Nu!Trek Fic: "Untitled" (De-anon Fic) Part 1/1
Another fic, untitled as yet, written for the anonymous kink meme (and the last in this posting round--I'll post the wips soon, hopefully, when I get a chance, or when I finish them)--an amalgamation of a few of similar Chekov-related prompts, such as the one found here: "Someone on the ship is giving Chekov a hard time. For whatever reason, they resent him, bully him, and he doesn't say anything, but McCoy finds out. Hurt/Comfort with the tormentor getting the fear of god put in them by an angry doctor;
or somewhat more loosely on this one here: "He was serious hazed/abused while at the acadamy and one of the people responsible is also on The Enterprise and they still enjoy tormenting the Russian. I really want Chekov to end up confiding in McCoy, who goes badass on the person and gets really protective of Chekov. At first, he just thinks he's looking out for the younger man but he finally realizes it's more than that. Lucky for him, Chekov has a major crush on the doctor." However, this is no Chekov/McCoy pairing in this fic, so only the first half of this prompt was really used. Sorry.
Warnings for lack of beta, the entire movie is spoiled, and there are adult themes. No graphic sex or violence, but I'd have to rate this at least M anyway. Because I can.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for fun, and because I have no self-control and must play in other peoples’ sandboxes.
Thanks to the prompters for the inspiration! Comments, positive or negative, are always very much appreciated. I'll figure out a title someday, I'm sure, when I post it somewhere else. And if you're reading this, thanks--and if you have a title suggestion, let me know ...
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Fic written for this prompt here:
Someone on the ship is giving Chekov a hard time. For whatever reason, they resent him, bully him, and he doesn't say anything, but McCoy finds out. Hurt/Comfort with the tormentor getting the fear of god put in them by an angry doctor.
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It was easier to avoid him on the Enterprise.
At the Academy, he’d been young and stupid and hadn’t even realized he should have been avoiding him until it had been far, far too late, and then he had already been assigned as his “mentor”. After that, extra credit and field trips and long, long hours in the lab had been too easy to arrange, and there was always so much free time and Pavel alone in it.
Pavel wasn’t always able to avoid him in the evenings, either, and the Commodore wouldn’t authorize him to join more than three clubs (the older cadets didn’t require authorization, but he was too young, it always came back to he was too young), couldn’t always refuse the invitations to his office for extra help. His parents were usually off-world, and the Commodore ensured that they remained off-world frequently.
“Isn’t he kind, Pasha?” his father would ask. “He’s a good man, and a fine Russian. He made sure your mother and I will be part of the survey team to Marcus IV. It’s a great opportunity, even if we will be gone over Christmas. Be good, and we’ll call you every day. Don’t forget to send us your Christmas list! ”
Because the Commodore was kind. His parents got all kinds of opportunities that they might not have had, otherwise, and because Mironov had been friends with his grandfather, he also looked out for Pavel at school. It was great. Pavel was young, but he wasn’t stupid, and he could hear the other cadets talk. Grandson of an Admiral and protégé of a Commodore, top of his class and only thirteen--they thought he was a lucky kid, even as they resented him. Everyone told him he was so lucky.
“It’s so good of him, Pasha,” his mother would say. “He’s invited you to his home for the holidays, because we won’t be there. Of course, your father and I said we’d be delighted to have you go. Mind your manners, and be good while you’re there, and maybe he will let you visit again. His home is beautiful-he has a lovely collection of old Russian artifacts--so don’t make a mess, and make sure you make your bed in the morning. We love you, and we’ll bring you something nice for Christmas. Dasvidania, malshik moy!”
So Pavel smiled blankly and wished his parents well and had done as he’d been told. There was no way out of it, not then.
His parents were pure and kind and clean. They’d taught Pasha those things-because that’s how they were, and because that’s what they believed was the mark of a true Russian.
That’s not how the real world worked, though. Or, maybe Chekov just wasn’t good enough, because that’s how their world worked, and Chekov didn’t understand why his world wasn’t like that. Because in the real world, everything had a price, Chekov had learned. Even kindness.
At least in Chekov’s world, because there was clearly something wrong with him. And so Commodore Mironov had stepped in, to teach him.
“This is what adults do, Pavel, and you’re old enough now. And you wouldn’t want a demotion, now, would you? Besides, we’re friends, and you don’t really mind. I can ensure you get on that mission, get a commendation, make your parents, your grandfather, proud. What if they really knew how well you were doing? You don’t need them to know that, do you? What if they really knew how much trouble I’ve saved you from? Do you want me to tell you about it? Of course, you don’t always know what kind of mess you manage to get yourself into, and all the juggling I’ve had to do, but as I’ve explained …”
There was always a price.
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So now Mironov was an Admiral, and on the ship, for six weeks. He’d been assigned to the Enterprise, to make an inspection. To judge how well the Enterprise ran, and report back to Starfleet. They’d all been warned to be on their best behaviour. Doctor McCoy had even been asked to run complete physicals on the entire staff, just to ensure everyone performed at peak efficiency.
But at least it was easier on the Enterprise.
Because on the ship-on the ship, Chekov was a junior officer. A Bridge officer, even. He had duties, and even friends, and all kinds of things to do in his off hours that meant he could be as elusive as he needed to be. He had no need or time to hang out with Mironov, as the Admiral was being entertained by the Captain and senior officers, and he had no parents to send him to the Admiral’s quarters for weekends or holidays.
For the first few days, it even worked.
