A few hours later

He was alone on the bridge, the crew member he had relieved was happy to have an opportunity to join in the celebration of Havarii and Musgrave's wedding that was more of an opportunity for the crew to let off the stress of the mission, than anything else. Spock had no desire to go to the reception party; after attending the wedding he had left for the solitude of the bridge. It wasn't only that he didn't find parties very intellectually stimulating, or because he preferred to avoid being around other people that were under the influence of mind-altering, potentially poisonous beverages.

If he was completely honest with himself he would have acknowledged that he really didn't want to go because of Uhura. What had happened earlier was just one incident. Ever since she had returned from the T'karis she had changed. She had been acting distant; she almost avoided him, she shied away from linking minds finding numerous excuses, and spent a large amount of her time off duty in her cabin away from him. At the wedding she had sat apart from him, barely looking his way, it was like when she looked at him she saw a monster. He didn't know what was wrong and he didn't know what he could do to fix it.

As he sat on the bridge he thought of his mother, she would have known what was wrong. While her logic had been as flawed as most humans, her human talent for intuition had more than made up for it. As he recalled her he realized that her features were becoming blurry in his mind, he knew this was absurd. He had a typical Vulcan's memory. He could remember far into the past. There was no reason for him to forget her, but illogically he felt he was.

He looked around the bridge checking it was deserted, and then keyed an order into the captain's chair; he remotely accessed a holovid from years ago. Spock settled back as his mother's face filled the screen. She was smiling her eyes aglow with mischief; it had been April fool's day on Earth how his mother had managed to keep up with the Terran calendar when she was light-years away he never knew , but that day she had been intent on trying to get a smile from her all too-serious son. Spock allowed himself the hint of a smile at the memory, but it was tinged with sadness. He watched memorizing his mother's face as she smiled and laughed and he wished he could hear the sound again.

Spock was unaware of the turbolift door opening and closing, until he heard footsteps behind him, and he clicked the holovid off and turned to see who had caught him in an almost human act of nostalgia. He was surprised to see Chekov.

"Ensign Chekov" Spock said acknowledging him while wondering what he was doing on the bridge. He had heard about the Ensign's fight earlier and Spock could see the evidence on the boy's face and clothes. His clothes had blood stains on it and he had several bruises darkening his face. Spock felt slightly guilty, in his preoccupation with Uhura and the Romulans he had forgotten about Roth. Roth should have been disciplined long ago, especially after what he had done when Chekov had called him back on the planet. Spock resolved to issue a report against Roth as soon as he finished his bridge shift.

"I vas just coming to see if there vas anything that needed to be done" Chekov said looking at him strangely.

"Commendable, Mr. Chekov, However I don't believe that there was any additional work that needed to be done" Spock said. "It's my understanding that the captain said the main bridge crew had the day off, I suggest you make use of it, and get some rest"

The ensign nodded "aye sir" and began walking towards the turbolift.

Spock had halfway turned around when Chekov paused and glanced back. "Mr. Spock?"

Spock turned back around and looked at the ensign. Chekov had a pleading look on his face, Spock saw him take a deep breath, before he said."I'm sorry."

Before Spock could question the ensign about his bewildering statement he had disappeared into the turbolift, and the doors slid shut behind him.

First Uhura, now Chekov, Spock wondered if it might not have been better to join the Vulcan Science Academy, because as it was he would probably never understand humans.

XXXX XXXX

Chekov had wandered over the ship for a few more hours, before he finally walked back to his cabin. His roommate was gone, it was quiet... lonely. He was so tired, all his body wanted was sleep. He sat on the side of his bed his head resting in his hands. His eyelids threatened to close, but he forced them open and got up. He started taking his clothes off, and as he did so a container tumbled from his pocket. Chekov bent down and picked up the bottle, wondering what it was then remembered that McCoy had given him: sleeping pills. Doctor McCoy must have made a mistake. He stared at the container there was a lot more pills in there then the few he was supposed to be given, there were enough to... he clamped off the thought, he wouldn't allow himself to think like that. But another thought replaced that one as faces past and present swam through his mind reminding him of events he hadn' t forgotten but daily forced himself not to think about. Whatever happened he always lived ... and everybody else died. Nothing could take away the guilt that he felt.

