Driven by an unquiet mind, Pavel Chekov trolled his Starfleet bedroom. His cabin surroundings were askew...but the discordant shriek along his spine was not caused by the changes he saw. There was a relentless presence that filled the cabin: an insistent, demanding irritant.

He strode to the room divider and made a stance there. "I'm sorry."

Sulu seemed as unimpressed with the declaration as he did the last twelve times. He sat casually at the desk, his hand tapping a small leather booklet absently against his thigh and stared back at Chekov with silent, somber patience.

The younger man felt his resolve deflate. It was pretty difficult to be righteously penitent when the other party was steadfast that there was no wrong to begin with. He moved carefully into the living area, navigating the maze of papers on the floor until he was level with the Helmsman. "You're a member of my family. You had the right to know what was going on."

It was a simple, declarative statement: an acknowledgment of fact. When the Academy had randomly thrown them together as roommates they couldn't have predicted what a blinding success it would be. The two men had not the same temperament, came together without shared interests, had life experiences that were as far apart as the galaxy is wide...and yet they had immediately recognized in each other a kindred spirit.

Big Brother: Little Brother. It was, after all, the definition the Academy had given the relationship. The point was to give every new student an upperclassman to mentor them. But it suited these two far better than was ever expected of these arrangements. The Japanese-American with overly critical and distant parents had seamlessly, and willingly, been sucked into the overly supportive and demonstrative family of the younger military service often made family out of strangers, and Chekov could imagine no one that actually shared his blood feeling more like a brother to him than this man.

Of course, if they were brothers, Chekov would have belted Sulu to wipe that ridiculous amusement off his face. His jaw hardened at the inability to carry through on the thought.

Sulu snickered: as if he heard the thought. "Two weeks of you acting like a surly asshole and I never once asked you why," was what he pointed out.

Cold horror dropped into the pit of Chekov's soul as the truth of Sulu's words settled on him. He'd been so utterly consumed with anger and self pity that he'd never even noticed his best friend hadn't been the slightest interested in finding out what was bothering him. Sulu had just waited for the younger man to come out of his self pity enough to realize there were other people in the universe. And it wasn't just 12 apologies he'd waited through: it was two weeks of him acting like a surly child he'd waited through.

"How did you know?"

Sulu's dark eyes just fixed on him. They seemed to be gauging how stupid Chekov was.

The younger man felt his soul sink. Of course his mother had spoken to Sulu.

"You're not the only son your mother has on this ship," the other man confirmed.

"How much did she tell you?" he asked quietly.

"Only that he was just under investigation - it was just the once." He smiled easily then. "She knew you'd keep me up to date."

Chekov set his jaw against the man's scrutiny. He was facing his utter failure as a friend, much less as a brother: which is what Sulu was pointing out to him with that shitty grin.

"I should have told you he'd been arrested...that he was locked up like some animal."

"You should have," Sulu agreed, shifting his eyes to the leather booklet in his hands.

" And I should have told you they found out some of the money Papa is responsible for isn't going where it belongs."

Sulu thumbed through the leather booklet absently. The silence stretched on.

"Aren't you even going to ask why?"

"I'm sure you did it for a very good reason."

I..." Chekov stopped. Sulu raised his eyes to him again: his regard downright condescending.

The Navigators shoulders sank, his last attempt at pretense deflated. Of course the man knew it was Pavel that had engineered the computer meddling Andrie was accused of. He actually was part of the family and knew it simply wasn't something the man was capable of. He knew that Chekov was not only capable of it, but he'd proven he could do such things.

Chekov sat down heavily in the chair on the other side of the desk.

"What's important here is why your father asked you to do this. Not who - but why," Sulu pressed. "This wasn't a practical joke."

Chekov's insides went cold. He dropped his eyes to his legs and scratched at a non-existent piece of lint. "No," he said tersely. "If the reason my father did this comes out it's going to embarrass the Russian government and all the Russian people."

He kept his eyes fixed on his legs but he could still feel Sulu's eyes boring into him - unwavering.