But Chekov was still just a junior officer, and young, so very young. He still didn’t quite get the jokes the others made, sometimes; didn’t quite appreciate it when they stopped talking when he entered a room, or said they were “going to bed early” when he knew they were just trying to avoid him or were lying to him because he knew what couples did when they went back to their quarters. Didn’t understand why they wanted to, when they were clearly older and smarter and didn’t have to, but there were so many things he didn’t understand and couldn’t ask.
And so, when the Admiral stepped in with his brilliant smile during his Bridge visit and his perhaps the boy wouldn’t mind spending some time with an old friend, Captain, and then when Captain Kirk smiled and relieved Chekov of duty, all but ordering Chekov to go with the Admiral, Chekov had had no choice yet again.
And after that, the Admiral made it clear just what would happen if young Ensign Chekov did not come to visit him every evening after his shift.
Which in a way explained how Chekov had come to be reluctantly sitting in a private exam room in Sickbay.
The doctor was asking him questions. Again. He couldn't remember exactly what he’d said the last time to explain things.
“Mr. Chekov-why am I picking up fresh bruising up your left side? And … take off your shirt.” Doctor McCoy sounded annoyed. He always sounded annoyed, no matter how hard Chekov tried not to irritate him.
He’d put off the appointment for days; McCoy had actually commed the Bridge during his shift and curtly demanded that the Captain send him down. Kirk had grinned at him, then, humour lighting those blue blue eyes, and Sulu had laughed. Everyone hated physicals, but most of them dealt with them as they needed to.
He had too. This was a follow-up. The doctor wasn’t impressed with the results of the actual physical, and made him return the following week. Things hadn’t been much better, although he’d managed to avoid Mironov for a full day, so they hadn’t been that bad either. But this week the results wouldn’t be better. He knew it. If he could have just had another two days … Chekov had checked the schedules, he knew he could have managed to avoid Mironov for the next couple of days …
The lights in sickbay were so, so bright. Combined with that stupid buzzing tricorder, they exposed every little thing.
“Doctor, I am …” Chekov began, not even sure what he planned to say.
“So what is it this time? These bruises are fresh and worse than the first time you came in here. Did you end up in a bad training session again? Three weeks in a row? Do you really expect me to believe that?” The doctor sounded increasingly aggravated. Chekov didn’t know exactly what to do.
“Doctor, I can explain …” Chekov tried again.
“Please do, Ensign.” The order was barked out: forestalling his attempt to formulate an excuse, any excuse; scattering his thoughts. Hazel eyes focused on him. Chekov fought not to squirm like a child.
“I …”
“The truth, please, mister,” snapped the doctor, interrupting once again; his impatient voice as harsh as the lights above. “And if I even feel like there’s a teeny tiny chance you’re lying, I’ll report it and you to the Captain. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
No. The Captain was … everything Chekov wanted to be, one day. Young and handsome and brilliant and confident. He always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say, and everyone wanted to be near him. He’d earned his place on the ship, rightfully and through his own talent. He was nothing like Chekov. He could never understand someone like Chekov. He’d be disgusted, and revolted, and …
No.
“Please doctor, it won’t …” Chekov tried hard not to beg. Begging never got you anywhere.
Except, apparently, with the doctor, whose voice gentled. “Chekov, son, I have to know. Trust me. I hear a lot of things in my line of work-there’s nothing I haven’t heard before. But I do need to know. You can’t be in this kind of shape on an ongoing basis, and unless I know what the problem is, I can’t figure out a way to correct it. So tell me, or I’ll have to suspend you from duty.”
“No!” The soft voice was a lie, it was always a lie, he couldn’t do that, there’d be no escape then …
“Yes, Ensign. Now, you have two choices. You can tell me, or I’ll have to suspend you, which means you’ll end up having to tell the Captain. C’mon, Chekov. Make this easy. It’s just you and me here. Is it a girl, or a boy? Someone in the crew? Whatever, or whoever it is, I just need to make sure you’re ok. It’s my job, kid.”
“Please … please …”
McCoy just waited, arms crossed across his chest.
And just like that, once again, Chekov was trapped and out of choices. Desperately, he asked again, “You won’t tell anyone?”
“Not unless you say it’s ok. I explained that to you when you had your first physical six months ago. Everything you tell me is confidential.”
“He can’t find out I told you. If he finds out … “ He couldn’t keep from sounding desperate, even if he was a Bridge officer, and even if …
“Ensign Chekov.” Doctor McCoy’s voice was even and firm.
“It’s … it’s Admiral Mironov.” In contrast, Chekov’s voice was barely a whisper, even though they were in a private, sound-proofed exam room. (And McCoy had grinned at him when he’d explained that the first time. He had told Chekov, in a lowered voice, that he wouldn’t believe some of the large security officers that had screamed their heads off for routine inoculations in this very room, so he could feel free to scream or grown or anything he liked, and no one would ever know. And it was funny, but even in a sound-proofed locked room alone with the doctor, Chekov had never felt anything but safe. And a little amused at the grumpy doctor’s obvious glee.)
“The Admiral? But he’s only been on the ship for … you into older men, kid? Anyway, this has been …” McCoy’s eyes narrowed, and he looked sharply at Chekov. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been involved with him, is it?”
Chekov cringed even more. How had the doctor known? He hadn’t told anyone, and there was nothing in his file to …
“Chekov.”
“I … he knew me at the Academy. He was a friend of my grandfather’s.” Chekov stared at the sheet on the bed. It was white, and clean. So pure.
