Come What May: Part II

[hollycomb]

Chekov's stomach has begun to feel mostly normal once he's stretched out on the examining table in the sick bay, McCoy programming a body scanner for his evaluation. Chekov hates that everyone on the bridge saw him like this, weak and unable to stand, carried about by Sulu like an invalid. He's had to work so hard for the respect of his superiors, and now they'll treat him as if he's ten years old instead of thirteen.

"Here we go," McCoy says, setting a portable body scanner in motion. "Let's see what the hell's wrong with you, huh?"

"It is just a stomach ache," Chekov says sourly as the little device floats from McCoy's hand up to Chekov's head, scanning him there and beeping with a green light glowing on its reader.

"Not a brain tumor, then," McCoy says with a smirk. Chekov smiles a little.

The scanner moves to check each of Chekov's ears, then his neck and chest, lighting up with a green glow over each. It floats down to hover over his stomach, and halts in its path, beeping as if it has detected an error. McCoy frowns and reaches for it.

"Alright, you little fucker," McCoy mutters at the machine. "What's the problem?" He frowns down at the monitor and raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What does it say?" Chekov asks, hoping that McCoy has simply detected an upset stomach and that he will send Chekov back to the bridge with some quick fix medicine.

"It says I've entered your gender wrong," McCoy says, eying Chekov suspiciously.

"What?" Chekov frowns, his cheeks red. "What did you put, that I am a woman?" He wonders if McCoy has been drinking on the job.

"No, I told it you're a man," McCoy says, fussing with the buttons on the scanner. "But it seems to think you have a uterus."

"A what? I do not have this!"

"You sure?" McCoy asks, still giving Chekov that suspicious look, which is beginning to make him extremely angry. "Some people have dormant hermaphroditic --"

"No!" Chekov is glowering now, fuck the fact that McCoy is his superior. He won't sit here and be called a woman, or a half-woman, without defending himself. "Your machine is broken."

"Maybe so," McCoy says, tossing the thing over his shoulder like it's a dirty rag. It clatters onto the counter behind him and he pulls over a much larger scanner that is mounted to the wall. "Let's try this one, we'll get a full picture."

Chekov sits back, his heart racing as McCoy brings the machine to life. He lifts it up and maneuvers the monitor so that it is positioned over Chekov's stomach, then removes Chekov's hands, which he had folded over his stomach in something like self-defense. McCoy goes to stand at the end of the bed to look into the scanner's large monitor, and he frowns at what he sees, leaning in closer.

"What?" Chekov asks, his heart pumping faster. "What is it?"

"It's - it looks like -" McCoy shakes his head at the monitor and then looks up at Chekov. He pulls the scanner down a bit so that it covers Chekov's crotch as well, and sighs. "I'll be damned," he says.

"What?" Chekov asks, wanting to fling himself off the table, to hide.

"You've definitely got a dick there, yep, and testes, the whole package."

"Of course I do!"

"And you've also got something that looks a whole lot like a motherfucking uterus. Which is, uh. Not unoccupied."

"You make no sense!" Chekov shoves the machine away and gets off the table, his legs shaking. "This is ridiculous, a joke!"

"Hey!" McCoy tries to catch Chekov, but he's too fast. He jogs across the sick bay with McCoy in pursuit, barely able to see straight. Chekov almost crashes into a young nurse, who gasps and jumps out of his way.

"Get back here!" McCoy shouts. "Ensign! That's an order!"

Chekov stops at the sick bay door, panting. McCoy is a bastard for this; it must be a joke. He turns back to glare at him and wait to hear his apology.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" McCoy asks. "Act like an adult, for God's sake!"

Chekov's eyes drop to the floor, these words shaming him back to the examining table. He climbs onto it with some difficulty, his arms shaking just as badly as his legs now.

"Relax," McCoy says, holding up his hands. "We'll figure this out."

"Is mistake," Chekov says, trying to keep the shake in his limbs from climbing into his voice. "I do not have this. I am --" He stops himself from saying I am a man, because it's too pathetic. All his life he's been teased for being frail and pretty, and he's made himself not so frail through a lot of hard work, but most people still see him that way, even those who know he's a marathon winner. The thing with Sulu has made him even more sensitive about it. He likes getting fucked, not just because he loves Sulu and wants to be close to him but because he loves taking his cock, loves bending over and submitting and letting himself fall completely open. His father would have said that makes Chekov a woman.

Chekov is sweating heavily as McCoy continues his examination, and his stomach has begun to ache again, though differently now. It's stress and panic eating at him, making his throat feel as if it's going to close up. McCoy isn't saying anything, and the whole sick bay is so quiet. Chekov wonders if Sulu is still waiting outside or if he went back to the bridge.

"Well." McCoy sighs and stands back, pushing the scanner away. "This is fucked up."

"Doctor?" Chekov is practically hyperventilating, wishing it was anyone here with him but McCoy, probably the least comforting person on the ship. Except for maybe Spock.

"Listen, I - don't really know what's going on here," McCoy says. "I need to do some research."

"May I go, then?" Chekov asks. He feels like if he just gets the hell away from McCoy everything will be okay. McCoy narrows his eyes.

"I don't know," he says. "This is - it might be something you contracted on a mission. I should really monitor you closely."

"Please," Chekov says, letting his voice get soft and shaky, because it's available to him when he needs it, the sad eyes and the pleading face. McCoy sighs.

"Just don't go anywhere alone," he says. "Make sure someone is with you so that if there's a - development - they can call in an emergency."

"Yes, yes." Chekov nods; this won't be a problem. At the moment he wants nothing more than to bury his face in Sulu's chest and ignore whatever is happening to him. "Yes, sir."

