Ensign Pavel Chekov awoke with a blinding headache and a raging thirst. He dragged himself from his bunk and into the shower, the hot spray easing the aches in his shoulders and back. Reluctantly, he dragged himself from the cubicle and drying himself slowly he moved back into the main cabin to begin to dress. As he pulled on his uniform top his door intercom chimed and he called a muffled “Enter” as he pulled it over his head.

Sulu stood framed in the door way.

“I’m going down to the gym, want to come? We’ve got a couple of hours until we’re on duty” he asked.

“No I think I’ll give it a miss.” Pavel sat back down on the bed “I don’t feel that great, I think I’m coming down with a cold or something, I’m just going to get some coffee and sit and read for a while.” Sulu bounced enthusiastically into the room.

“Nonsense .A run’s just what you need, sweat the bugs out. We can go for a sauna afterwards, come on. You’ll do yourself no good brooding in here. You’ll feel better I promise.”

Reluctantly, Chekov agreed and followed Sulu to the large gymnasium. It was relatively empty at this time of day, just a few alpha shift personnel involved in a gentle workout or friendly team games before going on duty. Once there, they changed into gym clothes and went over to the large treadmill. Sulu programmed the machine for a gentle jogging session while Chekov went to the servitor to get a drink.

They began jogging side by side, and Chekov had to admit that he was starting to feel better. His head was clearing, but he still felt very thirsty and kept on swigging from the water bottle at his side.

By mutual assent, they increased the speed for their last few hundred yards. Chekov was beginning to enjoy himself, and was looking forward to the promised sauna afterwards, when his legs gave way beneath him and he fell heavily on his arm and was propelled onto the gym floor. Sulu stopped the machine immediately and jumped down to Chekov’s side. His friend lay very still. Sulu felt a wave of panic which subsided as Chekov stirred and rolled over, clutching the top of his arm groaning in pain.

“You’re hurt. Stay still, I’ll call a med team.” He crossed to the intercom, as Spock came over from the Judo mats where he had been exercising. He collected a smaller mat and rolled it into a tube, using it to prop the ensign up and make him more comfortable.

“Try to remain calm, Ensign.”

Chekov’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes were glassy in the grey tinged face. Spock reached for a large towel someone had left draped over a pommel horse, which he wrapped it around Chekov’s shoulders, being careful not to jar his arm which the Ensign held tightly across his chest with his other arm. Probably broken, the Vulcan’s logical mind surmised, as Sulu returned to them, slightly out of breath.

“Med team’s on it’s way. They said not to move you until they get here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Chekov, through teeth gritted against the pain and waves of nausea which crashed over him. “Oh God, I’m gonna be.....” At that, he vomited straight down the front of the Enterprise’s First Officer. Chekov looked horrified, a pink tinge of embarrassment gave him a faint flare of colour in the greyness. Sulu looked mortified, and torn between staying with his stricken friend, or assisting his superior officer. Luckily, the med team arrived at that point. Gently removing the towel from Chekov’s shoulders Doctor McCoy calmly threw the towel at Spock, before turning his entire attention to his patient.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Chekov was quickly and efficiently removed to sickbay. McCoy followed slightly more slowly with Sulu.

“What happened ?” asked McCoy

“We were jogging, we’d done - oh I don’t know - maybe a mile , mile and a half, then we decided to speed it up a bit and Pavel just fell.” he looked at the Doctor “He’s going to be OK isn’t he?”

“Sure, looks like a simple fracture, I’ll know more when we get to sickbay.”

When they entered Sickbay, Chekov was laid on a diagnostic table. M’Benga was scanning his upper arm. He had already given him a hefty pain killer which made him feel as if he was wrapped in a comfortable warm haze. McCoy joined M’Benga at the head of the bed studying the readings. He was slightly concerned at the raised temperature it showed, but he mused it could be due to shock symptoms. He glanced down at his patient, as he reached for the bone knitter. Chekov’s colour was much improved, but still had a grey tinge and a slight blueness to his lips.

“Okay, Chekov?” he asked as he applied the device to the ensign’s upper arm.

“Da, I mean yes thank you Doctor.”

McCoy smiled as he operated the instrument, then frowned and rechecked the readings before running it over the break again.

"Hmmm."

“What’s the matter?” asked Chekov sounding slightly worried.

It was unnerving, that doctor’s habit of making non verbal comments on one’s health.

“Oh nothing, Chekov. I’m going to put you in a cast, just overnight,” he added seeing the young man’s horrified expression.

“The bone took a little longer to knit than usual. I just want to be certain you take care with it for the next 24 hours.” He beckoned Chapel forward and she began to apply the quick hardening cast as McCoy lifted Chekov’s other arm to take a blood sample.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just going to take a blood sample. You’re running a slight temperature and I want to make sure you haven’t picked up any bugs on your last shore leave.”

“He said he thought he was going down with something earlier,” put in Sulu helpfully. Chekov raised his head from the bed and favoured him with a filthy look. It was one thing, in his opinion, to admit being under the weather to your friends, but quite another to let on to medical staff, who may inflict all kinds of dire medical tests, which made you feel even worse. Besides it was probably just a cold, certainly not worth bothering them over. Now he’d have to stay here until McCoy had his results.

The results were very quick in coming. The lab had called by the time Chapel was satisfied that the cast had hardened sufficiently, and she had helped him into a clean uniform. McCoy had cut the gym suit to get a better look at his arm, and his own uniform had been left in the changing room. He’d been allowed to use the shower and, all in all, he felt much better. He was sitting idly on the bed, adjusting his sling, contemplating how he was ever going to face Spock again when McCoy came back.

“Well, nothing too life threatening. You’ve picked up a touch of Rigellian Fever. I’ll give you a dose of Rytelin, and you should be fine. However,” he looked sternly at the Ensign “This is how epidemics start. In future you will report any, and I mean any illness. I’d rather deal with a dozen false alarms than a full scale epidemic. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Sir” Chekov nodded. McCoy administered a hypo to his neck.

“Can I go now Sir?”

“Yes, but you come back here tomorrow morning 0900 sharp so I can check that arm. I’ve informed the Captain you’re off the duty list for the next 24 hours, so I suggest you go back to your cabin and rest.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Later that evening, McCoy stood outside Kirk’s quarters waiting for admittance. The door swished open to reveal Kirk sitting behind his desk, reading reports.

“Oh, hi, Bones. Come on in.”

“Don’t tell me those can’t wait until morning Jim . You’re overdoing it, I know you pulled a 14 hour bridge shift running battle drills. Now, you’re here reading reports. You need to take a break too, you know; you’re not Spock!”

Kirk smiled slightly. “Was there something you wanted, Bones, or couldn’t you find anyone else to pester.”

Standing, Kirk moved to the cupboard behind his desk to remove a bottle of Saurian brandy and two glasses from it. He could tell that McCoy was irritated by something.

“Join me ?” At McCoy’s nod, he placed the glasses on his desk and opened the bottle to pour the drinks. He noticed McCoy slump wearily into a chair facing his desk. Sitting himself, he passed a drink to McCoy.