"Wow," the older man marveled. "That's some ego. You're solely in charge of protecting the Russian Federation and all her people."

"You're the second person who's said that to me."

"Well, maybe you'd better start listening," Sulu observed. "Who," the he asked with a deathly quiet tone, "put YOU in charge of Russian pride?"

Chekov's head snapped up and he sent a piercing warning glare at the other man. It had no effect.

"Who put YOU in charge of ensuring that Russian pride is unblemished and everyone feels good about themselves?" Sulu demanded. He waved the leather booklet in the air. "This?" he asked. "Is it written in here that you're responsible for everyone's pride?"

Chekov vaulted to his feet and lurched for the booklet. "Give me that! What are you doing with that?"

Sulu yanked it out of his reach. "It was on the desk," he said. "You had it out." He twisted it away from Chekov's grasping hands. He thumbed through the pages. "It's in here? That you're responsible for everyone feeling good about their country?"

Chekov stopped the attempt to grab it and just stood there, seething. "You know..."

"That's exactly what this says," Sulu concluded with finality.

The words stopped Chekov in his track. "You know damn well that's..."

"Your passport from the Historic District," Sulu agreed. "And it says that you're responsible for making sure everyone feels good about Russia."

Chekov's jaw hardened and he glared at Sulu tersely.

It was the internal passport every citizen of the Russian National Historic Districts was required to have. What it said was the result of long, deep conversations between all the adults that cared about him. The villagers in his village. The sailors on his father's ship. And the consensus of the all was the best place for the universe, the best place for him was...

"The Enterprise?" Sulu said with surprise. "Not Starfleet? Specifically the Enterprise?" He had the passport open.

"You read Russian now?" Chekov rasped thickly.

Sulu turned the passport around and pointed inside it. "I read 'Enterprise'."

Chekov yanked it out of his hands.

"You're responsible for making sure everyone feels good." Sulu scoffed. "It's ridiculous. And, yes, I'm judging your culture. Communism is insane."

The words stunned Chekov, stinging his face and soul. Coming from all people...Hikaru.

If Russia had proven anything, it was that communism with a big "C" didn't work: but it also proved that communism with a little "c" did

"I can't believe you, of all people, would say that."

When Chekov had still been at the Academy and Sulu had already graduated and earned his commission he'd gone 'home' - to Chekov's family house and village. Chekov still didn't know what had happened - Sulu hadn't offered and Chekov hadn't asked. He ha no idea if it was his parents, the sailors, the villagers - all of them - but Sulu had come back a different man: with a firm grip on his confidence and sense of self. But the older man had come away from that leave finally self assured and with a firm grip on his self confidence.***

"Centuries of Russian history has proven that communism works," Chekov snarled. "And not just Russia: there are communist societies and communities all over Earth. Israel. Native Americans. Native...all over the galaxy." He was babbling at this point: incensed that he was needing to explain this - especially to Sulu.

Sulu watched him silently as he ranted on.

"It's only when the community gets too big that it doesn't work," he insisted. "Too many people and it - implodes." 500 he thought: that's what all the studies showed. But he didn't say it out loud. "You don't care if Ivan's grandson is doing well in school: because you don't even know Ivan. You have to be focused on looking out for yourself - because no one else is."

"So... the 'Big C' doesn't work," Sulu commented. "Someone should have told Stalin that."

Chekov's eyes snapped over to the older man: and the self satisfaction on his face. He'd been baiting him.

"So," Sulu concluded again. "You're not actually responsible for making sure ALL of the people of Russia feel good about their government." He dropped his foot to the floor and sighed. "That's a good thing - because, I gotta tell you, people in the 23rd century: they don't have any personal pride in their government. They kinda expect the government to screw up occasionally.

"Not like the actual communal...communities," he continued. "I mean, the people of the Russian National Historic Districts: THEY have a personal investment in the government. They have pride: they know the government doesn't make horrific mistakes."

Chekov lurched out of his chair and strode toward the door - not even caring as he ripped and scattered the papers on the floor with his boots. It was a definitive sign for Sulu to shut up.

