Author's Note:

Okay, this story, I realise, has been a HELL of a long time in coming, so I would like to thank all the readers who've been here from the start. It's taken me about four years (I think?) to write this. I never thought it would end like this when I wrote the first sentence in 2012. (Aww, look at me being all sentimental.) This story has never been beta read, and the only grammar check / editing it has received is when I've read back over it. So probably the first thing I'm going to do with this story is go back, review and revise etc... which - knowing me - will take another year!

I would also like to add that I am aware that this story is very unrealistic, but, in my defence, I was 12. Possibly even 11. So yeah. Don't judge. Anything is possible when you're 11. Or 12.

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS (SORT OF) BUT PLEASE READ IT AFTERWARDS!

Finally, the part in here about medals is something I came up with. It IS NOT canon. I thought of it once and put it in because for me it explained why Chekov actually cares so much about Koloth (he feels guilty), which was, the last time I read over this, never really explained.

With that, dear people, I'd like to thank you all once again. Over and out!

Epilogue

Secrets so Bitter

There was a chill in the air. It felt appropriate, to Pavel. Orange and brown leaves swirled together in front of him. He could feel Jim's gaze on him from across the graveyard. It wasn't really that surprising. The captain might be holding his tongue, but Pavel could tell he didn't really understand why they were here. Then again, he himself wasn't really sure why he was here. With a sigh, Pavel turned his gaze to his captain. Jim caught his eye and gave a nod before moving further away.

He served the empire

They were the only words written on Koloth's grave. The other, painfully government-standard words that were engraved on a Klingon's grave were missing. When his body had been found, Koloth hadn't been in possession of his medals of valour and honour. Pavel turned back to the polished black marble.

"Koloth," he paused, trying to find his voice. "I know you thought your father hated you… but he didn't." Pavel looked down. "I… kept these from you. He wanted you to have them when you were four, but you listened to me without these. If you'd had them… I don't know whether I could've looked after you without you protesting. And it was when you protested that he hurt me, mostly. I couldn't risk that." Pavel sighed gently, realising belatedly he'd slipped into Russian. "I am sorry."

With that, he pulled two small, round metal medals out of his pocket and gently placed them at the head of the grave. "Please forgive me. For everything." A tear ran down his cheek and Pavel turned away from the grave to the man standing next to him. Jim's arms encircled him, holding him up and he cried.

"He was a good man." The captain murmured when he pulled away. He nodded silently. Jim looked down at him through hazel eyes. "He cared about you, just like the rest of us." He paused. "You do realise that, don't you?" He asked the younger man. "That we care about you? That you're worth a hell of a lot to us?"

Pavel stayed silent.

"There's no such thing as being 'only an ensign', Pavel." There was still no answer. What was there to say, really?

"Let's go home." The two officers turned and left side by side, and each felt lighter than when they'd entered, knowing that they'd dealt with their demons.

The graveyard fell into peacefulness once more, only the rustling of orange leaves disturbing the spirits that had been laid to rest there.

End.