Fic: Technical Difficulties.
----
“Technical Difficulties.”
----
He runs his fingers over Chekov’s knuckles slowly.
There are so many things he wants to say, but he says none of them; he just contents himself to hold on to that hand for as long as he can.
“Hikaru?” Chekov asks quietly, his chin tilted up to stare at Sulu with his huge blue eyes.
“Yes, Pavel?” His voice gets stuck in his throat.
“Is something wrong with my grip?” Reality comes back, and Sulu is holding Chekov’s hand in his in the middle of the training room.
“Yes.” He replies a bit too quickly, “You need to move your thumb up more.” He lets go, and turns away, to curse under his breath, like his father used to when cut off in traffic on the windy streets of San Francisco.
“Better?”
Sulu turns around and looks at the grip on the foil.
“Yes. It gives you more control.” More control, Sulu reminds himself, he sure as hell needs that.
“Mask on,” Sulu orders, pulling his own down. “En garde.”
Chekov pulls on his mask, and the two salute each other before they begin.
----
They shake hands after the match. Sulu holds it a fraction of a second too long. He thinks about how those fragile things pulled him out of the sky and set him safely down in the transporter room. Sulu saved Kirk’s life, Kirk tried to save his, and Chekov saved them both with those thin, white, beautiful hands.
He pulls his hand away too quickly, turns so he is no longer facing Chekov, and wipes his palm against the white cotton of his breeches. He curses to himself again, under his breath.
Control. He reminds himself. Control.
----
When they are packing up equipment Sulu stops Chekov at the door.
“This stuff, it isn’t going to help. You realize that, right? Knowing how to handle a foil isn’t going to save you from a guy with phaser.”
Sulu loves fencing, always has, always will. It tones muscles, sharpens eyes, and improves posture. But, what it does not do is prepare you to be dropped down on a planet filled with hostile natives. Not without other training, at least.
“I have standard combat training.” The boy replies indignantly.
“Standard may not be enough. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Very sure.” He answers, the ‘v’ squeezed out like a ‘w’ because of his accent.
They separate to go to their quarters; Sulu does not say goodbye.
---
In his room, he takes out a couple of his flintlock pistols, all wrapped up carefully and stored underneath layers of Starfleet uniforms.
He lays them lovingly on the table before him and proceeds to clean them all. He thinks about going down to one of the training rooms that has been modified to accommodate projectile weapons, but ultimately decides against it.
Instead he sits at the table, runs his fingertips over the silver inlay, and tries not to think about Chekov’s hand.
---
Kirk decides to give Sulu a briefing on the mission. He stands behind the pilot, arms folded across his chest, and starts speaking. The only way for Sulu to look at him is to turn his head and tilt his head up, which would make him look wide-eyed and worshipful. He keeps his eyes on his console.
“This mission is going to take at least a week. The negotiations with this species are infamous for dragging on. Everything has to be just according to their customs or it’ll all go to hell real quick. Unless you run in to any trouble, just keep the ship here, alright? I’ve already talked to Scotty. We have the coordinates and the time for when to beam us up. This mission is important, so we can’t have any screw ups on either of our sides. Any questions, Sulu?”
“No, Captain.”
Sulu supposes that the Captain nods or something like that before he leaves, but the pilot keeps his eyes on the console and says nothing.
He engages the external inertial dampeners and stares down at the planet before him.
-----
The time comes and Kirk makes an announcement that all personnel that have been assigned for the away mission are to proceed to the transporter deck.
Sulu turns around in his chair, and grabs the teenager by the elbow before he can leave. He looks up at him and finds words and logic have both decided to abandon him completely.
“Hey, Pavel?” He finally manages to force out.
“Yes, Hikaru?” There is so much he wants to say, but he settles for flashing him a pained smile.
“You be careful, okay?”
Pavel nods, and his curls bounce slightly, “Yes.” Sulu lets go of his arm and turns back to face his console.
“Hikaru?” He asks, and the pilot turns around to look up at the Ensign, “Walk with me to the transporter?” Sulu nods, assigns someone else to watch the helm, and gets up to follow.
They walk side by side and barely talk the entire way.