“Was he now? And how old were you when you enrolled at the Academy, kid?” The doctor was gently pressing on his ribs now with gloved hands, ignoring Chekov when he flinched, although he tried to keep as still as he could. Chekov had once seen the Captain with serious wounds. He’d laughed and joked with Lt. Commander Scott while Doctor McCoy had prodded and bandaged, and despite how badly he was bleeding, he had only flinched once, and Chekov couldn’t even tell if was for real, or just because he wanted to aggravate McCoy. Sulu had explained that Captain Kirk liked teasing the brusque doctor. According to Sulu, the Captain and the doctor had known each other back at the Academy, and were good friends.
“Please, Doctor, I told you, and now please, just let me go. I don’t want to talk about this any more.”
“I won’t repeat myself again, son. How old were you when this started?” McCoy’s voice was stern and forbidding.
Chekov swallowed and forced himself to answer. “I … I was old enough. Everyone at the Academy was doing stuff. Please, Dr. McCoy.”
“Kid, you’re not even 18 yet, and you’ve been in active service well over a year. I can and will look this up if I need to, you know-it’s in your service record, and you know I have access to all that. It’ll be easier if you just tell me.”
“I was almost thirteen when I first enrolled.” Chekov’s voice was back down to a whisper.
“Goddammit!” McCoy slammed his hand down on the biobed next to Chekov, his face a mask of rage, and Chekov couldn’t help it; he startled violently away. But McCoy noticed immediately and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Sorry kid; it’s ok. I’m not mad at you. It’s just … I know Mironov has been an instructor at the Academy for the last 10 years.”
“He was an old family friend. And I looked forward to seeing him. And at first … at first, he didn’t ask for anything. At first … he was just … he was kind to me. I was nobody, and he was … he was a friend.“
The other cadets had mostly ignored him. Sometimes they didn’t: sometimes they mocked him, sometimes they were nice to him, but mostly, they ignored him, or treated him like their annoying kid brother. They didn’t let him come with them when they went out at night; didn’t invite him to their parties. They were all so much older than him; bright and beautiful and smart. None of them were friends, though, and there was no one else there his age. And he wasn’t a child, he wasn’t! Mironov had understood that. For all their difference in age and rank, he’d invited Pasha to his home, let him drink wine, spoke to him like an adult … but then it had changed, and he’d wanted something in return, and Pavel hadn’t liked that, hadn’t liked it but this was a lesson too, a lesson he needed to learn if he wanted to be an adult but oh, god, it had hurt and then, and then Mironov had gotten angry, reminded Pasha of everything he had done and how much he owed and wouldn’t his grandfather be disappointed but Pasha couldn’t like it, didn’t want to but Mironov didn’t care and became angry, and now, now Mironov was angry all the time but it was only what Pavel deserved, he wasn’t good enough was never good enough Commander Spock saw how pathetic he’d killed his mother and how could he ever be forgiven …
“Chekov!” McCoy’s hands were on his arms, and he was shaking him. Distantly, Chekov heard the hiss of a hypospray before he felt a pinch against his neck, and then he realized what it meant and jerked away.
“Relax, kid. It’s just a mild sedative. You were freaking out something terrible, there. Chekov … son, I’ll have to report this. I know you don’t necessarily want that, but this is a crime and ...”
“NO! NO! You promised, you …”
“Ok, ok, calm down kid, or I’ll have to give you another sedative. Can you calm yourself down?” McCoy’s eyes were intense and focused on him; Chekov wanted to hide from them.
“Yes. Yes, please, don’t … you said you wouldn’t.” Chekov was shaking. And it was cold, so cold. He was shivering in the cold.
The doctor turned away for a second, and for a wild moment, Chekov wondered what would happen if he just ran out. Ran, and he could get to the transporter room, somehow, and …
Then the doctor was turning back, holding something--and then he was wrapping Chekov in a blanket. Chekov grabbed the front of the blanket where it joined, grateful for the protection, and held on.
McCoy’s voice, when he spoke again, sounded unbearably weary, so unlike the grumpy man from before. “Chekov. I can’t sit on a reported crime. He can’t be allowed to teach any more, either,” McCoy continued to mutter. He sounded almost like he was speaking to himself.
Chekov felt the room grow dark. He … but McCoy was still speaking, and he forced himself to listen as the doctor looked up at him.
When the doctor spoke this time, his voice was strong and steady. And as he listened to that voice, so calm and sure, Chekov found himself growing calm as well, found he could breathe again.
“But ok,” McCoy was saying, “Here’s what I’m gonna do for you. I won’t tell anyone, provided you listen to me. You are relieved of duty for at least three days, on my authorization. You will then return here, and I will assess your condition. If you are not recovered to my satisfaction, I will extend that time. In that time, you will rest, and you will ensure you are in the presence of either security or any of myself, Scotty, Uhura, Spock, Kirk or Sulu at all times-oh, Keenser too, sure, if you want-when you are not in your quarters by yourself. Can you do that?”
Chekov shook his head. He didn't want to argue with the doctor, who was his superior, but - “He said … he said he would tell the Captain and fail the Enterprise if I … if I didn’t …”
McCoy snorted. “Yeah. I’d like to see that. Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re confined to quarters, ok, and only those people I authorize will have access to you. Even an Admiral can’t override the CMO’s authority. So, no where else unless you’re accompanied, and I’m not going to report anything yet, or tell anyone, so stop looking like that. And don’t worry about the Admiral. He won’t get near you, I promise you that. In the meantime, I’m going to have Mr. Scott take you back and change your security access. No one will be allowed into your quarters except me and you and your friends. All right?” The doctor’s voice was firm, and did not invite disagreement.
“Yes, Doctor.” Chekov nodded obediently, but his head was spinning. He desperately wanted to get to his quarters and lie down.
