Fic: Keeping Me Down, McCoy/Chekov, Chekov/OMC, Star Trek XI
Okay, I blame this all on _beetle_. Really. It is completely and totally her fault. Completely. *g*
*sigh* I'm dabbling in a new fandom. Hopefully I, and this, don't completely suck.
Title: Keeping Me Down
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: McCoy/Chekov, Chekov/OMC
Warnings: Rape, abuse, mentions of child abuse, humiliation, violence, general angst and nastiness, and some Bones bad-assery.
Disclaimer: I don't not own anything associated with Star Trek. If I did, there would be a lot more nakedness. This is just for funzies.
Word Count: 9745
Summary: Based on this prompt from st_xi_kink: Chekov had an abusive affair with a teacher at the academy and the teacher comes to The Enterprise for some reason and he wants to pick up where they left off. Chekov tries avoiding him, eventually hiding in sick bay, where he tells McCoy the entire story.
Author's Note: This is a bit dark, but I do dark, so there. I posted this on the meme anon and found out I couldn't edit out my idiot mistakes that way, so I figured, what the hell. But it's chopped up the way it is so it would fit in the comments anonymously. So here it is, cleaned up but still unbetaed. Hopefully, it doesn't suck majorly.
Author's Note 2: The title is from the song Gravity by Sarah Bareilles - one of my favs right now.
Author's Note 3: Oh, and I didn't write out Chekov's accent. I kinda sucked at it in a big way and it looked stupid. Sorry.
Keeping Me Down
Chekov had been smiling, practically bouncing in his seat, for the better part of an hour. The Captain had told them that they were receiving representatives from Starfleet - very special representatives - that were going to be staying aboard for several days, helping put the newest and very best additions on to the jewel of the fleet. Chekov was going to get to help with the modifications. He could hardly wait.
Suddenly, the doors to the bridge opened and the dignitaries stepped through. The smile slowly slid from his lips.
Barely missing a beat, the entire crew was on their feet and Commander Spock was introducing their guests. Admiral Damron, Commander Sewell and Mr. Aweau stepped onto the bridge and looked around, smiling.
But the fourth figure, Dr. Monroe, simply stared at Chekov, his eyes never straying from the young navigator. Chekov tried to look away and failed. Once the introductions were finished and the plan for the modifications set, the Captain smiled wide. “Well, now that that's done, I think we can all get back to business.” Kirk commanded, setting everyone back to work.
Chekov turned in his seat, happy to be back facing the conn until he felt the heavy weight of someone squeezing his shoulder. He looked up into Kirk's crystal blue eyes, happy not to be looking into Monroe's dark, fathomless brown.
“Hey kid,” the Captain said jovially, “Dr. Monroe wants to talk to you about his calculations before you guys get started tomorrow so I guess we'll see you at the meet and greet at 2000 hours.”
“But Captain,” Chekov complained, his eyes flying from person to person, silently begging for help. “My shift. It is not yet over. I can not...”
“You can,” Kirk interrupted, “And you will. Go on. I know you haven't seen him for several months. It's got to be hard being away from your mentor. I mean, the man practically raised you at the Academy, right? Don't worry, kid. We've got everything under control.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Monroe's deep, rolling baritone echoed. “The Ensign and I have things to discuss before we can get started tomorrow. Come on, Ensign. Time to go.”
Resigned, Chekov nodded, knowing he'd never be able to talk his way out of this. He stood and smiled weakly before walking over to the older man who slipped an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the turbolift.
Chekov was tense, fighting to stand tall as they walked together toward the dignitaries' suites. They shared small talk, discussing the mission and how well the young Ensign had performed his duties, making the older man smile wider and pull him closer.
They slipped inside the suite, the older man quickly turning to lock the door with his special security clearance.
“Pavel,” he whispered, his voice deeper, darker - just how Chekov remembered it at times like this. The hand around his throat didn't surprise him. Neither did the sound of the zipper being lowered. The only thing that really surprised him was the flow of tears running down his cheeks as the hard cock was forced past his lips once again.
Part Two
Leonard McCoy scowled as he slipped through the press of bodies crammed into Ten-Forward. The reception for the dignitaries was required for all officers so, of course, he had made an appearance despite his desire to hide in his own quarters with his own bottle of bourbon. Still, the whiskey they put out for the big shots was good, smooth and sweet, burning its way down into his belly and the noise wasn't so bad, nothing like the god awful bars Jim insisted on dragging him to when they were on leave.
He looked around at the crew and guests all milling around, chatting or arguing about this and that. Most everyone was dressed up. It hadn't been required, it was more of an informal gathering than an official reception, after all. Some people were simply in uniform, others, like himself, in casual civvies. He liked his worn jeans and comfortable pullover. At least it helped make this bit of it a little more bearable.
Familiar faces popped up at regular intervals, most smiling, some scowling, all drinking and enjoying themselves...all but one.
McCoy noticed the young ensign practically hiding in a corner, his drink all but forgotten in his hand as he stared out into open space. He was more than a little surprised since Chekov was almost never still and certainly not quiet unless he was pondering an impossible task - one he was sure to overcome in time. He saw Sulu and Scotty talking animatedly at one table far from where the young ensign stood alone and wondered if something had happened.
Slowly, he made his way over before stopping directly in Chekov's line of sight.
“Oh,” Chekov gasped in surprise, “Hello, Doctor McCoy. I did not see you there.”
“Obviously,” he drawled, half amused, half annoyed. “Why aren't you over there with everyone else?”
“I am waiting,” the boy replied.
“Waiting?” he asked, confused by the boy's stilted reply. “Waiting for what?”
“I was told to stay.”
McCoy couldn't help but laugh. “What? Now you really think you're a pup? You may be a little wet behind the ears but you're still a man and don't forget it.”
The doctor's hand landed on the boy's shoulder in a friendly pat, his thumb grazing the pronounced collarbone. Chekov winced and hissed at the contact. Confused, he reached for the collar of the button down shirt the boy had worn to the event, pulling the fabric aside to reveal angry bruises hidden underneath.
“Dammit, Kid,” he growled, “What did you do now?”
“It is nothing, Doctor,” Chekov snapped, pulling the collar closed again. “I was careless during training today and was hurt.”
McCoy glared, knowing he hadn't had training that day nor the one before. Realizing that Chekov hadn't met his eyes since he had found the bruises, he whispered, “You're a terrible liar, you know that?”
Chekov looked up, shock and fear shining in his eyes, until a large, tan hand slid around Chekov's shoulders to rest on the back of his neck. McCoy didn't miss the sudden tension in the boy's body nor the way the fingers of the man's hand tightened - in warning or sign of possession, he didn't know.
“Is there a problem here, Pavel?” the new arrival asked amiably.
“Nyet, I mean no,” the boy blurted quickly. “No problem. The doctor just stopped to say hello.”
“And has he?”
“Yes,” Chekov answered quietly.
There was something wrong, he could feel it, and Leonard McCoy never let a feeling like that go. This man - one of the dignitaries, no doubt - was smiling at him. But it was not a friendly smile, but one McCoy would associate with a hungry crocodile - right before it swallowed you whole.
“One more thing, Ensign,” he said before he could be dismissed, “I need you to come by sickbay tomorrow directly after your shift. I have some more tests to run to make sure you don't have any lingering effects after that flu you had last week.”
Confusion drifted over the boy's features as he searched the doctor's face for clues. He hadn't been sick, but for some reason, McCoy knew he needed to get the boy alone to talk, if only for his own peace of mind.
“Da - I mean, yes Doctor,” he responded eventually, nodding once. “I will be there.”
Satisfied, he turned and walked away, immediately seeking out Jim. The Captain was tucked away in one of the corners of the deck, talking quietly with one of the dignitaries' young assistants. Glaring at the young girl sent her skittering away easily enough and Jim grumbled, “Bones, what'd you do that for? She was a gymnast. You know my thing about gymnasts?”
“Yes, Jim, I remember, all too well, thank you very much,” McCoy complained, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “But I've got a question for you. Who is that man over there with Chekov?”
Jim peeked around his shoulder, silently but not very stealthily exchanging his empty glass for the doctor's nearly full one. “Dr. Monroe? You mean you don't know about Dr. Monroe?”
“Obviously not,” he replied, glaring at the empty glass in his hand and the two men across the room in turn. “Why would I?”
“Dr. Monroe is the one that got Chekov into the Academy early,” Jim explained. “It's rumored that he got the concept of the new warp drives on this very ship came from an experiment Chekov submitted for his science project when he was like twelve or something. Monroe found him, had him interviewed and tested, even got him the scholarship so he could join Starfleet. Became his mentor and all that. They were always together. I can't believe you never noticed.”
“I'm a doctor, Jim, not a gossip hound,” he complained, “Besides I never paid much attention to what was going on in that department. I had other things to focus on.”
“Yeah, whatever Bonesy,” Jim mumbled as he pushed back toward the bar. Before he made it too far, he turned back and asked, “Why do you care?”
McCoy stopped. He nearly told Jim that he didn't but that was a lie. As he looked back over to where the Ensign was talking with Monroe, a knot began to build in the pit of his stomach. There was something wrong there. He couldn't quite place it but they were too close, the older man too intent on the boy, his hands too familiar.
“I don't know why,” he whispered, the answer nearly swallowed in the noise of the room. “But I have to find out.”
Part Three
Chekov hissed through his teeth as the fingers at his neck tightened painfully. The familiar weight pressed against his side as Dr. Monroe whispered in his ear, “Who was that?”
“You would know if you would have been introducing yourself,” he spat out despite the smile plastered on his face. The fingers pressed in sharply again, warning him silently. “Sorry,” Chekov apologized quickly, quietly. “That was Doctor McCoy. He is Chief Medical Officer.”
“So you were sick?” Monroe asked, his warm breath ghosting over Chekov's cheeks.
“Yes,” he ground out, his eyes locked on the Doctor who had supplied the lie.
“You didn't tell me.”
Turning his head slightly, Chekov stared up at the taller man. There was so much he wanted to say: I don't have to tell you. Why do you care? You are not here now. Leave me alone, but he left it all unsaid. He knew he'd be punished later. There was no need to make it worse.
“There was no need to be worrying you.”
Nodding slowly, Monroe seemed to decide that ended the conversation, so he relaxed his grip but kept his hand on the back of the boy's neck, directing him around the room.
Chekov smiled and answered questions, but he was seething inside. He hated this part; being paraded around like some sort of trophy or trained dog.
Yes, this is Pavel. My prized student. Found him when he was just twelve years old. Taught him everything he knows. Wanna see him do some equations? Maybe roll over or play dead? If you ask him just right he might beg and let you rub his belly. He's good at begging. You should see...
He was interrupted from his internal monologue be a rough shake and strong fingers irritating his wounds.
“Pavel, where were you, boy?” Monroe asked, half-amused, half-annoyed.
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly to the Admiral, “I have many things on my mind.”
“I hope it's not about the upgrades tomorrow. We have all the faith in the world in you, Ensign. Or maybe it's some great new idea, some fantastic breakthrough. That's it, I'm sure,” the Admiral said with a gentle smile.
“Plus poor Chekov here has taken ill recently, haven't you, Ensign?” Dr. Monroe prodded.
“Yes,” Chekov muttered, suddenly actually feeling ill. “I must see Dr. McCoy tomorrow to be following-up.”
“Maybe I'd better see the boy back to his quarters,” Dr. Monroe declared, already steering the boy away from the Admiral. “Wouldn't want the best navigator in the fleet to be kept away from work tomorrow. It's a big day for the Enterprise.”
“Yes, yes,” the Admiral agreed, watching them go. “We'll see you tomorrow then, Ensign Chekov.”