"Get out of here, then," McCoy says, and Chekov gets the distinct impression that the very sight of him is making McCoy nervous. He hurries away, and when he pushes out into the hallway and sees Sulu leaning against the wall, he has to bite back a whimper of relief.

"What's the matter? Are you okay?" Sulu is on him immediately, and Chekov nods, too exhausted and embarrassed to even attempt to tell him about the nonsense McCoy was spouting.

"I want to go to your room," Chekov says, and Sulu puts an arm around him to lead him there.

"Everyone will know," Chekov says as they walk down the hall that way, drawing looks.

"I don't care," Sulu says. "Let them think I'm a pervert. You're legal." He punches in the access code for his room and Chekov hurries inside, rapturous over the sound of the door shutting tightly behind them. As soon as he gets himself into Sulu's bed again, things will make sense. The bad feeling that is coiled tightly at the pit of him will disappear.

"Do you need to go back to work?" Chekov asks as Sulu climbs into the bed beside him, moving carefully, as if Chekov is a homemade bomb.

"No." Sulu puts the back of his hand against Chekov's forehead and frowns. "I told them I was looking after you, so they put Tucker on my shift - you're so hot, what did McCoy say?"

"He says it is only stomach flu, nothing serious." Chekov lies down on Sulu's pillow and lets his breath out, shutting his eyes.

"Stomach flu? What sort of stomach flu? Human or alien?"

"Human, Hikaru, nothing serious. Please, just lie here."

"Let me get you something for your head," Sulu says, and he gets up, returning from the bathroom with a cold washcloth, which does feel good against Chekov's feverish skin. He makes satisfied little moaning sounds as Sulu dabs at his forehead with the cloth, feeling stupid and weak but too frightened to care.

Sulu puts the cloth aside and begins arranging things: he puts a waste basket by the bed in case Chekov gets sick, lowers the temperature in the room slightly, removes Chekov's boots and puts the view screen on some kind of alien soap opera where everybody communicates through interpretive dance.

"Here," Sulu says, handing Chekov the controls for the view screen. "You should always watch something ridiculous when you're sick."

"Hikaru, come here," Chekov says, reaching for him. "I am not contagious."

Sulu grins and removes his own boots before getting back into bed beside Chekov, who clings to him, ashamed of himself for needing this so much. Sulu sighs, and Chekov loves that, the sound of Sulu's exasperation with the world, or with Chekov.

"You're shaking like a leaf," Sulu says, testing Chekov's forehead again. "Did McCoy give you anything to take?"

"No, he says this just needs to, how do you say it, run the course. McCoy is crazy," he adds sourly.

"Crazy?"

"Yes, he is a bad doctor, I think."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, I think that maybe he drinks while he is working. Maybe I will speak to the Keptin about this."

"That's a pretty serious accusation," Sulu says. "You'd better have some proof."

"Oh, Hikaru, never mind," Chekov says, not wanting to discuss his proof. Already the things that McCoy said to him seem like something he only imagined. He settles against Sulu and stares at the view screen, none of what is transpiring upon it reaching him. All he can think about is the odd feeling in his stomach, which is probably only upset nerves, but there is something else there, too. Real trouble.

He falls asleep and has nightmares: McCoy is keeping him in a cage as a specimen who has been infected by some horrible, incurable space disease. Kirk informs him that he filled out his Starfleet application incorrectly and now must but immediately jettisoned onto the nearest deserted planet. Finally, Sulu leaves him, his reasons unclear, and he's disgusted when Chekov's begs him to stay. Chekov wakes up groaning and sweaty, still clinging to Sulu, who is calling out to someone who is knocking on the door, telling them that yes, Ensign Chekov is here.

“I need to speak to him,” McCoy calls through the door, and Chekov curls up tighter against Sulu's side.

“Tell him to go away,” Chekov whispers, and Sulu frowns.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Sulu asks. “He said he needs to talk to you about your diagnosis, he's trying to --”

“No!” Chekov sits up in a panic and looks around the room for a means of escape, still stuck in his awful dreams, still achy and tired and overheated.

“Well, is he coming out or isn't he?” McCoy asks.

“Just give him a second, he was sleeping,” Sulu says, and Chekov is overwhelmed by a sudden rush of love and pity for Sulu and guilt over his own behavior. His lip actually shakes, and he bites it.

“Hey,” Sulu says, turning to him. He smoothes his hands down Chekov's shoulders. “Just go see him and let him make you better, alright? You've been so - even if it's just flu, let him give you something to take for it.”

Chekov doesn't tell Sulu that he's afraid - almost positive, somehow - that McCoy can't help him. Something is happening to him, and maybe it has been happening since Yrubi, those hours he doesn't remember. He's not sure what that nonsense about a uterus was, but now McCoy has done research and figured out what is really going on, and it's not going to be easily cured, Chekov can feel it.

He goes to the door in a daze, Sulu following closely behind him. McCoy still looks the way he did in the sick bay, as if being around Chekov is making him uneasy.

“Chekov, if I could, uh, see you in the sick bay, please,” McCoy says. “To discuss your - condition.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Chekov says glumly, and Sulu squeezes Chekov's shoulder as he walks from the room.

“Want me to come with you?” Sulu asks.

“No,” Chekov says, though he does. He's already been childish enough for one day, and whatever is happening to him, he'll be facing it alone. He follows McCoy back to the sick bay in silence, and McCoy brings Chekov into his office, which Chekov has never seen before. There's a tank full of tropical fish along the far wall, a messy desk in the center of the room and a few uncomfortable chairs placed around it. The lights in the room are at maybe ten percent, most of the illumination coming from a tall lamp in the back right corner. Chekov walks to the fish tank and stares into it while McCoy shuts the door behind him.