Sulu keeps his arms clasped behind his back to prevent himself from doing anything stupid.
“I stopped by your room earlier, but you were not there.” Chekov says quietly, like he is embarrassed if Scotty or the other officers hear him.
“No. I wasn’t. I had an earlier shift today.” He stands there in front of Chekov for two minutes, with neither of them saying anything, as the rest of the officers begin to arrive and take their positions.
Sulu thinks about kissing him then, standing on the platform in front of the away team, but he writes that off quickly as another stupid fantasy.
He will not compromise a friendship over a stupid crush. He’ll work through this, like he has worked through so many things before.
He settles on placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder and flashing him an awkward smile.
“I’ll monitor your frequency.”
Chekov gives him a brilliant grin and Sulu tries to convince himself it is just nervousness for the kid that makes his lungs shiver.
“And I’ll be here, waiting, when they beam you back up.”
----
The planet’s atmosphere interferes with communication. Messages come in garbled and broken. Even with her sharp ear, Uhura is having a hell of a time figuring out what they say.
Sulu watches Chekov’s heartbeat on the monitor.
He watches it beat as he runs diagnostic tests on the ship, (because he has nothing better to do and protocol demands that they be run at least every year). He watches the heart beat, and he thinks about Chekov’s hands.
When he watches, and his own heart rate matches it. As the pace quickens, he can feel his pounding against his ribcage. It slows when Chekov’s slows, then quickens again when Chekov’s does. Sulu tries to focus on something else, but all he can do is watch that heart beat.
He watches it until, abruptly, it stops and the computer flashes ‘Terminated’ over the digitized image of Ensign P. Chekov.
---
It happens gradually, and then very suddenly.
---
First there is nothing. Then there is absolutely nothing. No nervousness, no anticipation, no fear: just emptiness.
It starts as a shiver in his spine that begins to spread across his body until it reaches his toes and fingertips.
Then it hits him, hard, in the form of a wave of nausea. He manages to tell someone to watch the helm, before he runs to the nearest bathroom where he proceeds to throw up his breakfast. He spends a good ten minutes dry heaving, tears running down his face.
He isn’t sure if it is a reflex tears or something more personal. Either way they’re cold and he wipes away at them furiously with his uniform sleeves.
He supposes it doesn’t matter much what they are. Pavel is dead.
----
By the time he returns to the helm, the news has spread.
He sits down, runs diagnostic tests, and tries not to look at the digitized image and those garishly flashing letters.
Uhura receives a transmission. The only words she can distinctly make out are ‘Chekov’ and ‘stay the course.’
---
When he returns to his room for his half hour lunch break, because he does not feel like eating, he finds one of his books laid out on the table. He places it back on his shelf, lies on his back, and stares at the ceiling.
He keeps trying to wake himself up, but it doesn’t happen.
---
He learns quite a few things the first couple of hour. He learns to not let crying get in the way. He learns how to bite on his lower lip to keep down the sobbing noises trying to crawl their way up his throat.
He learns, if he squeezes the bridge of his nose and looks down, the people around him might just think he has a headache.
He’s fairly certain though, that they don’t.
----
People move around him gingerly, like they have no idea how to handle him now.
----
By the end of the first day he learns how important it is to distract himself. He keeps himself busy. There is constantly some form of stimulation around him. Either he is in the pilot’s chair, running diagnostic tests, or he is in his room. He realizes that when he is not on his shift, he needs more than just one thing to keep him occupied. So, he sits in his room listening to music, cleaning his guns, and reading.
He doesn’t want to give himself time to think; time to think means thinking about Pavel.
Thinking about Pavel means constantly coming back to the realization Sulu is never, ever going to see his friend again.
----
He wakes up the second day, after three hours of sleep, and it hits him again. Chekov is dead. He’ll never get to see him again or get the chance to tell him how much he means to him.
Meant to him, he reminds himself.
He feels sick, but hasn’t eaten in twenty hours so he has nothing to throw up.
---
Sulu is a relatively private person, always has been and perhaps he always will be. He tries not to let strangers or acquaintances see him at any level of vulnerability. Hell, he hardly lets friends see that.
He couldn’t even let Chekov see that.