“ You know as well as I do, Bones,” Kirk said gently, “that patrol duties along the Romulan neutral zone, makes everyone work that little bit harder to make sure we’re ready for any eventuality.” Smiling softly, he continued. “I bet Scotty’s still tinkering with the engines now, and knowing you, I bet Christine’s glad you’ve gone to pester someone else for a while.”

Sighing, McCoy took a swallow of his drink. “ We’re as ready as we can be, but it’s not helped by a damned fool ensign running around with Rigellian Fever! Thank God it’s only one case. The young idiot could have infected all of us. Without enough Rytelin on board, we’d have been in the middle of an epidemic and a sitting duck for the Romulans!”

Kirk took a gulp of his brandy. “Who?” he asked.

“Chekov.” McCoy said.

“But you told me he had a broken arm, nothing else!” Kirk exclaimed.

“I know, I did. But when I was examining his arm, all his readings seemed off, so I took a blood sample. The lab report didn’t come back until after I’d spoken to you, and it showed Chekov has a touch of Rigellian Fever.” McCoy took a healthy swig of his drink. “What beats me is where he got it. He’s got all the symptoms, but I can’t figure out how. He’s not been anywhere to get it. I just hope that another member of the crew isn’t acting like Chekov and thinking it’s ‘flu, and infecting the whole ship!” Sighing again, McCoy swallowed down the rest of his drink.

Kirk eyed McCoy and offered the brandy to him. McCoy refilled his glass.

“Do you want me to have a word with Chekov?” Kirk enquired

McCoy snorted into his glass. Looking up, he said, “ What’s the point! You’re the biggest reason Chekov didn’t come to Sickbay in the first place!”

At Kirk’s withering stare, he continued. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how Chekov looks up to you; well, you and Spock. Half the time he’s trying to be a walking computer, the other half he’s trying to follow in your footsteps, and what does he see? Do either of you ever go to Sickbay for any reason, without me having to threaten to relieve both of you of duty, if you don’t?!”

Kirk broke in before McCoy could continue, “That’s different. I’m responsible for the ship and this crew. Sometimes, there just isn’t time...”

“For what, Jim?” McCoy snapped. “Time for you to act like a man instead of playing god on the Bridge!”

Seeing Kirk’s face harden, McCoy ran a hand through his hair.

“Chekov’s young and impressionable, Jim. He needs the right kind of guidance just now. There’s a lot of Ensigns on board who feel the same way as Chekov. Think about it....”

Kirk remained silent, and then sighed heavily. “I know, Bones… I’ll try.”

Kirk smiled wistfully and said. “God I’m not old enough to be a role model for Chekov. It doesn’t seem so long ago that I was trying to do the same kind of thing...”

McCoy smiled. “Goes with the job, Jim.”

Standing, he looked at Kirk. “Just to be sure we’re covered, can we get extra supplies of Rytelin?”

Kirk nodded. “I’ll put in the request right now, to make sure it reaches us as soon as possible.” As McCoy walked to the door, Kirk said.

“Thanks. Bones.… Chekov’s going to be all right isn’t he? He and Sulu make a really good team. It’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier on this patrol if I can get him back soon.”

McCoy turned. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back after his check up in the morning.” Laughing, he continued. “Knowing him, he’ll be out of Sickbay, and back on the Bridge, as soon as I remove his cast!”

Kirk smiled in return. “ Tell him, we’ll be waiting!”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

When McCoy walked into Sickbay the following morning, it was to find Chekov already there waiting for him impatiently.

“Good morning, Ensign! You’re early! I don’t suppose that’s because you wanted to see us all again so soon, is it?”

As he looked at Chekov, he could feel his gut twist. Instinctively, McCoy knew something was definitely wrong. He looked slightly flushed and around his jaw line and eyes, he looked puffy. Not wanting to worry his patient, he decided to concentrate on the main reason for the visit , while looking at him more closely.

“So, how does your arm feel now?” McCoy asked.

“I will be glad to get rid of this thing!” said Chekov, scowling at the cast. “It’s ridiculous and… it itches!”

“Well, if you get up on the bed and sit still, I can remove it.” McCoy interrupted. “Well, Nurse Chapel can. I want to check you over to make sure your fever’s down. ”

“Why?” asked Chekov suspiciously.

“Because, I’m an old country Doctor who likes to check on these things… Chris!” - he called to Nurse Christine Chapel, as she stood nearby watching them. “Give me a hand here, will you?”

Nurse Chapel walked over to see Chekov glaring at McCoy, whilst the Doctor seemed very intent on the readings on the diagnostic bed.

Looking up, McCoy said, “Take the cast off, Christine. I just want to get my scanner and do another blood test.”

As McCoy walked away to the other side of Sickbay, he could hear Chekov muttering, “No wonder no one wants to come here. He never lets anyone leave without taking all your blood and putting you under a microscope...” He couldn’t hear Chapel’s reply.

When he turned back, he could see Chapel had removed the cast and Chekov was flexing his arm gingerly.

“How’s it feel?” McCoy said softly, startling Chekov.

“Fine .Can I go now?” Chekov enquired hastily.

“Not until I’ve had a pint of blood from you, “ drawled McCoy. Seeing Chekov’s horrified expression, he patted him on the shoulder gently.

“It’s okay, Pavel. A vial will do. I’m a doctor, not a vampire.” McCoy said, smiling evilly. Sobering, he continued, “Captain Kirk says he’s looking forward to having you back on the Bridge. ”

Chekov’s face lit up with a smile. “Really ?I want to be there for the battle drills.”

“I know, I know.” McCoy said distractedly reading the scanner as he spoke. “Right, the blood test, then you can go.”

Chekov eagerly proffered his arm and McCoy took the blood sample. As Chekov leapt up to go, McCoy put up a restraining hand.

“Just remember to keep taking the Rytelin doses and I want you back here tomorrow, too.” McCoy said. Seeing Chekov’s face fall, he smiled and continued. “Make it after your shift on the Bridge. It’s just another check up to make sure the Fever’s clearing. The Captain wants you fit for what’s to come, Pavel, so let’s try to help each other here, shall we?”

Chekov nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Tomorrow then.” He said.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

McCoy’s smile faded as he watched Chekov leave. He didn’t like the readings from the scanners. The Rytelin hadn’t touched the Fever. He didn’t expect it to have cleared it completely, but he thought he’d see some improvement. Instead there was none.

He didn’t like the puffiness in Chekov’s face either .… More symptoms, instead of less. Sighing, he looked at the vial of Chekov’s blood. “Perhaps, it’s time you looked at this sample yourself, instead of relying on someone else..” he thought to himself.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Two hours later, McCoy was still staring at the results of Chekov’s blood sample. The Rytelin hadn’t touched the Rigellian Fever. In fact, the blood test results looked worse than with the original test. Why?! And why hadn’t Sulu or anyone else come to Sickbay complaining of the same symptoms?

He knew the ship’s scuttlebutt would have had Chekov’s illness all over the ship by now. He’d expected some of the crew members to have wandered in, if only for a check up.

McCoy’s thoughts drifted back to Sulu… if anyone should have the same symptoms it was him. Chekov and he worked together and spent a lot of their off duty time together too. Yet apparently, he felt fine. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t like these paradoxes at all. Leaning forward, he stabbed the intercom button on his desk.