“Alright,” McCoy says. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“For what, Doctor?”

“Uh. Oh, hell, Chekov, just sit.”

Chekov does as he’s asked, and McCoy sits down at his desk, across from Chekov. His eyes are dark and not as angry as usual, more apologetic. Chekov's stomach whines and he realizes that he's extremely hungry.

“You were on Yrubi recently, correct?” McCoy says. Chekov nods. “Uh-huh. Well. I've done a little research and I've studied those scans we took of your - of you. Tell me, Ensign, did you drink anything of alien origin while you were on Yrubi?”

“I did,” Chekov admits, his face heating. “Some brandy served by the diplomats. They said it was closest to Earth brandy, anyway, that was how they described it to us.” His embarrassment dissolves into panic when he considers the fact that if the brandy has something to do with his illness, Sulu might get sick, too.

“Fuck,” McCoy whispers, the word punching at Chekov's heart. “And you, um.” McCoy sits back and winces, scratching the back of his head. “You didn't also happen to come into contact with, uh. Human semen on this particular evening? Did you?”

He already looks pretty certain that Chekov has, and Chekov can't meet his eyes as he nods, staring instead at a paperweight on his desk. McCoy sighs.

“According to my cursory research, this has happened before to men who combine Yrubian brandy and, um, sex with each other. Hell, some of 'em even do it on purpose. If they want to, you know. Have a kid together.”

“What?” Chekov's eyes snap up to McCoy's, and his appetite disappears.

“Yrubian brandy is not meant to be consumed by humans,” McCoy says with a sigh. “The Yrubians use drugs and alcohol in a kind of spiritual sense - they think it makes them feel like they're at one with the universe, part of everything, connected to all other Yrubians and blessed with a temporary understanding of all things everywhere - you know, the usual religious garbage. Some manufacturers of drugs on their planet actually try to enhance this feeling by infusing their drinks or smokes with this particular herbal supplement that makes them, well, sort of become both sexes while they're partaking. It's supposed to make sex incredible, apparently. For them.”

McCoy clears his throat. Chekov just stares, his mouth hanging open.

“In humans, the effect isn't exactly complete - it depends on the person,” McCoy says. “Some guys will just feel more in touch with their emotions. Others, apparently, have been known to grow partial or complete female organs. Such as your uterus here,” McCoy says, suddenly producing a print of the scan he took of Chekov's body. He points to a blurry organ at the center of him and Chekov jumps backward, grabbing the arms of his chair.

“What! Don't call it that! It is not mine!”

“Yeah, unfortunately it is. It probably would have disappeared after you stopped drinking, but apparently it got, uh, impregnated somehow. And now it's hanging around, confused as hell, and supporting this baby which you can just barely see, right here -”

“No!” Chekov gets up and begins pacing, refusing to really look at the scan. “I don't see anything, you are mistaken, you must check again -”

“I will check again, but I'm pretty sure I'm right -”

“If you are right, okay, you take this thing out of me,” Chekov says, his voice beginning to shake. He wants Sulu here, but then again, he's glad that Sulu will never know about this. The thought of Sulu stops Chekov's pacing, and he turns to gape at McCoy.

“The person who - had the - sex with me while I was drinking this brandy -” Chekov is stuttering, his heart closing up painfully over this new information. “He is - he - impregnated this - thing, inside me - it is - his?”

“Yeah,” McCoy says slowly. “Uh, I was thinking - Sulu, maybe?”

“How do you know this?” Chekov asks, falling back into the chair. He keeps touching his stomach involuntarily, then taking his hands away, humiliated.

“The screams coming from Sulu's bedroom every night sound an awful lot like yours, I've heard,” McCoy says, and Chekov's face burns, as if sex with Sulu is even going to register as something embarrassing anymore. “Also, when you weren't in your quarters, I checked his room, and there you were, asleep. So, you know. I figured the rumors were true.”

“Does not matter,” Chekov says, shaking his head. “Does not matter, because this thing, you can remove it from me, yes?”

“I don't know,” McCoy says with a sigh, sitting back. “In the research I've looked at, these male pregnancies don't usually go too well. About ninety percent of the carriers end up dying around the five-month mark, when their bodies don't know what to do with this intruding organ.”

“So I'm going to die?” Chekov blurts, and for some reason this doesn't feel as surprising as it should.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” McCoy frowns and sits forward. “We've got some of the most brilliant scientific minds in the galaxy aboard this ship - you included - and we'll figure something out. In the past, trying to tamper with the pregnancy has been just as unsuccessful as trying to carry it to term, but if anybody can pull this off, we can. I'm going to talk to the Captain about returning to Yrubi -”

“The Keptin! No, you cannot tell him! You cannot tell anybody!”

“Chekov!” McCoy barks. “I understand your desire to keep this private, but our best chance is to tell everyone we can - we need to get in touch with every doctor who has ever treated a patient with this condition, every survivor who has gone through it, the Yrubian medical community -”

McCoy stops talking when he sees Chekov's eyes fill up with tears. “Look,” he says, holding up his hands. “I know this is a lot to process. But like I said, we've got about five months before this condition is potentially going to get dangerous if these past cases are anything like yours, which I suspect they are. Until then, you're going to have to deal with an upset stomach and an increased appetite, maybe some hormonal imbalances, definitely a lot of - emotions.” He says the word with distaste and tosses Chekov a handkerchief, which Chekov is too embarrassed to use.

“In the meantime, why don't you go rest? Try to eat something, talk to Sulu -”

“I cannot tell him this,” Chekov says bitterly, placing the handkerchief on McCoy's desk. He will hate me, he thinks. Chekov shuts his eyes, remembering that look of disgust that Sulu had for him in his nightmare. It would be ten times worse if he learned of this grotesque pregnancy and was forced to take responsibility for it.