The only one he has really ever shown is his father, but he is light-years away and still grieving over the loss of Sulu’s mother. Sulu doesn’t feel the need to shove his sadness on him, so Sulu sits in his room listening to music, cleaning his guns, reading-
And not thinking about Chekov’s hands.
---
At the end of the second day a pretty Yeoman says, “I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” and hugs him.
Sulu has spoken to her once, perhaps twice. He does not know her name.
“He wasn’t my-” he begins, but he finds himself unable to speak anymore. She hugs him tighter and he leans his head against her shoulder.
--
There are constant visits. From people he knows well, and people he doesn’t know at all. When he realizes they are going to just keep showing up to his room, he leaves and ends up in the training room. The same one where he used to hold Pavel’s hand and tell him his grip was all wrong.
He has the computer play loud music and begins to work on his lunges.
---
He doesn’t really want to talk to people. Maybe people will think he is callous, but he can’t exactly force himself to give a damn. Not right now. Not anymore.
He just can’t be around all of them. He needs to be by himself. Maybe he thinks if he can be alone he can make sense of all this. He can quantify the grief he is feeling and figure out how to work through this, like he has worked through so many other things.
Whatever the reason, he doesn’t plan on bawling in to another pretty little Yeoman’s shoulder.
It’s probably not healthy, bottling up his grief like this, but Sulu doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to be alone with what he feels.
---
On the third day he tends to some of the plants in the small garden on the lower levels. He kneels down in front of a tree where he has been attempting to coax a vine up the trunk. Two officers Sulu does not know walk by, out of sight, but within earshot.
“Have you seen Lieutenant Sulu? Thing looks like a walking corpse.”
“You heard, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a lover like that.”
Sulu’s fingers accidently snap the vine.
---
On the fourth day, he pulls out a book, and opens it to have a note flutter out and land in his lap.
It’s written in Russian, so that really means only one thing.
He makes a copy of it, slips the original back in the book, and takes it to Uhura.
“Can you read Russian?” He asks, handing her the note. Uhura nods, and takes the letter from him.
“Is this the original?”
“No.”
Uhura nods again, and gives him a pitying look that he can’t fucking stand seeing anymore.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After his shift is over Sulu goes back to his room, cleans his guns, lies down on his bed, and ignores the persistent knocks at his door.
----
The fifth day is his day off. He finds Uhura during breakfast and she hands him back the translated note.
“There are a lot of idioms in this. I did the best I could.” He mumbles a thank you.
“Sulu? Have you eaten anything?”
“Yes,” he lies. Food just doesn’t seem important anymore.
Back in his room, Sulu looks at the letter. Uhura has scribbled notes over it, indicating idioms and words with more than one meaning. She has written, ‘Lt. Sulu, A lot of the text it is colloquial slang that I presume is from the area around St. Petersburg. My Russian is rusty, so I have done my best. I think it is important to note that Ensign Chekov uses the familiar you form. - Lt. Uhura.’
Hikaru, it reads in Chekov’s messy writing, I’m sorry. My English still sucks, and I don’t
have enough time to translate this, not that I really want to anyway. The plan is really simple, okay? When I come back you’re going to ask me what this note said. Then, I’ll blush and look at my feet and tell you how much I admire and care for you. Sound good? Good. This line right here? It’s to remind me not to chicken out. If it all goes according to plan you and I will, we will, well, you know... If it doesn’t, then I’ll claim I was asking to borrow this book. So, yeah. That’s it pretty much. I’m an idiot, but I think I’m, uh, you know. Well, I’m, well, uh, fond of you, that is. Very fond of you. I care about you. A lot. You’ve kinda been acting weird lately, I’m sure you’re angry at me, but I’m not sure why. I wish we could figure that out before I leave, but we don’t have enough time. We will when I get back, though. And when I get back you’ll ask me about this note, because you’re too curious not to. Somehow I’ll get the courage to say it. Out loud that is, and in English. Thank god you can’t speak Russian, right?
Yours,
Pavel
Sulu stares at the note for a very long time before carefully taking out the original, folding it, and sliding it in his pocket.
