Fic: Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness (Part Eight)
Title: Though My Soul May Set in Darkness
Characters/Pairings: McCoy/Chekov + ensemble main crew, background OCs and other pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: implied and remembered non-con, graphic dub con, implied underage, slavery and inherent consent issues, messing around with people’s minds, violence, non-graphic torture, aphrodisiac substances employed deviously (none of it perpetrated by the good guys), and angst. Also, pseudo!science.
Betas: the eagle-eyed vellum and the queen of idea-bouncing jaune_chat
Summary: Chekov has recovered from a year spent in captivity after an away mission gone wrong; he’s repaired relationships with his friends and built a new love with a certain surly ship’s doctor. A new undercover mission could offer Chekov closure, but other crew members object to putting himself in danger again. Chekov knows he’s strong enough to face his fears, but can he convince those closest to him that this mission is worth the risk?
Chekov’s body felt heavy. His bones and flesh weighed him down until he thought he might not be able to breathe. But then air filled up his lungs, his heart pumped blood through his veins, and his eyes opened.
McCoy stood near the edge of his bed, back turned, snapping at someone. “His blood pressure’s fine, now leave us alone.”
“Len?”
McCoy turned around immediately and appeared at his bedside before Chekov could blink. “I’m here.” He gently lifted one of Chekov’s hands in his.
“I fell asleep,” Chekov said, but he knew that wasn’t right. After all, he was still so tired.
“You’re awake now.”
“No, I did not fall asleep,” he said. The memories began to drift into reach: the cold of Camlich’s ship, the rush of the drug in his blood, the bit of the knife into his flesh. “I was hurt.” He struggled to sit up.
“Take it easy, Pavel.” He pushed Chekov gently back down. “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m in sickbay,” he said with a tentative smile. “My name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov, and I am in love with Leonard McCoy.”
“At least you remember the important things.”
He reached deep inside to dredge up the strength to smile. “Is everyone alright?” he asked.
“Fine, now that you are.”
“Hikaru?”
“On the bridge.”
“Luka?”
“With Spock. You need to get some rest.”
“Yes.” Sleep seemed to wrap tight around Chekov, dragging him down. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
McCoy squeezed his hand, and as Chekov drifted off again, he heard him whisper, “Always.”
--
“I’m pleased you managed to take the Viceroy alive,” Trenach said.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Kirk said, but there was no real heat behind his grumbling. Trenach-and by extension Starfleet Intelligence-seemed wholly pleased, and it was nice to be in favor with the authorities for once.
“With any luck we can get him to give up more of his syndicate contacts,” Trenach said. “He knows we have ample evidence against him. Have you found anything useful in your investigation of the base?”
“The away teams are still working through it all. We have a booby-trapped lunar base and more than a dozen ships to process, not to mention the operation on Ranii. No one’s questioning any of the refugee slaves until my medical and psychology personnel are satisfied that they’re ready.”
“Of course, Captain,” Trenach said, soundly vaguely affronted.
“I’ll feel a lot better when those refugee processing ships gets here. We’ve only taken the worst cases on board, but those temporary lodgings we’ve got set up in the cargo bays can’t be comfortable.”
“Are they less comfortable than slave barracks?”
“Touché.”
The door slid open to reveal Spock, holding a data padd at a precise angle in front of him. “Captain. I did not realize you were in conference.” He nodded to the Commander. “Mister Trenach.”
“Mister Spock.”
“It’s alright, Spock. I was just bringing the Commander up to speed on our clean-up efforts. What’d you bring me?”
“Lieutenant Uhura’s report from the lunar base.” Spock handed him the padd. “She has recovered extensive records about communications with trading partners all over the sector, as well as with other syndicate operations.”
“They just left those records lying around?” Trenach asked.
“Not at all,” said Spock. “They were heavily encrypted.”
“Not heavily enough to stop my crew,” Kirk said with an air of pride.
“No, sir,” Spock replied.
“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’d like to meet with Lieutenant Uhura and examine those records as soon as possible.” Trenach stood. “And Captain.” He stuck out his hand, and Kirk shook it suspiciously. “Congratulations on a commendable job. Please pass my compliments on to the mission team.”
“I will.” Kirk watched him go, then turned to Spock. “Thanks for breaking that up. He was being polite. It was weird.”
“That, as you say, is what friends are for.”
“Glad they’re making progress down there.” Kirk started to look at the padd, then remember something else he wanted to ask. “Hey, how’s your Vulcan?”
“His name is Luka,” Spock said, a sudden sharp edge in his voice.
“Alright,” Kirk said slowly. “How is Luka?”