“Chekov,” McCoy says. “It's not fair not to tell him. And it's no good for you, either, you'll want someone to talk to and God knows I'm not -”

“I will go now, Doctor,” Chekov says, standing. He makes his face a mask of indifference, a skill he learned as a child, just as useful as the trembling lip and begging eyes that work people over in another way. McCoy shakes his head slowly.

“I'm so sorry this happened to you, kid,” he says. “But trust me, I'll do everything I can -”

“Yes, Doctor, I trust you,” Chekov says, and it's true, it's the reason he was so terrified as soon as he heard McCoy say the word uterus. He does know what he's doing.

Chekov goes back to his room and shuts himself in. He takes off his clothes and fills the tub in the en suite bathroom with hot water, then sinks into it with a wince. He won't let himself think seriously about what McCoy told him. That he could die. That he could have a baby. He can't even decide which would be worse.

Sulu comes looking for him an hour later, and Chekov is still in the tub, shivering as the water goes cold. He hears Sulu calling his name through the door and doesn't answer. He can never tell Sulu about how he's already ruined things, made them dark and doomed and disastrous like everything in his life necessarily becomes. He'd rather go on pretending nothing is wrong and die in a puddle of blood at Sulu's feet on the bridge. McCoy could lie and tell Sulu that Chekov had contracted a rare disease and that his death was sudden and unexpected. Sulu would never know that a baby - his baby - had died with Chekov.

Chekov waits to start sobbing at the thought, but mostly he feels disgusted with himself. He reaches down and puts a hand over his stomach. The only thing that is keeping him from completely losing his mind or getting uncontrollably sick at the thought of something living inside him is the knowledge that Sulu put it there. For a brief moment he actually likes the idea that part of Sulu is contained within him, a little spot of light, Sulu's goodness and strength, and that even while Chekov is here, hiding from Sulu like a coward, Sulu is still with him in a quiet, secret place.

The feeling passes when Chekov tries to picture this baby growing so big that it will sag like a bag of potatoes from his stomach, and then, if by some miracle Chekov and the baby were to survive, he tries to imagine himself holding it, coddling it, taking care of it. He knows that he doesn't have it in him, he doesn't even want to have it in him, and the comfort of having something of Sulu's inside him fades to a horrible, crushing guilt. He's going to spoil everything; some essential missing part of him will ruin what Sulu has given him. He folds both of his hands over his stomach like an apology and tries to summon the strength to get out of the bathtub.

*

Chekov spends the evening reading and ignoring Sulu's messages to his PADD:

Where are you? McCoy said you left an hour ago.

Pavel? What's up? I'm worried.

hello? are you okay? are you mad?

Chekov half-expects Sulu to come pounding on his door and then insist that someone open it with the override code, thinking he's dead on the floor inside, but that doesn't happen. He sits on his bed and eats spice cake and fish tacos and handfuls of almonds, not enjoying his wild cravings so much now that he knows what they're for. The baby. Sulu's baby. He still can't really consider this as a real thing that is happening to him, and this is why he's avoiding Sulu, because seeing him would make it all real.

He drinks maybe a gallon of milk and falls asleep like someone has pulled curtains down over his eyes, still in the boxer shorts and t-shirt he put on after he finally got out of the tub. It's strange, sleeping alone and with clothes on for the first time in weeks, and he enjoys it, actually, the freedom to squirm about and even the old loneliness, the complete privacy of his quiet room. When he wakes up around five in the morning to throw up he's again glad that he's alone, that he doesn't have an audience, but when he stumbles back to the bed feeling weak and empty he hates that Sulu isn't there to receive him.

He dresses and reports for his shift as usual, feeling dizzy. At least they won't be warping today, so hopefully he won't black out. When he arrives at the bridge he's afraid he'll find someone else in his chair, that McCoy will have told Kirk everything and Kirk will have reassigned Chekov to manage a supply closet so as to better suit his condition, but Chekov's chair is empty when he arrives. Sulu's is not, and he whirls around to stare at Chekov expectantly as Chekov walks across the bridge.

“What the hell?” Sulu says as soon as Chekov sits down.

“I needed to be alone,” Chekov says, his heart already pounding. He imagines that Sulu can see straight into him now, that he forever owns some part of Chekov's body, or all of it. Sulu has now officially and thoroughly conquered him. The first hard wave of resentment peaks in Chekov's chest, and he knows it won't be the last.

“Well, you could have told me. Fuck, I went to McCoy and he said you might be 'upset about something' and that you needed 'time to think,' what the fuck was he talking about?”

“I do not want to discuss it here, Hikaru,” Chekov says, giving him a sharp look. Sulu scoffs and turns back to his console, throwing up his hands.

“You know what?” Sulu says, staring down at his monitor. He grunts and begins composing a message on his console that soon pops up on Chekov's screen.

i think i liked you better when we weren't fucking.

It splits through Chekov like a live wire, making everything in him jump to stunned attention. He closes the message quickly.

“Stop that,” he hisses to Sulu, wishing they had more to do at work today, other things to think about. Chekov's head is hurting, and now he has to worry, fuck, that when he doesn't feel well it might hurt Sulu as well, the piece of Sulu that is incubating inside Chekov. Without Chekov's permission. Furious, he opens a new dialog box on his screen and sends a message to Sulu:

Then maybe we should stop doing this thing that you liked me better before we were doing

Sulu's response makes Chekov want to hoist the whole console over his head and smash it to the ground:

that sentence doesn't make any sense.

Sorry that my English is not so good I guess I am a disappointment in every way

you never acted like this before.