The quiet of the hallways was broken only by their hurried footsteps. When they reached the delegates' quarters, Dr. Monroe pushed the Ensign through the door so hard that he stumbled, flailing before landing on the floor.
“Pavel,” the doctor chided, his voice hard and tight. “Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. My brave little boy. Why do you have to do things like this?”
Chekov began to shake his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. He knew what was coming but didn't know how to stop it. He never did.
“Why do you have to embarrass me like that in front of everyone?” the doctor continued as he circled the prone boy on the floor. “You know how much I hate to be embarrassed in front my colleagues.”
Chekov sat up, ready to yell, ready to fight, ready to end all of this, when a large fist came crashing down against his jaw.
“Why do you make me do this, Pavel?” the man practically purred as he crouched down to fill Chekov's hazy vision. His long, thick fingers wrapped tightly in the boy's curls. “I hate to do this. You know that. Just look at what you make me do.”
He wanted to say he was sorry but he knew that would only set the already angry man off and that was the last thing he wanted. Right now, all Chekov could do was hang on - hang on and try to think of an excuse to tell Dr. McCoy tomorrow.
Part Four
Sickbay was nearly cleared out and all the doctor could think of was the boy who would be there any moment. He'd all but ordered the Ensign to come by directly after his shift and he knew the boy would have to be dead or in the middle of an honest to god disaster to disobey. Realizing he was pacing, McCoy snatched a PADD from the closest workstation before snapping at the single remaining nurse, “I'll be in my office. Let me know when Ensign Chekov finally deigns to show up.”
“I am here, Doctor,” the Ensign called from behind him, “I am sorry I was keeping you waiting.”
McCoy turned around, the shocked expression on his face tempered by the ever-present scowl he wore. “Forget it,” he said gruffly. “Let's get you checked out.”
Walking to the back of sickbay, McCoy indicated the most secluded bio-bed, waiting for the boy to sit. Chekov hopped up onto the bed, wincing slightly even though he tried his best to hide it. Finally getting a good look at the boy, he ground out, “Dammit, kid. What did you do now?”
The quiet laugh seemed forced and tight.
“I was very clumsy today,” Chekov explained quietly. “I was in Engineering, helping with the modifications, and I fell. It does not hurt so badly.”
The bruise spread over his jaw, trailing down his neck. It wasn't nearly as angry red as it should have been. It seemed older, healed slightly.
“Yeah, right, Ensign,” he drawled, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Pull the other one and you might get some candy.”
Chekov's head cocked to the right, confusion shining in his eyes. “What am I pulling?”
McCoy coughed “Forget about it,” before leaning forward to pull down the Ensign shirt collar. The swollen, bruised neck from the night before was clean and unmarred. Someone had healed the boy, at least part of the way.
Running the device over Chekov's skin, he shook his head slightly. “You know,” he started conversationally, “These tricorders can detect when someone has used a dermal regenerator or a contusion disruptor. I need to know if someone has tried to heal you before I treat you. The last thing I need is you having some unusual reaction to my treatment. I hate the extra paperwork.”
Chekov was looking at him from beneath the fringe of curls that had fallen over his forehead. He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke.
“I did not know that your equipment was that advanced,” he challenged.
McCoy scolwed harder, not appreciating being questioned, especially when he was lying. He went for the jugular. “I didn't know that you lied to superior officers.”
Chekov's eyes went wide at the accusation, before he shut down, practically curling into himself. “I came here because you asked me to, not to be insulted, Doctor.”
Suddenly upset at himself, the doctor softened his tone, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. “I'm sorry. I brought you here to give you a break from that Dr. Monroe. If you'd rather...”
“No,” Chekov interrupted, fear emanating from the boy like some sort of stink. “I mean, thank you. I do appreciate your care of me.”
McCoy smiled before reaching out to gently rest his hand over the bruise marred jaw. Just as he was about to say something, the door to the sickbay opened and the last person he wanted to see entered. Dr. Monroe stared at them for several moments, his face hard and angry.
“Pavel,” he practically growled as he stalked over to them. “I thought you were going to join me after you had your check-up. You know how much I hate having my mealtimes disrupted.”
Just before the other man could reach the frightened Ensign on the bio-bed, McCoy put himself in his path, his face equally hard, equally angry.
“Ensign Chekov is not going anywhere tonight, so you can just go ahead and enjoy your meal without him,” McCoy nearly spat in his face.
Monroe was flustered enough to stutter “Wait...what?” for a moment before McCoy continued.
“It appears Mr. Chekov is still suffering for the effects of the Andorian flu he had last week. I had thought he was fully recovered but since he seems to be bruising so easily the last few days, I'd have to say he's having a relapse. I'll have to keep him here overnight, just for observation.”
He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face as Monroe realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with the doctor.
“Very well. I hope you feel better, Pavel. I'll see you tomorrow then,” he said, half caring, half threatening.
After the man had left, McCoy turned back to the boy still half cowering behind him.
“Want to tell me what's going on?” he asked.
Chekov simply shook his head, dropping his chin to his chest. He decided to let it go - for now.
Stepping to the front of sickbay, McCoy asked the remaining nurse to order up some dinner for him and Chekov before retiring for the night. They sat at the small table, the two of them, eating quietly, neither of them looking up from their plates. Finally, McCoy began to talk.
“You know, for a long time I thought Jim might have been abused as a child. He displayed all the classic behaviors: acting out, excessive drinking, promiscuity, risky behavior, disdain for authority. He was so rebellious when we met I was sure he wouldn't last a week in Starfleet. He stuck it out and we became friends, as odd as it seemed, and we talked. Well, it was really more like he talked and I tried not to listen. He gets really chatty when he's drunk and that was more weekends than not at Academy. He talked about his family sometimes. I tried not to push but I had to know - friends and all. He hates his step-father in a way that is not healthy in the least but he was never actually abused from what I can tell. Just thought the man was a putz - his word, not mine - compared to George Kirk and he rebelled every chance he got. Still, it wasn't hard to see there was something wrong there, something that had touched Jim and changed him and not for the good. I'm glad he wasn't abused but he still has issues that would take ages of therapy that a stronger person than myself could hope to tackle. But if I could help, I would.”
By the end of his speech, McCoy looked up, staring into Chekov's sad blue eyes.
“You can not help me,” the boy whispered sadly. The sound nearly broke McCoy's heart. Without another word, Chekov slipped back up onto the bio-bed and curled up on his side, his back to the rest of the room - and the doctor.
Shaking his head, McCoy picked up their trays, setting them in the reclamator and cleaning up his lab. Picking up his PADD, he settled down to start updating his charts.
“I'll be here if you need me,” he whispered, only to be met by stubborn silence.
Part Five
Stifling a yawn, McCoy looked over his shoulder at the boy still curled up on the bio-bed. He wished there was something he could do, something he could say that would help, that would take his pain away. But there was no way, nothing appropriate to say, no hypospray or salve that would make any of this better.
He decided he'd better get his comfortable chair from his office and bring it out here. He certainly wasn't going to let the kid sleep in sickbay all by himself, whether or not that son of a bitch Monroe decided to come back, but he wasn't sitting out here in one of those standard grade torture devices either. He placed the PADD in the docking station to download and charge before standing slowly, stretching his arms high above his head. As he moved toward his office, he stopped to consider the form curled on the bio-bed. It was so easy for McCoy to see him as a kid, they all did, but he was far from being a child with all he'd been through.
His hand moved forward of its own accord, wanting to touch, give some sort of comfort, even if the boy - no, man - was asleep. He watched the play of lean, whipcord tight muscles pressing against the regulation uniform as Chekov slowly inhaled, exhaled, breathing deeply in his sleep.
“I wish everyone could know how strong you really are,” the doctor whispered to his sleeping patient. “Especially you. I know I call you a kid, but I realize you're not, probably haven't been for a while, right? Hell, Jim is definitely more of a child than you are and that's on a good day. I wish I could make it better, but I'm a doctor not a shrink, although technically I do that too. I just - I'm sorry.”
He'd nearly made it to his office when he heard a quiet whisper.
“I was only twelve when he came to me.”
Afraid that he was imagining things, McCoy froze, waiting to see if there would be more.
“I was shocked,” Chekov continued quietly. “I had built a mock warp drive for my science project. It was impressive even I am saying. Doctor Monroe said he liked, looking at all my notes, even the model of new Starship I had designed for fun. It looks much like the Enterprise. I brought her with me.”
McCoy smiled at the back facing him, sure he could hear a smile in Chekov's voice. He had every right to be proud.
“There was testing and talk of me leaving. I was not sure I wanted to go but Doctor Monroe insisted - said it was the best. He took care of me, of my family. That was most important thing. Doctor Monroe helped with Father's business. I was afraid to say no to him.
“At first, all was fine. He was teacher, mentor - I was student. He taught, I learned. We debated theory and he always takes copies of my notes - for records, he said. I never noticed the little touches, the hugs, the times he was being too close.”
McCoy nearly growled, his anger rising in his throat like bile. “It's called grooming,” he explained through gritted teeth.
“I know what it is called!” Chekov barked back but still not moving to sit up or face him. “I took psychology. It is requirement for everyone who is marked for space travel. But what could I do by then? Besides, he never did things, at least not until I turn fifteen. As if fourteen was wrong but fifteen is okay. He knew...”
“Go on,” McCoy encouraged softly when Chekov paused, finally laying his hand on the lean, muscled back.
“He knew I have attraction to older men,” he confessed quietly. “I was telling him in confidence one night. It was hard with all the older cadets and teachers around and they were all being so handsome. He thought I mean him. He is attractive - physically, yes - but I knew, I always knew there was something about him that was...wrong. I knew I should say to someone but...”
“Do you want to tell me?” McCoy asked quietly when the flow of words stopped once again. “I won't judge you, Chekov.”
“Will you..?” he paused as if just the asking was hard.
“What?”
“Will you hold me?”
Smiling, McCoy answered, “Sure,” before crawling onto the bed and settling himself against the wall so he could take the younger man's weight. Chekov curled up between his spread thighs, resting his head on the doctor's chest. “Go ahead, Chekov. Just get it all out.”
“Pavel.”
“What?”
“You will call me Pavel?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, wondering when it got so hot in sickbay. He'd have to remember to ask Chapel about it in the morning. “Go ahead, Pavel.”
He did.
He spilled every dirty secret he'd been hiding, divulged every hit, every bruise, every rape. It was painful listening to the tale, knowing this smart, brave, funny, idiot boy had been hurt and violated in so many ways. But he never cried, not a single tear. That may have disturbed him more than anything.
By the time Pavel was finished talking he was nodding off, his words slurring slightly with sleep, making it even harder for the doctor to understand him. Slowly, his breathing evened out and McCoy felt Chekov sag in his arms as if a weight had finally been lifted and now he could rest. McCoy knew he should get up, he should leave the boy be, but the weight and warmth of him felt too good. He brought his face down - to get more comfortable, he told himself, not to bury his nose in the sweet smelling curls - and thought he'd rest his eyes just for a moment.
As he began to drift, he had the passing thought that somehow, some way, he was going to make Monroe pay for this, for all of it, he was sure of it. The thought put a smile on his face as he finally surrendered to sleep.
Part Six
Waking was an interesting experience. Chekov tried to stretch and realized he was being held, not harshly or too tightly, but gently held, practically cuddled if you got right down to it. His eyes hurt, nearly gummed together with sleep and tears he'd refused to shed as he had talked and talked. His throat was rough and dry, an annoying combination he would have to do something about and his bladder was protesting loudly - he would have to take care of that sooner rather than later.