“But I want you also to think about this-what Mironov did is a crime, and I am obliged to report it. I don’t need to mention you specifically, although of course, when I report it, he’ll know. So I won’t for now; we’ll discuss it later. I won’t report anything to the Captain without your okay either. But Chekov … you are a Starfleet officer, a Bridge Officer. He took advantage of you. He needs to pay for that, and he needs to be stopped. And it would be better if you identified him yourself. Will you think about it? We’ll code it, and only those with senior level clearance would know. I’m done now, by the way. You can get dressed.”
“I only got on this ship because of him,” Chekov confessed in a whisper, terrified and ashamed, as he reluctantly let go of the blanket to put on his shirt. He wasn’t even sure why he admitted that, when McCoy was ready to let him go, except that it felt dishonest not to, not to be clear about everything that he’d gotten in return. He kept his eyes on his shirt and the ground.
“What’s that? Kid, that’s not even possible.” McCoy sounded deeply annoyed. Then he reached out and grabbed Chekov by the chin, halting his movement, forcing him to meet those piercing hazel eyes. “Ensign. Your service record is impeccable, and Pike picked you out himself, fought for you, when they thought you were too young for deep space travel. Jim’s even talking about promoting you soon, despite your age, because it’s long overdue.”
“It’s true. Admiral Mironov said … Mironov said he’d made sure of it, even boosted my Academy standing and …” Chekov blinked at McCoy, shaking his head in protest, because what McCoy was saying was …
“No kid. Look at me. Listen. All the grades, course assignments, all of it-they’re all computerized. The Admiral or any instructor couldn’t have changed those things without a formal review. He doesn’t have the computer skills to hack in-I know it for a fact, your Commander Spock designed those systems. Besides, your previous Captain raved about you. Mironov lied to you. You got here on your own, fair and square, and he had to fight to be your mentor, had to scheme even for this visit-because, by the way, Kirk has always been totally against this trumped-up inspection. He hates Mironov, although he’s never said why.”
McCoy paused, and looked Chekov straight in the eye, and his voice was clear and hard as he said, “Mironov lied to you, do you understand? Eveything he told you, everything was a lie.”
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After the young Ensign had left, McCoy told Chapel to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. He was in no mood to see anyone. He was in no mood, in fact, to do much of anything except find Mironov and introduce him to a few hyposprays that he had. Ones that would induce vomiting and stomach cramps. And sterilization as a side-effect.
Chekov had been a child. Chekov, in fact, in so many ways, was still a child. And it had been going on - on their ship - for the last three weeks. God.
He needed a drink. Even though it was still a whole hour until the end of his shift.
Fuck it. He needed a drink. He locked the door to his office and opened a sealed log entry.
Stardate 564.2, Chief Medical Officer’s log. Confidential. I had a further follow-up with Ensign Pavel Chekov, I.D. #A0961, today, as I was concerned about the bruising and other superficial wounds, including some minor rectal tears, I’d noted on his physical almost a month ago. Today, I requested that he provide an explanation. He admitted to sexual intercourse, with a male person aboard this ship. Admiral Mironov. When questioned, and under some duress, Ensign Chekov reluctantly admitted that the intercourse was not consensual, and had been taking place as opportunity permitted on entrance to the Academy, and since he’d been approximately thirteen years of age. Exact time periods are not known. Treatment options have not yet been discussed with the patient, as he was in some mild shock given his disclosure; some form of therapy will most certainly be required, and further information will need to be gathered before an appropriate referral can be made. Given the nature of the difficulty, such referral must be made in consultation with the patient, depending whether he wishes to be treated by one of my staff on board or not. For now, he has been relieved of duty and will be assigned security detail as required. Senior officers are to be notified that he is not to be left alone while in any public areas. He has refused to report the crime, and has refused to allow me to do so, and I find myself in a bind. To report the crime to either Starfleet or the Captain would erode any trust young Chekov has placed in me as his doctor, and may cause more harm than good. At the same time, Admiral Mironov is a criminal that must certainly be stopped and held accountable. But for now, my priority must be the safety of this crew. It is unlikely that Mironov will be able to prey on anyone else; nevertheless, appropriate steps must be taken. I have scheduled a follow up appointment for Ensign Chekov in three days. End log.
By the time he had completed the log, his shift was finished, and so was the bottle of bourbon. Despite that, McCoy felt surprisingly clear-headed when he finally located Mironov on the upper observation deck. Fortunately for them both, the Admiral was entirely alone.
It took all of three seconds for McCoy to slam the older man against the wall, using surprise and anger to his advantage. The Admiral’s head made a satisfying thunk when it came into contact with the bulkhead, leaving behind a satisfying streak of red.
“Touch him again,” hissed McCoy, “even fucking come within three decks of him, and I will destroy you.”
The Admiral reached for his communicator, shrieking for security, all the while sputtering, “Doctor McCoy! This is highly inappropriate! I will have you up on charges of …”
“You’ll say nothing. You know why? Because I know. And now that I know, you had best be very, very scared.”
Seeing the look in McCoy’s eyes, Mironov swallowed. And when security arrived, McCoy already scanning him with a medical tricorder, the Admiral agreed that he had fallen and hit his head, and had only called the doctor to attend to his injury.
The light in McCoy’s eyes was crazed, and he reeked of alcohol. Nervously, the young security officer politely asked if he might accompany them both to Sickbay.
The Admiral agreed with alacrity. McCoy just smiled, and his smile was full of teeth.
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That's it for now. There may be a second part, and there may be pairings, but Chekov/McCoy will not be one of them, just in case anyone was sticking around or hoping for that. Cuz, y'know, that would be ... not right. And unprofessional. And stuff. Not in this fic of mine, anyway. On the other hand, there may well be established Bones and McCoy in the background. And I kind of like the idea of Chekov flirting with a cute young Yeoman. Or there may be no second part at all. I'm still contemplating, and don't want to promise anything. I still have a bunch of half-finished stuff I actually need to finish first ...