Like what

like you are out of your freaking mind

Stop this you are being very unprofessional Hikaru

Sulu actually has the nerve to snort out a laugh, and when Chekov turns to glower at him he's still grinning. Chekov tries and fails not to smile back, and when he does he's not sure where this leaves them.

“Idiot,” he whispers.

“Psycho,” Sulu whispers back.

They sit together at lunch, Sulu eating the dining room's hot meal of the day - featuring some actual non-replicated ingredients - while Chekov eats an entire replicated pizza with mushrooms and blueberries, a flavor combination that occurred to him only as he was punching in his order.

“I guess this means your stomach is feeling better,” Sulu says.

“Quit making that face at my pizza,” Chekov says, changing the subject. “It's good, you should try.” Sulu grins and shakes his head.

“How did I know you for almost a year and never realize how goddamn weird you are?” Sulu asks, as if it's a serious question.

“You are not very observant, I think,” Chekov says.

“Yeah, I guess. You just seem, I don't know. You're keeping me on my toes. I just don't like it when you disappear, okay, especially when you've been having fainting spells all day.”

“That was not all day, that was one time, and it was not a fainting, it was a blacking out.”

Sulu groans. “Yeah, okay. The point is, are you going to keep having these fucking mood swings or what? 'Cause I'd like to know what I'm in for. And if you're still mad at me for what happened on Yrubi you should really -”

“I am not mad about that!” Chekov says, so sharply that Sulu jumps a little. “I was never mad. That was my fault as well. You are not to blame.” Even as he says so his feelings are beginning to change. Sulu is older and he knows more about the dangers of consuming alien food and drink. He should have protected Chekov. He took advantage of him, really. Now Chekov is the one who will pay the price.

“Then why are you looking at me like you kind of want to tear my head off?” Sulu asks.

“I am not,” Chekov says. He stands to go back to the bridge, and the feeling of dread hits him even before the nausea does. He's not even going to make it to a bathroom before he throws up.

“Pavel?” Sulu says, and Chekov is again struck by a flailing sense of sympathy for Sulu; it's something about how he says Chekov's name. Then Chekov is just vomiting all over the floor and not thinking about anything but his embarrassment over the disgusted exclamations from the others in the dining hall.

“Give him a break, he's sick!” Sulu calls as he leads Chekov away. “You're okay, you just pushed it too hard with that pizza,” he says, rubbing Chekov's back as he leads him down the hall toward his quarters.

“I don't need my room, I need only a bathroom,” Chekov says, moaning miserably as his stomach kicks at him again.

“Well, there's a nice, private one in your room, okay, and we've still got twenty minutes left on our break. C'mon.”

Chekov groans and leans against Sulu. “Hikaru,” he says weakly, staring up at him. He wants to ask why Sulu treats him so well, why he's willing to take care of him after the abuse Chekov has leveled at him. But Chekov knows the answer already. Sulu loves him.

“You're okay,” Sulu says softly, kissing Chekov's forehead. They come not to Chekov's room but Sulu's, and Chekov is somehow stupidly glad for this. As soon as he's inside he runs for Sulu's bathroom and leans over his toilet to be sick again.

“I'm gonna call McCoy,” Sulu says, standing in the doorway behind him.

“No,” Chekov moans. “Please, Hikaru, he cannot help me.”

“Bullshit, he can't. And what was all that about you needing 'time to think' and being upset? Oh, fuck, Pavel, I couldn't even sleep last night, if there's something really wrong with you -”

“There is,” Chekov croaks out, still leaning over the toilet. He's delirious enough with his nausea that telling Sulu the truth actually seems like, if not a good idea, the only chance he really has of surviving this without going out of his mind. Maybe Sulu will take care of him, if not out of continued love then at least out of grudging responsibility. The thought makes Chekov throw up again.

“Pavel,” Sulu says, suddenly kneeling behind him on the floor, his hand soft and shaking on Chekov's back. He sounds like he wants Chekov to take it back already, to tell him that everything is fine. They both know now that it is not. Perhaps some part of them has known it since they woke up together on Yrubi, as much as they've tried to pretend that that incident could end happily for them.

“What's wrong?” Sulu asks when Chekov flushes the toilet and leans away from it, groaning and rubbing at his face. Sulu pushes Chekov's hand away and replaces it with his own, stroking cool fingers down Chekov's cheeks. “What's the matter?” he asks, his eyes wide with fear.

“Hikaru.” Chekov chokes the name out in three syllables and falls to Sulu's shoulder, sobbing. He's never liked crying and doesn't do it often, but for some reason it feels so good now, as if the heaving of his sobs can push something big and dark out of him. Sulu holds him tightly, whispering almost wordless reassurances as he strokes Chekov's back.

“You're gonna be okay,” he says, as if it's in his power to promise this. He helps Chekov up from the floor and walks with him to the bed. Chekov has been dreaming of Sulu's bed since he heard the news about his - pregnancy, it's still hard for him to even think of that word, and he crumbles into it gratefully, pulling Sulu down with him. For a long time they just lie pressed together, shoulder to ankle, and Sulu waits out Chekov's crying.

“Whatever it is, McCoy can fix it, and if he can't, well, Kirk loves you, he'll scrap our next five assignments and bring you to some doctor, somewhere, who can.”

“Nothing can fix this,” Chekov says, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“What is it, Pavel?” Sulu puts his forehead against Chekov's. “Please, God, tell me, I'm going to fucking - if anything happens to you, I don't even know, I'll -”

“On Yrubi, the drink we had,” Chekov says, relatively sure that he won't be able to explain this to Sulu coherently. “It is - it makes you - grow organs, sometimes.”