Spock unbent marginally, and took a seat at the table next to Kirk. “His injuries are healing well. He killed that woman mind to mind, with the raw power of his emotions. Few have done such a thing and come through the experience...whole.”
“So how is he really?” Kirk asked. As successful as the mission had been, he knew this one slave meant a lot to Spock, and to everyone on the mission. “Last I heard, he was still unconscious.”
“I have spoken with him,” Spock said. Then he hesitated. “After Doctor M’Benga treated him, I attempted a mind-meld.”
“Spock! Should you really be doing that with someone so traumatized? Couldn’t you get, I don’t know,” he waved a hand vaguely, “pulled in?”
“Doctor M’Benga supervised the proceeding,” Spock said, and Kirk could have sworn he looked guilty. “Perhaps it was unwise. I only wanted to see if he would regain consciousness.”
“See if he would? Does that mean he did?”
“It is possible my presence helped ground him. He is conscious and speaking, but he is not well,” Spock said. He showed no outward signs on emotional turmoil beyond a furrowed brow, but Kirk knew how deeply Spock’s loyalty to his people ran. In fact, in a different universe, Spock would have left the Enterprise to help with rebuilding his culture on New Vulcan, so Kirk didn’t buy Spock’s detachment from this situation.
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“The mind-healers on New Vulcan have had much experience dealing with mental trauma in the past years. I am optimistic that they can help him. He is not a killer at heart, this much I can tell from touching his mind.”
“We’ll do everything we can for him, Spock. I promise,” Kirk said. Spock nodded, and the tension in his face eased a fraction. “And what about Chekov?”
“He is resting. Doctor McCoy spoke to him when he woke up this morning.”
“And?” Kirk prompted.
“And he seems… subdued.”
“We came really close to losing him, Spock. Too close.”
“I am aware.”
“Do you think he’s alright?” Kirk asked.
“Ensign Chekov?” Spock raised an eyebrow.
“No, Bones. He seemed strange.”
“He is spending a great deal of time tending to the refugees, despite his staff’s repeated admonitions to rest.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Bones,” Kirk mused. “Can’t leave a job undone. Is he freaking out?”
“Sir?” The eyebrow was back.
“About whatever happened on that planet or that ship or the whole damn mission. He won’t talk about it. Hasn’t even made his report.”
“You are the captain. You could order him to do so.”
“Do you think that’s likely to end well?” Kirk asked.
Spock inclined his head. “No, sir.”
“Spock…” Kirk sighed. “I made him go.”
“It was his decision.”
“I pushed him into it,” Kirk said. He pushed out of his chair and paced the length of the small room. “What if that was the wrong move? We don’t know what happened to them on this mission, beyond Sulu’s basic summary. McCoy could be as torn up as Luka, but he’d die before admitting it.”
“Jim.” Spock caught Kirk by the shoulder to stop his pacing. “Doctor McCoy successfully completed his mission, and all of his team members returned intact. Even by your unrealistically high standards, this is a victory. If Doctor McCoy does not see that yet, he will in time. Have patience.”
--
McCoy ducked around the flimsy metal frame that separated this section of the makeshift medical station in the cargo bay. His patient sat on a low bed, head down, looking as lost as McCoy had ever seen a man look. “Luka?”
He started, and when he saw McCoy, his eyes widened.
“It’s Doctor McCoy. If you want me to leave, I understand.”
“No, I know who you are,” Luka said.
McCoy stayed where he was. “Doctor M’Benga asked me to check on your leg. I can send someone else, if you’d rather.”
“I didn’t know you were really a doctor.”
“Yes, I’m a doctor, not a slave owner. Sorry for the deception.” McCoy stepped in and held up his medical scanner. “Put your leg up?”
Without looking away from him, Luka swung his bandaged leg up onto the bed and rolled his pant leg up above the knee.
McCoy pulled up a chair and began unwrapping the bandage. The silence stood between them, thin and brittle, until McCoy said, “Listen. I’m sort of the local expert on dealing with freed slaves. And by expert, I mean I’m the one who helped Chekov when we first got him back.”
“Who’s Chekov?”
“Who is--?” McCoy looked up to see if Luka was making a joke, then remembered how little Luka knew of who they really were. “Pasha,” McCoy said, and Luka nodded. “His real name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”
“I see. I do not know my name. Commander Spock says that he will help me try to regain my memories when my condition is more stable.”
“Well, he helped Chekov get his memories back. If anyone here can help you, it’s Spock.”
“Yes.”
McCoy pulled off the end of the bandage and turned to throw it in the disposal. When he turned back, Luka had his eyes shut tight, and was gripping the edge of the bed with all his might. “What? Are you hurt? Is it your leg?”