“Kirk here.”

“Jim, I want you, Spock, Sulu and Chekov to come to Sickbay as soon as you can. I think we may have a problem.”

“Bones… can’t it wait to the end of the shift? We’re in the middle of drills here.”

“No .It’s important or I wouldn’t ask. It could concern the safety of the whole ship.” McCoy said.

“Fair enough, give us ten minutes to call replacements to the Bridge and we’ll be right there. Kirk out.”

Kirk turned and looked at Spock, who had raised his eyebrow expectantly when he heard Kirk’s comments. Sighing, he said. “Mister Spock, call replacements for yourself, Lt Sulu and Ensign Chekov. Lt. Uhura, you have the con.. For some reason, Doctor McCoy wants us in Sickbay.”

He looked forward to see Chekov rigid in the chair and Sulu talking to him quietly. Getting out of his chair, Kirk moved forward to Chekov. He could see how pale Chekov had gone and how young and frightened he looked.

“Don’t worry… McCoy wants to see all of us, not just you. It’s the mother hen in him.” Kirk smiled at Chekov and received a tiny smile in return.

Turning, he saw that the replacements had arrived. He touched Chekov on the shoulder, “Gentlemen shall we go.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Twenty minutes later, the atmosphere in Sickbay was full of tension. Kirk looked at Chekov, frozen into place in a chair in McCoy’s office.

“Let me get this straight , Chekov has Rigellian Fever, yet the Rytelin isn’t working? Why?” Kirk demanded.

“I’m not sure, Jim . He’s had enough doses by now for the Rytelin to be having an effect on the Fever. Yet it isn’t .” McCoy said, looking at Chekov. “I need blood samples from every member of this crew to find out if any one else has this.. strain of Rigellian Fever… I don’t need to tell you how serious this could be if this Fever has mutated...”

“Why isn’t it working! You said it would work! “ Chekov shouted.

“Ensign, control yourself.” Spock said.

McCoy looked at Spock with disgust. “I know what I said… It should work, but it isn’t, so now we need everyone here to find out why and find a new solution.” McCoy moved closer to Chekov, “What we need now, is your help. You need to tell Mister Spock everything that you did on any shore leave, landing party, anything you can think of. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how embarrassing you might find it. I’m sure Mister Spock’s green ears can stand it..” he said, looking at Spock icily.

“Why don’t you and he go start that now. As far as I can tell, so far, you’re not contagious. No one has reported any symptoms the same as yours. There’s no need to stay cooped up here.. I’ll call you when I need you.” Chekov smiled gratefully at McCoy’s words and left the room as quickly as possible. Spock said nothing and followed Chekov out of the room.

Sighing, McCoy turned to Sulu. “I need you to give a blood sample right away. If anyone should have the symptoms, you should. I know,” he said, raising a hand to forestall Sulu’s protests “I can tell you haven’t noticed any symptoms, you’re looking too damned healthy at the moment. But it might be in your blood stream. So, go and see Nurse Chapel.” Sulu looked worried and only nodded as he left the room. Kirk and McCoy looked at each other. “I’ve got the labs working on anything they can find that has similar symptoms to Rigellian Fever, and to see if we’ve missed something. I have other people analysing Chekov’s blood samples to see if the Rytelin is causing an allergic reaction. We’re trying everything we can think of to find out what is going on.”

“I know, Bones. Let me know if you need extra personnel or anything. I have to get back to the Bridge.” Kirk said, standing up. “ I feel so helpless, I can’t do anything… Damn! Damn! Damn!” Kirk said, slamming his hand onto the desk.

“There’s a couple of things you can do,” McCoy said. At Kirk’s enquiring look, he said. “Give your blood sample on the way out and then go and tell the crew I need samples from them all.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Kirk walked briskly down the corridor from his quarters to the turbolift. It had been twenty four hours since McCoy had had them all in sickbay. Spock had closeted himself in one of the science labs running correlations against known outbreaks of Rigellian Fever and their last few planetfalls. He’d come up with nothing and had begun employing other areas of research of his own. Kirk’s mind was mulling over a dozen thoughts at once - the drills in readiness for the upcoming patrol - Reaction times were down, almost ten percent. Chekov had looked steadily worse during the last watch, and in the end he had had him relieved and sent to his quarters to rest.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the Ensign wandering aimlessly down the corridor.

“Chekov ?” he asked “are you OK?” he was greeted with a blank stare “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I… Captain?”

“Pavel, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you resting in your quarters. Did McCoy release you back to duty?”

“My quarters? I” he looked around him blankly.

“OK, let’s get you to Sickbay”

“Why? I’m not sick”

“No, but you don’t look great.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

The Ensign seemed to have rallied somewhat by the time they reached Sickbay, and was now sitting with Nurse Chapel sipping a cup of tea. McCoy and Kirk were sat in the doctor’s office waiting for Spock. Kirk hoped the Vulcan had had some success in his research. Spock soon arrived and took a seat opposite the Doctor.

“Is the Ensign recovered enough to join us Doctor?” the tall Vulcan enquired.

“Ensign CHEKOV” McCoy replied emphasising Chekov’s name “seems to have come out of his fugue state.”

“Bones - just get Pavel.” Kirk said tiredly. He was in no mood for one of their famous bickering sessions. The Doctor left briefly and returned with Chekov in tow. He pushed the Ensign into his vacated seat and perched himself on the desk.

“OK Spock, you’ve obviously found something - spill it” he said testily. Kirk realised how important the information Spock had was, when he didn’t respond to the colloquialism with his usual Vulcan cool.

“Having exhausted all the avenues in a search for the cause of the Rigellian Fever, I turned my attention to the possibility that rather than being a mutation of Rigellian Fever, that it was in fact a totally different disease which initially mimics Rigellian Fever in it’s symptoms. What Ensign Chekov is suffering from is a mutated form of Kaladan Organism.”

“What!” exclaimed Kirk “Chekov wasn’t even on that Landing Party.”

“No, but his mother was on a similar planet survey.”

“What the hell has his mother got to do with it?” exploded McCoy who was listening to Spock, whilst calling up all the information he had on Kaladan Organism on his computer screen.

“If you will allow me to explain Doctor.”

“Go on Spock.” put in Kirk.

“Ensign Chekov’s mother is a xenohistorian. A few weeks prior to her realising she was pregnant with the Ensign , she took part in a survey of an unknown dead civilisation. It remained unknown until the Enterprise discovered another outpost colony, which belonged to the now extinct Kaladans. My research indicates both colonies belonged to the Kaladan civilisation. It is logical to assume that the original planets automatic defences were not active at this point, as no mention is made in the xenohistorians report. However, she and the other members of the team were infected with a mutated form of the Kaldan organism, which instead of causing them to become ill, lay dormant in their systems. I believe that the virus was activated in Ensign Chekov as a result of contracting a subsequent infection from Lieutenant Sulu, who as you know, was injured by the defence programme at the outpost.”

Chekov looked up for the first time during Spock’s lecture.

“So what does this mean? Now you know what it is, can you cure me? What’s going to happen to me?”

McCoy looked up from his study of the computer readout.