Sulu raises an eyebrow, then his face falls back to worry and regret. “I never should have let you drink that stuff,” he says, and Chekov frowns, though he's had the same thought.

“I did not need your permission,” he says.

“So - what?” Sulu says, not taking up the argument. “You have an extra heart now or something? What?”

“I have a thing of a woman.” Chekov wants to hide his face under the blankets while he says this.

“A thing of a woman?” Sulu glances down at Chekov's legs. “Not last time I checked.”

“Hikaru, there is a baby inside me, from you, from this time when we drank.” Chekov blurts it all in a long string, half-hoping that Sulu won't hear some of the key words, though that will just mean that he'll have to repeat himself.

“What - what the hell are you talking about?” Sulu asks, some of the softness leaving his face.

“A baby! This, here!” Chekov sits up and points to his stomach. “You do not believe me? Go and talk to McCoy.”

To Chekov's complete shock, Sulu gets out of the bed without another word and leaves the room, presumably to do just that.

*

Chekov goes back to the bridge when his break ends, feeling as if he's been torn in half. Sulu's reaction was not exactly what he'd expected, and he'd thought he'd prepared himself for the worst. When he arrives at the console a man who is not Sulu gives him a friendly smile and tells him that he'll be working the rest of Sulu's shift.

“What happened to him?” Chekov asks flatly, standing beside his chair, not ready to sit until Sulu is beside him again.

“Beats me!” the man says cheerfully. “Maybe you gave him whatever you have. Are you sure you're well enough to work? I heard you barfed all over everybody during lunch.”

Chekov sits down with a grimace, hating everything and everyone around him so much that he almost wishes the ship would just explode into nothing around him. He's a joke among his fellow crew members. Sulu is so disgusted by him that he will probably request a transfer to another ship - he's probably doing it now. Chekov will die in some gory pseudo-childbirth disaster and the whole thing will be hushed up so he doesn't embarrass Starfleet further.

His shift crawls by, with nothing to do except monitor the routine flight to Dunedin. Chekov uses the time to imagine ten thousand different ways that Sulu might tell him goodbye. Most of them are savage and sudden, but the few more realistic scenarios, such as Sulu's face turning red as he apologetically tells Chekov that he's not interested in having children and didn't think he was signing up to fuck a woman, are the most devastating.

When his shift is finally over he heads to his room, and he's not surprised to find Sulu standing outside his door with a very somber expression, but it still hurts, hard and sharp in Chekov's chest, to know what is coming.

“You left the shift,” Chekov says, standing and staring at Sulu, still waiting to wake up from all of this, even the good parts erased. Maybe he's still in his skinny bunk on Yrubi, maybe this is all a brandy-induced dream.

“I went to see McCoy because I was afraid you were losing your mind.” Sulu speaks as if he's practiced this. “Turns out. You're not.”

Chekov grunts in annoyance and opens the door to his room. Sulu follows him inside without being invited. The room is a mess, as usual, and Chekov feels embarrassed by it for the first time. Now Sulu will look at Chekov's piles of books and papers and unmade bed and think of what a horrible caretaker Chekov will be for Sulu's child. If he's even thinking of things so concretely yet. Chekov is afraid to look at him fully, afraid to know what he's thinking.

“Pavel,” Sulu says as Chekov clumsily attempts to make the bed; he's never tried before. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up.”

“Why? Look at me, alright?” Sulu is all the way across the room. Chekov knows that whatever happens, Sulu will never want to touch him again. He's a compromised thing, unclassifiable and spoiled. Maybe he always knew this about himself and Sulu is only discovering it now.

“I guess McCoy told you everything,” Chekov says. He thought he would hate McCoy for this, but he's actually so grateful that he doesn't have to do any of the explaining himself.

“I told him what you said and - yeah. He confirmed it. I can't - I can't. I don't know where to start.”

“Yeah.”

“Pavel! Are you mad at me? I mean, I guess I couldn't blame you - fuck, definitely not. Do you - do you want me to go?”

Chekov opens his mouth to say, Yes, get out of here, but all that comes out is, “Hikaru,” and it must be clear enough that he's begging Sulu to stay, because he crosses the room and grabs Chekov's shoulders, spinning him around. Chekov expects himself to burst into tears as soon as his eyes are on Sulu's, but instead he just stares up at him stupidly, still waiting to hear his reaction to the news.

“He said you could die,” Sulu says, his jaw tight.

“It doesn't matter,” Chekov says, and Sulu curses, shaking Chekov's shoulders.

“How can you say that? What's the matter with you? Quit looking at me like you're - won't you - hit me or something? I've killed you, Pavel, I -”

“I only meant that it doesn't matter what he said,” Chekov says, though he's not really sure what he meant. “I might be okay.”

Sulu stares at Chekov for a moment, blinking, then leans in to kiss him, which surprises Chekov so much that he actually backs away. Sulu looks at Chekov like he's just put a knife through his chest.

“Hikaru, do I really have this - inside me?” Chekov asks, like Sulu has the final say. Sulu sighs and looks down at Chekov's stomach as if the answer is written there.

“McCoy showed me, on the scan,” Sulu says. He chews his lip, which Chekov has never seen him do. In fact it's something Chekov does, and he's flooded with a strange sort of pride when he thinks that maybe Sulu picked it up from him.

“It's yours,” Chekov blurts, like Sulu will reclaim it, take the burden away.

“Duh,” Sulu says with a snort, and Chekov laughs, then they're both laughing, but it doesn't last long.

“Have you told your parents?” Sulu asks. Chekov shakes his head.

“Are you going to?” Sulu asks.

“No,” Chekov says. “They're dead.” His mother actually might not be, but she's as good as. Sulu's eyes widen, as if the fact that Chekov is an orphan is somehow the strangest thing he's heard all day.

