Author's Notes: I think this chapter is Chekov's first serious appearance in the cop!verse. I know he showed up for a line or two in Defining Family, but he has a little more prominent role in this story as Ethan's BFF. I have an intro story for him (and I"m completely in love with the ideas) but I, predictably, just have to find some time to finish it. Anyway, enjoy this little bit!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Since I've stressed over my monthly $200-$250 natural gas bill from November through this month, I cannot, by extension make any money from my wiring. Please don't sue.

Chapter 2

"You appear troubled, my friend."

"'Troubled' ain't the word," Ethan replied flatly as he focused his attention on the game at hand. The teen's tongue squirted out the corner of his mouth as he repeatedly mashed the R1 button the Playstation controller cradled in his hands. The sound of fairly realistic fully automatic M4A1 fire resonated through the room as Ethan's character moved, stealthy and silent, from building to building. He cleared behind doors and up on balconies, making quick work of anyone who got in his way. Even the sniper, lying perfectly still on the metal grid plating under the landmark Pripyat Ferris wheel, was easy pickings. The subwoofer connected to the sound system rattled against the wood floor as an RPG roared overhead, right before the ordinance exploded off screen. Excited shouts from the AI players folded around the pair as they sat in front of the television stationed in Ethan's room.

As the 'victory' symbol flashed up on the screen, Pavel set his controller in his lap and stretched. He reached for the can of Coke sitting on the floor next to him and took a long drink. He tilted his head up towards the bed on which his friend was laying and, after a moment's hesitation, said, "You are preoccupied. I am aware of this look. What is it that has been worrying you, my friend?"

Ethan rolled onto his back and let his head fall backwards off the edge of the bed. He laid his hands on his chest and gnawed carefully on his lip while he thought. "School, man. It's killing me."

"How is it possible that school kills? Has someone brought a weapon to the classroom?" Chekov asked, his voice pitching up higher with the sentence. "Ay. American schools are much more dangerous than in Russia."

Rolling his eyes, Ethan tossed the controller near the pillow of his bed and sat up. He ran a couple of hands through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp with his fingertips. "No, dude. No one's brought a weapon to school. Well, unless you count my dad, when he goes to meet with my teachers about my grades. But he's more likely to use that .40 on me."

"I assume your midterm was…how to say it? Unkind?"

"It was fucking brutal," Ethan replied, pushing himself up from his bed. He wandered across the room to his desk and grabbed both the midterm report his father rudely left and the litany of missing assignments. Shoving both in Pavel's surprised hands, the youngest Pike added, "That is what I'm supposed to be catching up on tonight."

Chekov's pale eyes scanned the pages quickly and efficiently as his genius brain processed each piece of information. As he read, his eyebrows climbed higher up his forehead. Open, gaping shock was the only proper term of applicability, and in his traditionally innocent way, Pavel shoved the sheets aside and stated, "'Supposed to' and 'doing' are clearly two separate things," he said, catching the despondent expression on his friend's face. "There is no shame in asking for help when needed. We have already wasted much time."

"Yeah, but Modern Warfare is so much cooler. Besides, it's Friday. Who the hell does homework on Friday night?" Ethan asked nonchalantly.

"I do," Chekov replied, shaking his head and holding up his hands as he clamored to his feet to retrieve Ethan's abandoned computer.

Ethan's smile belied the seriousness of his tone, despite the dour mood his father's lecture put him in. He shoved Chekov playfully with his foot. "Besides you, numbnuts. And anyway, your idea of 'doing homework' is breezing right through it all with, like, no effort at all. Some of us," Ethan began with a dramatic motion towards his own chest, "Actually have to work at this shit just to pass."

"I work hard," Pavel muttered quietly as he turned a nice shade of pink.

"I know you do! You're doing upper level undergraduate college courses while the rest of us peons are toiling through high school classes that you could do passed out drunk," Ethan answered with a bright, genuine smile on his face. When Pavel folded himself back up on the floor, Ethan clapped his best friend on the arm before he sobered. Plopping despondently on the bed, he exhaled a big breath that fluffed the tuft of hair that constantly hung over his face. The younger Pike stared off into space as he added whimsically, "I wish there was a way I could borrow your genius. For times like this, it would be nice."

"If it were possible, I would lend it to you." Pointing to the sheets he'd set down on the floor, Chekov asked sheepishly, "Why are your grades so low? It is not like you to be so irresponsible."

"Hell if I know."

The disapproving look on Chekov's face made it plain the young man wasn't buying the excuse, but the shifting of his jaw also said he was ready to let it pass for now. "Yes, well, regardless of the reason, it is more important to me that I help you with what I can."

"Help me how?" Ethan answered, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm so far behind, I'm just ready to write this whole semester off as a loss and call it good. Maybe when I really do fail all my classes, my dad will finally have a real reason to keep running off on me. It would be better than what's he's doing now when he makes up some lame-ass excuse to cover yet another shift for his drama queen sergeant."