“No.” Luka gave a full-body shudder, then pried his fingers off the edge of the bed one at a time, until he was could sit with his hands in his lap again. “I apologize. I shouldn’t-a Vulcan shouldn’t be so weak. If I had proper mental discipline, all this would not have happened.”
McCoy looked at him sharply. “Who told you that?”
“It’s only logical. True Vulcan discipline purges all emotion. I cannot even contain mine. That is why Commander Spock can’t bear to touch me.”
“He said that?” McCoy asked. A righteous fury kindled somewhere just inside his ribcage.
“He did not have to. If I were in his place, I could not,” Luka said bitterly. “My mind is tainted, my discipline shattered. I… Doctor, I killed her. I killed the Lady Mihran. I felt her mind die.”
“And the world is well rid of her. Listen.” Luka looked at him with a spark of hope, and McCoy’s rage died in the wake of profound determination. “Listen to me. I won’t say what’s happened hasn’t changed you. Chekov still deals with his memories of slavery every day. But you’re free now. You’re not a slave to her, or to your past. Understand?”
“Yes,” Luka said softly.
McCoy picked up his tricorder and scanned Luka’s leg. “Bone’s almost knit. The skin is re-healing nicely, too. A few more treatments, and you’ll be walking again.” He dug a new roll of bandage out of his bag and began re-wrapping Luka’s leg. “How’s that brand? Need me to take a look?”
“It is almost completely healed,” Luka said. “They have been using that machine you mentioned, the dermal regenerator.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Is… Chekov alright? They told me he was injured.”
McCoy’s hands came to a stop, and he had to remind them forcibly to keep bandaging. “He’ll be fine. He was… He’ll be fine.”
“I saw his memories of you,” Luka said.
McCoy didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Which memories?”
“Impressions, mostly. Feelings. They made me doubt him, for I could not understand how a slave could feel so much love for his master.”
McCoy sighed. “He did love me.”
“Don’t be foolish, doctor.” Luka gave him a hard look. “In the mind, emotion says what words cannot. His love for you runs through to the core of him. He could not root it out without destroying himself.”
“There’s a comforting thought,” McCoy said.
“I am merely pointing out that your feelings for one another create a perfect balance. It defies logic to deny your need for each other.”
McCoy finished fastening the end of Luka’s bandage, and shook his head. “Heaven forbid I defy logic.”
“Indeed.”
McCoy snorted. “When you get to know Spock better, you’ll figure out why that’s funny.” He stood and hefted his med kit . “Now keep off that leg until M’Benga clears you.”
Luka nodded and placed both feet on the floor gingerly.
Without thinking, McCoy dropped to a crouch and caught Luka’s hands in his. “Luka, you’re not tainted. Talk to Spock again. If I know him, he and Jim are already planning how to get you some help. Besides, under that logical mask, Spock has a big, squishy heart.”
Luka raised an eyebrow. “Squishy? I thought his shared ancestry was human.”
--
Sulu waited until Chapel went into the store room, then sped across sickbay to the private rooms in the back. He found the one he wanted, slid inside, and pushed the door closed just as Chapel was returning. When he turned, Chekov was sitting up in bed, holding his arms open in greeting. “Hikaru!”
“Hey.” Sulu went to him and wrapped him in his arms, glad of the evidence that Chekov was real and whole. “I heard you tried to get out of coming back to write your mission report.”
“I heard you chased down seventeen ships trying to flee the lunar base.”
Sulu grinned. He wasn’t sure what stories they were telling around the ship, but that count probably wasn’t far off. He hadn’t been entirely idle while Kirk and Spock were staging their daring rescue. “Well, don’t believe everything you hear.”
“I will wait to reserve judgment until I have the facts,” Chekov said with a grin. “After all, I missed the whole thing.”
Sulu’s good mood faltered at that. He sank down on the edge of the bed and took Chekov’s hand. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“Don’t do that,” Chekov said quickly.
“I have to. I’m sorry you had to go through that without me. I swore to protect you.”
“You did protect me.” Chekov put his hand on Sulu’s face to make him meet his eyes. “It is as we talked about. You did what we had to for the mission. And you succeeded.”
“Well.” Sulu felt his cheeks heating, and he shrugged off Chekov’s praise. “Did Kirk tell you we found all their short-range transmission equipment?”
“No, he did not.”
“Uhura has a crew down there now working on it. They should be able to track all the people these bastards have been sending messages to. Once we catch up with them, we can find out who their contacts are, and so on, until we root out the whole web.”
“It’s what we hoped for.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I ever thought about trying to talk you out of going. Now that I’ve seen what it was like, I know why we had to do this.”
“See, you should listen more often to your wise friend.” His grin faded a little. “Where is McCoy?”