ETA: Part 2 is here.
or somewhat more loosely on this one here: "He was serious hazed/abused while at the acadamy and one of the people responsible is also on The Enterprise and they still enjoy tormenting the Russian. I really want Chekov to end up confiding in McCoy, who goes badass on the person and gets really protective of Chekov. At first, he just thinks he's looking out for the younger man but he finally realizes it's more than that. Lucky for him, Chekov has a major crush on the doctor." However, this is no Chekov/McCoy pairing in this fic, so only the first half of this prompt was really used. Sorry.
Warnings for lack of beta, the entire movie is spoiled, and there are adult themes. No graphic sex or violence, but I'd have to rate this at least M anyway. Because I can.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for fun, and because I have no self-control and must play in other peoples’ sandboxes.
Thanks to the prompters for the inspiration! Comments, positive or negative, are always very much appreciated. I'll figure out a title someday, I'm sure, when I post it somewhere else. And if you're reading this, thanks--and if you have a title suggestion, let me know ...
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Fic written for this prompt here:
Someone on the ship is giving Chekov a hard time. For whatever reason, they resent him, bully him, and he doesn't say anything, but McCoy finds out. Hurt/Comfort with the tormentor getting the fear of god put in them by an angry doctor.
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It was easier to avoid him on the Enterprise.
At the Academy, he’d been young and stupid and hadn’t even realized he should have been avoiding him until it had been far, far too late, and then he had already been assigned as his “mentor”. After that, extra credit and field trips and long, long hours in the lab had been too easy to arrange, and there was always so much free time and Pavel alone in it.
Pavel wasn’t always able to avoid him in the evenings, either, and the Commodore wouldn’t authorize him to join more than three clubs (the older cadets didn’t require authorization, but he was too young, it always came back to he was too young), couldn’t always refuse the invitations to his office for extra help. His parents were usually off-world, and the Commodore ensured that they remained off-world frequently.
“Isn’t he kind, Pasha?” his father would ask. “He’s a good man, and a fine Russian. He made sure your mother and I will be part of the survey team to Marcus IV. It’s a great opportunity, even if we will be gone over Christmas. Be good, and we’ll call you every day. Don’t forget to send us your Christmas list! ”
Because the Commodore was kind. His parents got all kinds of opportunities that they might not have had, otherwise, and because Mironov had been friends with his grandfather, he also looked out for Pavel at school. It was great. Pavel was young, but he wasn’t stupid, and he could hear the other cadets talk. Grandson of an Admiral and protégé of a Commodore, top of his class and only thirteen--they thought he was a lucky kid, even as they resented him. Everyone told him he was so lucky.
“It’s so good of him, Pasha,” his mother would say. “He’s invited you to his home for the holidays, because we won’t be there. Of course, your father and I said we’d be delighted to have you go. Mind your manners, and be good while you’re there, and maybe he will let you visit again. His home is beautiful-he has a lovely collection of old Russian artifacts--so don’t make a mess, and make sure you make your bed in the morning. We love you, and we’ll bring you something nice for Christmas. Dasvidania, malshik moy!”
So Pavel smiled blankly and wished his parents well and had done as he’d been told. There was no way out of it, not then.
His parents were pure and kind and clean. They’d taught Pasha those things-because that’s how they were, and because that’s what they believed was the mark of a true Russian.
That’s not how the real world worked, though. Or, maybe Chekov just wasn’t good enough, because that’s how their world worked, and Chekov didn’t understand why his world wasn’t like that. Because in the real world, everything had a price, Chekov had learned. Even kindness.
At least in Chekov’s world, because there was clearly something wrong with him. And so Commodore Mironov had stepped in, to teach him.
“This is what adults do, Pavel, and you’re old enough now. And you wouldn’t want a demotion, now, would you? Besides, we’re friends, and you don’t really mind. I can ensure you get on that mission, get a commendation, make your parents, your grandfather, proud. What if they really knew how well you were doing? You don’t need them to know that, do you? What if they really knew how much trouble I’ve saved you from? Do you want me to tell you about it? Of course, you don’t always know what kind of mess you manage to get yourself into, and all the juggling I’ve had to do, but as I’ve explained …”
There was always a price.
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So now Mironov was an Admiral, and on the ship, for six weeks. He’d been assigned to the Enterprise, to make an inspection. To judge how well the Enterprise ran, and report back to Starfleet. They’d all been warned to be on their best behaviour. Doctor McCoy had even been asked to run complete physicals on the entire staff, just to ensure everyone performed at peak efficiency.
But at least it was easier on the Enterprise.
Because on the ship-on the ship, Chekov was a junior officer. A Bridge officer, even. He had duties, and even friends, and all kinds of things to do in his off hours that meant he could be as elusive as he needed to be. He had no need or time to hang out with Mironov, as the Admiral was being entertained by the Captain and senior officers, and he had no parents to send him to the Admiral’s quarters for weekends or holidays.
For the first few days, it even worked.
But Chekov was still just a junior officer, and young, so very young. He still didn’t quite get the jokes the others made, sometimes; didn’t quite appreciate it when they stopped talking when he entered a room, or said they were “going to bed early” when he knew they were just trying to avoid him or were lying to him because he knew what couples did when they went back to their quarters. Didn’t understand why they wanted to, when they were clearly older and smarter and didn’t have to, but there were so many things he didn’t understand and couldn’t ask.
