D; I am very sorry for once again putting everyone through the wringer! Starfleet really needs to make sure their security is better so things like this don't happen. Or maybe the crew of the Enterprise is just cursed.

You will find out what happens to Sulu soon. Longish chapter ahead, though.

Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites as always!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.


The days go by without any real updates from Starfleet. Chekov calls everyday on the dot at six p.m. when he knows Admiral En'Faiz is off duty. "Any news of Sulu?" he'd asked the moment En'Faiz came to the phone, alerted by a nervous secretary that a man named Pavel Chekov was on the line and demanding to speak to him.

"No, Mr. Chekov. I'm afraid not." En'Faiz is aware of Chekov; of course he is, he'd been the one to process Hikaru Sulu's sudden resignation, he'd been the one to ask for answers as to why Starfleet's new captain had suddenly given up something he was so clearly good at. His line of questioning had led to the report on the Enterprise attack, and then it had led to background checks, and then he'd understood without saying anything else and had simply signed off on Sulu's temporary resignation.

He was also Sulu's friend. It was why Chekov had called him and him alone. In a way, he supposes he understands. So he never loses his patience with the endless demands for information, only ever pacifying and soothing as much as he can.

At home, Chekov paces like a caged animal. Scotty hovers the first few days, unsure as to what to do – leave, go, stay – but he makes sure that for those critical first hours, Chekov eats, sleeps, and drinks like a normal person. "I can't just leave him," he says to Cynthia one night when she comes over to check on a sleeping Chekov. "Don't make me leave him, not now."

Eventually, Chekov calms down enough to tell Scotty that he can stop hovering like a mother hen. Scotty nods uncertainly, not wanting to leave Chekov; but he finally does, and makes sure to give Chekov a hug that's a little tighter and longer than usual. He notes that Chekov does not pull away.

Cynthia comes over every other day that Scotty isn't with Chekov; she's the one to make sure that the fridge is stocked, the dishwasher is emptied and the trash is removed. Chekov never says anything more to her than 'thank you' as he keeps his eyes glued to the television or his ear stuck to the news channel.

"What happened?" Cynthia finally asks Scotty one night as they sit in the diner opposite Chekov's apartment, watching his shadow pace across the room. "Do you have anything on the attack?"

"Not anything solid – I'm not Starfleet personnel no more so I'm not keyed in, but Keenser's heard some rumours." Scotty pushes his pasta around on his plate. "It sounds like there was some diplomatic conference with the Choshans that went wrong – and they attacked the visiting fleet as a result."

"But the crash in San Francisco?"

"Some Choshan general launched an attack before he was stopped entirely, I guess." Scotty pushes his plate away. "I can't eat. I know I'm supposed to – I want to – but I can't."

"Scotty-"

"All I can think of is the poor kid. He lost his entire family and now he's lost his best mate."

"Sulu's not dead," Cynthia says firmly.

"Not officially, no," Scotty says, defeat written across his face. "But there's an unwritten code in Starfleet – two weeks missing, and you're essentially a goner. A month in and they stop looking for you. Two months in and your name is in a bloody obituary." He rubs his eyes, exhaustion etched in the wrinkles around his forehead and lines around his mouth. "The way to go in Starfleet is to do it with some flair. It gives everyone closure. Captain Kirk did that right, at least."

"Sulu's not dead," Cynthia repeats, reaching over for Scotty's hand. "You've got to believe that. If not for yourself, at least for Pavel."

Scotty lifts his eyes to rest on Chekov's shadow, standing by the drawn curtains with slumped shoulders. "The question is, does the kid believe that himself?"

Three weeks pass. Chekov stops calling En'Faiz, and doesn't answer when the latter tries to call him back. Scotty takes to making himself a spare key because Chekov doesn't answer the door anymore. Cynthia is alarmed to find that Chekov is still eating, drinking, functioning like a normal human being – but his eyes are always focused on somewhere else, dark and stormy.

"He's shutting down again," she says to Scotty. "I'm worried."

Scotty offers to move back in. Chekov says no. They both know what he really means: I want to be alone.