Pavel, with his hands around Ethan's laptop, stopped in mid-motion. He tapped the fingertips of his right hand against the hard, plastic surface and scrunched up his face in confusion. "I thought you were friendly with the men your father supervises."

"I was, until a few months ago. And it's really only one guy that's a problem, if you can even call it that," Ethan replied with a passive shrug of his shoulders. Suddenly, the rug under his legs looked mightily entertaining. Under his best friend's scrupulous gaze, he started picking at the red fringe with gusto.

Chekov inched his way over towards his best friend and set the computer on the floor between the two boys. Pulling his knees up to his chest, the young Russian asked, "What has been happening?"

"You know one of the guys who brought us home last year after-" Ethan began before he was cut off by Pavel's hand.

"Yes, I know. After we did something wery stupid with that scraper. I remember," he said, cringing. "My parents have not let me forget that."

"I'll bet," Ethan laughed out, thinking of how angry his father was when he found out what his son had been up to. He sobered when his brain conjured up images from just a few hours previous. The look on Chris' face while he was lecturing his son for failing out of school was anything but comical. It was deadly serious. Clearing his throat, Ethan said, "Anyway, one of the guys that brought us home that night – the older one – I know it has to do with him. McCoy's been hanging around my family every since I can remember, and about six months ago, he just stopped coming by. Like, I haven't seen him in ages."

"I do not follow. What does this have to do with your grades?"

"I'm getting there, I promise. Just hang with me, dude." Ethan got up and grabbed the bag of salt and vinegar potato chips he kept stashed in his desk drawer. Opening them, he crunched loudly while he continued, "A couple of months ago, I heard Dad and Mom arguing one night when they thought I'd left for baseball practice. They were fighting about how to handle a situation. I didn't put it together then, but I know it has something to do with Len."

Chekov stuffed his hand into the bag of chips and shoved a handful into his mouth. "You are sure?" he asked through powdered cheese flavoring.

"Yeah, man. You know my parents – they get along pretty well, but this was a huge, yelling, swearing, screaming fight. Like, I've never heard them that mad at one another. Mom was accusing Dad of not caring, and Dad was telling Mom that she needed to step back, or whatever the fuck that means. All I know is that they worked it out, and a couple of weeks later, Dad's got a ton of extra shifts to cover, and my Mom's all but disappeared," Ethan concluded, dropping his chin to his chest. He rolled his eyes and amended, "And it sucks."

Pavel nodded sadly. "Have you asked them what they've been doing?"

"I've tried, but every time I do, I get the same answer." Ethan dropped his voice as far as it would go, and in a weak impression of his father's impressive, booming baritone, said sarcastically, "'It's not your concern, son. It's all under control, so don't worry about it', my ass. Mom gives me the same party line, just in a nicer package."

"So, you feel like they have forgotten about you, da?" Chekov said with a deep sigh.

"Pretty much. So you can see how it's kind of hard to give a shit about anything when no one around you feels like you're worthy enough to know," Ethan finished with a snort and a wave of his hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a long breath. "Whatever. I don't even care anymore."

"Yes, you do. Otherwise, you would not be so upset, and we would not be having this conversation," Chekov replied, patting his friend on the shoulder. He titled his body forward and reached for Ethan's laptop. Pavel brought it back over and set it between the two friends. Flipping the cover open, he rubbed his hands together and said brightly, "Now. Let us try and catch you up on some of this outstanding work. Where is that list?"

From the corner of his mouth, Ethan smirked. "You're a persistent pain in the ass, you know that? Thanks, Pavel. I owe you."

"And I will collect. Just not now," the Russian answered with a mischievous twinkle shining through his eyes. "And there will be no jail this time."

Ethan threw his head back and barked out a laugh. "Deal!" Grabbing his laptop, Ethan punched in his password. The Windows welcome screen ticked and hummed, the little greenish-blue circle spinning in an endless circle of nothing. Jabbing at the machine in frustration, Ethan grumbled, "God, why is this thing running so slow?"

Elbowing his way into his best friend's personal space, Pavel pressed a couple of keys on the keyboard once the computer finally loaded. He searched and clicked, moving way too fast for Ethan's comprehension. A satisfied little grunt made its way past his lips while he pointed to the system specifications laid out on the screen. "You just need more RAM. The programs are too big for the little amount of memory you have."

"Whatever you say. Is that hard to do?" Ethan asked. He started feeling a little flutter in his stomach as he thought about the pain involved with maintaining anything electronic.

"Nyet. I can fix it for you, but not today. I need parts."

"That's cool. Let me see if I can get Dad to pay for it first. That'd be the best way to go. In the meantime, I guess I could try and do something productive." He brushed his fingers over the black track pad as he tried to find the cursor to close his Facebook page. After a couple of pointless revolutions and a little bit of cursing, he managed to sign out of the social networking site while he cruised through his emails.

It was a shame Ethan didn't see that he accidentally hit 'post' on a very large, very long, very formidable entry that wasn't meant for the world to see.

Next Up: Either he's dreaming, or it's a cold day in hell because Jim Kirk actually proves he has maturity.