“We’ll get the labs on this straight away. We’ll beat this, Pavel, don’t you worry.” McCoy said.

“Has anyone else had this? The original team?” Kirk asked, looking at Spock.

“No, Ensign Chekov is the first case.” Spock replied, his face impassive.

“So you don’t know anything about it?” asked Chekov

“We know the probable symptomology, and the possible prognosis, Ensign.” Spock answered.

“Which is?”

“Terminal.” Spock’s voice was final, and echoed around the silence in the room.

“Chekov, wait!” Kirk’s words went unheeded as the ensign ran from the room, and he rose to follow him.

“No Jim, let me” McCoy said quietly.

The two remaining officers sat in silence for a moment.

“You are required to inform Starfleet, Captain,” intoned Spock.

“Yeah Spock, I know.” Kirk sat looking at his hands. Spock looked at his captain and friend. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed deflated. Suddenly, Kirk looked up. “He’s just a kid,” he whispered; his voice strengthened, as he continued “I’ll be damned if I’ll let him be dragged off to some Starbase Medcentre to be the centre of some scientists paper. His family aren’t here so we have to be, he’s not going to go through this alone.”

“You will have a fight on your hands.” Spock observed.

“Yeah, well at least I can fight that for him. I have to do something, Spock. “ Kirk said fiercely.

Spock stared at his friend. “I know.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

McCoy found Chekov in the Observation Lounge. He stood facing the large viewport, staring at the stars. As he heard the Doctor approach, he turned, looking very young and vulnerable. He looked McCoy straight in the eyes.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I Doctor?” McCoy swallowed a large lump in his throat and started to open his mouth to speak. “No, no platitudes. The chances of you finding a cure to this thing are, well I’m sure Mister Spock won’t mind me not quoting the exact odds, but it’s pretty damn small.”

McCoy couldn’t answer him, the adult words seemed so much at odds with the youth and vulnerability of the boy before him. Just like his tutor, Chekov had the mathematics worked out exactly. Chekov continued. “I want to know what will happen, I have a right to know.”

McCoy tried to couch the explanation in jargon, hiding behind the terminology so that he could pretend it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t predicting Chekov’s demise.

“Well, as you know, the disease seems to mirror Rigellian Fever and begins with chills, vomiting, excessive thirst. There’s sometimes an unsteadiness to the sufferer’s gait, that could be why you fell on the treadmill. General aches and pains, increased pulse rate, swelling of the face. Your hearing may become impaired, and you may suffer from convulsions,” he paused, before forcing himself to continue. “ There will be a gradual loss of bodily functions, paralysis,” he looked intently at Chekov. “Are you sure you really want to know all this?”

“I have to know.”

“There will probably be some dementia… Chekov, we can control most of the symptoms, any pain you have...” McCoy faltered.

“Please continue Doctor.” Gods, he sounded like Spock, thought McCoy.

“Eventually coma and ...” he couldn’t say anymore, he wanted to reassure him, tell him the labs would beat it, promise it would be OK. But he knew it was a promise he may not be able to keep. Chekov had turned back to the viewport, and as he spoke his voice quavered.

“Promise me, that when it gets… when I’m… not really there anymore, and there’s no hope - don’t keep me hanging on just in case - let me go with some dignity.”

McCoy moved to stand behind him. Chekov turned tears running down his cheeks. Instinctively McCoy put his arms around him feeling the warm tears soak into his shirt.

“I’m only 22. I don’t want to die.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

It was late into the ship’s night, when Scotty looked up from reading the technical manual in front of him. Closing the book with a thud, he picked up the glass of whisky that had sat untouched on the table, and swallowed the contents in a gulp. “Humpft. A fine waste of time that was.” He thought to himself.

For the past week, he’d checked the engines over and over and nothing had shown as a fault; but these were “His” engines, and he knew something wasn’t right. That Losira had almost destroyed the ship when she fused the control valve to the matter/anti matter integrator. Yes, he’d used that magnetic probe to seal the anti matter flow to stop the havoc she’d caused, but not before his engines had been running at warp 14.1.… way too fast.

Now, the engines were running fine to everyone else. Even Captain Kirk hadn’t complained that she was sluggish during the drills, but he knew different. Trouble was, he couldn’t find out what.… And well… since the rest of the staff in engineering had heard about Chekov’s illness ...the engines hadn’t been anything they’d been worried about.

Shaking his head, he rubbed his tired eyes and thought about Chekov. He was fond of the lad himself. He’d always been so helpful and eager to please when he’d come to engineering… and that mathematical ability he had was a wonder in sorting out fuel imbalances and the like. Now, Captain Kirk had relieved him of duty; the lad had even more time to sit around and dwell on it.

Getting up, he went over to the replicator for a cup of coffee… vile stuff, instead of whiskey, but he needed something to keep him awake, so he could check one more technical manual before turning in for the night.

Taking a sip of coffee, he looked up as the rec room doors opened and he saw Chekov shuffle in, looking miles away. Poor kid, he’s no but a bairn, he thought. He looked like hell… A scrape of a chair falling backwards distracted him. As he turned, a flushed looking Sulu raced past Chekov and out through the doors.

Uhura was half standing at the table where the chair had fallen, her mouth still open. Her eyes met his, and he could tell that she was distressed as she sat back in her chair and put her hands over her face.

He turned back to find Chekov just standing there, mumbling to himself. It was as though, “no", he thought, he couldn’t have missed Sulu. But there was no sign of any expression on Chekov’s face or in his attitude.. he was just shuffling towards the replicator, mumbling. The attitude of the other rec room occupants irritated the engineer. It was as if the lad had an exclusion zone around him that they were unwilling to breach. Well, he’d not leave him alone…

“Well there, Mr Chekov. You’re just the person I’m looking for … I’ve a slight technical problem here and I know you’re just the man I need to help me figure out why.” Leaning into Chekov, he whispered conspiratorially. “Now I know officially you’re off duty, but… let’s consider it a wee hobby to keep you out of mischief..” his voice trailed off, as Chekov just kept mumbling; gibberish. No, he thought, it wasn’t gibberish it was damned Russian, with little noises between each word.

“Chekov?” he said, touching him on the arm. “Are you all right?”

As Chekov turned towards him, he suddenly screamed, choking it off in an in-drawn breath that sounded like air being drawn into a vacuum and froze rigidly, before falling backwards onto the floor, tremors shaking his body…

“Oh my god!” he heard from a male voice behind him. Not taking his eyes from Chekov’s trembling body, he snapped.

“Shut up! And call Sick Bay man. Now!”

He’d seen this only once before; one of his friends had done the same at the Academy, but it was something you never forgot… ever. Uhura had come to stand by his side.

“Scotty...” she said and started to kneel at the side of Chekov.

“No. Leave him be… let it finish.” He said.

After several more spasms, Chekov’s body went limp and his mouth unclenched to allow a rattling breath to escape his lips. Blood and saliva foamed out of the side of his mouth with each breath.

Scotty knelt down and eased Chekov into the recovery position, whilst Uhura knelt and stroked Chekov’s hair, murmuring to him. “It’s all right, honey.. you’re going to be fine… We’re here.” Her voice was full of tears and Scotty said to her gently.