He finished taking off his clothes and pulled on a T-shirt and some shorts. Chekov picked up the bottle and placed it in the bathroom cabinet. Then he sat down on his bed; he reached out to a table by his bed side and picked up a picture. It was one of the last one's he had of Kelly. In it she was smiling her face bright, he remembered that day. She had been so happy... so alive. He looked at the picture for several moments. Suddenly he felt more exhausted then he ever had, he laid back. Her sitting next to him on the observation deck, her head pillowed against his chest in the cavern on T'karis,... her body pressed against his as he kissed her and held her for what would be the last time. Chekov took a deep shuddering breath, that seemed to tick in his throat. He just wanted to forget. If he wasn't so tired it would be easier to forget.

He stared at Kelly and then settled back. He would just rest for a moment, he wouldn't go to sleep, he promised himself. Rest was okay. Dreams wouldn't come as long as he didn't sleep. He just needed to rest ...he was so tired. He closed his eyes and within moments, against his will he had fallen fast asleep. His face wasn't calm with sleeps oblivion, but haunted by the images already beginning to form in his resting mind. He twitched and fidgeted in a restless twilight. The picture of Kelly was still grasped in his hand.

XXXX XXXX

He looked around the room; the surroundings were familiar, painfully and pleasantly familiar. There was the blue overstuffed chair with its numerous rips and tears, he remembered his mother piling onto it with him, his brother and sister as she read them a story. There was the bookshelf which was scarred and pitted with age. He ran a finger down its tattered contents old-fashioned contents, over the faded covers of some of his favourite books. He walked through the rest of his childhood home seeing things in each room that brought back memories both good and bad; it was like seeing old friends and in some cases enemies.

The last room he entered was the kitchen; He was surprised to see a figure seated at the table the rest of the house had been deserted.

The person was slumped forward, shaggy hair dropped forward obscuring the face, one hand clutched a bottle like it was a lifeline. The sour smell of liquor and sweat clogged the air.

Chekov swallowed feeling a lump in his throat and said quietly "dad?"

The man raised his head and looked at him with unfocused glassy eyes. "Huh—it's you" the man said slurring his words slightly. "Been missing your old man?"

"But, you're …. Dead" The last word came out as a whisper and held a hint of horror.

The man snorted "you're really smart aren't you? Is that all they taught you in Starfleet? How to state the obvious." The man said. He took a drink before continuing "Of course I'm dead, you know that after all it was your fault."

Chekov was shocked at the man's words even though a part of him knew that was what his father thought.

"I—w-wasn't—"

You know that lieutenant, what's his name, Roth, you know he was right don't you?" His father continued ignoring Chekov's words "that girl, Kelly dying, it was your fault you could have got her out"

"I couldn't—I—I"

"You could" the man said inexorably, he pulled himself up from the table and moved toward Chekov. As his father neared him, Chekov unconsciously flinched.

His father sized him up chuckling mirthlessly. "Still afraid of me?" he continued "The problem with you is you're weak, always have been. You don't try hard enough, you don't accept the consequences of your action, You're a goddamn failure."

"I'm not" he whispered looking away, the words hurt even though he had heard them so often during his life they were etched into his mind.

"You are" his father leaned forward and gripped his shoulders painfully. "Look at me! Look at your old man!" he said shaking Chekov.

The boy looked back at his father and saw that the man's face had changed. The skin was blackened and charred, patches flaked away; his hair was gone and he smelled of smoke, fire and burning flesh. Chekov nearly gagged as the smell forced his mind back into the past.

His father spoke through burned lips "does this look like you didn't fail?" he gestured at his ruined face.

"Please.., you wanted to… you left a note."

"I wanted nothing, I did what I had to do after I had nothing left, your mother, your sister and brother, everything was gone, and you let them die"

"I-didn't, I wasn't the reason she was in the air skimmer that night, she was leaving you, I-"

"Larissa wasn't leaving me, you ungrateful sh- she was taking you to the hospital after you got yourself in the middle of adults business; that's why she was out there. They died that night because of you."

"It wasn't my fault."

"They died because you didn't save them, you're a failure and you keep failing… Liska...Spock's mother…Ensign Kelly… your mother… your sister… your brother….me, it's your entire fault."

As his father spoke the kitchen dissolved around them and instead was replaced by a cliffside.

… a woman stood near the edge rubble fell down around her and the group she was standing near. Dust and stinging scraps of stone tore through the air stinging faces; The woman's face was slightly panicked, an officer in a blue shirt stretched a hand out to her just as a piece of the cliff broke off sending her hurtling downward to her death a look of terror on her face

... A teenage boy was standing feet away , his shoulder had a spatter of greenish blood on it, Chekov watched as he wordlessly unsteadily walked over to a young boy crouched down feverishly working on something. Flames were leaping up in the background the air was hazy with smoke and the smell of melted plastic and charred metal pervaded the air. The older boy , bodily picked up the now struggling younger boy and forced him into the only life pod...