He felt good. Better than he had in ages. It was like a weight had been lifted, just talking about what he'd been through, what he'd suffered, made him feel better. Like he was no longer alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head to look at the man whose arms held him gently through the night. Doctor McCoy looked younger in sleep somehow. The constant scowl he wore was smoothed out and the frown no longer tried to drag his face downward. Chekov had the unnatural urge to run his fingers over the man's face, to memorize every dip and line while he had the chance.
As he reached out a finger, he heard someone softly clear their throat. Quickly, he snatched his hand away and turned to see Nurse Chapel watching them from the partition of the privacy screen surrounding them.
"You doing alright there, Ensign?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, thank you," he whispered back. "I have to..." He looked guiltily between her and the doctor before she walked over, holding out her hand and helping him off the bio-bed.
"Just let him sleep," she whispered as she led him away from the still sleeping doctor. "He's been working too hard lately, as usual. He didn't get around to fixing your bruises, huh?"
His fingers flew up to his jaw and he flinched at the pain that flared as he pressed against the bruise still there. "No. We - talked."
"Good," the nurse said with a smile. "He needs to talk to people who aren't the Captain. That man has a bad effect on him."
Chekov smiled at that, the small movement making him wince. "I really need to..."
Nurse Chapel seemed to know what he needed immediately and began to direct him to the restroom in sickbay but Chekov shook his head.
"Nyet, but thank you," he said quickly. "I must shower. It has been since yesterday and I am feeling rather, um, rotten?"
"Ripe?" she asked, barely hiding her smirk.
"Yes, ripe, thank you. I think I'll go to the showers instead. Tell the doctor I will see him after the re-fitting today, yes?"
"I'll do that, Ensign," she promised as she walked him to the door. He walked into the hallway, ready to shower and start the day, to make the change he'd been waiting for for so long. He never saw Doctor Monroe until the man struck him from behind before dragging him down the hall and into his suite.
Chekov struggled as he was dragged into the doctor's quarters. He knew that if he was taken inside, he'd be in serious trouble. But it was early still and no one was really up and around except for the overnight Delta shift and they would not be heading back to their quarters yet and he doubted anyone else was stirring yet.
Still he considered crying out, going so far as to suck in a deep breath before Doctor Monroe's large hand clamped around his mouth, smothering any sound he tried to make. He was shoved into the room and spun around, his face as red and angry as the one staring down at him.
"Pavel, you have been..."
"Nyet!" he shouted, finally having had enough. "No! I have not been a bad boy. I have not shamed you. I have done nothing but what you wanted. But I am not yours any longer. I am man now - not a boy! You have no control over me here."
Monroe froze, his features shifting from livid to calm in the span of a few seconds. It frightened Pavel more than anything he had seen before.
"I have no control over you here?" he asked, his deep baritone soft and steady. "So who has control of you now, my little one? Doctor McCoy? Have I been replaced by a newer, younger model? I thought you liked them older. The older the better, right?"
"No," Chekov replied defiantly. "I am having control over me now."
"Is that so?" Monroe practically growled as he stalked toward the young man who instantly started to move backwards, trying hard not to cower. "So you're going to be the one to stop me, is that it?"
"Yes."
The punch to the stomach dropped him to the floor before he could even finish the word. He'd forgotten how fast the other man was, how sneaky, how powerful. Monroe grabbed him by the hair before he could even catch his breath and threw him against the deck, knocking over several books and PADDs, scattering them all over the floor. Chekov heaved in one more deep breath, ready to scream when the strong fingers clenched around his throat stopping everything, his sound, his breath, his fight.
He felt the free hand clawing at his pants, ripping them open and his heart began to race, beating harder than ever. He fell back against the desk in defeat knowing he couldn't escape this. The man he once thought he loved was going to rape him and kill him here and now and there was no way to stop him. Still, he tried to fight back - he wouldn't take this anymore. He started clawing at the hand around his throat or reaching up to kick out with his legs. Still, he silently prayed that Monroe wouldn't turn on Doctor McCoy after he was finished killing him.
Part Seven
The weight in his arms was warm and comforting, soft and pliant leaning against his chest. McCoy leaned down to bury his nose in the auburn curls that smelled faintly of apples and ozone and sweat. Leaning back against the wall behind his back, the doctor smiled as Chekov slowly pulled away to look up at him, a question hovering between them.
“Go ahead and ask already,” he growled playfully, nearly giving in to the urge to chuckle.
“Ask what?” Chekov asked innocently.
“Whatever it is that you're just dying to ask. I can practically taste it.”
“Practically?” The eyebrows on Chekov's face rose into the curls draped over his forehead before he smirked, letting McCoy know the boy was teasing him. “All right. I was just wondering if I could kiss you?”
The question shocked him. He had expected some big, life-altering question after all they had been through the night before, knew Pavel wanted something, needed to say something, but he hadn't expected this. It wasn't completely unwanted, on the contrary, he wanted that more than anything at that moment, but was it best for Chekov?
“Kid, I don't...”
“Not a kid,” Chekov corrected. “You said so yourself. And I know that I want you.”
“You can't know that,” he tried to protest as the boy in his lap shifted closer so that he could feel the warm breath on his face.
“I can. I do. I know what I want and it is you. Doctor.”
“Pavel.”
“Doctor.”
The voice was insistent, harder and wrong somehow.
“Doctor!”
His eyes snapped open and he found himself alone on the bio-bed, staring at an amused half-Vulcan. If he didn't know better, he'd say that damned cocked eyebrow was smirking at him.
“What?” he groused, his voice still heavy from sleep, as he made to rise from the bio-bed, pushing past Spock in the process. “Came to scare away all my patients? It's not Halloween, you know?”
“I am well aware that it not time for an archaic harvest ritual, Doctor McCoy,” Spock replied, dry as ever, “But I am looking for Ensign Chekov. It is my understanding that he was under your direct medical supervision overnight.”
“That's right. You got a problem with that?”
“I do not. However, the Ensign was to return to the briefing room to review the plans for today's re-fitting last night after his check-up and he did not. I was hoping to do so this morning - possibly over breakfast.”
“Oh,” McCoy rubbed the back of his neck as he turned away for the Commander's piercing gaze. He hated feeling like he was under a microscope with the logical creature all the time. “Well, as you can see, he's not here at the moment, must have run to the john or something.” As he waved his hand toward the bathrooms in the sickbay, Nurse Chapel walked by and stopped immediately on seeing their visitor.
“Oh, hello Commander,” she greeted with a smile. “Glad to see you got some rest, Doctor. It's about time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled under his breath, “Save it, alright. Look, when the kid gets finished, send him Spock's way, will ya? I'm gonna go get cleaned up.”
As he moved to step into his office, he froze when he heard her say, “Oh, Ensign Chekov? He's not here?”
“Not here?” he nearly shouted as he spun around. “Then where the hell is he?”
“I don't know.”
“How long ago did he depart?” Spock asked, his voice calm and steady as ever.
“About ten minutes ago,” she answered, staring at the doctor's livid face.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, his entire body on edge. This was bad. Really bad. He knew it. He could just feel it.
“Did he say where he was going?” Spock asked, but McCoy was already pushing past him.
“Dammit, we don't time for this. Computer - what's Ensign Chekov's current location?”
“Ensign Chekov is currently on Deck 9 in Executive Suite A115,” the computer dutifully informed them.
“No,” he groaned, running his hands over his face and into his hair in frustration. “Come on,” he threw at Spock before heading out of sickbay, “I think I may need you.”
“Need me for what, Doctor?”
“To keep me from killing that sick son of a bitch.” And without another word, the two men ran down the hallway toward the Executive Suites. Leonard just hoped they could make it there in time.
They ran through the corridors side by side, neither questioning why or what was happening. They reached Suite A115 in record time and hit the comm, waiting for permission to enter. When nothing happened, McCoy practically shouted, “Fuck this. Emergency medical override code - McCoy - whiskey, alpha, november, victor, 13!”
The doors flew open as the last of the command fell from his lips and they rushed inside before stopping just inside the doorway. Across the room, they saw Chekov on his back, frantically scratching at the hands around his throat, weakly kicking out against the man on top of him, inside him. His face was nearly purple with the lack of air and his eyes turned to see them standing there, pleading for help, for freedom.
Monroe never seemed to notice them, maybe didn't even hear them enter, probably didn't even care. He just continued to thrust harder and harder into the prone body beneath him, squeezing tighter and tighter, choking the boy he was raping as he spit out curse after curse - calling him a slut, a whore, and worse. He didn't even seem to notice the blood Chekov had drawn in his struggle, scored fingernail marks leaking blood down his cheeks, his arms, his hands.
It seemed like they had been standing there forever but it couldn't have been more than a second, maybe two, before both men sprung into action, rushing forward as one. Spock grabbed Monroe by the shoulders and dug his fingers in viciously, grinding bone together. McCoy did the same to his wrists, forcing the man to release the tender throat he was choking, satisfied with the startled gasp of pain he was able to wring from the man.
Quickly, he reached down to catch Chekov before he fell to the floor just as Spock tossed Monroe across the room. He hit the wall with a gratifying crunch before slumping down, still throwing curses at the trembling boy. McCoy cradled Chekov in his lap as he sat down and quickly began to catalog his injuries.
“Doctor...” he croaked out before the doctor could stop him.
“Don't,” he said, trying to sound calm when all he wanted to do was walk over and pound Monroe until he was nothing but a puddle of tissue and sinew. He smiled when Chekov nodded slightly. “Good boy.”
When Pavel opened he mouth to speak again, he preempted him. “I know - you're not a kid. It's a nickname, all right, Pavel?”
Another nod brought another smile. McCoy grumbled, wishing he had thought to grab his medical pack, but just looking at the boy made him cringe. It was bad. And the urge to kill rose up in him again. He heard Spock call for a security detail and smiled when he told them the detainee was subdued and unconscious - that damn Vulcan nerve pinch, no doubt. That would hurt when he woke.
Good.
Suddenly, Spock was there, pulling a sheet from the unmade bed to wrap around Chekov's nakedness.
“Do you want me to carry him to the sickbay, Doctor?”
“No,” McCoy answered as he stood slowly with the boy in his arms, never taking his eyes away from Chekov's. “I've got him.”
Part Eight
Chekov's steps were shorter and slower than normal as he walked the long hallway toward sickbay. He knew he had to go but somehow he was nervous about this visit. He'd be seeing Doctor McCoy today. Not that he hadn't seen the doctor in the three short weeks since what he was calling "The Incident" in his own mind. But this was his final physical, the last one that could release him back to regular duty and not this accursed light duty shift that left him itching to do more.
He'd been seeing Doctor Lewallen for counseling - a requirement from Starfleet - twice a week since Doctor Monroe was removed from the Enterprise. The counselor was nice. She was patient and considerate - nearly too much. She wanted to treat Chekov like a broken little boy. It was sometimes worse than anything he'd dealt with, even after everything.
His fear, as he neared the door that would lead him Doctor McCoy, was that the man would treat him the same way, like a broken toy that needed to handled delicately, tenderly. He didn't want the doctor to treat him differently. He wanted the man to be the grumpy, gruff man he knew and liked - loved, if he was honest with himself. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, triggering the door's mechanism and watching the doors sweep open, offering him passage inside.
There were two nurses pacing around sickbay, one tapping away at his PADD, the other clearing away supplies, presumably from the last patient. They both turned to look at him, both of them smiling a little too widely.
"He's in his office," the closest nurse said, nodding her head in that direction. "He said to have you head directly to the bio-bed in the back and strip down. The gown is already on the bed."
Chekov nodded quickly and murmured his thanks as he headed that way, already dreading this examination. He knew Doctor McCoy was thorough but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that thorough. He reached the bed and quickly engaged the privacy screen before stripping down and pulling on the thin, nondescript gown. He hopped up onto the bed and waited.