---
On the sixth day he tells himself he would do things differently if he knew Chekov wasn’t coming back. He would have kissed Chekov in front of everyone, damn regulations and damn modesty.
----
On the seventh day Sulu has another free day. He doesn’t leave his room at all. He doesn’t eat much of anything at all. He spends a lot of time trying to read, and more time trying not to think about Chekov.
Partway through the day he starts thinking about how irresponsible it was for Kirk to let the Ensign go down. He feels a bubbling of anger in his chest, because Kirk knew that it was going to be dangerous. He fucking knew and he let the kid with hardly any combat experience go anyway and had an officer like Sulu with years of specialized training stay on the fucking ship.
Sulu throws a glass across the room and it shatters against the wall. It doesn’t make him feel much better, he just feels empty again, which is better than feeling angry.
He doesn’t bother cleaning it up.
---
On the morning of the eighth day, Scotty announces he has established contact with the away team and he will be beaming them up in five minutes.
Sulu has someone cover his shift and walks the opposite direction of the transporter deck.
He can’t bear to see the empty spot where Chekov should be standing.
-------
Sulu changes in to his fencing gear when he reaches the room.
“Computer, music. Hikaru Sulu’s fencing playlist.” The music starts up then, and Sulu pulls down his fencing mask and begins to practice his lunges against the target.
He falters twice, completely missing the mark. The second time it happens he throws down his foil, and then his mask, screaming and cursing.
After a few minutes, when he feels empty, he kneels down, slides on his mask, picks up his foil, and then stands to start over again.
-----
The door to the exercise room opens fifteen minutes later. Sulu is facing the wall as he removes his mask, “I’d prefer to be alone right now.”
“I thought you said you would be waiting for me.”
Sulu turns very slowly, and still ends up dropping the foil and the mask out of shock. Pavel Andreyevich Chekov is standing in the doorway looking very much not dead. His right arm is in a sling, and bandages are wrapped around his chest.
“You died.” Sulu states, though that is a fact he is no longer so certain of.
“I did not.” Chekov replies, “I am right here.” They begin to move towards each other until they are standing toe to toe. Sulu raises his left hand, like he wants to touch Chekov, but he is afraid to, like he thinks he is seeing a ghost.
Chekov raises his left arm to meet Sulu’s.
They press their palms together. Their elbows line up; he places his right hand over the young man’s beating heart. He can feel it through the white bandages.
“You are.” He breathes, “How?”
“Tracking device got destroyed when they stabbed me.”
“I thought you were dead.” He says again. He thinks of all the promises he made himself, he thinks of all the things he said he would do if he could see Chekov one last time.
He does none of them.
He can’t yet bring himself to. He just keeps his hand over the gauze and over his heart.
“Uhura told me she translated my note.” Chekov says slowly.
“She did.” Sulu replies slowly.
“You have read it, then?” Chekov asks.
“Yes.” He responds. He says nothing more then, neither does Chekov. The curly haired young man tilts his head up and kisses Sulu. Sulu moves his left palm away from Chekov’s, and rests his hand on his hip.
When Sulu pulls back to say something, it’s like his brain and his heart are playing keep away with his tongue.
Chekov nods, and smiles touching Sulu’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly, “I know,” he says and Sulu leans in to kiss him again.
Back in Sulu’s quarters they move slowly and uncertainly. His hands tremble on the beltbuckle of Chekov’s Starfleet uniform.
He moves like he was afraid that at any second the moment could break. Like he could hold him too hard and Chekov would disappear out from underneath him as if he were no more than smoke. He is afraid that this could be just a dream. But, Chekov kisses him, softly, eagerly, and Sulu can feel the man’s fingers trailing down Sulu’s bare spine; he knows this is real.
---
Sulu tries to focus on something else in the afterglow, like the way Chekov’s damp hair curls at the back of his neck, or the way his thin naked body looks wrapped up in the tangle of his standard-issue Starfleet bedsheets, but all Sulu can do is listen to that heart beat and hold him close, running his fingers over the man’s thin white hands.
----
And when they walk to a meal together, Sulu’s arm protectively around Chekov’s shoulder, it is a surprise to no one when the navigator tilts his head up and kisses the pilot firmly on the mouth.