…Ensign Kelly lay under a pile of twisted metal , plastic shards and tangled wiring, a pool of blood surrounded her like a crimson halo. A jagged piece of metal impaled her chest while her legs were pinned under debris; she turned her head towards them, her eyes pleading and scared, before a blast obliterated her…

...His mother, sister and brother trapped in the air skimmer, as flames consumed the vehicle. He gripped an arm trying to free somebody. Pain tore through his own body as he struggled to free the person. He heard screams of agony and he wasn't sure they were all his own…

...His father slumped limply in a chair staring out with glassy unseeing eye. His body was unnaturally still. His skin was cold and pale. An empty bottle of liquor at his feet ,A cold cruelly twisted metal object was held loosely in one hand. A slow line of something dark oozed down one cheek and around him the house burned…

"No…No" Chekov shut his eyes tightly and tried to pull away from his father's grip.

"what's wrong can't face what you did? look at them boy, look at them, they deserve that at least" his father said slapping him.

Chekov felt his eyes open against his will, and standing before him was each person as they and looked when they died.

An unfamiliar woman stood there, her face covered in blood and dirty, her clothes were tattered and shredded, her body broken, her eyes were accusing…

Liska glared at him, his long black hair and clothes matted with blood. His clothes were charred and torn...

Ensign Kelly was standing an arms-reach away from him. The piece of metal protruding from her chest, blood dripped down her body, her lips were coated in it , she stared at him her face ghostly white…

Three bodies stood there, two were smaller and shorter than the other. One his mother, brother and sister, the faces were burned beyond recognition, tattered cloth clung to their charred frames, pieces of bone could be seen through patches of their ruined skin, the sickening aroma of burning flesh rose of them…

Chekov gasped trying to get away from the sight, but his father held him in place. "Take a look. This is what happened because you failed"

As Chekov struggled to free himself, his father released his shoulder, but he couldn't move. He was rooted to the ground as the corpses looked at him their eyes accusing, they stumbled toward him, their cold hands grasping him, dragging him towards them as they said in unison "you killed us."

XXXX XXXX

Chekov awoke screaming, tears mingled on his face with a cold sweat. His covers were twisted around him like restraints and his bed sheets were soaked with a warm wetness. The memories of the cold grasping hands of the corpses and their ruined bodies filled him with dread and guilt. His entire body trembled like he was ill. Chekov struggled to free the twisted blankets from him, as his stomach roiled forcing acid into his mouth.

He freed himself, from the damp blankets and collapsed to the ground by his bed on his hands and knees. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, a memory rushed forward surging through his mind and as he remembered a torrent of memories he threw up. He retched violently, his stomach convulsed painfully. His entire mind and body felt sick with his dream. When he finished he sat back weakly, not caring that his leg was still half-in the pool of vomit, not caring that his clothes were soaked with sweat , vomit, and worse. He gripped his hair in his hands, screwing his eyes shut, tears coursed down his cheeks, and a moan escaped his lips.

He just wanted it to end.

He couldn't take it anymore, the guilt, the nightmares.

He just wanted it over.

Everybody was dead and it was all because of him. Chekov thought back to the day his father died. And shivered as he remembered what his father had said.

He remembered coming home from school in the distance he could see smoke. He limped painfully up the path to his house, his body still bruised and hurting from his father's drunken rage the night before. As he got close, he could see the cause of the smoke, the house was consumed in flames, they leapt up covering the roof, the fire roared and crackled. The sound of wood falling and glass breaking rent the air, as the fire destroyed the house.

Chekov ran up to the house tossing his school bag down, and raced in through the front door. He walked into the living room the entire place was hazy with smoke. Desperately Chekov searched for his father calling his name repeatedly,. He pulled his shirt over his mouth as the smoke stung his eyes and caused him to choke.

Finally he spotted a hand dangling limply over the edge of a chair. He ran over to the chair and said "Dad —". He stopped staring at the man in front of him, his father was slumped in the chair. His eyes stared blankly ahead. A revolver lay across his lap , one hand still limply held it. Chekov tugged the weapon from his father's grip and let it fall to the floor. He tentatively reached up and felt his father's neck for a pulse. The skin was cold and wet , as Chekov touched the body it's head tilted forward causing the hair to fall away from the temples and a bullet were revealed. He shook his father slightly, now noticing the dark stain on the side of the face and the shirt collar. A sticky metallic smelling substance coated his hands. As Chekov touched the body , the head tilted until the eyes were staring directly at him To Chekov they were blankly accusing. Desperately, Chekov pulled his hands away he gripped his hair and ran his hands down the side of his face. As he felt his cheeks grow wet , he noticed it was covered with blood. He desperately scrubbed his hand on his clothes then turned and ran.