Doctor McCoy came out and waited by the screen for a moment before Chekov called out, "I am ready, Doctor."
McCoy slipped through and nodded curtly, his constant scowl already in place. "Let's get this over with, alright Pavel?"
Chekov nodded, suddenly, inexplicably pleased that the doctor had used his given name. The doctor ran the tricorder over his body, checking every wound and bruise that had covered Chekov's body not so long ago. He fought not to flinch when the doctor reached up to brush his thumb over the jawline where Doctor Monroe had punched him.
"Anything still hurt?" McCoy whispered, his gruff voice soft in the quiet room.
"Nyet," Chekov answered, sounding a bit more breathless than he would have liked. "You have done a wonderful job."
McCoy snorted then, obviously not believing him. "Let's finish this up, alright? Why don't you stand by the side of the bed and bend over. That way you can lean on the bed for this part."
Chekov quickly slid off the bed and turned to face the bio-bed. He forced down the embarrassment that threatened to burn across his face. The gown parted, exposing his naked buttocks to the cool room and the doctor's gaze. The examination was quick and gentle but very thorough and although he knew it was inappropriate, Chekov felt himself getting hard.
"Okay, Kid," McCoy said, closing the gown once again. "You can hop back up on the bed."
"Thank you," Chekov started, "But I will stay here if that is not a bother."
The doctor cleared his throat before sighing heavily. "Look, I know you can hardly look at me after everything, Pavel, but I need to finish your exam so you can get out of here, alright."
That shocked him and he turned quickly, forgetting about his little problem for a moment. "What does this mean I can hardly look at you?"
McCoy sighed, running his hands over his face before thrusting his fingers through his dark locks. "I let him - I let him do that to you. I let you down. I'm so sorry, Pavel."
Chekov stared for a moment before he started to laugh, softly at first until finally he was gasping for breath he was laughing so hard. "Doctor, you did not let him do anything to me. You saved me. I didn't not wish to turn around because..." He trailed off before glancing down at the erection still tenting the front of the tiny paper gown.
McCoy's eyes followed before they flew open wide. "Oh - Oh" he said, his surprise evident. "Well, that's not unusual for, you know, this kind of examination for a man of your age."
"Nyet," Chekov answered. "Not because of exam. It is because of you."
The doctor gaped at him of a moment, not sure what to say for a moment. "Nah, kid, you're just projecting on me because of everything that happened, you know, like imprinting or something."
"That is funny," Chekov replied, smiling. "That is exactly what Dr. Lewallen told me you would say. She is very good at what she does."
"Yeah," McCoy grumbled, "She is at that. What did you tell her?"
"That I was attracted to you but I thought you would see me as broken goods like the others. You saw the worst. I am not good anymore..."
Suddenly he found himself enveloped in a strong embrace being held tight against the doctor's strong, muscular chest.
"Don't say that," McCoy whispered into his hair. "Don't you ever say that. You are so strong, probably the strongest person on this whole blasted ship. I'd never think bad about you."
"Is a promise?"
"Promise."
Chekov smiled as he slowly pulled away to lean against the bio-bed, looking up at McCoy through his long eyelashes. "So can I come to your quarters later? It is odd to be standing here in sickbay with my butt hanging out of back of this gown."
The doctor snorted. "Yeah. Get dressed. I'm on shift until 1800 hours."
"And I am back on regular duty, yes?"
"Yeah, you're cleared for duty as of today."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Leonard," McCoy corrected.
Chekov smiled wide. "Thank you, Leonard."
"Now get out of here, Kid. I've got real sick people to look after you know."
He watched the doctor turn and stalk away but he couldn't keep from smiling as he slipped out of the gown and back into his uniform. He had to go and find something to do to keep him occupied until 1800.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Chekov gave the Doctor exactly five minutes to reach his quarters. At 1805, he rang the chime letting the doctor know he was there. He barely had to wait before the door slid open, revealing McCoy standing, staring at him.
“Wasn't sure you'd actually show,” the doctor admitted as he stepped away from the door, allowing Chekov to slip inside.
“Why would I not, Leonard?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I don't know, maybe because I'm an old, ugly, obstinate bastard with a bad attitude and tendency to drink more than necessary? That enough for you?”
“First of all,” Chekov answered as he turned to regard the man before him. “You are not old, nor ugly. You may not have the most pleasant attitude but that is you. And I like you.”
“Don't see why,” McCoy grumbled again.
“I like older men, Leonard. Remember?”
Chekov found himself suddenly in the arms of the doctor once again as warm lips descended onto his. The kiss was warm and tender, but strong and demanding with the promise of more. When they finally pulled away, they stared at each other, just a hint of a smile pulling at the doctor's lips.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Epilogue
Leonard McCoy stepped out of the small turbolift and took the few steps down the hallway toward the small holding cell, his heels clicking loudly on the metal flooring. As he approached the security guard standing stoically by the door, he held up the visitor's pass he'd been given, nodding slightly when the younger man keyed in the code to allow him entrance.
It took a moment for Doctor Monroe to acknowledge him. McCoy had expected as much. After all, he'd had a huge part in sending the man to prison in the first place. There was probably a bit of anger there - though probably not as much as he felt himself.
"Doctor McCoy," Monroe said finally, "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Well, we're about to leave but I figured there was some unfinished business you and I needed to take care of before we left," he explained, his back rigid and his face unreadable. “I asked your attorney if I could be the one to tell you. You see, after going through all your seized notes and PADDs, it has been determined that you stole or adapted all of your ideas from the last five years or so from a certain young Russian. They've decided to seize all your profits from your books and rights to give them to the rightful owner. Oh, and they're renaming the transporter codes you claimed to have invented - so it will now be called the Chekovian Variable. I thought it sounded poetic, don't you agree?”
Monroe glared at him, his eyes burning with hatred. “You think that will make it all better?” he asked. “First humiliating me at tribunal, then taking away my fame and fortune and leaving me to rot in here?”
"You're getting off easy,” McCoy answered.
"Easy?" Monroe spat, "Easy?! Ten years. You call ten years, easy?"
"Actually, I do," McCoy replied, his voice calm and steady. "You're just lucky that you were tried by a military tribunal instead of a civilian court. I'm sure they let you off easy because of all of your contributions, stolen or not, but even the biggest hard-ass couldn't let you get away with the rape and attempted murder of a Starfleet officer."
"You make it sound like I did something wrong."
That got a reaction. McCoy gaped at him then. "What?" he said, shocked. "You see nothing wrong with the fact that you raped Ensign Chekov and nearly killed him with your bare hands? And that's just what you got caught doing. I'm not even talking about the years of abuse he endured because of you."
"What do you know about it?" Monroe asked, his tone silky and sly, thinking he'd finally got the better of the man before him.
"I know what Pavel has told me."
"Oh, so it's Pavel now, is it?" Monroe smirked, making his handsome face look distorted and ugly. "I never liked to call him that, you know. Makes everything too familiar. You have to establish your control over them early. You should only use their name when they do something worthy of their name...or when it's a threat. He always trembled when I said his name."
"And what did Pavel do to earn his name, huh?"
Monroe leered, actually leered at him, before leaning in conspiratorially. "I taught him to suck my cock first. He had the best mouth ever, even for such a young one. He had a hard time at first, couldn't get the hang of it, but sometimes that was even better, feeling him struggle like that."
"How old was he then?"
"Fifteen," he murmured with a groan. "So young and willing to do anything, everything I asked. It wasn't until I started fucking him that he actually protested. But I knew he didn't mean it. He loved everything I ever did to him."
"You honestly believe that?" McCoy gaped at him. "Even after he testified against you in court?"
"He only did that because you made him. I saw you prompting him. I saw you nodding and smiling, being the strong doctor for the poor distressed boy. I'll bet he's very grateful."
The hands at his side clenched into fists as he glared at Monroe but he reigned in his temper and returned the ugly smile. "Yes, he is - very grateful. But I don't make him show me how grateful he is."
"Too bad," Monroe practically purred. "He's so delicious when he begs."
After several moments of tense silence, Monroe leaned back in his chair before asking, "So Doctor McCoy, why did you come here? You obviously wanted to flaunt your freedom or your new relationship with young Pavel or something, but you're not doing a very good job of it. You need to learn how to gloat more."
"Oh, I'll be gloating," McCoy said as he leaned in closer. "You do know these holding cells aren't sound proof, right?"
"So?" Monroe asked.
"So, do you know who are the most attacked and persecuted inmates are in any prison?"
Monroe gaped at him for a moment before McCoy continued.
"Child molesters and murderers are listed in incident reports seven times more than any other prisoners. That's true for both civilian and military institutions. So even though your conviction is for the brutal attack on an adult officer, you have now confessed to the continued sexual and mental abuse of Pavel Chekov from the time he was, what was it again? Fifteen? Sounds like you're a child molester to me, Doctor Monroe."
McCoy took a moment to savor the look of terror that passed over Monroe's normally handsome features.
"I checked your commitment paperwork before I came in," he continued, a smile slowly sliding over his face. "Your attorney was willing to part with that as well. Did you know that because your crime is violent, you'll be housed right here in the high security wing, but you won't be held in protective custody because your victim was an adult?"
Taking another step closer, Leonard McCoy leaned in, nearly spitting in the other man's face as he talked to him in a stage whisper. "I'd be careful in the shower if I were you. I would hate for you to get a taste of your own medicine."
Loud hollers and whoops were heard then, prisoners from all down the halls yelling things like, "Can't wait to show you your place, bitch!" and "I'll give him a taste!" and worse things that made even McCoy a little afraid.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said as he straightened up. Monroe looked up, fear pouring off of him in waves. Before the other man could blink, his fist came down hard, knocking the prisoner out of his chair and onto the floor. When he looked up, there was a string of blood and saliva streaming down his chin from where McCoy had split his lip.
"You son of a bitch!" Monroe shouted. "Guard! I know my rights. I want this man prosecuted for assaulting me."
McCoy stepped up to the door, waiting until the young security guard let him through.
"So, you gonna arrest me, son?" he asked.
The guard looked first at him as he let him exit the small cell, then stared at the prisoner on the floor as he spoke. "Chekov tutored me third year in Calculus. He did for a lot of the guys working here. I never would have passed that class, much less graduated, without his help."
"What are you saying?!" Monroe shouted.
"I'm saying I didn't see a thing," the guard answered, his face hard and steady. "You must have fallen off your chair and split your lip. You really shouldn't be so clumsy."
McCoy smiled then, knowing that now, somehow, finally, he was helping to set the world right again. He walked away without another look back, even after Monroe started shouting, pleading, cursing at him. He didn't care. As the turbo lift doors closed behind him, he smiled, finally feeling some sort of peace.
Once he reached the lobby, the young man waiting for him jumped up from his chair and rushed to his side.
"Leonard," Pavel whispered, "What did you say to him?"
"I told you, Pasha, it's no big deal. I just had some unfinished business to take care of, alright?"
"Da," Chekov answered, reaching out to take the older man's hand. He noticed the wince immediately and pulled the hand up to inspect the abraded knuckles. "Did you hit him?" he asked, shocked.
"I may have," McCoy grumbled, pulling his hand free. "He's lucky I didn't do more after all he did to you."
Chekov sighed and turned to walk toward the door. "Come. We must be getting back before the Captain comes to find us."
"Wait," he said, stopping the young man before he could walk away. "You're not going to yell at me and tell me to stay out of it, that you'll take care of it?"
"Nyet, not this time. Just this once, I will let you play the knight of shining armor."
He smiled down at the boy - no, young man - who continued to amaze him at every turn. "Alright."
They walked out, arms brushing in a familiar way as they made their way back to their ship, ready to leave all this behind once and all. Without that man to keep him down, McCoy smiled wondering what wonderful new heights Pavel would reach. Whatever they were, he hoped to do it by his side, if the boy would only let him.