“He can’t hear you, Nyota. Let him come round. He’ll need you then.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

Standing, he turned to the few crew members who were still in the rec room, watching with horrified fascination.

“Right .Clear out the lot of you. Doctor McCoy will be here with a medical team soon. We can manage until then.” Hands on his hips, Scott fixed each one with a stern glare, before continuing.

“And keep your mouths shut. The lad has enough to cope with, without gossip following his every move.” Each nodded and left quickly.

“He’s getting worse, isn’t he?” Scott asked. Uhura nodded in reply, still stroking his hair.

“Poor lad he’s just a wean.” Scotty said, looking down at Chekov’s sleeping form.

As the doors to the room opened, McCoy and a medical team pushing a gurney, rushed through them to where Chekov lay.

“What happened?” demanded McCoy, as he knelt running the scanner he was holding over Chekov’s body.

“He had a convulsion, Leonard,” Scott said. “But he wasn’t well before it.… Mumbling to himself and making a funny noise too. I don’t think the lad even knew I was talking to him.”

“Damn.” McCoy said, under his breath, as he put his scanner down, rolling Chekov onto his back so he could continue his examination. With gentle hands, he checked Chekov’s pupils and then his mouth, where the blood and saliva had dribbled and set.

“Well, his tongue is going to hurt like hell, but it’s the least of his problems. He seems to be coming round, so we’ll wait until he’s awake and then move him to sick bay.” As he spoke, Chekov’s eyes opened. His gaze was vacant and unblinking as he stared upwards.

“It’s okay, Pavel. Just lie there and we’ll move you in a moment.” McCoy said gently sitting back on his heels.

Chekov stared without recognition at everyone watching him … he started to get up, but his arms wouldn’t support him as he pushed on them, and he fell backwards again.

“It’s all right, honey,” Uhura put in, touching Chekov on the arm. “Take it easy. We’ll help you.”

“I think it’s time we moved him to sickbay. Come on, Pavel. Let’s get you up and onto the gurney.” McCoy said.

“No.” Chekov said. “I’m not sick. I’m not going anywhere.” His gaze was still blank, but his jaw was set and determined.

“Look, you’ve had a convulsion. Let me check you out at sick bay to make sure you’re all right and to keep you under observation tonight, so we don’t have any more surprises.” McCoy’s voice was quiet and calm.

“Let me help you get up..” he said. As McCoy leant forward from his kneeling position to help him , Chekov lashed out his arm and caught him full in the face, knocking him backwards.

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you!” he shouted, and moving backwards, he tried to struggle to his feet by pushing on his hands as a lever, but he just sprawled back into a heap.

McCoy shook his head and put his hand to his face; he’d have a lovely bruise there in the morning, he thought. Struggling up, he shouted “Leave him!” at the medical team assistants who were moving towards Chekov.

“Chekov, you need to be in sickbay. I don’t want to have to sedate you, but I will if I have to.” McCoy said.

“Nyet,” Chekov said, as he moved away from where McCoy was. “It’s all your fault! Leave me alone!” his eyes were wide and frightened. McCoy’s eyes and face were filled with pain, “Pavel...”

“Pavel.” Uhura interrupted. “It’s all right. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.” She moved towards him and knelt at his side. He looked at her blankly.

“Mama?” he said, trying to touch her hand. “Help me, mamasha. I’m frightened....”

“You’re safe here.” Uhura said, putting her arm around him. “But I’m worried about you. Please for me… go to sickbay.”

“You won’t leave me? Promise you won’t leave.” Chekov’s voice trembled and he snuggled closer into her arm. She wrapped her other arm around him.

“No. I’ll be right here.” She couldn’t say anymore past the lump in her throat. But Chekov had gone to sleep, snuggled up in her arms his dark head resting on her shoulder.

The medical assistants lifted Chekov gently from her arms and placed him on the gurney. No one spoke. As they moved to leave, Uhura stood and moved to the side of the gurney, taking Chekov’s hand in her own.

“He’s sleeping now, Nyota.” McCoy said gently. “You can go.”

“I said I’d be there and I keep my promises, Doctor. Let’s go.”

As they left, Scott stood alone in the room. “Tonight", he thought, “the engines can go to blazes.” He needed a drink.… Enough to make him forget the pain he was in now.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Trying to get comfortable on a sickbay chair was impossible, mused Uhura, as she stretched her back for the third time. She’d been here all night. Christine Chapel had told her she could use one of the beds if she wanted, but she couldn’t see Chekov from the main room and she had to be there when he needed her.

Doctor McCoy had decided it was better for Chekov to be in a side room off the main sick bay, just in case he had anymore convulsions. That hadn’t happened, but Chekov had woken up several times during the night to be sick and once to go to “the bathroom” .He hadn’t recognised her or Chapel when he’d woke, but that stubborn pout and determined glint in his eyes had been so typically Chekov. He wasn’t going to use one of “those things!” So off they’d gone, him walking ahead and weaving about, and her and Chapel behind, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

She smiled to herself. The quirky smile of pure satisfaction that had spread across his face as he’d curled up had made it worthwhile for her. These last few days, she’d not seen that smile, that innocence, or the determination. She never realised how quickly she’d missed it. They all had, she supposed. The bridge was no longer a “happy” place to be. Taking his hand, she squeezed it and whispered, “Keep fighting.”

Chekov moved over on the bed towards her and his eyes opened.

“Hi. How do you feel?” She asked, squeezing his hand.

“Ugh… my tongue is. What?” Chekov seemed to be trying to take in everything at once. He was staring with confusion at the room, whilst poking a finger in his mouth to touch his tongue. He flinched as he touched it.

“Boize moi!” he spluttered.

“You bit it pretty hard.” Uhura said, smiling a little. At his look of incomprehension she continued, “Do you remember anything that happened last night?”

The pain in Chekov’s face and eyes broke her heart. “Too much.… But not about my tongue.” He muttered.

“Perhaps I should get Nurse Chapel or Doctor McCoy.” She said, getting up.

“No, please… you tell me,” he asked. His face looked very young and vulnerable, whilst his dark eyes looked searchingly into hers.

“All right.” Taking a breath, she said. “You had a convulsion in the rec room last night.”

At his horrified expression, she sat and took his hand. “There were only a few people there, Pavel. Me, Scotty, and a few others. Scotty cleared the others out as soon as he could, and we stayed with you until Doctor McCoy and a medical team arrived.” She hesitated and continued, “Do you remember any of this? Anything at all?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. Another symptom. One more. He could hear McCoy’s voice in his mind… “Chills, vomiting, excessive thirst. There’s sometimes an unsteadiness to the sufferer’s gait. Your hearing may become impaired and you may suffer convulsions.”

“Nyet.” he whispered. “Please..”

“Pavel .Pavel!” he suddenly realised that Uhura was shouting and shaking him. “Listen! We’re all with you on this… we need you. So you’ve got to keep fighting this thing!” Her nails were digging into his arms.

Pushing her away, he shouted. “Hodeetye !*Go away* Leave me alone!”

Uhura stayed where he had pushed her. “All right.” she said and turned to move to the entrance.

“Uhura… please..” Chekov said hesitantly. She stopped and looked at him. He looked tired and frightened, lying there.