“He’s around,” Sulu said brightly. Then, “Actually, I haven’t seen him.”
“Is he… alright?”
“He’s fine.” Sulu thought about it for a second. “Pavel, I think he’s afraid.”
“Of what is he afraid?”
“He’s afraid of what we did down there. Hell, I’m afraid of what we did down there, and I’m not the one who had to do most of it.”
“I already said, you did what you had to do!”
“I know that, Pavel.” He grabbed Chekov’s hand again. “I know. And I think if he really took the time to think about it, he’d know it too. Instead, he’s doing what he usually does.”
“Is he brooding?” Chekov asked suspiciously.
“He may be brooding,” Sulu confessed.
“No, this is good. It gives me a chance to go rescue him, for a change.” Chekov looked cheered, which was a sight Sulu could get used to quickly. “Hikaru? Thank you for going. Thank you for knocking sense into me.”
“Hey,” Sulu said, laying a hand on his heart. “Any time you need someone to knock sense into you, call you out, or take you down a peg, you know who to call.”
Chekov shoved him off the bed.
--
Chekov had apparently spent his quota of luck on surviving his mission, because he couldn’t manage to find a way out of sickbay. He was beginning to understand why the captain always had to be dragged in under duress. He’d argued his case to M’Benga, who remained completely unimpressed. He’d tried to sneak out twice, only to be marched back by attending medical personnel like an errant teenager. He’d petitioned the captain himself for an early release, to no avail. At last, Chekov was able to use wide eyes and deep sighs to bend Nurse Chapel’s resolve.
“I want to see the others. The ones we rescued,” he pleaded.
“You don’t need to go down there,” Chapel said. “Crew are looking after them. You’ve done enough.”
“Please, Christine. I need to go.”
She sighed, and pointed a warning finger at him. “I won’t stop you. Unless you violate quarantine procedure. Then I’ll have you back here strapped to a biobed before you can blink. Ponyatno?”
“Ponyal.”
“Good. Off you go.”
Chekov jumped out of bed and planted a kiss on her cheek on his way out the door.
“Pavel,” she called. “He should be in cargo bay four.”
--
McCoy had just finished giving an immune booster shot to a Talarian refugee when Chekov appeared beside him. “Chapel was right. You are out here working yourself too hard.”
Seeing Chekov standing there, outside of sickbay, dressed in his uniform and grinning like a fool, McCoy couldn’t help gathering him into an embrace. “I knew I couldn’t hide from you forever.”
“It was foolish to try.”
“Probably.” McCoy grabbed his bag and steered Chekov over to the partitioned area the medical personnel had set up to take breaks and catch a few minutes of rest when they could. He threw down his bag to take Chekov’s face in his hands and kiss him. He was real, and alive, and here. When McCoy had finally reassured himself of Chekov’s existence, he released him. “Sorry. I missed you.”
“No, I am sorry.” Chekov grabbed McCoy’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. “I am sorry I had to put myself in such danger. I am sorry for the things you had to do.”
“Don’t be sorry.” McCoy pulled Chekov’s hand down. “Don’t ever be sorry for that. We all knew what we were getting into.”
“Alright. I won’t be sorry if you won’t.” He looked hard at McCoy, as if he were taking stock. “You did not break.”
“Neither did you,” McCoy said.
“I never thought you would.”
“I had my doubts.”
“And now?” Chekov asked, and uncertainty crept into his voice again.
McCoy would give Chekov what he needed to silence that doubt once and for all. “Now I know.”
“Know what?”
“Know that you’re stronger than I ever imagined. You are. . I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out. I know I haven’t always treated you the way you wanted, the way you deserved. But I’m going to do better. I trust you to tell me what you need. That is…” McCoy stumbled to a stop, suddenly panicked at the thought that he might be humiliating himself with all this monologuing. “I mean, if you want me. If you want this-”
Chekov pressed a finger to his lips. “You can be very dense sometimes, for a highly educated man. Yes, I want you. And thank you.”
When Chekov took his finger away, McCoy asked, “For what?”
“Oh no,” Chekov laughed. “I am not keeping track again of who owes who how many apologies or favors!”
“But that seemed to end up with some fairly satisfactory ways, if I remember correctly,” McCoy said.
“I am certain I do not know what you are talking about,” Chekov said coyly. “Besides, I am definitely ahead in being owed favors.”
“You are, are you?” McCoy asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I am smart enough to come down here and stop you before you brood yourself into oblivion.”
“Brood!” McCoy scowled. “I do not brood.”
“Fret?”
“No.”
“Sulk?”
“Never.”
“Pout?”
“Pavel!” McCoy, sensing that he had no chance of winning a verbal sparring match, chose the wiser path and closed the matter with a kiss.