~~~The End~~~
*sigh* I'm dabbling in a new fandom. Hopefully I, and this, don't completely suck.
Title: Keeping Me Down
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: McCoy/Chekov, Chekov/OMC
Warnings: Rape, abuse, mentions of child abuse, humiliation, violence, general angst and nastiness, and some Bones bad-assery.
Disclaimer: I don't not own anything associated with Star Trek. If I did, there would be a lot more nakedness. This is just for funzies.
Word Count: 9745
Summary: Based on this prompt from st_xi_kink: Chekov had an abusive affair with a teacher at the academy and the teacher comes to The Enterprise for some reason and he wants to pick up where they left off. Chekov tries avoiding him, eventually hiding in sick bay, where he tells McCoy the entire story.
Author's Note: This is a bit dark, but I do dark, so there. I posted this on the meme anon and found out I couldn't edit out my idiot mistakes that way, so I figured, what the hell. But it's chopped up the way it is so it would fit in the comments anonymously. So here it is, cleaned up but still unbetaed. Hopefully, it doesn't suck majorly.
Author's Note 2: The title is from the song Gravity by Sarah Bareilles - one of my favs right now.
Author's Note 3: Oh, and I didn't write out Chekov's accent. I kinda sucked at it in a big way and it looked stupid. Sorry.
Keeping Me Down
Chekov had been smiling, practically bouncing in his seat, for the better part of an hour. The Captain had told them that they were receiving representatives from Starfleet - very special representatives - that were going to be staying aboard for several days, helping put the newest and very best additions on to the jewel of the fleet. Chekov was going to get to help with the modifications. He could hardly wait.
Suddenly, the doors to the bridge opened and the dignitaries stepped through. The smile slowly slid from his lips.
Barely missing a beat, the entire crew was on their feet and Commander Spock was introducing their guests. Admiral Damron, Commander Sewell and Mr. Aweau stepped onto the bridge and looked around, smiling.
But the fourth figure, Dr. Monroe, simply stared at Chekov, his eyes never straying from the young navigator. Chekov tried to look away and failed. Once the introductions were finished and the plan for the modifications set, the Captain smiled wide. “Well, now that that's done, I think we can all get back to business.” Kirk commanded, setting everyone back to work.
Chekov turned in his seat, happy to be back facing the conn until he felt the heavy weight of someone squeezing his shoulder. He looked up into Kirk's crystal blue eyes, happy not to be looking into Monroe's dark, fathomless brown.
“Hey kid,” the Captain said jovially, “Dr. Monroe wants to talk to you about his calculations before you guys get started tomorrow so I guess we'll see you at the meet and greet at 2000 hours.”
“But Captain,” Chekov complained, his eyes flying from person to person, silently begging for help. “My shift. It is not yet over. I can not...”
“You can,” Kirk interrupted, “And you will. Go on. I know you haven't seen him for several months. It's got to be hard being away from your mentor. I mean, the man practically raised you at the Academy, right? Don't worry, kid. We've got everything under control.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Monroe's deep, rolling baritone echoed. “The Ensign and I have things to discuss before we can get started tomorrow. Come on, Ensign. Time to go.”
Resigned, Chekov nodded, knowing he'd never be able to talk his way out of this. He stood and smiled weakly before walking over to the older man who slipped an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the turbolift.
Chekov was tense, fighting to stand tall as they walked together toward the dignitaries' suites. They shared small talk, discussing the mission and how well the young Ensign had performed his duties, making the older man smile wider and pull him closer.
They slipped inside the suite, the older man quickly turning to lock the door with his special security clearance.
“Pavel,” he whispered, his voice deeper, darker - just how Chekov remembered it at times like this. The hand around his throat didn't surprise him. Neither did the sound of the zipper being lowered. The only thing that really surprised him was the flow of tears running down his cheeks as the hard cock was forced past his lips once again.
Part Two
Leonard McCoy scowled as he slipped through the press of bodies crammed into Ten-Forward. The reception for the dignitaries was required for all officers so, of course, he had made an appearance despite his desire to hide in his own quarters with his own bottle of bourbon. Still, the whiskey they put out for the big shots was good, smooth and sweet, burning its way down into his belly and the noise wasn't so bad, nothing like the god awful bars Jim insisted on dragging him to when they were on leave.
He looked around at the crew and guests all milling around, chatting or arguing about this and that. Most everyone was dressed up. It hadn't been required, it was more of an informal gathering than an official reception, after all. Some people were simply in uniform, others, like himself, in casual civvies. He liked his worn jeans and comfortable pullover. At least it helped make this bit of it a little more bearable.
Familiar faces popped up at regular intervals, most smiling, some scowling, all drinking and enjoying themselves...all but one.
McCoy noticed the young ensign practically hiding in a corner, his drink all but forgotten in his hand as he stared out into open space. He was more than a little surprised since Chekov was almost never still and certainly not quiet unless he was pondering an impossible task - one he was sure to overcome in time. He saw Sulu and Scotty talking animatedly at one table far from where the young ensign stood alone and wondered if something had happened.
Slowly, he made his way over before stopping directly in Chekov's line of sight.
“Oh,” Chekov gasped in surprise, “Hello, Doctor McCoy. I did not see you there.”
“Obviously,” he drawled, half amused, half annoyed. “Why aren't you over there with everyone else?”
“I am waiting,” the boy replied.
“Waiting?” he asked, confused by the boy's stilted reply. “Waiting for what?”
“I was told to stay.”
McCoy couldn't help but laugh. “What? Now you really think you're a pup? You may be a little wet behind the ears but you're still a man and don't forget it.”
The doctor's hand landed on the boy's shoulder in a friendly pat, his thumb grazing the pronounced collarbone. Chekov winced and hissed at the contact. Confused, he reached for the collar of the button down shirt the boy had worn to the event, pulling the fabric aside to reveal angry bruises hidden underneath.
“Dammit, Kid,” he growled, “What did you do now?”
“It is nothing, Doctor,” Chekov snapped, pulling the collar closed again. “I was careless during training today and was hurt.”
McCoy glared, knowing he hadn't had training that day nor the one before. Realizing that Chekov hadn't met his eyes since he had found the bruises, he whispered, “You're a terrible liar, you know that?”
Chekov looked up, shock and fear shining in his eyes, until a large, tan hand slid around Chekov's shoulders to rest on the back of his neck. McCoy didn't miss the sudden tension in the boy's body nor the way the fingers of the man's hand tightened - in warning or sign of possession, he didn't know.
“Is there a problem here, Pavel?” the new arrival asked amiably.
“Nyet, I mean no,” the boy blurted quickly. “No problem. The doctor just stopped to say hello.”
“And has he?”
“Yes,” Chekov answered quietly.
There was something wrong, he could feel it, and Leonard McCoy never let a feeling like that go. This man - one of the dignitaries, no doubt - was smiling at him. But it was not a friendly smile, but one McCoy would associate with a hungry crocodile - right before it swallowed you whole.
“One more thing, Ensign,” he said before he could be dismissed, “I need you to come by sickbay tomorrow directly after your shift. I have some more tests to run to make sure you don't have any lingering effects after that flu you had last week.”
Confusion drifted over the boy's features as he searched the doctor's face for clues. He hadn't been sick, but for some reason, McCoy knew he needed to get the boy alone to talk, if only for his own peace of mind.
“Da - I mean, yes Doctor,” he responded eventually, nodding once. “I will be there.”
Satisfied, he turned and walked away, immediately seeking out Jim. The Captain was tucked away in one of the corners of the deck, talking quietly with one of the dignitaries' young assistants. Glaring at the young girl sent her skittering away easily enough and Jim grumbled, “Bones, what'd you do that for? She was a gymnast. You know my thing about gymnasts?”
“Yes, Jim, I remember, all too well, thank you very much,” McCoy complained, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “But I've got a question for you. Who is that man over there with Chekov?”
Jim peeked around his shoulder, silently but not very stealthily exchanging his empty glass for the doctor's nearly full one. “Dr. Monroe? You mean you don't know about Dr. Monroe?”
“Obviously not,” he replied, glaring at the empty glass in his hand and the two men across the room in turn. “Why would I?”
“Dr. Monroe is the one that got Chekov into the Academy early,” Jim explained. “It's rumored that he got the concept of the new warp drives on this very ship came from an experiment Chekov submitted for his science project when he was like twelve or something. Monroe found him, had him interviewed and tested, even got him the scholarship so he could join Starfleet. Became his mentor and all that. They were always together. I can't believe you never noticed.”
“I'm a doctor, Jim, not a gossip hound,” he complained, “Besides I never paid much attention to what was going on in that department. I had other things to focus on.”
“Yeah, whatever Bonesy,” Jim mumbled as he pushed back toward the bar. Before he made it too far, he turned back and asked, “Why do you care?”
McCoy stopped. He nearly told Jim that he didn't but that was a lie. As he looked back over to where the Ensign was talking with Monroe, a knot began to build in the pit of his stomach. There was something wrong there. He couldn't quite place it but they were too close, the older man too intent on the boy, his hands too familiar.
“I don't know why,” he whispered, the answer nearly swallowed in the noise of the room. “But I have to find out.”
Part Three
Chekov hissed through his teeth as the fingers at his neck tightened painfully. The familiar weight pressed against his side as Dr. Monroe whispered in his ear, “Who was that?”
“You would know if you would have been introducing yourself,” he spat out despite the smile plastered on his face. The fingers pressed in sharply again, warning him silently. “Sorry,” Chekov apologized quickly, quietly. “That was Doctor McCoy. He is Chief Medical Officer.”
“So you were sick?” Monroe asked, his warm breath ghosting over Chekov's cheeks.
“Yes,” he ground out, his eyes locked on the Doctor who had supplied the lie.
“You didn't tell me.”
Turning his head slightly, Chekov stared up at the taller man. There was so much he wanted to say: I don't have to tell you. Why do you care? You are not here now. Leave me alone, but he left it all unsaid. He knew he'd be punished later. There was no need to make it worse.
“There was no need to be worrying you.”
Nodding slowly, Monroe seemed to decide that ended the conversation, so he relaxed his grip but kept his hand on the back of the boy's neck, directing him around the room.
Chekov smiled and answered questions, but he was seething inside. He hated this part; being paraded around like some sort of trophy or trained dog.
Yes, this is Pavel. My prized student. Found him when he was just twelve years old. Taught him everything he knows. Wanna see him do some equations? Maybe roll over or play dead? If you ask him just right he might beg and let you rub his belly. He's good at begging. You should see...
He was interrupted from his internal monologue be a rough shake and strong fingers irritating his wounds.
“Pavel, where were you, boy?” Monroe asked, half-amused, half-annoyed.
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly to the Admiral, “I have many things on my mind.”
“I hope it's not about the upgrades tomorrow. We have all the faith in the world in you, Ensign. Or maybe it's some great new idea, some fantastic breakthrough. That's it, I'm sure,” the Admiral said with a gentle smile.
“Plus poor Chekov here has taken ill recently, haven't you, Ensign?” Dr. Monroe prodded.
“Yes,” Chekov muttered, suddenly actually feeling ill. “I must see Dr. McCoy tomorrow to be following-up.”
“Maybe I'd better see the boy back to his quarters,” Dr. Monroe declared, already steering the boy away from the Admiral. “Wouldn't want the best navigator in the fleet to be kept away from work tomorrow. It's a big day for the Enterprise.”
“Yes, yes,” the Admiral agreed, watching them go. “We'll see you tomorrow then, Ensign Chekov.”
The quiet of the hallways was broken only by their hurried footsteps. When they reached the delegates' quarters, Dr. Monroe pushed the Ensign through the door so hard that he stumbled, flailing before landing on the floor.