Chekov stood in shock and watched as the flames consumed his house; he had no idea how long he stood there, but eventually he was aware of people surrounding him, some were trying to fight the fire. Others tried to pull him away. They were talking, yelling, screaming, their faces flashed in and out of view. Somebody was asking him questions, maybe about the blood on his skin and clothes , or why he was blankly staring at the blazing flames and shaking. He couldn't understand. He could only watch as a detached observer.

After the fire was finally over, the fire crews found a body; it was badly burned in the living room. 'It was his father. They also found the old-fashioned gun. They had questioned Chekov about what had happened and when they had seen the blood on his hands and clothes many had believed he was responsible. They had asked him what had happened. Somebody had asked him whether he had killed his father and they continued asking. Finally he had said yes, because to him he had. He had been sent to a juvenile rehab centre until they had sorted out what happened. After they found out that Chekov wasn't the blame he had been moved to another facility, but they hadn't found the truth. He was to blame.

Earlier that day of the fire as he was unpacking his bag at school for his first class , He had picked up one of his book tablets and started to put it into his bag a slip of folded paper had fell out the back. Puzzled Chekov unfolded the note and opened it up recognizing his father's handwriting.

I'm leaving. I'm going to be with your mother, sister and brother. I've got nothing left to live for since they've been gone. When you lived that night and they died, I lost everything... It's your fault, you could have saved them, they wouldn't have been out that night if it wasn't for you... you're alone now.

The message ended abruptly, Chekov guessed what his father meant by the words, but he didn't tell anybody. He crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket. He stood there trembling his body ached all over from his father's drunken wrath, part of him wanted to go tell somebody. To get them to stop what he knew was about to happen and a large part of him wanted it to end. He went to class. He didn't go home until late... He waited until he knew it was over.

Chekov opened his eyes and stared ahead. He reached out as something caught his eye. It was the picture of Kelly. It had fallen to the floor. He stared at it for what seemed like hours, her eyes were cold and accusing. He couldn't take it anymore. He took the picture and threw it down. Glass flew everywhere. He pulled himself up; He walked over to his desk which was scattered with computer printouts and data pads on beaming people at high velocities and shuttle crashes, he swept all the papers and pads to the floor in a fit of anger. It didn't matter anymore what he did, if he figured out where he had went wrong, what he could have done differently it didn't change the outcome. They still were dead. He opened cabinets and threw things to the floor. He ripped everything he could apart, throwing it against the walls, smashing it with his hands, cutting his skin with jagged shards. Blood coated his hands, but this time it was his own blood.

He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out some papers, He ripped the flimsies of warp theory and transporter adjustment ratios to shreds. The last two scraps of paper at the bottom of the drawer made him pause.

The first was the note his father had left behind it was wrinkled and yellowing, he stared at it for a moment re-reading the words, then he crumpled it in his fist and let it fall to the floor. The two other papers he had were pictures of his mother and siblings, they were creased and had been ripped into pieces and then taped back together. Chekov's mind went back as he thought of who had repaired the photos. Chekov looked at his family and felt so alone. Guilt overwhelmed him. Still holding the pictures, he moved toward the end of his bed and reached down to the cabinet there, with trembling fingers he pulled out one of the bottles of Vodka.

He turned the bottle over in his hands feeling the cold glass, beneath his fingertips, then he reached up and broke the seal.

The first swallow burned his throat painfully and landed in his stomach like a hot coal, nearly causing a revolt. He gagged for a moment before it settled.

The second went down easier.

The third numbed him somewhat, he walked to the bathroom and opened the cabinet above the sink, the bottle of pills Dr. McCoy had given him stared at him, he reached forward and grabbed the container.

He opened the bottle and with shaking hands let the pills fall into his palm. There was a small handful, he swallowed them all. He then raised the bottle back to his lips and took another long drink.

He didn't care anymore.

He just wanted it to be over.

Next update will be April 16th with a two day margin either way.Thanks to all my reviewers, followers and favouriters. I know that chapter was intense, but the whole story is rather dark. I imagine a federation that is darker and I think closer to Nu!Trek than TOS. Anyway questions for this chapter. How did you like the dream sequence? And what do you think is going to happen in the next chapter? Feedback is appreciated, but I'll update regardless;) Anyway if you like it, tip me with a review;)