A/N: For those familiar with Star Trek: The Next generation, the Betazoid character was inspired by, and is based loosely upon Deanna Troi. Betazoid's are a race in the canon of Star Trek, the planet Betazed is part of the federation, and all the attributes noted about them in this chapter are true.
I apologise for this chapter taking so long; I desperately wanted to write a chapter about Chekov but I could not seem it get it right. This chapter has been re-written many times as I really wanted to capture the mood of how it must feel to be going through your teenage years, under-sexed and overworked, aboard a Starfleet ship.
I hope it meets your standards!
"Trousers off."
Chekov could only gape. "V-vhat?"
"Your trousers; take them off." The young doctor gestured absentmindedly at him as she focused her attention upon the tricorder in her hand.
"Is that really necessary?"
She looked at him with that serene expression that he loved so much in her eyes. "This is a full physical examination Ensign Chekov. Every crew member aboard this ship must undergo one yearly." She smiled. "And you won't have anything I've never seen before. I will be back in just a moment."
She barely bothered the curtains drawn around the bed as she left Chekov alone. He berated himself silently for his foolishness; he knew exactly what a full physical incurred, he had simply been hoping it would not be her carrying it out.
But of course it was. In a moment of pure teenage angst, Chekov supposed it was just destiny trying to embarrass him into an early grave.
He was not entirely sure what it was about her that set her apart from other girls; which he concluded, was the very nature of love; it was a complete mystery. He simply liked everything about her, from the way she always seemed to be smiling to the way she walked; she moved in an oddly graceful manner, one which suggested that she was not entirely human.
His feelings had taken him completely by surprise; in his logical mind it seemed completely irrational to feel this way about a person he barely knew. In fact, before her, girls had generally not existed in his world. It had not necessarily been a conscious decision; it was just that for more or less all of his seventeen years, he had been in a particularly grueling education system – not that he minded. As far as he was concerned, education was his first love; there had simply not been any time for girls.
That was until he had found himself serving aboard the Enterprise, a ship half filled with women who had made a rather quick and significant impression upon his young mind; and none more so her. Everything about her was different and appealing as well as completely foreign; women in general were a new puzzle, unlike any Chekov had ever encountered before.
She returned, once more barely disturbing the curtain as she entered. "Your trousers are still on, Ensign." Her tone was light and she smiled at him, causing his stomach to do all kinds of acrobatics.
"Yes. They are." He mentally cursed himself. He was an intelligent man; he could have produced something far wittier than that. Or in the very least, something that did not make him sound incredibly odd.
She looked at him curiously. "Is everything okay, Ensign?"
He silently wished she would call him by his name. Ensign may have been his professional title and therefore the polite term to use, but it felt cold; even though Chekov supposed she had no real reason to be familiar with him. "Everything is… fine." His posture slumped slightly on the bed; he had never been a talented liar.
She moved to stand in front of him, her dark irises peering into his own from above. "On Betazed we have a saying: 'one who speaks one thing and thinks another, has a war inside.'"
"You are from Betazed?" Chekov shook his head in disbelief. Of course she was; how had he not seen it before? The charming, liberal attitude and spiritual demeanor were all classic traits associated with the telepathic race, not to mention the incredibly dark irises she also possessed. He almost wanted to laugh at himself despite the easiness of his mistake – in terms of their outward physical appearance, betazoids and humans were almost identical.
"I am." She replied with a smile "I had not expected to serve upon a Starfleet ship for a few more years at least, let alone the Enterprise. But… Starfleet is low on numbers, and the federation must do what is necessary."
Chekov blinked. "You are exceptionally open for a medical professional." Not that he minded. It was simply curious.
Her smile turned into a grin. "I have spent the majority of my life living on a planet where I can hear the thoughts of others, and where they can hear mine. Therefore Betazoid's are very open and honest by nature. We do not hide behind shame or embaressment; we see little need for it."
Chekov felt himself turning slightly pink. "Those are… admirable traits."
"To some." She replied absently. "Other races find our lack of conservatism rather offensive."