“Pavel,” the doctor chided, his voice hard and tight. “Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. My brave little boy. Why do you have to do things like this?”
Chekov began to shake his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. He knew what was coming but didn't know how to stop it. He never did.
“Why do you have to embarrass me like that in front of everyone?” the doctor continued as he circled the prone boy on the floor. “You know how much I hate to be embarrassed in front my colleagues.”
Chekov sat up, ready to yell, ready to fight, ready to end all of this, when a large fist came crashing down against his jaw.
“Why do you make me do this, Pavel?” the man practically purred as he crouched down to fill Chekov's hazy vision. His long, thick fingers wrapped tightly in the boy's curls. “I hate to do this. You know that. Just look at what you make me do.”
He wanted to say he was sorry but he knew that would only set the already angry man off and that was the last thing he wanted. Right now, all Chekov could do was hang on - hang on and try to think of an excuse to tell Dr. McCoy tomorrow.
Part Four
Sickbay was nearly cleared out and all the doctor could think of was the boy who would be there any moment. He'd all but ordered the Ensign to come by directly after his shift and he knew the boy would have to be dead or in the middle of an honest to god disaster to disobey. Realizing he was pacing, McCoy snatched a PADD from the closest workstation before snapping at the single remaining nurse, “I'll be in my office. Let me know when Ensign Chekov finally deigns to show up.”
“I am here, Doctor,” the Ensign called from behind him, “I am sorry I was keeping you waiting.”
McCoy turned around, the shocked expression on his face tempered by the ever-present scowl he wore. “Forget it,” he said gruffly. “Let's get you checked out.”
Walking to the back of sickbay, McCoy indicated the most secluded bio-bed, waiting for the boy to sit. Chekov hopped up onto the bed, wincing slightly even though he tried his best to hide it. Finally getting a good look at the boy, he ground out, “Dammit, kid. What did you do now?”
The quiet laugh seemed forced and tight.
“I was very clumsy today,” Chekov explained quietly. “I was in Engineering, helping with the modifications, and I fell. It does not hurt so badly.”
The bruise spread over his jaw, trailing down his neck. It wasn't nearly as angry red as it should have been. It seemed older, healed slightly.
“Yeah, right, Ensign,” he drawled, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Pull the other one and you might get some candy.”
Chekov's head cocked to the right, confusion shining in his eyes. “What am I pulling?”
McCoy coughed “Forget about it,” before leaning forward to pull down the Ensign shirt collar. The swollen, bruised neck from the night before was clean and unmarred. Someone had healed the boy, at least part of the way.
Running the device over Chekov's skin, he shook his head slightly. “You know,” he started conversationally, “These tricorders can detect when someone has used a dermal regenerator or a contusion disruptor. I need to know if someone has tried to heal you before I treat you. The last thing I need is you having some unusual reaction to my treatment. I hate the extra paperwork.”
Chekov was looking at him from beneath the fringe of curls that had fallen over his forehead. He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke.
“I did not know that your equipment was that advanced,” he challenged.
McCoy scolwed harder, not appreciating being questioned, especially when he was lying. He went for the jugular. “I didn't know that you lied to superior officers.”
Chekov's eyes went wide at the accusation, before he shut down, practically curling into himself. “I came here because you asked me to, not to be insulted, Doctor.”
Suddenly upset at himself, the doctor softened his tone, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. “I'm sorry. I brought you here to give you a break from that Dr. Monroe. If you'd rather...”
“No,” Chekov interrupted, fear emanating from the boy like some sort of stink. “I mean, thank you. I do appreciate your care of me.”
McCoy smiled before reaching out to gently rest his hand over the bruise marred jaw. Just as he was about to say something, the door to the sickbay opened and the last person he wanted to see entered. Dr. Monroe stared at them for several moments, his face hard and angry.
“Pavel,” he practically growled as he stalked over to them. “I thought you were going to join me after you had your check-up. You know how much I hate having my mealtimes disrupted.”
Just before the other man could reach the frightened Ensign on the bio-bed, McCoy put himself in his path, his face equally hard, equally angry.
“Ensign Chekov is not going anywhere tonight, so you can just go ahead and enjoy your meal without him,” McCoy nearly spat in his face.
Monroe was flustered enough to stutter “Wait...what?” for a moment before McCoy continued.
“It appears Mr. Chekov is still suffering for the effects of the Andorian flu he had last week. I had thought he was fully recovered but since he seems to be bruising so easily the last few days, I'd have to say he's having a relapse. I'll have to keep him here overnight, just for observation.”
He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face as Monroe realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with the doctor.
“Very well. I hope you feel better, Pavel. I'll see you tomorrow then,” he said, half caring, half threatening.
After the man had left, McCoy turned back to the boy still half cowering behind him.
“Want to tell me what's going on?” he asked.
Chekov simply shook his head, dropping his chin to his chest. He decided to let it go - for now.
Stepping to the front of sickbay, McCoy asked the remaining nurse to order up some dinner for him and Chekov before retiring for the night. They sat at the small table, the two of them, eating quietly, neither of them looking up from their plates. Finally, McCoy began to talk.
“You know, for a long time I thought Jim might have been abused as a child. He displayed all the classic behaviors: acting out, excessive drinking, promiscuity, risky behavior, disdain for authority. He was so rebellious when we met I was sure he wouldn't last a week in Starfleet. He stuck it out and we became friends, as odd as it seemed, and we talked. Well, it was really more like he talked and I tried not to listen. He gets really chatty when he's drunk and that was more weekends than not at Academy. He talked about his family sometimes. I tried not to push but I had to know - friends and all. He hates his step-father in a way that is not healthy in the least but he was never actually abused from what I can tell. Just thought the man was a putz - his word, not mine - compared to George Kirk and he rebelled every chance he got. Still, it wasn't hard to see there was something wrong there, something that had touched Jim and changed him and not for the good. I'm glad he wasn't abused but he still has issues that would take ages of therapy that a stronger person than myself could hope to tackle. But if I could help, I would.”
By the end of his speech, McCoy looked up, staring into Chekov's sad blue eyes.
“You can not help me,” the boy whispered sadly. The sound nearly broke McCoy's heart. Without another word, Chekov slipped back up onto the bio-bed and curled up on his side, his back to the rest of the room - and the doctor.
Shaking his head, McCoy picked up their trays, setting them in the reclamator and cleaning up his lab. Picking up his PADD, he settled down to start updating his charts.
“I'll be here if you need me,” he whispered, only to be met by stubborn silence.
Part Five
Stifling a yawn, McCoy looked over his shoulder at the boy still curled up on the bio-bed. He wished there was something he could do, something he could say that would help, that would take his pain away. But there was no way, nothing appropriate to say, no hypospray or salve that would make any of this better.
He decided he'd better get his comfortable chair from his office and bring it out here. He certainly wasn't going to let the kid sleep in sickbay all by himself, whether or not that son of a bitch Monroe decided to come back, but he wasn't sitting out here in one of those standard grade torture devices either. He placed the PADD in the docking station to download and charge before standing slowly, stretching his arms high above his head. As he moved toward his office, he stopped to consider the form curled on the bio-bed. It was so easy for McCoy to see him as a kid, they all did, but he was far from being a child with all he'd been through.
His hand moved forward of its own accord, wanting to touch, give some sort of comfort, even if the boy - no, man - was asleep. He watched the play of lean, whipcord tight muscles pressing against the regulation uniform as Chekov slowly inhaled, exhaled, breathing deeply in his sleep.
“I wish everyone could know how strong you really are,” the doctor whispered to his sleeping patient. “Especially you. I know I call you a kid, but I realize you're not, probably haven't been for a while, right? Hell, Jim is definitely more of a child than you are and that's on a good day. I wish I could make it better, but I'm a doctor not a shrink, although technically I do that too. I just - I'm sorry.”
He'd nearly made it to his office when he heard a quiet whisper.
“I was only twelve when he came to me.”
Afraid that he was imagining things, McCoy froze, waiting to see if there would be more.
“I was shocked,” Chekov continued quietly. “I had built a mock warp drive for my science project. It was impressive even I am saying. Doctor Monroe said he liked, looking at all my notes, even the model of new Starship I had designed for fun. It looks much like the Enterprise. I brought her with me.”
McCoy smiled at the back facing him, sure he could hear a smile in Chekov's voice. He had every right to be proud.
“There was testing and talk of me leaving. I was not sure I wanted to go but Doctor Monroe insisted - said it was the best. He took care of me, of my family. That was most important thing. Doctor Monroe helped with Father's business. I was afraid to say no to him.
“At first, all was fine. He was teacher, mentor - I was student. He taught, I learned. We debated theory and he always takes copies of my notes - for records, he said. I never noticed the little touches, the hugs, the times he was being too close.”
McCoy nearly growled, his anger rising in his throat like bile. “It's called grooming,” he explained through gritted teeth.
“I know what it is called!” Chekov barked back but still not moving to sit up or face him. “I took psychology. It is requirement for everyone who is marked for space travel. But what could I do by then? Besides, he never did things, at least not until I turn fifteen. As if fourteen was wrong but fifteen is okay. He knew...”
“Go on,” McCoy encouraged softly when Chekov paused, finally laying his hand on the lean, muscled back.
“He knew I have attraction to older men,” he confessed quietly. “I was telling him in confidence one night. It was hard with all the older cadets and teachers around and they were all being so handsome. He thought I mean him. He is attractive - physically, yes - but I knew, I always knew there was something about him that was...wrong. I knew I should say to someone but...”
“Do you want to tell me?” McCoy asked quietly when the flow of words stopped once again. “I won't judge you, Chekov.”
“Will you..?” he paused as if just the asking was hard.
“What?”
“Will you hold me?”
Smiling, McCoy answered, “Sure,” before crawling onto the bed and settling himself against the wall so he could take the younger man's weight. Chekov curled up between his spread thighs, resting his head on the doctor's chest. “Go ahead, Chekov. Just get it all out.”
“Pavel.”
“What?”
“You will call me Pavel?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, wondering when it got so hot in sickbay. He'd have to remember to ask Chapel about it in the morning. “Go ahead, Pavel.”
He did.
He spilled every dirty secret he'd been hiding, divulged every hit, every bruise, every rape. It was painful listening to the tale, knowing this smart, brave, funny, idiot boy had been hurt and violated in so many ways. But he never cried, not a single tear. That may have disturbed him more than anything.
By the time Pavel was finished talking he was nodding off, his words slurring slightly with sleep, making it even harder for the doctor to understand him. Slowly, his breathing evened out and McCoy felt Chekov sag in his arms as if a weight had finally been lifted and now he could rest. McCoy knew he should get up, he should leave the boy be, but the weight and warmth of him felt too good. He brought his face down - to get more comfortable, he told himself, not to bury his nose in the sweet smelling curls - and thought he'd rest his eyes just for a moment.
As he began to drift, he had the passing thought that somehow, some way, he was going to make Monroe pay for this, for all of it, he was sure of it. The thought put a smile on his face as he finally surrendered to sleep.
Part Six
Waking was an interesting experience. Chekov tried to stretch and realized he was being held, not harshly or too tightly, but gently held, practically cuddled if you got right down to it. His eyes hurt, nearly gummed together with sleep and tears he'd refused to shed as he had talked and talked. His throat was rough and dry, an annoying combination he would have to do something about and his bladder was protesting loudly - he would have to take care of that sooner rather than later.
He felt good. Better than he had in ages. It was like a weight had been lifted, just talking about what he'd been through, what he'd suffered, made him feel better. Like he was no longer alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head to look at the man whose arms held him gently through the night. Doctor McCoy looked younger in sleep somehow. The constant scowl he wore was smoothed out and the frown no longer tried to drag his face downward. Chekov had the unnatural urge to run his fingers over the man's face, to memorize every dip and line while he had the chance.