Previous Part
Master Post
Characters/Pairings: McCoy/Chekov + ensemble main crew, background OCs and other pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: implied and remembered non-con, graphic dub con, implied underage, slavery and inherent consent issues, messing around with people’s minds, violence, non-graphic torture, aphrodisiac substances employed deviously (none of it perpetrated by the good guys), and angst. Also, pseudo!science.
Betas: the eagle-eyed vellum and the queen of idea-bouncing jaune_chat
Summary: Chekov has recovered from a year spent in captivity after an away mission gone wrong; he’s repaired relationships with his friends and built a new love with a certain surly ship’s doctor. A new undercover mission could offer Chekov closure, but other crew members object to putting himself in danger again. Chekov knows he’s strong enough to face his fears, but can he convince those closest to him that this mission is worth the risk?
Chekov’s body felt heavy. His bones and flesh weighed him down until he thought he might not be able to breathe. But then air filled up his lungs, his heart pumped blood through his veins, and his eyes opened.
McCoy stood near the edge of his bed, back turned, snapping at someone. “His blood pressure’s fine, now leave us alone.”
“Len?”
McCoy turned around immediately and appeared at his bedside before Chekov could blink. “I’m here.” He gently lifted one of Chekov’s hands in his.
“I fell asleep,” Chekov said, but he knew that wasn’t right. After all, he was still so tired.
“You’re awake now.”
“No, I did not fall asleep,” he said. The memories began to drift into reach: the cold of Camlich’s ship, the rush of the drug in his blood, the bit of the knife into his flesh. “I was hurt.” He struggled to sit up.
“Take it easy, Pavel.” He pushed Chekov gently back down. “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m in sickbay,” he said with a tentative smile. “My name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov, and I am in love with Leonard McCoy.”
“At least you remember the important things.”
He reached deep inside to dredge up the strength to smile. “Is everyone alright?” he asked.
“Fine, now that you are.”
“Hikaru?”
“On the bridge.”
“Luka?”
“With Spock. You need to get some rest.”
“Yes.” Sleep seemed to wrap tight around Chekov, dragging him down. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
McCoy squeezed his hand, and as Chekov drifted off again, he heard him whisper, “Always.”
--
“I’m pleased you managed to take the Viceroy alive,” Trenach said.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Kirk said, but there was no real heat behind his grumbling. Trenach-and by extension Starfleet Intelligence-seemed wholly pleased, and it was nice to be in favor with the authorities for once.
“With any luck we can get him to give up more of his syndicate contacts,” Trenach said. “He knows we have ample evidence against him. Have you found anything useful in your investigation of the base?”
“The away teams are still working through it all. We have a booby-trapped lunar base and more than a dozen ships to process, not to mention the operation on Ranii. No one’s questioning any of the refugee slaves until my medical and psychology personnel are satisfied that they’re ready.”
“Of course, Captain,” Trenach said, soundly vaguely affronted.
“I’ll feel a lot better when those refugee processing ships gets here. We’ve only taken the worst cases on board, but those temporary lodgings we’ve got set up in the cargo bays can’t be comfortable.”
“Are they less comfortable than slave barracks?”
“Touché.”
The door slid open to reveal Spock, holding a data padd at a precise angle in front of him. “Captain. I did not realize you were in conference.” He nodded to the Commander. “Mister Trenach.”
“Mister Spock.”
“It’s alright, Spock. I was just bringing the Commander up to speed on our clean-up efforts. What’d you bring me?”
“Lieutenant Uhura’s report from the lunar base.” Spock handed him the padd. “She has recovered extensive records about communications with trading partners all over the sector, as well as with other syndicate operations.”
“They just left those records lying around?” Trenach asked.
“Not at all,” said Spock. “They were heavily encrypted.”
“Not heavily enough to stop my crew,” Kirk said with an air of pride.
“No, sir,” Spock replied.
“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’d like to meet with Lieutenant Uhura and examine those records as soon as possible.” Trenach stood. “And Captain.” He stuck out his hand, and Kirk shook it suspiciously. “Congratulations on a commendable job. Please pass my compliments on to the mission team.”
“I will.” Kirk watched him go, then turned to Spock. “Thanks for breaking that up. He was being polite. It was weird.”
“That, as you say, is what friends are for.”
“Glad they’re making progress down there.” Kirk started to look at the padd, then remember something else he wanted to ask. “Hey, how’s your Vulcan?”
“His name is Luka,” Spock said, a sudden sharp edge in his voice.
“Alright,” Kirk said slowly. “How is Luka?”
Spock unbent marginally, and took a seat at the table next to Kirk. “His injuries are healing well. He killed that woman mind to mind, with the raw power of his emotions. Few have done such a thing and come through the experience...whole.”