“Technical Difficulties.”
----
He runs his fingers over Chekov’s knuckles slowly.
There are so many things he wants to say, but he says none of them; he just contents himself to hold on to that hand for as long as he can.
“Hikaru?” Chekov asks quietly, his chin tilted up to stare at Sulu with his huge blue eyes.
“Yes, Pavel?” His voice gets stuck in his throat.
“Is something wrong with my grip?” Reality comes back, and Sulu is holding Chekov’s hand in his in the middle of the training room.
“Yes.” He replies a bit too quickly, “You need to move your thumb up more.” He lets go, and turns away, to curse under his breath, like his father used to when cut off in traffic on the windy streets of San Francisco.
“Better?”
Sulu turns around and looks at the grip on the foil.
“Yes. It gives you more control.” More control, Sulu reminds himself, he sure as hell needs that.
“Mask on,” Sulu orders, pulling his own down. “En garde.”
Chekov pulls on his mask, and the two salute each other before they begin.
----
They shake hands after the match. Sulu holds it a fraction of a second too long. He thinks about how those fragile things pulled him out of the sky and set him safely down in the transporter room. Sulu saved Kirk’s life, Kirk tried to save his, and Chekov saved them both with those thin, white, beautiful hands.
He pulls his hand away too quickly, turns so he is no longer facing Chekov, and wipes his palm against the white cotton of his breeches. He curses to himself again, under his breath.
Control. He reminds himself. Control.
----
When they are packing up equipment Sulu stops Chekov at the door.
“This stuff, it isn’t going to help. You realize that, right? Knowing how to handle a foil isn’t going to save you from a guy with phaser.”
Sulu loves fencing, always has, always will. It tones muscles, sharpens eyes, and improves posture. But, what it does not do is prepare you to be dropped down on a planet filled with hostile natives. Not without other training, at least.
“I have standard combat training.” The boy replies indignantly.
“Standard may not be enough. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Very sure.” He answers, the ‘v’ squeezed out like a ‘w’ because of his accent.
They separate to go to their quarters; Sulu does not say goodbye.
---
In his room, he takes out a couple of his flintlock pistols, all wrapped up carefully and stored underneath layers of Starfleet uniforms.
He lays them lovingly on the table before him and proceeds to clean them all. He thinks about going down to one of the training rooms that has been modified to accommodate projectile weapons, but ultimately decides against it.
Instead he sits at the table, runs his fingertips over the silver inlay, and tries not to think about Chekov’s hand.
---
Kirk decides to give Sulu a briefing on the mission. He stands behind the pilot, arms folded across his chest, and starts speaking. The only way for Sulu to look at him is to turn his head and tilt his head up, which would make him look wide-eyed and worshipful. He keeps his eyes on his console.
“This mission is going to take at least a week. The negotiations with this species are infamous for dragging on. Everything has to be just according to their customs or it’ll all go to hell real quick. Unless you run in to any trouble, just keep the ship here, alright? I’ve already talked to Scotty. We have the coordinates and the time for when to beam us up. This mission is important, so we can’t have any screw ups on either of our sides. Any questions, Sulu?”
“No, Captain.”
Sulu supposes that the Captain nods or something like that before he leaves, but the pilot keeps his eyes on the console and says nothing.
He engages the external inertial dampeners and stares down at the planet before him.
-----
The time comes and Kirk makes an announcement that all personnel that have been assigned for the away mission are to proceed to the transporter deck.
Sulu turns around in his chair, and grabs the teenager by the elbow before he can leave. He looks up at him and finds words and logic have both decided to abandon him completely.
“Hey, Pavel?” He finally manages to force out.
“Yes, Hikaru?” There is so much he wants to say, but he settles for flashing him a pained smile.
“You be careful, okay?”
Pavel nods, and his curls bounce slightly, “Yes.” Sulu lets go of his arm and turns back to face his console.
“Hikaru?” He asks, and the pilot turns around to look up at the Ensign, “Walk with me to the transporter?” Sulu nods, assigns someone else to watch the helm, and gets up to follow.
They walk side by side and barely talk the entire way.
