
"Sorry," he replied. "I'll explain if you'll just let me get these put away. Dairy spoils so easily and I was hoping to get the waffles put on in case you want some soon."
Bones shook his head. "You don't get it, Pavel, do you?"
Chekov dropped the bananas he was holding. He schooled his wide eyes into something contrite. "You're right about the coat. I don't really own one besides my hoodie. That'll be the next thing on my list."
"No, Pavel." Bones sat him down at the island and took the seat next to him. "This—" He waved a hand at the groceries Jim now calmly put away. "This is not your job."
"Yes it is," said Pavel, positive about this answer. "There was no food, so I bought some. I vill be more responsible in future."
Jim threw Bones another of those weighted looks.
"It's quite the opposite," said Bones.
Pavel drew back. "What am I doing wrong?"
Bones suddenly took Pavel's hands, swearing when he felt how frigid they were. He gave them a brisk rub between his own. Pavel winced.
"Pavel, look at me. It's your abundance of responsibility that concerns me."
Chekov gave him a blank stare. Jim muttered under his breath.
Bones, his tone measured yet very, very tender, leaned forward. "We take care of you, Pavel, not the other way around."
Being slapped halfway to St. Petersburg and dumped in a trash bin wouldn't have uprooted Pavel Chekov as much as this statement did.
"Better listen to the old man," Jim sing-songed.
"You, be quiet," Bones barked at Jim, still massaging Chekov's hands. "No slurs from the peanut gallery."
Jim leaned on the counter so that his head wedged between the two. "You'll get it, Pasha. Give us time to show you how this is supposed to work. Us brothers will do you right."
Bones nodded. "You've taken care of an adult for most of your life. Now it's our turn. You can relax, Pavel. Let us fogies do the worrying and finances and mothering for a change."
Chekov bowed his head.
"Fogies?" Jim protested, and Pavel, recognizing the distraction, tried to compose himself. "Speak for yourself, Eastwood. I've still got the ladies lining up left, right, and center."
"Then I suppose wearing that reindeer sweater my mother knit you won't dampen your stud points."
"Uhhh…I seem to have misplaced that…"
Bones snorted. "Yeah. Like I've never heard that one before. You're talking to the king of homely sweater gifts."
"And cowboy boots."
Bones threw up his hands. "One time! I wore those to a party one time!"
"And you'll never live it down." Jim popped a strawberry in his mouth.
Pavel laughed, a wet sound. "I don't understand. I mean…I do, but…"
Bones' ran a thumb over Chekov's flushed cheek. "When was the last time you slept in? Went to see a movie? Hung out with friends?"
Chekov blinked at him. "Slept in? But morning is the best time to do chores."
Jim mimed a shot to his heart. "The boy doesn't know the joys of lazing around on a Saturday! We gotta help him, Bones!"
Bones rolled his eyes. "I'll settle for a night on the town. We're taking you to a movie, kid."
Jim was already on his phone. "Uhura! Yeah, it's me! Yes, I know what time it is. Get your pointy-eared boyfriend and Scotty over to that little restaurant down on fifth. Tonight—when else do you think? Whiz kid's turning into Betty White so we're having a little shindig…"
"Pay Jim no heed," said Bones. "He gets excited far too easily."
The doctor tucked the comforter around Pavel's bony ribs. He lowered his voice. "When was the last time you didn't have to make a meal for someone or do taxes?"
Pavel thought it over. The last five years of his life had been bedpans and angry creditors and him trying not to break down in dingy hospital bathrooms. He found he didn't have an answer.
"Oh, Pavel." Bones closed his eyes. "That's going to change now. You can be your age, okay? You can let us handle things."
Chekov, almost fearful, nodded. His head spun.
"Pasha!" Jim had his hand over the receiver. "Sulu's bringing froyo for later. Mint Chip or Rocky Road?"
Chekov cocked his head. "What is froyo?"
Jim moaned.
On a farm, one's worst competition is the lone bull or a pesky rooster. Nothing else stands in the way of miles of empty grassland.
"Come on! We're twenty minutes late!"
Jim led them on a dash through crowded streets. The press of people left barely a hand's length in any direction.
Chekov, at the back of the pack, trotted to keep up. If he took his eyes off Bones' navy coat, even for a second, he found himself lost. His heart kept racing too fast for his lungs. He gasped and hiccupped, eyes dilated in the swarm of larger bodies.
For a moment all he felt was soul smothering panic—where eez the coat? The coat! Bones!
He didn't realize he'd yelled the name aloud until Bones whirled. He waved an arm. "I'm just by the corner, Pavel!"
The navigator sprinted across the street. Hover cars and trucks honked. Bones had already taken up Jim's trail once more. His shock of dark hair kept Pavel on track.
But the people. For the first time, Chekov understood how small he was, how flimsy compared to the tsunami of people.
The approaching Halloween date didn't help any. Some already wore masks, cackling at Chekov in lurid makeup of rotten flesh and hanging eyeballs.
He swallowed.
Horror of horrors—Pavel watched, watched, his hand stretch out. He willed it back. But his lean fingers suddenly shot forward without his permission.
And latched onto Bones.
Pavel gasped at his grip around the meaty fingers.
The doctor halted in his tracks. Pavel snatched his hand back. His breathing quickened. He licked a line of sweat from his upper lip. Pavel found sudden interest in the pavement.
Finally, after an eternity of utter stillness, Bones turned. Pavel prepared himself for the inevitable tirade.
Just take it.
Bones reached for him. Pavel stiffened.
The doctor put up both hands and stared at him, every ounce of his attention focused on the youth. He seemed to be reading a book Pavel didn't know he possessed on his face.
Then Bones captured Pavel's hand and smiled. Pavel stared at their fingers.
Impossibly warm, Bones said, "Don't like crowds, huh? No shame in that."
He patted Pavel's cold fingers and gave a solemn nod. "It'll be alright. We'll get there in one piece. I've got you."
So they kept walking, having completely lost Jim but asking for directions from a friendly bar tender. Bones never let go of Pavel's hand.
When they made it to the restaurant's flashing neon sign, Pavel stopped the doctor.
"Pavel? What is it?"
Pavel cleared his throat and forced himself to make eye contact. "Sank you for your kindness. You have been more generous to me in the last three weeks than anyvone in my life."
"Pavel, you don't have to—"
"No. Please. I must finish." Pavel took his hand back to gesture. "After my grandmother died, I thought that was it. I didn't think I needed guardian. Maybe I still don't need one. But I want one. I vould like to make it official, on those adoption papers I know you keep in your desk."
Bones sucked in a sharp breath. "You…You're…?"
Pavel hadn't even finished nodding before Bones crushed him to his chest. Though tall, Grandpapa had been frail. Breakable and leaning on Chekov. The doctor hugged like a grizzly bear, even lifting Chekov's feet off the pavement.
It was…nice.
"I got so good at lying about my age that sometimes I fool myself," said Pavel. "I don't understand how to be sixteen, but I'm willing to learn." He patted the doctor's shoulder. "I have the best teachers."
Bones kissed the unruly mop of hair. At last, Chekov relaxed in the strong hold.
Bones was gruff. He scowled and barked and gave more hugs. He was not Grandpapa but maybe he was alright. A new normal could be a good one too. Maybe it mattered.
Maybe I matter.
Not for what he did, but for who he was.
Chekov felt tears on his neck and chuckled. "Bones?"
"I've got you, son."
Written in 2015.