“So how is he really?” Kirk asked. As successful as the mission had been, he knew this one slave meant a lot to Spock, and to everyone on the mission. “Last I heard, he was still unconscious.”
“I have spoken with him,” Spock said. Then he hesitated. “After Doctor M’Benga treated him, I attempted a mind-meld.”
“Spock! Should you really be doing that with someone so traumatized? Couldn’t you get, I don’t know,” he waved a hand vaguely, “pulled in?”
“Doctor M’Benga supervised the proceeding,” Spock said, and Kirk could have sworn he looked guilty. “Perhaps it was unwise. I only wanted to see if he would regain consciousness.”
“See if he would? Does that mean he did?”
“It is possible my presence helped ground him. He is conscious and speaking, but he is not well,” Spock said. He showed no outward signs on emotional turmoil beyond a furrowed brow, but Kirk knew how deeply Spock’s loyalty to his people ran. In fact, in a different universe, Spock would have left the Enterprise to help with rebuilding his culture on New Vulcan, so Kirk didn’t buy Spock’s detachment from this situation.
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“The mind-healers on New Vulcan have had much experience dealing with mental trauma in the past years. I am optimistic that they can help him. He is not a killer at heart, this much I can tell from touching his mind.”
“We’ll do everything we can for him, Spock. I promise,” Kirk said. Spock nodded, and the tension in his face eased a fraction. “And what about Chekov?”
“He is resting. Doctor McCoy spoke to him when he woke up this morning.”
“And?” Kirk prompted.
“And he seems… subdued.”
“We came really close to losing him, Spock. Too close.”
“I am aware.”
“Do you think he’s alright?” Kirk asked.
“Ensign Chekov?” Spock raised an eyebrow.
“No, Bones. He seemed strange.”
“He is spending a great deal of time tending to the refugees, despite his staff’s repeated admonitions to rest.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Bones,” Kirk mused. “Can’t leave a job undone. Is he freaking out?”
“Sir?” The eyebrow was back.
“About whatever happened on that planet or that ship or the whole damn mission. He won’t talk about it. Hasn’t even made his report.”
“You are the captain. You could order him to do so.”
“Do you think that’s likely to end well?” Kirk asked.
Spock inclined his head. “No, sir.”
“Spock…” Kirk sighed. “I made him go.”
“It was his decision.”
“I pushed him into it,” Kirk said. He pushed out of his chair and paced the length of the small room. “What if that was the wrong move? We don’t know what happened to them on this mission, beyond Sulu’s basic summary. McCoy could be as torn up as Luka, but he’d die before admitting it.”
“Jim.” Spock caught Kirk by the shoulder to stop his pacing. “Doctor McCoy successfully completed his mission, and all of his team members returned intact. Even by your unrealistically high standards, this is a victory. If Doctor McCoy does not see that yet, he will in time. Have patience.”
--
McCoy ducked around the flimsy metal frame that separated this section of the makeshift medical station in the cargo bay. His patient sat on a low bed, head down, looking as lost as McCoy had ever seen a man look. “Luka?”
He started, and when he saw McCoy, his eyes widened.
“It’s Doctor McCoy. If you want me to leave, I understand.”
“No, I know who you are,” Luka said.
McCoy stayed where he was. “Doctor M’Benga asked me to check on your leg. I can send someone else, if you’d rather.”
“I didn’t know you were really a doctor.”
“Yes, I’m a doctor, not a slave owner. Sorry for the deception.” McCoy stepped in and held up his medical scanner. “Put your leg up?”
Without looking away from him, Luka swung his bandaged leg up onto the bed and rolled his pant leg up above the knee.
McCoy pulled up a chair and began unwrapping the bandage. The silence stood between them, thin and brittle, until McCoy said, “Listen. I’m sort of the local expert on dealing with freed slaves. And by expert, I mean I’m the one who helped Chekov when we first got him back.”
“Who’s Chekov?”
“Who is--?” McCoy looked up to see if Luka was making a joke, then remembered how little Luka knew of who they really were. “Pasha,” McCoy said, and Luka nodded. “His real name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”
“I see. I do not know my name. Commander Spock says that he will help me try to regain my memories when my condition is more stable.”
“Well, he helped Chekov get his memories back. If anyone here can help you, it’s Spock.”
“Yes.”
McCoy pulled off the end of the bandage and turned to throw it in the disposal. When he turned back, Luka had his eyes shut tight, and was gripping the edge of the bed with all his might. “What? Are you hurt? Is it your leg?”