But he didn't: because it was a definitive sign that Chekov was pushing aside the facts. The Helmsman leaned forward, crossing his arms and pressing them into the desk's surface.

The man's dark eyes were as warm as his reasoning was flawless. "Pavel, the Russian government was embarrassed there were still peasant communities living in their country. They tried to destroy their culture: wipe the villages off the face of the Earth. And when Andrie Nikolaievich stood in their way, they beat him down. And he stood up again...and again. Until they beat him unconscious."

Chekov dragged his hand back through his hair, his eyes staring, unseeing, at the door. A sane man would have escaped through it. He didn't need to be reminded of that horrible day when Starfleet had fought hand to hand against peasants armed with swords and fists - and lost. When his father had fallen for the last time he, himself, had run and took his place blocking them from entering the village.

"They beat a child unconscious," Sulu concluded his thought. "The people of the Historic Districts - the people of your village - don't need you to preserve their good feelings about the central government: because they don't have any. They know the government is flawed."

Chekov's breath came shallow and sharp and ragged. His eyes darted around the room - seeing nothing but desperate to focus on nothing: most especially the only thought he was left with.

"You aren't trying to protect the people or the government," Sulu said - despite all indications that Chekov didn't want to hear the words. His tone was colorless. "It's your father you're trying to protect."

Chekov stopped dead. He felt a chill fill his chest. He refused to turn: refused to acknowledge the truth in his friends words and just forced himself to breathe.

Not advertising to the universe the current Russian government's shortcomings weighed heavily on his mind. But, of course, when they learned it had been Chekov's handiwork, the question would arise: why did Andrie ask a 12 year old to set this up?

"I just want to know one thing," Sulu drawled. "When did your father ask for your protection?"

Chekov stood frozen, the chill shuddering through his chest. He couldn't respond - but neither could he avoid facing the truth dead on. Focusing an investigative light on his father would bring out facts that had been carefully hidden for years, and risk a carefully maintained facade that had been built around him.

He turned and paced away: but Sulu's voice followed him."When exactly did Andrie ask for anyone's protection?"

The 'family' - including the sailors that worked for the man - just automatically protected Andrie's image. In a unanimous, unspoken pact, they maintained a bubble of illusion around the man. It was an act of unwavering love that presented the world the crisp, starched white, pristine, modern naval admiral: an unflappable Commander in Chief that ruled his world.

"You love my father as much as I do," was what he finally said aloud.

"Probably more."

Chekov spun with a sharp glance, but it was met with the same maddening, superior look.

"I have my father to compare him to, after all."

Chekov pivoted to go back to his pacing, but his feet froze in steadfast resolve to stay right there, and he foresaw no change in their declaration of independence from the rest of his body and his mind. The other man had stumbled upon a truth that was glossed over in his family.

"Papa doesn't care," Sulu said.

There simply was no argument against the truth.

The Helmsman gestured in the air. "If Papa had his way..." he hesitated for a minute. "He just doesn't care."

"People would..."

"Like him more?" Sulu suggested. "Who are you worried about being embarrassed: him...or you?"

The guilt that thought renewed freed his legs from their bonds and Chekov paced away slowly.

Sulu, in fact, was the only real friend he had. Yes, of course, he'd had plenty of 'friends' throughout his life: children he'd played with, youths with whom he'd shared the stages of his life that brought him to this point, bonds with people that revolved back into his life in cycles as he traveled with his parents. In Chekov's estimation, however, they were not friends. They were merely pleasant people he'd come to care about and shared time with.

This man was different. They were some of the rare people that happen upon each other in this universe and discover a connection as if they'd always been friends. Their differences made them richer for having known one another, and they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

"He's a grown man - not a wounded boy that needs protection from his father," Sulu said.

His 'Big Brother' just wasn't going to let it drop. Chekov moved over and let himself sink into the chair opposite Sulu. As expected, he continued.

"Papa is perfectly content as he is, and he's certainly not embarrassed that he's not a typical man. So why are you?"

"I'm not embarrassed," Chekov answered instantly. "I just..."