The nights are quiet and cold now that it's September, a year and a month after the first attack. Chekov quits his job. His boss nods understandingly and he doesn't miss that she gives him fifty percent more than what he deserves. He makes sure to leave the extra money in the tip jar.

Chekov spends his nights watching the television screen as it replays old movies from the twenty-first century. He watches with diminishing horror as the news replay the agonizingly slow footage of the ship debris crashing into the Bay. It doesn't alarm him anymore; he knows that's not Sulu's ship. But with that understanding comes a newer question: then where is Sulu?

That question keeps him up at night. He resorts to taking pills again, but eventually they stop working. Finally, Bones comes to him three weeks, three days and twenty-two hours after the news first came to him. "Kid," he says, his voice ragged, "you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?" Chekov turns the empty pill bottle over in his hand.

"Damn it, Chekov, you know what I'm talking about." Bones sits down on the coffee table and stares at Chekov. "Stop beating yourself up for this."

"I told him to go back to Starfleet," Chekov says.

"That isn't your fault," Kirk says from where he's appeared next to Bones. "You know what else isn't your fault, Pavel? Us dying."

"Yeah, that was all Jim," Bones deadpans.

"Actually," Spock says out of nowhere, "if we were to assign some fault, we would most likely assign it to the Klingons."

"Shut up, I'm trying to be serious here." Kirk glares at his two senior officers.

"Forgive us, Captain. That is a sentiment we are unused to hearing from you." Spock inclines his head, a tell that Chekov recognizes as the Vulcan equivalent of snark. Bones only snickers and Kirk's expression grows darker.

"He's not dead, Pavel," a familiar voice says, and Chekov blinks to see Uhura perched on his bed, her legs drawn up to her chin. "You'd know if he was dead."

"Yeah, he'd be here with, well – us." Kirk blinks.

"I just – I've screwed it all up. I thought I was getting better, but this – this sucks, okay? Life is unfair and I hate it." Chekov swings his legs out of the bed. "Go away."

His ghosts follow him. "It's not your fault," Bones says.

"Go away."

"Mr. Chekov-" Spock begins, but Chekov loses it just then, nerves jagged and thin from three weeks of not knowing.

"No! I don't want to hear the damn odds or statistics that you've calculated, Spock. Numbers don't comfort me. What do you know, anyway? You're all dead. You're all dead!" The last word is screamed as Chekov hurls the empty pill bottle across the room. It hits the wall and rattles noisily as it tumbles to the ground.

Chekov grips the corners of the counter, feeling his temples pound white hot with an insane swelling of rage. Everything pulses when he looks at it; if he focuses, he can see the shimmering outlines of himself and Sulu a month ago, sitting in front of the television set, clinking glasses and making a toast to a new future. He throws a fork at the outlines. They disappear, but he feels no satisfaction.

His heartbeats increase in his ears until they're a frenzied chorus of pounding drums and suddenly Chekov can't breathe. He sees someone move in front of him – Uhura is trying to get him to look at her. Her mouth is moving – Chekov tries to hear her, but the wild pounding is drowning out all the sounds around him. Breathe, she seems to be saying desperately. Breathe.

Bones appears behind her, miming taking in a deep breath. Chekov locks his eyes on the doctor, following his breaths, counting to three before letting it out slowly. Everything begins to slow for him as the drums taper off and his muscles relax. "-that's it," Bones is saying as the sounds of the real world drift around Chekov again; "That's it, kid. Come on, stay with me."

"You're not real," Chekov gets out through gritted teeth.

"I know I'm not real, damn it," Bones says sharply. "But that doesn't mean that I don't care."

"Maybe you need to move on," Kirk says quietly. "It won't do you any good if we're always here, Pavel."

There's a gnawing desperation in Chekov's stomach. "You're the only thing I have left of you," he says, not sure if that sentence makes any sentence to anyone but him.

"I would posit that that is an incorrect assumption, Mr. Chekov," Spock says from the coffee table. He looks down at Sulu's screen, still propped on some magazines. "I believe that there is still one thing left."

"The videos?" Chekov blurts, looking down to steady himself. "I'm not… I don't think I'm ready."

There is no answer. He looks up to realize that all the ghosts are gone again.


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