“I want to send a message to my parents. To.. to.. say goodbye. We’re so far away from my home. I’m not sure if it will make it before I die.” She saw the tears form in his eyes, and felt them form and prickle in her own.

“I want to tell them . . To tell my mamasha once more.. so that she knows...” his voice trailed away. He looked up, “Please? Will you help me?”

He could see the tears roll down her face, but she smiled and said.

“Don’t you worry, sugah. Even Mister Spock calls me the finest Communications Officer in Star Fleet. There isn’t a message made that I can’t get to it’s destination faster than anyone else.” Swallowing the lump in her throat she said, “Record your message, Pavel. It’ll get there, I promise you. Now, I’m going to tell Chris you’re awake. I’ll see you later.”

She hurried out of the room, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. God! she felt a mess. She probably looked one too. A hand touched her shoulder, making her jump. “Nyota?” It was Christine Chapel. Shaking her head, she moved away from the woman’s touch and kept moving towards sickbay’s entrance.

“Chekov’s awake. I have to go.”

She kept her head down as she walked down the corridor, raising it only slightly when she punched the button for the turbo lift. No one stopped her or got in her way. Finally, she reached her quarters and stepped inside. The whistle of the intercom sounded.

“Damnation!!” she said out loud. She walked over and punched the button.

”Uhura.”

“It’s me. How is he? I heard what happened last night, and sickbay told me you’d been there all night… Is he okay?” Sulu’s voice was hurried and he was babbling, giving her no time to speak.

“Sulu!” Uhura finally interrupted. “Look, why don’t you go and see him yourself. He’s awake now. He needs us, Hikaru. He needs his friends to be there with him.”

The silence was deafening for a long time. “I can’t go.” Sulu whispered.

“For god’s sake! Stop thinking about yourself. This is Pavel. Your best friend. Two minutes before you go on duty would mean such a lot to him.” She said.

“My fault...” Sulu whispered. “It’s all my fault.. I...”

The connection was broken. Uhura slumped to the floor and wept.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Kirk strode into McCoy’s office, later that morning.

“Bones, I heard what happened in the Rec room last night. Is Chekov all right?” McCoy looked up from the records he was studying. “Jeez, Bones what happened to you?” he exclaimed.

McCoy fingered his bruised face and gave a sort of pained grimace. Kirk had never seen him look so tired or worn out. “Oh I got in the way of Chekov’s fist.” At Kirk’s startled look, he continued. “No, he didn’t know what he was doing, but I don’t think I’m his most favourite person at the moment.” The words were pain tinged. “In answer to your question Jim, no he’s not all right. He’s going downhill fast. This disease is wearing him down, and the labs have come up with exactly nothing.” He ran his fingers wearily through his hair, leaning his arms heavily on the desk in front of him. “All we can do at the moment is damage control Jim. Balancing and easing the symptoms of this damned disease with the side effects of the drugs, to try and give him as much quality of life as possible for the time he has left.”

“You can’t give up Bones. There must be something we can do.” Kirk tried to sound encouraging to the dejected doctor.

“I haven’t given up.” He snapped defensively, “and we can’t let him give up either. We all have to stay positive, and right now Pavel is positive it’s all my fault...” His voice trailed away and he stared in front of him.

Kirk watched McCoy closely. He was more than tired, he was worn out. The doctor hated to loose a patient; it would be doubly hard for him to lose a member of the close knit bridge crew. He knew that McCoy felt quite paternal towards most of the younger members of the crew.

“Isn’t it time you stopped and had a break from all this, Bones… How long have you been here? Two days? Or more than that?… You’re not going to be fit to help anyone, if you don’t take a rest now...” Kirk said gently, but McCoy snapped angrily.

“Chekov doesn’t have enough time left for me to take a break! Didn’t you hear what I just said? HE’S GOING DOWNHILL FAST! - I don’t know how much longer I can keep him going with an even chance of recovering, if we don’t find something to help him soon! And we have nothing! How the hell am I supposed to rest knowing that?!”

“The same way you expect me to rest when the lives of my crew are in danger, and it’s my responsibility to keep them all safe .” Kirk said quietly. McCoy sighed tiredly…

“You’re right… I’d never let you stay on the bridge in a condition like this… I just need to be here.. to try and help him. He’s so damned young, Jim. “ McCoy said softly. “Younger than Joanna....”

“Then use one of the beds here. Take a shower and freshen up a little. I’m not asking you to leave, just to rest for a while. I’m sure the others can manage for a few hours, and if there’s an emergency you’re right here. “ Kirk said.

“I will.. Let me finish one or two things first...” McCoy looked at his friend. “I promise I’ll rest, Jim.”

“I’m holding you to that, Mister.” Kirk said, a smile in his eyes and voice as he said it. Straightening in the chair, he looked at his friend.

“Bones.” Kirk asked pensively unsure of how McCoy would take his next question “Am I doing the right thing keeping Chekov on board? Could he get more help at a Star base?”

“No Jim, there’s nothing they can do that we can’t, and it will help him having friends around. It will help them too.” McCoy replied firmly.

“ I hope so.” Kirk said. “The crew are really feeling it. Uhura’s a wreck. Sulu’s burying himself in drills. I feel like I’m walking on eggs on my own bridge. The only one who seems untouched is Spock.” Kirk’s tone voiced his doubts as to the truth of his last statement, but Spock had been remote and aloof with everyone on the bridge, including himself.

“Uhura’s a wreck because she spent most of the night down here with Chekov. She was the only one he would let near him.” McCoy stated flatly. “The crew are going through a very necessary period of readjustment Jim. An adjustment which, if Chekov were removed, would be longer and more pronounced, because they would feel they had deserted him. The one I’m worried about is Sulu, he’s not handling things very well. This burying himself in work is his attempt to distance himself from it and to pretend it isn’t happening. It’s going to hit him sooner or later, and all the harder the longer it is.”

Kirk sat down heavily in the chair opposite McCoy and helped himself to coffee from the jug on his desk. He grimaced at the taste.

“Chekov allowed visitors?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. See if you can cheer him up.” McCoy looked distractedly at his screen, as Kirk stood as if to leave. A muttered, “Oh damn,” drew him back into his seat. McCoy looked up. “I think I’m about to get a bit more unpopular.” Kirk raised an eyebrow in an unconscious imitation of Spock. “His kidney function is becoming compromised, we’re going to have to catheterise him to monitor his output. After the fuss he made last night over using a bed pan, I really don’t relish telling him.”

“Can I see him now, or do you want to tell him first?” Kirk asked.

“Half an hour ain’t gonna make any difference to this, Jim, and Christine should be just about finished. She’s helping him freshen up” Kirk pulled a face. In his experience that meant a bed bath. “ S’funny.” McCoy tried to smile. “That’s just the face that Chekov pulled. You go ahead, I’ll be through in a while.”

Kirk wandered through the nearly deserted main sickbay ward to a side room. Nurse Chapel was just leaving, a bowl of water in her hands.