Sulu keeps his arms clasped behind his back to prevent himself from doing anything stupid.
“I stopped by your room earlier, but you were not there.” Chekov says quietly, like he is embarrassed if Scotty or the other officers hear him.
“No. I wasn’t. I had an earlier shift today.” He stands there in front of Chekov for two minutes, with neither of them saying anything, as the rest of the officers begin to arrive and take their positions.
Sulu thinks about kissing him then, standing on the platform in front of the away team, but he writes that off quickly as another stupid fantasy.
He will not compromise a friendship over a stupid crush. He’ll work through this, like he has worked through so many things before.
He settles on placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder and flashing him an awkward smile.
“I’ll monitor your frequency.”
Chekov gives him a brilliant grin and Sulu tries to convince himself it is just nervousness for the kid that makes his lungs shiver.
“And I’ll be here, waiting, when they beam you back up.”
----
The planet’s atmosphere interferes with communication. Messages come in garbled and broken. Even with her sharp ear, Uhura is having a hell of a time figuring out what they say.
Sulu watches Chekov’s heartbeat on the monitor.
He watches it beat as he runs diagnostic tests on the ship, (because he has nothing better to do and protocol demands that they be run at least every year). He watches the heart beat, and he thinks about Chekov’s hands.
When he watches, and his own heart rate matches it. As the pace quickens, he can feel his pounding against his ribcage. It slows when Chekov’s slows, then quickens again when Chekov’s does. Sulu tries to focus on something else, but all he can do is watch that heart beat.
He watches it until, abruptly, it stops and the computer flashes ‘Terminated’ over the digitized image of Ensign P. Chekov.
---
It happens gradually, and then very suddenly.
---
First there is nothing. Then there is absolutely nothing. No nervousness, no anticipation, no fear: just emptiness.
It starts as a shiver in his spine that begins to spread across his body until it reaches his toes and fingertips.
Then it hits him, hard, in the form of a wave of nausea. He manages to tell someone to watch the helm, before he runs to the nearest bathroom where he proceeds to throw up his breakfast. He spends a good ten minutes dry heaving, tears running down his face.
He isn’t sure if it is a reflex tears or something more personal. Either way they’re cold and he wipes away at them furiously with his uniform sleeves.
He supposes it doesn’t matter much what they are. Pavel is dead.
----
By the time he returns to the helm, the news has spread.
He sits down, runs diagnostic tests, and tries not to look at the digitized image and those garishly flashing letters.
Uhura receives a transmission. The only words she can distinctly make out are ‘Chekov’ and ‘stay the course.’
---
When he returns to his room for his half hour lunch break, because he does not feel like eating, he finds one of his books laid out on the table. He places it back on his shelf, lies on his back, and stares at the ceiling.
He keeps trying to wake himself up, but it doesn’t happen.
---
He learns quite a few things the first couple of hour. He learns to not let crying get in the way. He learns how to bite on his lower lip to keep down the sobbing noises trying to crawl their way up his throat.
He learns, if he squeezes the bridge of his nose and looks down, the people around him might just think he has a headache.
He’s fairly certain though, that they don’t.
----
People move around him gingerly, like they have no idea how to handle him now.
----
By the end of the first day he learns how important it is to distract himself. He keeps himself busy. There is constantly some form of stimulation around him. Either he is in the pilot’s chair, running diagnostic tests, or he is in his room. He realizes that when he is not on his shift, he needs more than just one thing to keep him occupied. So, he sits in his room listening to music, cleaning his guns, and reading.
He doesn’t want to give himself time to think; time to think means thinking about Pavel.
Thinking about Pavel means constantly coming back to the realization Sulu is never, ever going to see his friend again.
----
He wakes up the second day, after three hours of sleep, and it hits him again. Chekov is dead. He’ll never get to see him again or get the chance to tell him how much he means to him.
Meant to him, he reminds himself.
He feels sick, but hasn’t eaten in twenty hours so he has nothing to throw up.
---
Sulu is a relatively private person, always has been and perhaps he always will be. He tries not to let strangers or acquaintances see him at any level of vulnerability. Hell, he hardly lets friends see that.
He couldn’t even let Chekov see that.