And so, when the Admiral stepped in with his brilliant smile during his Bridge visit and his perhaps the boy wouldn’t mind spending some time with an old friend, Captain, and then when Captain Kirk smiled and relieved Chekov of duty, all but ordering Chekov to go with the Admiral, Chekov had had no choice yet again.
And after that, the Admiral made it clear just what would happen if young Ensign Chekov did not come to visit him every evening after his shift.
Which in a way explained how Chekov had come to be reluctantly sitting in a private exam room in Sickbay.
The doctor was asking him questions. Again. He couldn't remember exactly what he’d said the last time to explain things.
“Mr. Chekov-why am I picking up fresh bruising up your left side? And … take off your shirt.” Doctor McCoy sounded annoyed. He always sounded annoyed, no matter how hard Chekov tried not to irritate him.
He’d put off the appointment for days; McCoy had actually commed the Bridge during his shift and curtly demanded that the Captain send him down. Kirk had grinned at him, then, humour lighting those blue blue eyes, and Sulu had laughed. Everyone hated physicals, but most of them dealt with them as they needed to.
He had too. This was a follow-up. The doctor wasn’t impressed with the results of the actual physical, and made him return the following week. Things hadn’t been much better, although he’d managed to avoid Mironov for a full day, so they hadn’t been that bad either. But this week the results wouldn’t be better. He knew it. If he could have just had another two days … Chekov had checked the schedules, he knew he could have managed to avoid Mironov for the next couple of days …
The lights in sickbay were so, so bright. Combined with that stupid buzzing tricorder, they exposed every little thing.
“Doctor, I am …” Chekov began, not even sure what he planned to say.
“So what is it this time? These bruises are fresh and worse than the first time you came in here. Did you end up in a bad training session again? Three weeks in a row? Do you really expect me to believe that?” The doctor sounded increasingly aggravated. Chekov didn’t know exactly what to do.
“Doctor, I can explain …” Chekov tried again.
“Please do, Ensign.” The order was barked out: forestalling his attempt to formulate an excuse, any excuse; scattering his thoughts. Hazel eyes focused on him. Chekov fought not to squirm like a child.
“I …”
“The truth, please, mister,” snapped the doctor, interrupting once again; his impatient voice as harsh as the lights above. “And if I even feel like there’s a teeny tiny chance you’re lying, I’ll report it and you to the Captain. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
No. The Captain was … everything Chekov wanted to be, one day. Young and handsome and brilliant and confident. He always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say, and everyone wanted to be near him. He’d earned his place on the ship, rightfully and through his own talent. He was nothing like Chekov. He could never understand someone like Chekov. He’d be disgusted, and revolted, and …
No.
“Please doctor, it won’t …” Chekov tried hard not to beg. Begging never got you anywhere.
Except, apparently, with the doctor, whose voice gentled. “Chekov, son, I have to know. Trust me. I hear a lot of things in my line of work-there’s nothing I haven’t heard before. But I do need to know. You can’t be in this kind of shape on an ongoing basis, and unless I know what the problem is, I can’t figure out a way to correct it. So tell me, or I’ll have to suspend you from duty.”
“No!” The soft voice was a lie, it was always a lie, he couldn’t do that, there’d be no escape then …
“Yes, Ensign. Now, you have two choices. You can tell me, or I’ll have to suspend you, which means you’ll end up having to tell the Captain. C’mon, Chekov. Make this easy. It’s just you and me here. Is it a girl, or a boy? Someone in the crew? Whatever, or whoever it is, I just need to make sure you’re ok. It’s my job, kid.”
“Please … please …”
McCoy just waited, arms crossed across his chest.
And just like that, once again, Chekov was trapped and out of choices. Desperately, he asked again, “You won’t tell anyone?”
“Not unless you say it’s ok. I explained that to you when you had your first physical six months ago. Everything you tell me is confidential.”
“He can’t find out I told you. If he finds out … “ He couldn’t keep from sounding desperate, even if he was a Bridge officer, and even if …
“Ensign Chekov.” Doctor McCoy’s voice was even and firm.
“It’s … it’s Admiral Mironov.” In contrast, Chekov’s voice was barely a whisper, even though they were in a private, sound-proofed exam room. (And McCoy had grinned at him when he’d explained that the first time. He had told Chekov, in a lowered voice, that he wouldn’t believe some of the large security officers that had screamed their heads off for routine inoculations in this very room, so he could feel free to scream or grown or anything he liked, and no one would ever know. And it was funny, but even in a sound-proofed locked room alone with the doctor, Chekov had never felt anything but safe. And a little amused at the grumpy doctor’s obvious glee.)
“The Admiral? But he’s only been on the ship for … you into older men, kid? Anyway, this has been …” McCoy’s eyes narrowed, and he looked sharply at Chekov. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been involved with him, is it?”
Chekov cringed even more. How had the doctor known? He hadn’t told anyone, and there was nothing in his file to …
“Chekov.”
“I … he knew me at the Academy. He was a friend of my grandfather’s.” Chekov stared at the sheet on the bed. It was white, and clean. So pure.
“Was he now? And how old were you when you enrolled at the Academy, kid?” The doctor was gently pressing on his ribs now with gloved hands, ignoring Chekov when he flinched, although he tried to keep as still as he could. Chekov had once seen the Captain with serious wounds. He’d laughed and joked with Lt. Commander Scott while Doctor McCoy had prodded and bandaged, and despite how badly he was bleeding, he had only flinched once, and Chekov couldn’t even tell if was for real, or just because he wanted to aggravate McCoy. Sulu had explained that Captain Kirk liked teasing the brusque doctor. According to Sulu, the Captain and the doctor had known each other back at the Academy, and were good friends.