“No.” Luka gave a full-body shudder, then pried his fingers off the edge of the bed one at a time, until he was could sit with his hands in his lap again. “I apologize. I shouldn’t-a Vulcan shouldn’t be so weak. If I had proper mental discipline, all this would not have happened.”
McCoy looked at him sharply. “Who told you that?”
“It’s only logical. True Vulcan discipline purges all emotion. I cannot even contain mine. That is why Commander Spock can’t bear to touch me.”
“He said that?” McCoy asked. A righteous fury kindled somewhere just inside his ribcage.
“He did not have to. If I were in his place, I could not,” Luka said bitterly. “My mind is tainted, my discipline shattered. I… Doctor, I killed her. I killed the Lady Mihran. I felt her mind die.”
“And the world is well rid of her. Listen.” Luka looked at him with a spark of hope, and McCoy’s rage died in the wake of profound determination. “Listen to me. I won’t say what’s happened hasn’t changed you. Chekov still deals with his memories of slavery every day. But you’re free now. You’re not a slave to her, or to your past. Understand?”
“Yes,” Luka said softly.
McCoy picked up his tricorder and scanned Luka’s leg. “Bone’s almost knit. The skin is re-healing nicely, too. A few more treatments, and you’ll be walking again.” He dug a new roll of bandage out of his bag and began re-wrapping Luka’s leg. “How’s that brand? Need me to take a look?”
“It is almost completely healed,” Luka said. “They have been using that machine you mentioned, the dermal regenerator.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Is… Chekov alright? They told me he was injured.”
McCoy’s hands came to a stop, and he had to remind them forcibly to keep bandaging. “He’ll be fine. He was… He’ll be fine.”
“I saw his memories of you,” Luka said.
McCoy didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Which memories?”
“Impressions, mostly. Feelings. They made me doubt him, for I could not understand how a slave could feel so much love for his master.”
McCoy sighed. “He did love me.”
“Don’t be foolish, doctor.” Luka gave him a hard look. “In the mind, emotion says what words cannot. His love for you runs through to the core of him. He could not root it out without destroying himself.”
“There’s a comforting thought,” McCoy said.
“I am merely pointing out that your feelings for one another create a perfect balance. It defies logic to deny your need for each other.”
McCoy finished fastening the end of Luka’s bandage, and shook his head. “Heaven forbid I defy logic.”
“Indeed.”
McCoy snorted. “When you get to know Spock better, you’ll figure out why that’s funny.” He stood and hefted his med kit . “Now keep off that leg until M’Benga clears you.”
Luka nodded and placed both feet on the floor gingerly.
Without thinking, McCoy dropped to a crouch and caught Luka’s hands in his. “Luka, you’re not tainted. Talk to Spock again. If I know him, he and Jim are already planning how to get you some help. Besides, under that logical mask, Spock has a big, squishy heart.”
Luka raised an eyebrow. “Squishy? I thought his shared ancestry was human.”
--
Sulu waited until Chapel went into the store room, then sped across sickbay to the private rooms in the back. He found the one he wanted, slid inside, and pushed the door closed just as Chapel was returning. When he turned, Chekov was sitting up in bed, holding his arms open in greeting. “Hikaru!”
“Hey.” Sulu went to him and wrapped him in his arms, glad of the evidence that Chekov was real and whole. “I heard you tried to get out of coming back to write your mission report.”
“I heard you chased down seventeen ships trying to flee the lunar base.”
Sulu grinned. He wasn’t sure what stories they were telling around the ship, but that count probably wasn’t far off. He hadn’t been entirely idle while Kirk and Spock were staging their daring rescue. “Well, don’t believe everything you hear.”
“I will wait to reserve judgment until I have the facts,” Chekov said with a grin. “After all, I missed the whole thing.”
Sulu’s good mood faltered at that. He sank down on the edge of the bed and took Chekov’s hand. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“Don’t do that,” Chekov said quickly.
“I have to. I’m sorry you had to go through that without me. I swore to protect you.”
“You did protect me.” Chekov put his hand on Sulu’s face to make him meet his eyes. “It is as we talked about. You did what we had to for the mission. And you succeeded.”
“Well.” Sulu felt his cheeks heating, and he shrugged off Chekov’s praise. “Did Kirk tell you we found all their short-range transmission equipment?”
“No, he did not.”
“Uhura has a crew down there now working on it. They should be able to track all the people these bastards have been sending messages to. Once we catch up with them, we can find out who their contacts are, and so on, until we root out the whole web.”
“It’s what we hoped for.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I ever thought about trying to talk you out of going. Now that I’ve seen what it was like, I know why we had to do this.”
“See, you should listen more often to your wise friend.” His grin faded a little. “Where is McCoy?”
“He’s around,” Sulu said brightly. Then, “Actually, I haven’t seen him.”