“Good morning Captain. Go right through.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she passed him. “He could do with some cheering up.” Kirk nodded, before continuing through into the room. Chekov laid aside a tricorder, before looking up at his Captain. He looked awful. In less than 12 hours, since Kirk had last seen him, he seemed to have sunk in on himself. He’d never been a large person, but now he looked as if a good breath of wind would snap him in two. His complexion had a greyish cast, and his eyes were sunken into dark pits in his swollen face. He seemed exhausted and lay against the pillows listlessly. Kirk came across to sit beside him.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” Great conversation, James T, he thought to himself.

“I feel a bit sore sir. I think I bashed myself a bit last night.” The words were a little slurred, as if his tongue were too big for his mouth. “I also bit my tongue,” he finished ruefully.

“Yes I heard about it, Doctor McCoy’s a bit bruised too.” Kirk said softly.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all, but Kirk let it pass.

Chekov started to turn slowly towards the bedside table at the side of the bed where Kirk sat. His muscles ached as he moved, but Chapel had told him it was one of the effects of the convulsion.

“If you will run marathons in the Rec room,” she had teased. But Pavel, hadn’t smiled in return, and she had flushed with embarrassment instead.

He stretched out his hand slowly to reach for the glass of water on the table. His tongue already felt like it was on fire, and he needed something to help him talk! Perhaps, the water would help, he thought to himself. But getting it was so frustrating… his hand was shaking so badly and his arm and shoulder muscles felt like lead. Chapel hadn’t said he had been weight lifting as well, he thought. But that’s how his muscles felt… heavy and leaden.… just like when he’d done too much weight lifting.

Gritting his teeth, he stared grimly at the glass. I will get it, he thought to himself, his hand moving closer and closer to his target.

“Here, let me help you.” Kirk said picking up the glass.

Eyes blazing, Chekov stared at his Captain. Silently, Kirk put the glass back down on the table, his eyes holding an unspoken apology to the angry ensign. Chekov ignored him, and grimly moved his hand until his fingers closed around the glass.

At the touch of the cold glass, a smile of satisfaction appeared to replace the angry scowl that had been on Chekov’s face, and Kirk tried not to notice Pavel’s shaking hand spill water from the glass onto the cover of his bed, as it made its slow route to his mouth.

Instead, he drew Chekov’s attention to the tricorder that had been put aside when he had entered the room.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Chekov’s hand trembled with effort to move the glass upwards to his mouth, but finally he made it, taking a welcome sip of water before answering his Captain. He rested the glass on his chest, as though he were afraid he wouldn’t be able to put it back down.

“Lieutenant Uhura said that if I recorded a message for my parents she would make sure they received it.”

To Kirk, Pavel sounded reluctant to impart the information to him. He decided to put the boy’s mind at ease.

“It’s okay, Pavel.” Kirk smiled. “You’re not getting her into trouble. If you’ve finished, I could take it up to her for you?”

Chekov looked relieved. “You don’t mind?” he asked. With a determined effort, he moved the glass from its resting position towards the table, smiling faintly, as his arm didn’t tremble so much this time. Kirk’s eyes softened at Chekov’s smile, and he said gently.

“No Pavel, I don’t mind at all. You do realise Starfleet will have already informed them officially?” Chekov nodded.

“I just ...” His dark eyes looked at Kirk for reassurance.

“I understand. You know that Starfleet may also try and make us take you to a Starbase?” Chekov nodded again. “But it’s up to you, Pavel. If you don’t want to go. If you want to stay here, I’ll do everything possible to make sure you can. If you want me to, I’ll see what I can do about getting your parents here. Just tell me what you want to do.” Kirk finished.

“I’d like to stay, but won’t it be difficult for you? What about the patrol?” Chekov looked closely at his Captain.

“Pavel, if it’s what you want, then we’ll find some way of keeping you here.” There was something in Kirk’s voice which made Chekov realise that Kirk wasn’t just murmuring platitudes. “We’ll cope just fine with the patrol,” his voice was determined, then he smiled, as he continued, “although I know Sulu’s missing you up on the bridge.”

“Who is replacing me?” Chekov asked.

“I’ve moved Riley up to Alpha shift for now. But he and Sulu, well they don’t make the same standard of team that you and Sulu do.” Kirk Answered.

“I think Riley tries to anticipate Sulu too much. He tries to compete instead of complement.” Chekov said astutely.

Kirk was surprised at the young man’s insight. That’s exactly what was happening, he thought to himself. His smile deepened, pleased to see a glimmer of animation in the young man’s face despite his weariness. Purposely, he kept the conversation turned to matters of bridge life. They discussed the recent drills and the latest intelligence reports on the Romulans. Kirk did most of the talking, conscious of the young man’s exhaustion, although Chekov put in several valid points and opinions. He’s such a bright kid, Kirk thought to himself as they talked… he’d make one hell of a Captain some day, if they got him through this.

Kirk held his breath each time Chekov reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. His hand trembled each time, and each time, the Captain hoped he wouldn’t spill it, but he didn’t dare offer any assistance after seeing Chekov’s angry look the first time. He obviously felt the need to assert his independence in any small way possible, and Kirk wasn’t about to deny him it.

McCoy entered as Chekov was trying to push himself further up the bed, but couldn’t seem to get any traction. He favoured the doctor with a similar look to that he had given Kirk, but McCoy ignored him, and putting an experienced hand under his arm, he eased him into a more comfortable position. Chekov shrugged him off as soon as possible.

“I can manage,” he hissed, not looking at the doctor at all, but rubbing his arm as though McCoy’s touch had burned him.

“Of course you can. I just thought I’d help that’s all.” McCoy sounded on the surface to be cheerful enough, but Kirk heard the hurt beneath his words. McCoy reached for his feinberger and ran it over Chekov, studying the results as the ensign fumbled at pushing his sleeve up.

“How much blood this time?” the voice was resigned.

“Oh.” McCoy shot back. “Think you know the drill eh?”

“Why not ? You only come in here to pump something in me or to take blood from me.” The accusation stung, and McCoy realised it was true. Since he’d followed him to the Observation Lounge, and Pavel had clung to him so trustingly, he’d only seen Chekov when he’d treated him. Physician heal thyself, he thought. He’d been so busy analysing how the others felt, he’d distanced himself from the very person he was trying to help. Gathering his thoughts together, he tried to regain some of the closeness they had shared then.

“Well I’m not taking any blood or giving any drugs this time, “ he said. “I just want to see how you are doing.” Chekov looked at him with hostility, but said nothing. McCoy pulled back the covers and moved to the end of the bed, running a finger up the sole of Chekov’s foot. There was no reaction. He did the same to the other foot with the same result. He frowned.

“What?” asked Chekov. “What are you doing?” He sounded angry, but underneath his stomach twisted in fear. In his head, he could hear the list of symptoms ringing like a tolling bell. ‘Convulsions, paralysis,’ and then the realisation hit. He couldn’t feel his feet properly, they felt too big. He could move his legs, but they couldn’t hold him or move him. A wave of cold panic swept over him. He tried to move them again, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he didn’t move. He looked in panic to Kirk, but the Captain had lowered his eyes to the floor and wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Pavel, we need to talk.” McCoy said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The doctor took a deep breath, knowing there was no easy way to say this. “The latest test results show that there’s some kidney problems.” Chekov looked up at him from beneath his dark bangs, anger clearly showing in his dark eyes. “We need to closely monitor the kidneys output, and to do this we need to catheterise you.”