The only one he has really ever shown is his father, but he is light-years away and still grieving over the loss of Sulu’s mother. Sulu doesn’t feel the need to shove his sadness on him, so Sulu sits in his room listening to music, cleaning his guns, reading-
And not thinking about Chekov’s hands.
---
At the end of the second day a pretty Yeoman says, “I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” and hugs him.
Sulu has spoken to her once, perhaps twice. He does not know her name.
“He wasn’t my-” he begins, but he finds himself unable to speak anymore. She hugs him tighter and he leans his head against her shoulder.
--
There are constant visits. From people he knows well, and people he doesn’t know at all. When he realizes they are going to just keep showing up to his room, he leaves and ends up in the training room. The same one where he used to hold Pavel’s hand and tell him his grip was all wrong.
He has the computer play loud music and begins to work on his lunges.
---
He doesn’t really want to talk to people. Maybe people will think he is callous, but he can’t exactly force himself to give a damn. Not right now. Not anymore.
He just can’t be around all of them. He needs to be by himself. Maybe he thinks if he can be alone he can make sense of all this. He can quantify the grief he is feeling and figure out how to work through this, like he has worked through so many other things.
Whatever the reason, he doesn’t plan on bawling in to another pretty little Yeoman’s shoulder.
It’s probably not healthy, bottling up his grief like this, but Sulu doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to be alone with what he feels.
---
On the third day he tends to some of the plants in the small garden on the lower levels. He kneels down in front of a tree where he has been attempting to coax a vine up the trunk. Two officers Sulu does not know walk by, out of sight, but within earshot.
“Have you seen Lieutenant Sulu? Thing looks like a walking corpse.”
“You heard, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a lover like that.”
Sulu’s fingers accidently snap the vine.
---
On the fourth day, he pulls out a book, and opens it to have a note flutter out and land in his lap.
It’s written in Russian, so that really means only one thing.
He makes a copy of it, slips the original back in the book, and takes it to Uhura.
“Can you read Russian?” He asks, handing her the note. Uhura nods, and takes the letter from him.
“Is this the original?”
“No.”
Uhura nods again, and gives him a pitying look that he can’t fucking stand seeing anymore.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After his shift is over Sulu goes back to his room, cleans his guns, lies down on his bed, and ignores the persistent knocks at his door.
----
The fifth day is his day off. He finds Uhura during breakfast and she hands him back the translated note.
“There are a lot of idioms in this. I did the best I could.” He mumbles a thank you.
“Sulu? Have you eaten anything?”
“Yes,” he lies. Food just doesn’t seem important anymore.
Back in his room, Sulu looks at the letter. Uhura has scribbled notes over it, indicating idioms and words with more than one meaning. She has written, ‘Lt. Sulu, A lot of the text it is colloquial slang that I presume is from the area around St. Petersburg. My Russian is rusty, so I have done my best. I think it is important to note that Ensign Chekov uses the familiar you form. - Lt. Uhura.’
Hikaru, it reads in Chekov’s messy writing, I’m sorry. My English still sucks, and I don’t
have enough time to translate this, not that I really want to anyway. The plan is really simple, okay? When I come back you’re going to ask me what this note said. Then, I’ll blush and look at my feet and tell you how much I admire and care for you. Sound good? Good. This line right here? It’s to remind me not to chicken out. If it all goes according to plan you and I will, we will, well, you know... If it doesn’t, then I’ll claim I was asking to borrow this book. So, yeah. That’s it pretty much. I’m an idiot, but I think I’m, uh, you know. Well, I’m, well, uh, fond of you, that is. Very fond of you. I care about you. A lot. You’ve kinda been acting weird lately, I’m sure you’re angry at me, but I’m not sure why. I wish we could figure that out before I leave, but we don’t have enough time. We will when I get back, though. And when I get back you’ll ask me about this note, because you’re too curious not to. Somehow I’ll get the courage to say it. Out loud that is, and in English. Thank god you can’t speak Russian, right?
Yours,
Pavel
Sulu stares at the note for a very long time before carefully taking out the original, folding it, and sliding it in his pocket.