“Is he… alright?”
“He’s fine.” Sulu thought about it for a second. “Pavel, I think he’s afraid.”
“Of what is he afraid?”
“He’s afraid of what we did down there. Hell, I’m afraid of what we did down there, and I’m not the one who had to do most of it.”
“I already said, you did what you had to do!”
“I know that, Pavel.” He grabbed Chekov’s hand again. “I know. And I think if he really took the time to think about it, he’d know it too. Instead, he’s doing what he usually does.”
“Is he brooding?” Chekov asked suspiciously.
“He may be brooding,” Sulu confessed.
“No, this is good. It gives me a chance to go rescue him, for a change.” Chekov looked cheered, which was a sight Sulu could get used to quickly. “Hikaru? Thank you for going. Thank you for knocking sense into me.”
“Hey,” Sulu said, laying a hand on his heart. “Any time you need someone to knock sense into you, call you out, or take you down a peg, you know who to call.”
Chekov shoved him off the bed.
--
Chekov had apparently spent his quota of luck on surviving his mission, because he couldn’t manage to find a way out of sickbay. He was beginning to understand why the captain always had to be dragged in under duress. He’d argued his case to M’Benga, who remained completely unimpressed. He’d tried to sneak out twice, only to be marched back by attending medical personnel like an errant teenager. He’d petitioned the captain himself for an early release, to no avail. At last, Chekov was able to use wide eyes and deep sighs to bend Nurse Chapel’s resolve.
“I want to see the others. The ones we rescued,” he pleaded.
“You don’t need to go down there,” Chapel said. “Crew are looking after them. You’ve done enough.”
“Please, Christine. I need to go.”
She sighed, and pointed a warning finger at him. “I won’t stop you. Unless you violate quarantine procedure. Then I’ll have you back here strapped to a biobed before you can blink. Ponyatno?”
“Ponyal.”
“Good. Off you go.”
Chekov jumped out of bed and planted a kiss on her cheek on his way out the door.
“Pavel,” she called. “He should be in cargo bay four.”
--
McCoy had just finished giving an immune booster shot to a Talarian refugee when Chekov appeared beside him. “Chapel was right. You are out here working yourself too hard.”
Seeing Chekov standing there, outside of sickbay, dressed in his uniform and grinning like a fool, McCoy couldn’t help gathering him into an embrace. “I knew I couldn’t hide from you forever.”
“It was foolish to try.”
“Probably.” McCoy grabbed his bag and steered Chekov over to the partitioned area the medical personnel had set up to take breaks and catch a few minutes of rest when they could. He threw down his bag to take Chekov’s face in his hands and kiss him. He was real, and alive, and here. When McCoy had finally reassured himself of Chekov’s existence, he released him. “Sorry. I missed you.”
“No, I am sorry.” Chekov grabbed McCoy’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. “I am sorry I had to put myself in such danger. I am sorry for the things you had to do.”
“Don’t be sorry.” McCoy pulled Chekov’s hand down. “Don’t ever be sorry for that. We all knew what we were getting into.”
“Alright. I won’t be sorry if you won’t.” He looked hard at McCoy, as if he were taking stock. “You did not break.”
“Neither did you,” McCoy said.
“I never thought you would.”
“I had my doubts.”
“And now?” Chekov asked, and uncertainty crept into his voice again.
McCoy would give Chekov what he needed to silence that doubt once and for all. “Now I know.”
“Know what?”
“Know that you’re stronger than I ever imagined. You are. . I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out. I know I haven’t always treated you the way you wanted, the way you deserved. But I’m going to do better. I trust you to tell me what you need. That is…” McCoy stumbled to a stop, suddenly panicked at the thought that he might be humiliating himself with all this monologuing. “I mean, if you want me. If you want this-”
Chekov pressed a finger to his lips. “You can be very dense sometimes, for a highly educated man. Yes, I want you. And thank you.”
When Chekov took his finger away, McCoy asked, “For what?”
“Oh no,” Chekov laughed. “I am not keeping track again of who owes who how many apologies or favors!”
“But that seemed to end up with some fairly satisfactory ways, if I remember correctly,” McCoy said.
“I am certain I do not know what you are talking about,” Chekov said coyly. “Besides, I am definitely ahead in being owed favors.”
“You are, are you?” McCoy asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I am smart enough to come down here and stop you before you brood yourself into oblivion.”
“Brood!” McCoy scowled. “I do not brood.”
“Fret?”
“No.”
“Sulk?”
“Never.”
“Pout?”
“Pavel!” McCoy, sensing that he had no chance of winning a verbal sparring match, chose the wiser path and closed the matter with a kiss.
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