“God, Pavel, I'm sorry, I didn't know.” Sulu hugs him, cautiously, as if he's afraid Chekov will pull away again. Chekov lets out his breath and sinks against Sulu's chest, squeezing him tightly. Sulu rocks him back and forth, his arms wrapped around Chekov's shoulders, and Chekov thinks of their baby, pressed between them, safe now that Sulu is here. Their baby. It's odd that Chekov can already think of it that way, and that it gives him temporary comfort to do so. He wants so much for Sulu to say something about it.

“Will you tell your parents?” Chekov asks, and the question seems wildly inappropriate as soon as he's asked it. He hides his face in Sulu's shirt.

“I don't know,” Sulu says. “I guess I'll have to.” He doesn't sound happy about it.

“Of course, if I end up dying, there would be no point in telling anyone,” Chekov says bitterly, still clinging.

“You won't die,” Sulu says, his uncertainty ringing through every word. “Your parents - how did you lose them?” He's maybe thinking of genetic diseases, things his child could inherit - or no, he doesn't seem to want to think about the child at all. Chekov pulls away from him and goes to the bed, frowning down at his comical attempt to straighten the sheets.

“My mother left us when I was a baby,” Chekov says, his fists curling at his sides. “She might still be alive, actually, I will never know. I do not want to know. My father, he was a good person, but he drank too much. Someone killed him in a bar during my first year at Starfleet. I heard that the argument was over a game of durak - uh, is a card game.”

He feels pathetic, ending his story this way. He thinks of his father bragging to everyone that his son was a genius and would captain a starship someday. He used to get in fights for saying such things, and lost his front teeth to one, but he never stopped saying so.

Sulu's hands slide onto Chekov's shoulders, and Chekov almost doesn't want them there, especially while he's thinking of his father, who would be so disappointed in him. Chekov is glad he didn't live to see his son be turned into a woman like this. He'll certainly lose his career with Starfleet because of it. He tries to picture himself on the bridge, pregnant, and scoffs at the tears that prick into his eyes.

“Hey.”

Chekov is getting so tired of Sulu's Hey, but he lets Sulu turn him around and blinks the wetness from his eyes. Sulu looks like he might cry himself, but instead he pulls Chekov's shirt off.

“What are you doing?” Chekov asks. He can't imagine ever wanting sex again, now that he associates it with what's happened to him, the end of his life.

“Just shut up and let me take care of you,” Sulu says, and Chekov is embarrassed by how much he needed to hear that. He goes limp under Sulu's hands and lets him remove all of his clothes and lead him into the bathroom. Sulu fills the tub with hot water and Chekov climbs into it to watch Sulu undress before joining him, sitting behind him with his legs stretched out around Chekov's body. They can barely fit together in the tub, but it feels nice to lie back against Sulu's chest, and Chekov doesn't mind being squeezed so tightly against him.

“You're going to be okay,” Sulu says, running his wet hands over Chekov's shoulders and chest until he starts to feel sleepy and soft in Sulu's arms. He almost expects Sulu to sing him a lullaby, and laughs at the thought.

“What?” Sulu says, kissing Chekov's ear.

“Nothing.” Chekov reaches back to palm Sulu's cheek. “Hikaru. You must be so sorry you ever touched me.”

“How can you say that?” Sulu's hand skims down Chekov's chest and comes to rest low on his stomach, covering him like a shield, or an apology, or a promise.

“You don't want this,” Chekov says. “At least if I died from it you could go on with your life.”

“No, I couldn't.”

“You only think that now.”

“Will you quit being so goddamn contrary?” Sulu's hand is still spread over Chekov's stomach, maybe a little possessively. “And, like, constantly underestimating me is starting to get old, too.”

“I don't do that.” Chekov wants to scream, Hikaru, tell me what you think about this baby, but he's still afraid to know, so he doesn't.

“Whatever, man. C'mon, you need to eat something.”

They get out of the tub, dress, and eat from the replicator. Chekov eats eggs, bacon, and two tomatoes, and none of it tastes right. Sulu has his usual sandwich and beer, and frowns at Chekov's food.

“I wonder if it's healthy, eating from a replicator while you're, uh.”

“Pregnant?” Chekov snaps. Sulu winces a little.

“Yeah, that.”

“I don't know, why don't you ask the doctor?” Chekov pushes his plate away and gets into bed, turning toward the wall. He's always so exhausted after dinner, or anyway he has been since Yrubi. Before, he and Sulu would stay up until three hours before their next shift, playing that stupid karaoke game or just talking about things, drinking coffee. Chekov listens as Sulu finishes eating and goes into the bathroom to clean his face and brush his teeth. Soon he's pressing his naked chest against Chekov's back, and it's enough to make Chekov want to forgive him for everything. Not that he's really done anything. But of course he has! Chekov whimpers when Sulu leans in to kiss his neck, hot and slow.

“I am tired of feeling this way,” Chekov says.

“What way?” Sulu asks, slinging his arm over Chekov's side so he can rub his fingers down his chest.

“I don't know,” Chekov whines. “This way.”

“McCoy said this will mess with your hormones and - stuff. Your emotions. I was wondering why you'd been so weird lately.”

“I am sorry I have been weird,” Chekov says, not sure how he feels about the fact that his cock is getting hard as Sulu's hands roam over his body.

“I'm sorry I didn't believe you before, it's just - how could I?” Sulu says. “I know this is space and they warned us to prepare for unorthodox lives or whatever, and I thought I had, but man. I think the worst part is that you and I have only had, what, two and a half weeks together, and now this? I mean, I - I've never even thought seriously about having kids, I figured I would have them someday and, okay, yeah, if I got anybody pregnant I would kind of hope it would be you, in a way -”

“You would?” Chekov squawks, sorry that he just interrupted that monologue.