---
On the sixth day he tells himself he would do things differently if he knew Chekov wasn’t coming back. He would have kissed Chekov in front of everyone, damn regulations and damn modesty.
----
On the seventh day Sulu has another free day. He doesn’t leave his room at all. He doesn’t eat much of anything at all. He spends a lot of time trying to read, and more time trying not to think about Chekov.
Partway through the day he starts thinking about how irresponsible it was for Kirk to let the Ensign go down. He feels a bubbling of anger in his chest, because Kirk knew that it was going to be dangerous. He fucking knew and he let the kid with hardly any combat experience go anyway and had an officer like Sulu with years of specialized training stay on the fucking ship.
Sulu throws a glass across the room and it shatters against the wall. It doesn’t make him feel much better, he just feels empty again, which is better than feeling angry.
He doesn’t bother cleaning it up.
---
On the morning of the eighth day, Scotty announces he has established contact with the away team and he will be beaming them up in five minutes.
Sulu has someone cover his shift and walks the opposite direction of the transporter deck.
He can’t bear to see the empty spot where Chekov should be standing.
-------
Sulu changes in to his fencing gear when he reaches the room.
“Computer, music. Hikaru Sulu’s fencing playlist.” The music starts up then, and Sulu pulls down his fencing mask and begins to practice his lunges against the target.
He falters twice, completely missing the mark. The second time it happens he throws down his foil, and then his mask, screaming and cursing.
After a few minutes, when he feels empty, he kneels down, slides on his mask, picks up his foil, and then stands to start over again.
-----
The door to the exercise room opens fifteen minutes later. Sulu is facing the wall as he removes his mask, “I’d prefer to be alone right now.”
“I thought you said you would be waiting for me.”
Sulu turns very slowly, and still ends up dropping the foil and the mask out of shock. Pavel Andreyevich Chekov is standing in the doorway looking very much not dead. His right arm is in a sling, and bandages are wrapped around his chest.
“You died.” Sulu states, though that is a fact he is no longer so certain of.
“I did not.” Chekov replies, “I am right here.” They begin to move towards each other until they are standing toe to toe. Sulu raises his left hand, like he wants to touch Chekov, but he is afraid to, like he thinks he is seeing a ghost.
Chekov raises his left arm to meet Sulu’s.
They press their palms together. Their elbows line up; he places his right hand over the young man’s beating heart. He can feel it through the white bandages.
“You are.” He breathes, “How?”
“Tracking device got destroyed when they stabbed me.”
“I thought you were dead.” He says again. He thinks of all the promises he made himself, he thinks of all the things he said he would do if he could see Chekov one last time.
He does none of them.
He can’t yet bring himself to. He just keeps his hand over the gauze and over his heart.
“Uhura told me she translated my note.” Chekov says slowly.
“She did.” Sulu replies slowly.
“You have read it, then?” Chekov asks.
“Yes.” He responds. He says nothing more then, neither does Chekov. The curly haired young man tilts his head up and kisses Sulu. Sulu moves his left palm away from Chekov’s, and rests his hand on his hip.
When Sulu pulls back to say something, it’s like his brain and his heart are playing keep away with his tongue.
Chekov nods, and smiles touching Sulu’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly, “I know,” he says and Sulu leans in to kiss him again.
Back in Sulu’s quarters they move slowly and uncertainly. His hands tremble on the beltbuckle of Chekov’s Starfleet uniform.
He moves like he was afraid that at any second the moment could break. Like he could hold him too hard and Chekov would disappear out from underneath him as if he were no more than smoke. He is afraid that this could be just a dream. But, Chekov kisses him, softly, eagerly, and Sulu can feel the man’s fingers trailing down Sulu’s bare spine; he knows this is real.
---
Sulu tries to focus on something else in the afterglow, like the way Chekov’s damp hair curls at the back of his neck, or the way his thin naked body looks wrapped up in the tangle of his standard-issue Starfleet bedsheets, but all Sulu can do is listen to that heart beat and hold him close, running his fingers over the man’s thin white hands.
----
And when they walk to a meal together, Sulu’s arm protectively around Chekov’s shoulder, it is a surprise to no one when the navigator tilts his head up and kisses the pilot firmly on the mouth.