As he reached out a finger, he heard someone softly clear their throat. Quickly, he snatched his hand away and turned to see Nurse Chapel watching them from the partition of the privacy screen surrounding them.
"You doing alright there, Ensign?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, thank you," he whispered back. "I have to..." He looked guiltily between her and the doctor before she walked over, holding out her hand and helping him off the bio-bed.
"Just let him sleep," she whispered as she led him away from the still sleeping doctor. "He's been working too hard lately, as usual. He didn't get around to fixing your bruises, huh?"
His fingers flew up to his jaw and he flinched at the pain that flared as he pressed against the bruise still there. "No. We - talked."
"Good," the nurse said with a smile. "He needs to talk to people who aren't the Captain. That man has a bad effect on him."
Chekov smiled at that, the small movement making him wince. "I really need to..."
Nurse Chapel seemed to know what he needed immediately and began to direct him to the restroom in sickbay but Chekov shook his head.
"Nyet, but thank you," he said quickly. "I must shower. It has been since yesterday and I am feeling rather, um, rotten?"
"Ripe?" she asked, barely hiding her smirk.
"Yes, ripe, thank you. I think I'll go to the showers instead. Tell the doctor I will see him after the re-fitting today, yes?"
"I'll do that, Ensign," she promised as she walked him to the door. He walked into the hallway, ready to shower and start the day, to make the change he'd been waiting for for so long. He never saw Doctor Monroe until the man struck him from behind before dragging him down the hall and into his suite.
Chekov struggled as he was dragged into the doctor's quarters. He knew that if he was taken inside, he'd be in serious trouble. But it was early still and no one was really up and around except for the overnight Delta shift and they would not be heading back to their quarters yet and he doubted anyone else was stirring yet.
Still he considered crying out, going so far as to suck in a deep breath before Doctor Monroe's large hand clamped around his mouth, smothering any sound he tried to make. He was shoved into the room and spun around, his face as red and angry as the one staring down at him.
"Pavel, you have been..."
"Nyet!" he shouted, finally having had enough. "No! I have not been a bad boy. I have not shamed you. I have done nothing but what you wanted. But I am not yours any longer. I am man now - not a boy! You have no control over me here."
Monroe froze, his features shifting from livid to calm in the span of a few seconds. It frightened Pavel more than anything he had seen before.
"I have no control over you here?" he asked, his deep baritone soft and steady. "So who has control of you now, my little one? Doctor McCoy? Have I been replaced by a newer, younger model? I thought you liked them older. The older the better, right?"
"No," Chekov replied defiantly. "I am having control over me now."
"Is that so?" Monroe practically growled as he stalked toward the young man who instantly started to move backwards, trying hard not to cower. "So you're going to be the one to stop me, is that it?"
"Yes."
The punch to the stomach dropped him to the floor before he could even finish the word. He'd forgotten how fast the other man was, how sneaky, how powerful. Monroe grabbed him by the hair before he could even catch his breath and threw him against the deck, knocking over several books and PADDs, scattering them all over the floor. Chekov heaved in one more deep breath, ready to scream when the strong fingers clenched around his throat stopping everything, his sound, his breath, his fight.
He felt the free hand clawing at his pants, ripping them open and his heart began to race, beating harder than ever. He fell back against the desk in defeat knowing he couldn't escape this. The man he once thought he loved was going to rape him and kill him here and now and there was no way to stop him. Still, he tried to fight back - he wouldn't take this anymore. He started clawing at the hand around his throat or reaching up to kick out with his legs. Still, he silently prayed that Monroe wouldn't turn on Doctor McCoy after he was finished killing him.
Part Seven
The weight in his arms was warm and comforting, soft and pliant leaning against his chest. McCoy leaned down to bury his nose in the auburn curls that smelled faintly of apples and ozone and sweat. Leaning back against the wall behind his back, the doctor smiled as Chekov slowly pulled away to look up at him, a question hovering between them.
“Go ahead and ask already,” he growled playfully, nearly giving in to the urge to chuckle.
“Ask what?” Chekov asked innocently.
“Whatever it is that you're just dying to ask. I can practically taste it.”
“Practically?” The eyebrows on Chekov's face rose into the curls draped over his forehead before he smirked, letting McCoy know the boy was teasing him. “All right. I was just wondering if I could kiss you?”
The question shocked him. He had expected some big, life-altering question after all they had been through the night before, knew Pavel wanted something, needed to say something, but he hadn't expected this. It wasn't completely unwanted, on the contrary, he wanted that more than anything at that moment, but was it best for Chekov?
“Kid, I don't...”
“Not a kid,” Chekov corrected. “You said so yourself. And I know that I want you.”
“You can't know that,” he tried to protest as the boy in his lap shifted closer so that he could feel the warm breath on his face.
“I can. I do. I know what I want and it is you. Doctor.”
“Pavel.”
“Doctor.”
The voice was insistent, harder and wrong somehow.
“Doctor!”
His eyes snapped open and he found himself alone on the bio-bed, staring at an amused half-Vulcan. If he didn't know better, he'd say that damned cocked eyebrow was smirking at him.
“What?” he groused, his voice still heavy from sleep, as he made to rise from the bio-bed, pushing past Spock in the process. “Came to scare away all my patients? It's not Halloween, you know?”
“I am well aware that it not time for an archaic harvest ritual, Doctor McCoy,” Spock replied, dry as ever, “But I am looking for Ensign Chekov. It is my understanding that he was under your direct medical supervision overnight.”
“That's right. You got a problem with that?”
“I do not. However, the Ensign was to return to the briefing room to review the plans for today's re-fitting last night after his check-up and he did not. I was hoping to do so this morning - possibly over breakfast.”
“Oh,” McCoy rubbed the back of his neck as he turned away for the Commander's piercing gaze. He hated feeling like he was under a microscope with the logical creature all the time. “Well, as you can see, he's not here at the moment, must have run to the john or something.” As he waved his hand toward the bathrooms in the sickbay, Nurse Chapel walked by and stopped immediately on seeing their visitor.
“Oh, hello Commander,” she greeted with a smile. “Glad to see you got some rest, Doctor. It's about time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled under his breath, “Save it, alright. Look, when the kid gets finished, send him Spock's way, will ya? I'm gonna go get cleaned up.”
As he moved to step into his office, he froze when he heard her say, “Oh, Ensign Chekov? He's not here?”
“Not here?” he nearly shouted as he spun around. “Then where the hell is he?”
“I don't know.”
“How long ago did he depart?” Spock asked, his voice calm and steady as ever.
“About ten minutes ago,” she answered, staring at the doctor's livid face.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, his entire body on edge. This was bad. Really bad. He knew it. He could just feel it.
“Did he say where he was going?” Spock asked, but McCoy was already pushing past him.
“Dammit, we don't time for this. Computer - what's Ensign Chekov's current location?”
“Ensign Chekov is currently on Deck 9 in Executive Suite A115,” the computer dutifully informed them.
“No,” he groaned, running his hands over his face and into his hair in frustration. “Come on,” he threw at Spock before heading out of sickbay, “I think I may need you.”
“Need me for what, Doctor?”
“To keep me from killing that sick son of a bitch.” And without another word, the two men ran down the hallway toward the Executive Suites. Leonard just hoped they could make it there in time.
They ran through the corridors side by side, neither questioning why or what was happening. They reached Suite A115 in record time and hit the comm, waiting for permission to enter. When nothing happened, McCoy practically shouted, “Fuck this. Emergency medical override code - McCoy - whiskey, alpha, november, victor, 13!”
The doors flew open as the last of the command fell from his lips and they rushed inside before stopping just inside the doorway. Across the room, they saw Chekov on his back, frantically scratching at the hands around his throat, weakly kicking out against the man on top of him, inside him. His face was nearly purple with the lack of air and his eyes turned to see them standing there, pleading for help, for freedom.
Monroe never seemed to notice them, maybe didn't even hear them enter, probably didn't even care. He just continued to thrust harder and harder into the prone body beneath him, squeezing tighter and tighter, choking the boy he was raping as he spit out curse after curse - calling him a slut, a whore, and worse. He didn't even seem to notice the blood Chekov had drawn in his struggle, scored fingernail marks leaking blood down his cheeks, his arms, his hands.
It seemed like they had been standing there forever but it couldn't have been more than a second, maybe two, before both men sprung into action, rushing forward as one. Spock grabbed Monroe by the shoulders and dug his fingers in viciously, grinding bone together. McCoy did the same to his wrists, forcing the man to release the tender throat he was choking, satisfied with the startled gasp of pain he was able to wring from the man.
Quickly, he reached down to catch Chekov before he fell to the floor just as Spock tossed Monroe across the room. He hit the wall with a gratifying crunch before slumping down, still throwing curses at the trembling boy. McCoy cradled Chekov in his lap as he sat down and quickly began to catalog his injuries.
“Doctor...” he croaked out before the doctor could stop him.
“Don't,” he said, trying to sound calm when all he wanted to do was walk over and pound Monroe until he was nothing but a puddle of tissue and sinew. He smiled when Chekov nodded slightly. “Good boy.”
When Pavel opened he mouth to speak again, he preempted him. “I know - you're not a kid. It's a nickname, all right, Pavel?”
Another nod brought another smile. McCoy grumbled, wishing he had thought to grab his medical pack, but just looking at the boy made him cringe. It was bad. And the urge to kill rose up in him again. He heard Spock call for a security detail and smiled when he told them the detainee was subdued and unconscious - that damn Vulcan nerve pinch, no doubt. That would hurt when he woke.
Good.
Suddenly, Spock was there, pulling a sheet from the unmade bed to wrap around Chekov's nakedness.
“Do you want me to carry him to the sickbay, Doctor?”
“No,” McCoy answered as he stood slowly with the boy in his arms, never taking his eyes away from Chekov's. “I've got him.”
Part Eight
Chekov's steps were shorter and slower than normal as he walked the long hallway toward sickbay. He knew he had to go but somehow he was nervous about this visit. He'd be seeing Doctor McCoy today. Not that he hadn't seen the doctor in the three short weeks since what he was calling "The Incident" in his own mind. But this was his final physical, the last one that could release him back to regular duty and not this accursed light duty shift that left him itching to do more.
He'd been seeing Doctor Lewallen for counseling - a requirement from Starfleet - twice a week since Doctor Monroe was removed from the Enterprise. The counselor was nice. She was patient and considerate - nearly too much. She wanted to treat Chekov like a broken little boy. It was sometimes worse than anything he'd dealt with, even after everything.
His fear, as he neared the door that would lead him Doctor McCoy, was that the man would treat him the same way, like a broken toy that needed to handled delicately, tenderly. He didn't want the doctor to treat him differently. He wanted the man to be the grumpy, gruff man he knew and liked - loved, if he was honest with himself. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, triggering the door's mechanism and watching the doors sweep open, offering him passage inside.
There were two nurses pacing around sickbay, one tapping away at his PADD, the other clearing away supplies, presumably from the last patient. They both turned to look at him, both of them smiling a little too widely.
"He's in his office," the closest nurse said, nodding her head in that direction. "He said to have you head directly to the bio-bed in the back and strip down. The gown is already on the bed."
Chekov nodded quickly and murmured his thanks as he headed that way, already dreading this examination. He knew Doctor McCoy was thorough but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that thorough. He reached the bed and quickly engaged the privacy screen before stripping down and pulling on the thin, nondescript gown. He hopped up onto the bed and waited.
Doctor McCoy came out and waited by the screen for a moment before Chekov called out, "I am ready, Doctor."