“Well, I didn't even think about the possibility, really, but you're the one - you're the one, you know, so why not? I just feel bad that - well, what the hell are we going to do with a kid?”

“I don't know,” Chekov says, spinning around and leaning up on his elbow. He looks down at Sulu, who seems so innocent and frightened there in bed, on his back like a helpless turtle, so sweet.

“Should I be worried about the way you're smiling?” Sulu asks.

“How am I smiling?” Chekov asks, his cheeks aching with it.

“Kind of like a maniac.”

“Hikaru, I love you,” Chekov blurts, in English without even meaning to, it just falls out of him and leaves him like a headache suddenly popping away, a great pressure rolling off his shoulders. Sulu is quickly up on his elbows, kissing Chekov hard.

“I knew it,” he says, his breath so hot on Chekov's lips, and he can't remember the last time they kissed, but they should never go so long without it again. Chekov doesn't have time to wonder if he's allowed to ever have sex again, because soon he's bucking up into the soft heat of Sulu's mouth, then crawling onto his knees to greedily suck Sulu's cock, wishing Sulu would pull on his hair even harder, and finally he's on his knees with his sweaty hands flattened on the wall, Sulu fucking him in slow drags, making him cry and beg for more.

“Please, please,” he whines, snapping his hips back to try and prod Sulu to ride him until he can't breathe. He just wants to forget everything, the way he does whenever he and Sulu are slamming so wildly against each other that they don't even seem to have bodies anymore; they become some scientific principle instead, friction and white hot light.

“Be patient,” Sulu says, his own voice hard and breathless. He reaches down to stroke Chekov's cock, rubbing his index finger in little circles over the head, pushing into the wet tip as if he wants to open that up, too. Chekov moans and surges forward mindlessly, then back again, onto Sulu's cock.

“C'mere,” Sulu says, withdrawing himself slowly, making Chekov sob. “I wanna watch you.”

Sulu lies back on Chekov's pillow and spreads himself out, guiding Chekov back down onto his cock, Chekov facing Sulu and breathing out with relief, because now he's in control.

“Wait,” Sulu says when Chekov begins to fuck himself down onto Sulu desperately. Sulu reaches out and holds Chekov's hips. “Come for me first. I wanna see.”

Chekov nods deliriously and reaches for his cock, which is so full and hard in his hand that he almost loses it just from the first press of his fingers. He bounces a little as he strokes himself, shallowly, and Sulu's eyes flicker shut, then open again, his hips twitching up to meet Chekov's bounces.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Sulu says in a groan, and Chekov has a sudden flash of half-memory: that night on Yrubi, Chekov ripping his clothes off and standing naked under Sulu's gaze. Sulu had looked so hungry and dangerous, but then he'd said that, and in a way it had scared Chekov more than any other words would have.

“Come for me,” Sulu says, his hands tightening on Chekov's hips. “C'mon, Pavel.” He thrusts up once, hard, and Chekov screams as he comes, his hand closing tight around his cock as he pumps himself onto Sulu's chest. He feels more blown apart by it than he has in a long time, feels Sulu watching him and licking his lips, his cock throbbing in Chekov's ass.

“That's a good boy,” Sulu says in a growl, sitting up. He lifts Chekov easily and throws him back onto the bed. “Now you get what you want,” he says, grinning down at him as he lifts Chekov's legs onto his shoulders. Chekov nods wildly, chanting da, yes, da, as if Sulu needs encouragement at this point. Sulu fucks him hard, lifting him off the bed by the backs of his knees, and Chekov screams as loud as he wants, because apparently everyone knows about them anyway. He doesn't care what people on this ship think of him when Sulu is pounding into him like this, wouldn't even mind if they all stood around watching, almost wants them to when Sulu slams against his prostate and makes Chekov come again, in a strange kind of aftershock surge that he's never felt before; his come is thinner and sweeter than it usually is, splashing against his own mouth. Sulu comes instantly, seeing this, and he sounds so nakedly astonished that Chekov feels proud of himself.

They're in a heap afterward, soaked in sweat, aching everywhere, and Chekov puts his hand over his stomach instinctively, feeling a little guilty.

“Don't worry,” Sulu says, putting his hand over Chekov's. “I asked McCoy if you could still. You know.”

“You are a bastard, Hikaru,” Chekov says, laughing. Sulu grins and licks Chekov's cheeks. He told him once that he wants to lick his freckles right off of him and swallow them up.

“It was my chief concern,” Sulu says, and Chekov laughs harder, worming his way into Sulu's arms despite the unbearable heat of his body.

“Seriously, though,” Sulu says. He smoothes Chekov's hair down. “I, um. I'm here. For you. So don't run away again, okay?”

“Did I run away?” Chekov mumbles, already half asleep. He thinks of his mother. As a child he always pictured her not just leaving in the night but literally running away, all the way into another country, never stopping.

“Sort of,” Sulu says. “Also, you totally had, like, back to back orgasms. Which. Man.”

“You credit yourself,” Chekov says, grinning.

“Um, yeah.”

Chekov sleeps, and has his nightmares, but now they are about waking up and finding that his baby is gone. In the dreams, Sulu always blames him, and he's furious as Chekov searches his messy room in a panic for the mislaid infant. In one dream Chekov actually finds the baby, who is chubby and unharmed, reaching for him as if he knows him. Sulu forgives Chekov immediately and closes both of them into his arms, and Chekov is sorry when he wakes from this dream, Sulu snoring in his ear. He wants to know, even if they do achieve such a happy ending, what in the hell would happen next.

*

Part III