“Please, Doctor, I told you, and now please, just let me go. I don’t want to talk about this any more.”
“I won’t repeat myself again, son. How old were you when this started?” McCoy’s voice was stern and forbidding.
Chekov swallowed and forced himself to answer. “I … I was old enough. Everyone at the Academy was doing stuff. Please, Dr. McCoy.”
“Kid, you’re not even 18 yet, and you’ve been in active service well over a year. I can and will look this up if I need to, you know-it’s in your service record, and you know I have access to all that. It’ll be easier if you just tell me.”
“I was almost thirteen when I first enrolled.” Chekov’s voice was back down to a whisper.
“Goddammit!” McCoy slammed his hand down on the biobed next to Chekov, his face a mask of rage, and Chekov couldn’t help it; he startled violently away. But McCoy noticed immediately and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Sorry kid; it’s ok. I’m not mad at you. It’s just … I know Mironov has been an instructor at the Academy for the last 10 years.”
“He was an old family friend. And I looked forward to seeing him. And at first … at first, he didn’t ask for anything. At first … he was just … he was kind to me. I was nobody, and he was … he was a friend.“
The other cadets had mostly ignored him. Sometimes they didn’t: sometimes they mocked him, sometimes they were nice to him, but mostly, they ignored him, or treated him like their annoying kid brother. They didn’t let him come with them when they went out at night; didn’t invite him to their parties. They were all so much older than him; bright and beautiful and smart. None of them were friends, though, and there was no one else there his age. And he wasn’t a child, he wasn’t! Mironov had understood that. For all their difference in age and rank, he’d invited Pasha to his home, let him drink wine, spoke to him like an adult … but then it had changed, and he’d wanted something in return, and Pavel hadn’t liked that, hadn’t liked it but this was a lesson too, a lesson he needed to learn if he wanted to be an adult but oh, god, it had hurt and then, and then Mironov had gotten angry, reminded Pasha of everything he had done and how much he owed and wouldn’t his grandfather be disappointed but Pasha couldn’t like it, didn’t want to but Mironov didn’t care and became angry, and now, now Mironov was angry all the time but it was only what Pavel deserved, he wasn’t good enough was never good enough Commander Spock saw how pathetic he’d killed his mother and how could he ever be forgiven …
“Chekov!” McCoy’s hands were on his arms, and he was shaking him. Distantly, Chekov heard the hiss of a hypospray before he felt a pinch against his neck, and then he realized what it meant and jerked away.
“Relax, kid. It’s just a mild sedative. You were freaking out something terrible, there. Chekov … son, I’ll have to report this. I know you don’t necessarily want that, but this is a crime and ...”
“NO! NO! You promised, you …”
“Ok, ok, calm down kid, or I’ll have to give you another sedative. Can you calm yourself down?” McCoy’s eyes were intense and focused on him; Chekov wanted to hide from them.
“Yes. Yes, please, don’t … you said you wouldn’t.” Chekov was shaking. And it was cold, so cold. He was shivering in the cold.
The doctor turned away for a second, and for a wild moment, Chekov wondered what would happen if he just ran out. Ran, and he could get to the transporter room, somehow, and …
Then the doctor was turning back, holding something--and then he was wrapping Chekov in a blanket. Chekov grabbed the front of the blanket where it joined, grateful for the protection, and held on.
McCoy’s voice, when he spoke again, sounded unbearably weary, so unlike the grumpy man from before. “Chekov. I can’t sit on a reported crime. He can’t be allowed to teach any more, either,” McCoy continued to mutter. He sounded almost like he was speaking to himself.
Chekov felt the room grow dark. He … but McCoy was still speaking, and he forced himself to listen as the doctor looked up at him.
When the doctor spoke this time, his voice was strong and steady. And as he listened to that voice, so calm and sure, Chekov found himself growing calm as well, found he could breathe again.
“But ok,” McCoy was saying, “Here’s what I’m gonna do for you. I won’t tell anyone, provided you listen to me. You are relieved of duty for at least three days, on my authorization. You will then return here, and I will assess your condition. If you are not recovered to my satisfaction, I will extend that time. In that time, you will rest, and you will ensure you are in the presence of either security or any of myself, Scotty, Uhura, Spock, Kirk or Sulu at all times-oh, Keenser too, sure, if you want-when you are not in your quarters by yourself. Can you do that?”
Chekov shook his head. He didn't want to argue with the doctor, who was his superior, but - “He said … he said he would tell the Captain and fail the Enterprise if I … if I didn’t …”
McCoy snorted. “Yeah. I’d like to see that. Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re confined to quarters, ok, and only those people I authorize will have access to you. Even an Admiral can’t override the CMO’s authority. So, no where else unless you’re accompanied, and I’m not going to report anything yet, or tell anyone, so stop looking like that. And don’t worry about the Admiral. He won’t get near you, I promise you that. In the meantime, I’m going to have Mr. Scott take you back and change your security access. No one will be allowed into your quarters except me and you and your friends. All right?” The doctor’s voice was firm, and did not invite disagreement.
“Yes, Doctor.” Chekov nodded obediently, but his head was spinning. He desperately wanted to get to his quarters and lie down.
“But I want you also to think about this-what Mironov did is a crime, and I am obliged to report it. I don’t need to mention you specifically, although of course, when I report it, he’ll know. So I won’t for now; we’ll discuss it later. I won’t report anything to the Captain without your okay either. But Chekov … you are a Starfleet officer, a Bridge Officer. He took advantage of you. He needs to pay for that, and he needs to be stopped. And it would be better if you identified him yourself. Will you think about it? We’ll code it, and only those with senior level clearance would know. I’m done now, by the way. You can get dressed.”