McCoy slipped through and nodded curtly, his constant scowl already in place. "Let's get this over with, alright Pavel?"
Chekov nodded, suddenly, inexplicably pleased that the doctor had used his given name. The doctor ran the tricorder over his body, checking every wound and bruise that had covered Chekov's body not so long ago. He fought not to flinch when the doctor reached up to brush his thumb over the jawline where Doctor Monroe had punched him.
"Anything still hurt?" McCoy whispered, his gruff voice soft in the quiet room.
"Nyet," Chekov answered, sounding a bit more breathless than he would have liked. "You have done a wonderful job."
McCoy snorted then, obviously not believing him. "Let's finish this up, alright? Why don't you stand by the side of the bed and bend over. That way you can lean on the bed for this part."
Chekov quickly slid off the bed and turned to face the bio-bed. He forced down the embarrassment that threatened to burn across his face. The gown parted, exposing his naked buttocks to the cool room and the doctor's gaze. The examination was quick and gentle but very thorough and although he knew it was inappropriate, Chekov felt himself getting hard.
"Okay, Kid," McCoy said, closing the gown once again. "You can hop back up on the bed."
"Thank you," Chekov started, "But I will stay here if that is not a bother."
The doctor cleared his throat before sighing heavily. "Look, I know you can hardly look at me after everything, Pavel, but I need to finish your exam so you can get out of here, alright."
That shocked him and he turned quickly, forgetting about his little problem for a moment. "What does this mean I can hardly look at you?"
McCoy sighed, running his hands over his face before thrusting his fingers through his dark locks. "I let him - I let him do that to you. I let you down. I'm so sorry, Pavel."
Chekov stared for a moment before he started to laugh, softly at first until finally he was gasping for breath he was laughing so hard. "Doctor, you did not let him do anything to me. You saved me. I didn't not wish to turn around because..." He trailed off before glancing down at the erection still tenting the front of the tiny paper gown.
McCoy's eyes followed before they flew open wide. "Oh - Oh" he said, his surprise evident. "Well, that's not unusual for, you know, this kind of examination for a man of your age."
"Nyet," Chekov answered. "Not because of exam. It is because of you."
The doctor gaped at him of a moment, not sure what to say for a moment. "Nah, kid, you're just projecting on me because of everything that happened, you know, like imprinting or something."
"That is funny," Chekov replied, smiling. "That is exactly what Dr. Lewallen told me you would say. She is very good at what she does."
"Yeah," McCoy grumbled, "She is at that. What did you tell her?"
"That I was attracted to you but I thought you would see me as broken goods like the others. You saw the worst. I am not good anymore..."
Suddenly he found himself enveloped in a strong embrace being held tight against the doctor's strong, muscular chest.
"Don't say that," McCoy whispered into his hair. "Don't you ever say that. You are so strong, probably the strongest person on this whole blasted ship. I'd never think bad about you."
"Is a promise?"
"Promise."
Chekov smiled as he slowly pulled away to lean against the bio-bed, looking up at McCoy through his long eyelashes. "So can I come to your quarters later? It is odd to be standing here in sickbay with my butt hanging out of back of this gown."
The doctor snorted. "Yeah. Get dressed. I'm on shift until 1800 hours."
"And I am back on regular duty, yes?"
"Yeah, you're cleared for duty as of today."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Leonard," McCoy corrected.
Chekov smiled wide. "Thank you, Leonard."
"Now get out of here, Kid. I've got real sick people to look after you know."
He watched the doctor turn and stalk away but he couldn't keep from smiling as he slipped out of the gown and back into his uniform. He had to go and find something to do to keep him occupied until 1800.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Chekov gave the Doctor exactly five minutes to reach his quarters. At 1805, he rang the chime letting the doctor know he was there. He barely had to wait before the door slid open, revealing McCoy standing, staring at him.
“Wasn't sure you'd actually show,” the doctor admitted as he stepped away from the door, allowing Chekov to slip inside.
“Why would I not, Leonard?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I don't know, maybe because I'm an old, ugly, obstinate bastard with a bad attitude and tendency to drink more than necessary? That enough for you?”
“First of all,” Chekov answered as he turned to regard the man before him. “You are not old, nor ugly. You may not have the most pleasant attitude but that is you. And I like you.”
“Don't see why,” McCoy grumbled again.
“I like older men, Leonard. Remember?”
Chekov found himself suddenly in the arms of the doctor once again as warm lips descended onto his. The kiss was warm and tender, but strong and demanding with the promise of more. When they finally pulled away, they stared at each other, just a hint of a smile pulling at the doctor's lips.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Epilogue
Leonard McCoy stepped out of the small turbolift and took the few steps down the hallway toward the small holding cell, his heels clicking loudly on the metal flooring. As he approached the security guard standing stoically by the door, he held up the visitor's pass he'd been given, nodding slightly when the younger man keyed in the code to allow him entrance.
It took a moment for Doctor Monroe to acknowledge him. McCoy had expected as much. After all, he'd had a huge part in sending the man to prison in the first place. There was probably a bit of anger there - though probably not as much as he felt himself.
"Doctor McCoy," Monroe said finally, "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Well, we're about to leave but I figured there was some unfinished business you and I needed to take care of before we left," he explained, his back rigid and his face unreadable. “I asked your attorney if I could be the one to tell you. You see, after going through all your seized notes and PADDs, it has been determined that you stole or adapted all of your ideas from the last five years or so from a certain young Russian. They've decided to seize all your profits from your books and rights to give them to the rightful owner. Oh, and they're renaming the transporter codes you claimed to have invented - so it will now be called the Chekovian Variable. I thought it sounded poetic, don't you agree?”
Monroe glared at him, his eyes burning with hatred. “You think that will make it all better?” he asked. “First humiliating me at tribunal, then taking away my fame and fortune and leaving me to rot in here?”
"You're getting off easy,” McCoy answered.
"Easy?" Monroe spat, "Easy?! Ten years. You call ten years, easy?"
"Actually, I do," McCoy replied, his voice calm and steady. "You're just lucky that you were tried by a military tribunal instead of a civilian court. I'm sure they let you off easy because of all of your contributions, stolen or not, but even the biggest hard-ass couldn't let you get away with the rape and attempted murder of a Starfleet officer."
"You make it sound like I did something wrong."
That got a reaction. McCoy gaped at him then. "What?" he said, shocked. "You see nothing wrong with the fact that you raped Ensign Chekov and nearly killed him with your bare hands? And that's just what you got caught doing. I'm not even talking about the years of abuse he endured because of you."
"What do you know about it?" Monroe asked, his tone silky and sly, thinking he'd finally got the better of the man before him.
"I know what Pavel has told me."
"Oh, so it's Pavel now, is it?" Monroe smirked, making his handsome face look distorted and ugly. "I never liked to call him that, you know. Makes everything too familiar. You have to establish your control over them early. You should only use their name when they do something worthy of their name...or when it's a threat. He always trembled when I said his name."
"And what did Pavel do to earn his name, huh?"
Monroe leered, actually leered at him, before leaning in conspiratorially. "I taught him to suck my cock first. He had the best mouth ever, even for such a young one. He had a hard time at first, couldn't get the hang of it, but sometimes that was even better, feeling him struggle like that."
"How old was he then?"
"Fifteen," he murmured with a groan. "So young and willing to do anything, everything I asked. It wasn't until I started fucking him that he actually protested. But I knew he didn't mean it. He loved everything I ever did to him."
"You honestly believe that?" McCoy gaped at him. "Even after he testified against you in court?"
"He only did that because you made him. I saw you prompting him. I saw you nodding and smiling, being the strong doctor for the poor distressed boy. I'll bet he's very grateful."
The hands at his side clenched into fists as he glared at Monroe but he reigned in his temper and returned the ugly smile. "Yes, he is - very grateful. But I don't make him show me how grateful he is."
"Too bad," Monroe practically purred. "He's so delicious when he begs."
After several moments of tense silence, Monroe leaned back in his chair before asking, "So Doctor McCoy, why did you come here? You obviously wanted to flaunt your freedom or your new relationship with young Pavel or something, but you're not doing a very good job of it. You need to learn how to gloat more."
"Oh, I'll be gloating," McCoy said as he leaned in closer. "You do know these holding cells aren't sound proof, right?"
"So?" Monroe asked.
"So, do you know who are the most attacked and persecuted inmates are in any prison?"
Monroe gaped at him for a moment before McCoy continued.
"Child molesters and murderers are listed in incident reports seven times more than any other prisoners. That's true for both civilian and military institutions. So even though your conviction is for the brutal attack on an adult officer, you have now confessed to the continued sexual and mental abuse of Pavel Chekov from the time he was, what was it again? Fifteen? Sounds like you're a child molester to me, Doctor Monroe."
McCoy took a moment to savor the look of terror that passed over Monroe's normally handsome features.
"I checked your commitment paperwork before I came in," he continued, a smile slowly sliding over his face. "Your attorney was willing to part with that as well. Did you know that because your crime is violent, you'll be housed right here in the high security wing, but you won't be held in protective custody because your victim was an adult?"
Taking another step closer, Leonard McCoy leaned in, nearly spitting in the other man's face as he talked to him in a stage whisper. "I'd be careful in the shower if I were you. I would hate for you to get a taste of your own medicine."
Loud hollers and whoops were heard then, prisoners from all down the halls yelling things like, "Can't wait to show you your place, bitch!" and "I'll give him a taste!" and worse things that made even McCoy a little afraid.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said as he straightened up. Monroe looked up, fear pouring off of him in waves. Before the other man could blink, his fist came down hard, knocking the prisoner out of his chair and onto the floor. When he looked up, there was a string of blood and saliva streaming down his chin from where McCoy had split his lip.
"You son of a bitch!" Monroe shouted. "Guard! I know my rights. I want this man prosecuted for assaulting me."
McCoy stepped up to the door, waiting until the young security guard let him through.
"So, you gonna arrest me, son?" he asked.
The guard looked first at him as he let him exit the small cell, then stared at the prisoner on the floor as he spoke. "Chekov tutored me third year in Calculus. He did for a lot of the guys working here. I never would have passed that class, much less graduated, without his help."
"What are you saying?!" Monroe shouted.
"I'm saying I didn't see a thing," the guard answered, his face hard and steady. "You must have fallen off your chair and split your lip. You really shouldn't be so clumsy."
McCoy smiled then, knowing that now, somehow, finally, he was helping to set the world right again. He walked away without another look back, even after Monroe started shouting, pleading, cursing at him. He didn't care. As the turbo lift doors closed behind him, he smiled, finally feeling some sort of peace.
Once he reached the lobby, the young man waiting for him jumped up from his chair and rushed to his side.
"Leonard," Pavel whispered, "What did you say to him?"
"I told you, Pasha, it's no big deal. I just had some unfinished business to take care of, alright?"
"Da," Chekov answered, reaching out to take the older man's hand. He noticed the wince immediately and pulled the hand up to inspect the abraded knuckles. "Did you hit him?" he asked, shocked.
"I may have," McCoy grumbled, pulling his hand free. "He's lucky I didn't do more after all he did to you."
Chekov sighed and turned to walk toward the door. "Come. We must be getting back before the Captain comes to find us."
"Wait," he said, stopping the young man before he could walk away. "You're not going to yell at me and tell me to stay out of it, that you'll take care of it?"
"Nyet, not this time. Just this once, I will let you play the knight of shining armor."
He smiled down at the boy - no, young man - who continued to amaze him at every turn. "Alright."
They walked out, arms brushing in a familiar way as they made their way back to their ship, ready to leave all this behind once and all. Without that man to keep him down, McCoy smiled wondering what wonderful new heights Pavel would reach. Whatever they were, he hoped to do it by his side, if the boy would only let him.
~~~The End~~~