Sulu strode into the cabin from the bathroom. "It's true? You're working with Mikail Nikolaevich Kipiani?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Sulu stopped at the bottom of the bed, startled by the sight of Chekov laying there. It was completely out of character for Pavel to be laying on his bed in his uniform and boots.

"You'll rip your quilt," he observed, pointing at the man's boots.

"I'm not an idiot."

Which meant, the Helmsman supposed, that he wouldn't be putting the heels of his boots against the stitching on the homemade quilt from home.

Sulu pressed his lips together in thought. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Seems like you need to talk about it."

"You always complain I'm too open with my emotions."

"And I'm too closed: it's why we're perfect brothers."

Chekov didn't answer him and Sulu let it drop.

"C'mon: we're playing Candyland and Chutes and Ladders tonight." The games had actually come from Chekov and, though they were meant for children, they produced a lot of laughter and, unbelievably, fierce competition.

"We're waiting for you." He grabbed the man's bicep and tugged on it encouragingly.

A wince shot across Chekov's face like a bolt of electricity.

Sulu's brow knit as the younger man pulled his arm away in a subtle shift meant to disguise it.

"I'm not in the mood tonight."

The Helmsman nodded understanding, but pressed on. "C'mon, with just Uhura and Riley it's going to be draining. I need a compatriot."

"I just want to be left alone," the man said tiredly.

Sulu drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Give me your uniform shirt: I'll put it away for you," he said, patting the man's arm. A wince hardened Chekov's jaw and the muscles of his cheek this time: confirming for Sulu that he hadn't imagined the earlier wince.

"Just go."

Sulu pulled his hand away from the clearly injured arm and sat silently. Both anger and grief at what he knew was happening coursed through him. He set his shoulders back. "Pavel," he said darkly and tonelessly. "Take off your shirts."

Chekov turned his head to look at him for the first time. "I'm uncomfortable with how determined you are to see my naked chest."

Sulu was on his feet instantly and spun to glare at the Navigator angrily. "That is NOT a joking matter."

He tensed. "If you're serious we need to notify HR – and after an investigation, just to be safe – they'll move one of us to a new cabin: where we'll be alone because no one else can stand sharing a bathroom with either one of us. And they'll move one of us to a different duty watch so we're not working together.

"If you weren't serious and you just made a very bad decision to use a phrase you knew would trigger a shit storm – just to punish me for asking: you need to take off your shirts and show me you only have a bruise on your arm."

Chekov didn't answer immediately.

"It's none of your business," he finally said, his voice subdued as the only apology for his bad choice.

"If your arm is broken or your ribs are cracked, it's none of my business," Sulu said evenly. "If your spleen is ruptured or you're bleeding internally, that IS my business. Now take off your shirts so I can see if you're going to die in your sleep tonight."

Chekov jerked up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and yanked his shirts off. "Happy?"

Sulu waited until the fires were wild burning embers he didn't have to express. "No," he replied, his eyes drifting over the bruises on other man's chest and arms. "I was hoping he'd just grabbed your arm."

"It's nothing. He's just…very physical in the way he works. I just have to get used to his different work style."

"He only hit you where it would cause pain and not damage – and where it wouldn't show. That's deliberate."

"Koshka…"

Sulu interrupted him. "Reminding me that I love you like a brother is probably NOT what you want to do just now," he spat back at him.

He moved towards the door to the bathroom that connected their cabins. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, thought Sulu. His 'brother' was being hurt – but it was Chekov's informed choice to both endure it and hide it - and there was nothing Sulu could do about it.

"It's not me," Chekov explained to Sulu's back.

Sulu stopped. It wasn't the first time one of them had responded as if they could hear the other's thoughts.

He turned and eyed Chekov warily.

"It's not me," Chekov repeated, standing up and grabbing the uniform shirt he'd just taken off. "It's just…if he catches sight of my face out of the corner of his eye…" he continued as he folded the shirt.

So, apparently, Sulu thought, it was okay if it was Andrie the man was hitting.

"I have to approach him directly: not show up suddenly in his peripheral vision, not startle him, just warn him when I'm going to approach," he concluded as he lay his uniform shirt on the shelf.

Sulu's eyes narrowed. "You need to see Dr. McCoy."

"I am not bleeding internally," he bit out.

"No," Sulu agreed. "You're making excuses and blaming yourself for someone else's fucked up behavior." He hesitated at the door. "That, my friend, requires some medical intervention." He moved, but hesitated again when the door slid open. Even though their visits to Chekov's home were infrequent, Sulu knew the story.

"That man doesn't deserve your protection."