"Want to protect him," Sulu finished with a slight, affectionate smile.

Chekov sighed heavily, absently flipping through the pages of the passport he still held.

"It might do the world good for people to know you can run a huge military organization in the 23rd century without the use of computers," Sulu postulated.

"Well, we know that's not actually true," he answered grimly, without looking up at the other man. Andrie didn't need computers...he delegated. But the computers were still a vital necessity. Or no one got paid...Chekov thought.

There was still so much that Sulu didn't understand about the situation, the younger man thought heavily. Relieving himself of the guilt of not having told him only lightened the burden enough so that Chekov could relate to him like a Human again. Being able to sit in the same room as him was going to have to be enough - for now.

"You aren't special!" Sulu suddenly declared. "I know the galaxy spent your whole life telling you that you are, but you're not."

Chekov glance up sharply: surprised and stunned by the declaration that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Sulu's eyes met his, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Different," the Helmsman corrected. "I meant different."

Chekov's parents, in fact, were especially skilled at finding the 'special' thing in every person they encountered. Whether it be the uneducated man that stumbled aboard their ship or the President of the Federation - they could root it out almost instantly. It was both humbling and unnerving.

"You're not different," Sulu repeated. "Every Human has different sides of themselves they show based on where they are. The person that lives at home isn't the same one that attends school. You're different at your grandparent's home. And the one that hangs out with your friends is another entirely different person. It's why we send kids to school - so they can start developing an independent 'self'."

"I never went to school," Chekov said soberly. He never had the experience of becoming close to kids his own age. 'Andriech' played with the kids he encountered as his parents traveled: but it was always brief, even his exposure to the children of his own village, where they stayed in the winters. Chekov felt misery pulling his soul down. He became intensely aware of how self centered and blindly naive he was, in fact, and wondered how anyone ever put up with him.

Sulu wagged a finger at him, seeing his train of thought. "Don't go there," he warned.

"I think having different names for each personality puts it on a special level of sociopath."

Sulu started to respond, but stopped then and shook his head. "No. It's no different than every other Human alive. James Kirk is who we serve under. He's 'Jim' to his friends, and, I'm betting, 'Jimmy' to his family. McCoy definitely isn't 'Bones' to his parents or his ex-wife."

The light that glimmered in Chekov's dead eyes spurred Sulu on.

"Yeah, it's going to be uncomfortable for a bit that Pavel Chekov's circle suddenly know about Andriech." Sulu pressed his lips together as he considered it. "Especially since Andriech is a celebrity on Earth, so they're going to be able to know...everything."

He stopped Chekov's protest again. "You're a celebrity on Earth," he ended any argument with his definitive statement, "whether you like it or not.

"Andriech is your public personality, he continued. "He grew up in front of cameras, so they're going to have plenty to watch. But in a month...or two...something else is going to catch their attention and it'll be back to...almost...normal."

Chekov eyed him dubiously.

"You're just the flavor of the month," Sulu assured him.

The hope that gave Chekov just weighed the darkness in his soul down heavier. He felt it sinking into utter blackness.

With a gutteral noise, he let himself fall forward. Folding his arms on the desk, he tipped over to rest his forehead on his arms. He let out another low, slow gutteral sigh.

He felt the passport being pulled from between his fingers, and heard the other man leaving the room to put it back in Chekov's safe in the bedroom. That he was refusing to acknowledge the younger man's continued, surly mood made him feel unseen.

"I'm going to call Brenda," the navigator finally muttered.

Whatever Sulu was continuing to do in the other room, he didn't acknowldge any need to come back into the room Chekov was in. "Landon's roommate?" he asked from beyond the room divider.

"Yes," Chekov growled low again into the pit his folded arms created. "I need a one night stand. She's still been...begging," he added.

The explosive laughter that came from the other room did finally made Chekov tilt his head up so he could look in the direction the sound came from - without actually raising his head from where it rested on his arms.

He glared hard at his friend when he appeared and leaned his shoulder on the room divider.

"Very few Humans are actually wired for the mythological anonymous, meaningless physical intimacy," Sulu explained. "And you, my friend, are definitely not one of them."