Chekov paused momentarily. "Can you hear my thoughts?" He asked suddenly.
She looked taken aback. "Oh, no! Betazoid's ethical code in regards to other races is very strict; we never, ever look, unless we are invited."
"I did not mean to offend you." The Russian replied quickly.
She smiled that smile again. The one that made his insides squirm in a rather pleasant manner. "You did not. Honestly, I find it nice that someone has taken an interest; it can be hard to find your feet in an environment like this; it is all very different to what I am used to. Now. About those trousers of yours."
Chekov hesitated. "I… One who speaks one thing and thinks another really does have a war inside." He began slowly. "Sometimes I think it is simply because I am a teenager… but…" He did not know exactly what he was trying to say, and for a reason he could not quite place his finger upon, the incredibly intellectual Ensign suddenly felt extremely stupid.
She looked at him curiously, still above him. She suddenly seemed so close. "You have turned pink, Ensign."
"That is true." Chekov managed to mutter. He could feel his face burning.
Then she did something completely remarkable. She put her hand on the solar plexus of his bare torso, her cool fingers delicately brushing the skin there. "And your heart rate has accelerated to a level far above its normal rate."
She was really, very close. Definitely closer than what was professionally acceptable. "Uh… Doctor-"
She cut him off in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "My race is empathic as well… and there is no way to turn that off." She exhaled a long breath. "And it is so strong that I can… I can feel everything you can."
Chekov was almost entirely certain he was dreaming. The woman he had spent the last few months silently admiring from afar was now within mere inches of him; he realised with an ironic pang that he had never actually wanted to take his trousers off more in his entire life. "That is… nice?"
The curtain was pulled back with a quick, purposeful tug, to reveal the rather intimidating figure of CMO McCoy. "Doctor, this medical is taking an awfully long ti-" His eyes settled on them just in time to see them pull back from one another sharply, as though they had each been stung.
For one mad second, Bones thought the young Ensign was Jim; after all, he knew nobody else with enough confidence and daring to attempt a sexual encounter on one of his wards.
Well apparently, the Captain had competition.
The whole scene reminded him of a time during his years at the academy, in which he had walked into a deserted medical lab only to find Jim in a rather more compromising position than Chekhov, with one of the nurses. Apparently he had been looking for the doctor for several hours; and not being able to find him, had decided to put his time to some better use.
The whole situation was oddly nostalgic and although the serious doctor would never admit it, rather amusing too. After all he had known Jim for years and the experience of being the Captain's friend had taught him two very important things; one: the sex drive in young people was hopelessly uncontrollable and two: a sense of adventure was necessary for anyone who wished to serve in Starfleet; in fact Jim considered it a far more important quality in a potential cadet than intelligence.
And the Ensign, he supposed, was currently doing a perfect job of demonstrating both.
"If this medical isn't over in five minutes," he growled, "and if your ass isn't back on the bridge in ten," he gestured in an accusing manner at the Chekhov, "then there will be dire consequences. Is that understood?"
Both the doctor and the Ensign nodded in a dumbfounded manner. Pleased with assertion of his authority, the doctor pulled the curtain back over again.
"Seriously!?" Kirk spluttered, half choking on the drink he had just taken a sip of.
"Seriously. I have not exercised any punishment, even though it is perfectly within my power to do so. I am however, required by code to report the incident to you; which I have done because I am almost certain that you won't care."
Jim shook his head. "No. I do care; as Captain I care about everyone on this ship. But I have to say… I'm exceptionally proud of Chekov right now. As you get older you have to consider passing the torch on to the next generation." Jim winked.
The doctor scoffed. "Old? You're twenty five, and your appetite – to put it politely – has not waned in the slightest since I first met you."
"Yeah." The Captain agreed shamelessly. "But on a serious note, this has presented me with a worrying problem; I genuinely think I'm the only person on the bridge not getting laid."
The Doctor merely rolled his eyes.
A/N: This chapter was very difficult for me to write and my feelings on the story are of a mixed nature; but I have delayed it long enough. Your thoughts on it would be greatly appreciated.