“I only got on this ship because of him,” Chekov confessed in a whisper, terrified and ashamed, as he reluctantly let go of the blanket to put on his shirt. He wasn’t even sure why he admitted that, when McCoy was ready to let him go, except that it felt dishonest not to, not to be clear about everything that he’d gotten in return. He kept his eyes on his shirt and the ground.
“What’s that? Kid, that’s not even possible.” McCoy sounded deeply annoyed. Then he reached out and grabbed Chekov by the chin, halting his movement, forcing him to meet those piercing hazel eyes. “Ensign. Your service record is impeccable, and Pike picked you out himself, fought for you, when they thought you were too young for deep space travel. Jim’s even talking about promoting you soon, despite your age, because it’s long overdue.”
“It’s true. Admiral Mironov said … Mironov said he’d made sure of it, even boosted my Academy standing and …” Chekov blinked at McCoy, shaking his head in protest, because what McCoy was saying was …
“No kid. Look at me. Listen. All the grades, course assignments, all of it-they’re all computerized. The Admiral or any instructor couldn’t have changed those things without a formal review. He doesn’t have the computer skills to hack in-I know it for a fact, your Commander Spock designed those systems. Besides, your previous Captain raved about you. Mironov lied to you. You got here on your own, fair and square, and he had to fight to be your mentor, had to scheme even for this visit-because, by the way, Kirk has always been totally against this trumped-up inspection. He hates Mironov, although he’s never said why.”
McCoy paused, and looked Chekov straight in the eye, and his voice was clear and hard as he said, “Mironov lied to you, do you understand? Eveything he told you, everything was a lie.”
*********************************
After the young Ensign had left, McCoy told Chapel to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. He was in no mood to see anyone. He was in no mood, in fact, to do much of anything except find Mironov and introduce him to a few hyposprays that he had. Ones that would induce vomiting and stomach cramps. And sterilization as a side-effect.
Chekov had been a child. Chekov, in fact, in so many ways, was still a child. And it had been going on - on their ship - for the last three weeks. God.
He needed a drink. Even though it was still a whole hour until the end of his shift.
Fuck it. He needed a drink. He locked the door to his office and opened a sealed log entry.
Stardate 564.2, Chief Medical Officer’s log. Confidential. I had a further follow-up with Ensign Pavel Chekov, I.D. #A0961, today, as I was concerned about the bruising and other superficial wounds, including some minor rectal tears, I’d noted on his physical almost a month ago. Today, I requested that he provide an explanation. He admitted to sexual intercourse, with a male person aboard this ship. Admiral Mironov. When questioned, and under some duress, Ensign Chekov reluctantly admitted that the intercourse was not consensual, and had been taking place as opportunity permitted on entrance to the Academy, and since he’d been approximately thirteen years of age. Exact time periods are not known. Treatment options have not yet been discussed with the patient, as he was in some mild shock given his disclosure; some form of therapy will most certainly be required, and further information will need to be gathered before an appropriate referral can be made. Given the nature of the difficulty, such referral must be made in consultation with the patient, depending whether he wishes to be treated by one of my staff on board or not. For now, he has been relieved of duty and will be assigned security detail as required. Senior officers are to be notified that he is not to be left alone while in any public areas. He has refused to report the crime, and has refused to allow me to do so, and I find myself in a bind. To report the crime to either Starfleet or the Captain would erode any trust young Chekov has placed in me as his doctor, and may cause more harm than good. At the same time, Admiral Mironov is a criminal that must certainly be stopped and held accountable. But for now, my priority must be the safety of this crew. It is unlikely that Mironov will be able to prey on anyone else; nevertheless, appropriate steps must be taken. I have scheduled a follow up appointment for Ensign Chekov in three days. End log.
By the time he had completed the log, his shift was finished, and so was the bottle of bourbon. Despite that, McCoy felt surprisingly clear-headed when he finally located Mironov on the upper observation deck. Fortunately for them both, the Admiral was entirely alone.
It took all of three seconds for McCoy to slam the older man against the wall, using surprise and anger to his advantage. The Admiral’s head made a satisfying thunk when it came into contact with the bulkhead, leaving behind a satisfying streak of red.
“Touch him again,” hissed McCoy, “even fucking come within three decks of him, and I will destroy you.”
The Admiral reached for his communicator, shrieking for security, all the while sputtering, “Doctor McCoy! This is highly inappropriate! I will have you up on charges of …”
“You’ll say nothing. You know why? Because I know. And now that I know, you had best be very, very scared.”
Seeing the look in McCoy’s eyes, Mironov swallowed. And when security arrived, McCoy already scanning him with a medical tricorder, the Admiral agreed that he had fallen and hit his head, and had only called the doctor to attend to his injury.
The light in McCoy’s eyes was crazed, and he reeked of alcohol. Nervously, the young security officer politely asked if he might accompany them both to Sickbay.
The Admiral agreed with alacrity. McCoy just smiled, and his smile was full of teeth.
*******************************
That's it for now. There may be a second part, and there may be pairings, but Chekov/McCoy will not be one of them, just in case anyone was sticking around or hoping for that. Cuz, y'know, that would be ... not right. And unprofessional. And stuff. Not in this fic of mine, anyway. On the other hand, there may well be established Bones and McCoy in the background. And I kind of like the idea of Chekov flirting with a cute young Yeoman. Or there may be no second part at all. I'm still contemplating, and don't want to promise anything. I still have a bunch of half-finished stuff I actually need to finish first ...
ETA: Part 2 is here.