Chekov closed his eyes again and growled softly. "You don't know that."

The laughter was loud and deep. "You've had TWO 'one night stands'," Sulu insisted. "Now you have one woman that follows you around the galaxy and one woman who signs you up for conferences hoping you'll be close enough to show up for them."

Chekov growled again. The fact that the man knew him so well only made the misery deeper and darker.

"You're just stressed and need relief," Sulu continued chatting amialbly, as if Chekov's life wasn't falling apart at their feet. "What you actually need - want - is to be naughty."

He'd lived with the man long enough that he knew this pattern intimately. When the stress had built to volcano level, Chekov predictably lashed out with a predictably 'evil' action.

"When we get home, we'll bring my car out and you can drive around at 250 miles per hour."

Chekov sat up at that finally, dropping his hands into his laps. "I bought you a Corvette, not a Formula 1." He purposely ignored the bait Sulu dropped about an inevitable trip home soon.

"Still 125 miles an hour faster than you promised your mother. She'll have an aneurysm," Sulu said.

"It'll be glorious," he ruminated, a smile toying over his face as he watched his suggestion ruminating behind Chekov's eyes. It should have been quickly dismissed: but there it was, invading every thought process.

"F1s don't go that fast." Chekov said it aloud, but he was talking to himself. "Indy cars: they got close in trial runs. Not in races," he mused, "but in trials."

Sulu scoffed. "GT350 is the way to go."

"You want a Shelby Cobra?"

He snorted in derision, as if there were any question.

The lines deepened on Chekov's forehead as he considered it. They may have begun with no mutual interests but one ride in Chekov's automobile had changed that. Even if it did only go 45mph - downhill. With a wild wind pushing it.

Sulu had become the welcome repository of cars that violated Chekov's promise to his mother after he'd crashed a motorcycle in a reckless - and thoroughly satisfying - jump. Shelby Cobra's weren't a rare automobile model in the late 23rd century, but he'd need to find one that wasn't part of a museum exhibit... one owned by a grandfather that had been sitting collecting dust in a garage. "No racing stripes," he muttered aloud to himself. "Hate that"... unless it had actually been a race car.

"The United States is going to be the best place to start looking," he finally said to the Helmsman. He looked over at him - and watched as the self satisfaction took complete hold. A wide grin spread over the other man's face.

It wasn't because he thought Chekov was buying him another automobile.

Sulu had been triumphant, the younger man admitted to himself reluctantly. The man had baited Chekov through a long and peppered minefield until he'd come back into someone that could interact with his crew mates again. Who exactly that was, was yet to be determined - but the Helmsman had been effective where the discussions with Spock were not.

Which made complete sense. Sulu was, in fact, the only person who had spent any amount of time with the "real" man who sat in the Enterprise's navigation chair.

Of course he had plenty of people that enjoyed hanging out him. In fact, he was extremely popular as a companion on the ship because of his easy going nature, broad humor - and his innate talent at reading people. But that was Pavel Chekov they knew: the version of himself he'd crafted for them to know. The version that was a "nobody" - nobody but the clever young officer in a Starfleet uniform without much other depth. Back home, it was "somebody" everyone knew: the smiling, charming, impish 'Andriech'.

The man who crafted what people saw at any given time was far more elusive. Pavel Andrieivich was found in the sanctuary of his home in Russia, on his father's ship - and in the 'Helm Suite' on the Enterprise in Sulu's company. It wasn't just that they'd been roommates so long, or that they'd been through so much together. One of the rare occurances when two people stumbled upon each other who had a primitive, innate connection - as if they'd always been friends: despite of - or because of their differences. Their differences made them richer for having known one another, and they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

It could be annoying. But Sulu had effectively found a way to turn Pavel Chekov back into someone who could be tolerated by the crew.

As the man disappeared into his own cabin, Chekov's eyes drifted to the long length of paper on the floor, stretched along the wall of the living area. The papers that belonged beneath it were scattered, ripped by his boot heels.

Not that it mattered. Not that any of this mattered...