“Nyet !No! You’re not putting one of those things in me!” The response was emphatic. Chekov managed to push himself to one side away from McCoy. “NO!” he shouted.

“Come on now, Pavel, be reasonable.” McCoy said, in what he hoped sounded like a placating tone.

“No !Don’t touch me. Just go away and let me die in peace!” He turned away from the doctor, turning towards the captain tears in his eyes.

“Chekov, Pavel, the doctor’s only doing what’s best for you. He wouldn’t even suggest it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” Kirk said quietly, laying his hand on his arm. Chekov looked up at him.

“Please Captain, don’t let them do this,” he pleaded.

Kirk felt like the biggest traitor and heel in the universe. He turned, as he heard the clank of the equipment trolley Nurse Chapel wheeled in, using the noise as an excuse to compose himself. McCoy picked up a hypo, and Chekov turned back to him.

“No you bastard! You’re not going to knock me out! Don’t make me sleep!” Chekov’s anger was palpable, and sent almost visible daggers into McCoy’s heart. Kirk was shocked at the violent fury evident in the young man’s face.

“Right that’s enough!” Kirk’s voice was sharp cutting through Chekov’s hysteria. Once he’d gained his attention, he continued more quietly.

“OK Pavel, he won’t knock you out. BUT you have to let him do what he has to.” Kirk gripped Chekov’s upper arms. “OK ? I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here.” He spoke solely to the frightened youth, holding the dark eyes with his own hazel ones. Once he felt that he had Chekov’s attention and consent, he nodded over his shoulder at McCoy for him to begin.

Chekov lay very still and quiet, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Kirk sat with him holding his hands in a firm grip, squeezing gently at each flinch of pain he felt from the ensign. He kept up a low dialogue of encouragement. Chekov was for the most part silent except for one whispered, “Bastard,” but Kirk let that pass without comment. By the time McCoy finally finished, Chekov was sobbing quietly. Kirk gently disengaged their hands, before he left him to Chapel’s tender ministrations. Picking up the tricorder message, he walked to the door of the room and hesitated, before saying to the sobbing boy.

“It had to be done, Pavel.”

Nurse Chapel smiled a tight-lipped smile at Kirk, before she turned back to her patient.

“I think you’re being very brave,” she said.

Chekov looked up, his face wet with tears.

“No, I’m not… I want my parents… I don’t want to die..” he whispered.

Kirk could only stare at him wordlessly, before turning and walking through the door. Taking a deep breath, he walked through sickbay to McCoy’s office.

McCoy already had the brandy out by the time he got there, and Kirk knocked back his drink in one swallow. His eyes met the doctor’s, and saw the same haggard expression mirrored there.

“He doesn’t mean it Bones.” Kirk attempted to ease his friends pain.

“No, I know Jim. Doesn’t make it any easier, on him or me.”

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Uhura bit back a yawn, as she continued to monitor the communication lines for any outward signal traffic. The Enterprise was getting closer to the Romulan neutral zone, and so she had been dealing with a steady flow of messages from Starfleet Command sending the latest reports to the ship. Coding and sending back the Enterprise’s latest reports and fielding the usual general operations traffic had kept her mind busy enough to stop her dwelling on the previous night.

Her eyes still felt gritty from no sleep and too much crying, but four hours into her shift, she felt like more herself and more at peace inside, even if she didn’t look it. She’d finally been able to help Pavel, she thought. Just a little bit by staying with him last night, but it was more than she had been able to do before. He’d needed her help, and that made her feel a little bit better, for the first time since this nightmare had started.

She stared daggers at Sulu, her eyes boring holes into his back, as a wave of anger gripped her. It was a pity, she thought, that his closest friend couldn’t try and help too!

After their broken conversation earlier that morning, she had hoped against hope, that he would go. But she could tell by the way Sulu had hurried past her station without meeting her eyes, that he hadn’t visited Chekov. Now, she couldn’t bear to speak to him at all. The tension between them was palpable, and Kirk had been giving both of them searching looks all morning, before leaving the bridge earlier.

Kirk’s curt, “I’m going to Sickbay. Spock, you have the con,” hadn’t helped the atmosphere at all. Spock had been silent, and the only person trying to make conversation had been Riley. But after taking to himself for virtually half a hour, he’d finally given up. Now, the only noise on the bridge was the clicks and hums of the machines.

As the turbo lift doors opened, Uhura looked up. Kirk stepped through them looking haggard. He walked towards her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat, as he stopped in front of her. Seeing her expression, Kirk touched her arm and said quietly.

“He’s okay, Nyota. He’s still with us. He told me you agreed to send a message to his parents?”

Uhura could only nod, as she let out the breath she had been holding in relief. Kirk smiled slightly, as he put a data tape on the console in front of her.

“Well, here it is.” Kirk said, “Call a relief to the bridge for you. You can use the comm in Auxiliary Control, you’ll have some privacy there. There’s no need to come back to the bridge. Go and get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

Uhura swallowed and said. “Thank you, Captain. I will.” Hesitating, she asked, “ Pavel is okay?”

Kirk looked haunted as he looked ahead. “He took a turn for the worse while I was there.” Looking into her eyes, he said.

“Get the message there as quickly as you can. Use my name or anything you have to. He wants his parents here, and you and I are going to do everything possible to see that happens.”

Uhura walked down the corridor back to her quarters. She smiled in satisfaction to herself. Pavel’s message was on it’s way. She hadn’t let him down, she’d used up a few favours though. I’ll go tell him, after I have had a nap, she thought to herself. It might cheer him up a little bit. Although, she wondered at what Kirk had meant when he’d said that Pavel was worse. She hadn’t thought of that before, or anything else except getting the message through the channels to his parents.

Stepping inside her quarters, she looked at the intercom on her desk. “Don’t even think of calling, Sulu,” she said out loud. The chrono on her desk caught her eye. No, she thought. It couldn’t be that time! But that meant she’d been in Auxiliary Control for three hours! That’s crazy, she thought, it felt like… like how long? She didn’t remember. She’d been too intent to notice time or anything else.

“Well, Pavel.” She said out loud. “How would you like another visit?”

Turning on her heel, she walked back out of her quarters. Time had gone so fast without her realising it, she thought. She wanted to tell Chekov now, instead of visiting later that night, so he didn’t worry about the message getting there.

It would be one less thing for him to worry about, she thought. And she wanted to see him smile… Well, she hoped he would. She missed his smile. Missed him, more than she ever thought she would.

Wandering into Sickbay, she started to walk towards Chekov’s side room. A voice called out, “Nyota,” and she stopped and turned to see Christine Chapel moving towards her.

“Hi, Chris. I’m just going to see Pavel. That’s okay, isn’t it?” she said.

Chapel’s face fell and she ushered Uhura to the side of Sickbay, away from Chekov’s room.

“I don’t want you to go in there without being prepared,” Chapel said.

“For what? The Captain said he was worse, but didn’t say anymore. What’s wrong?” Uhura said quickly.

“He’s deteriorated quite badly. He’s already lost any feeling in his legs and it’s progressing to the rest of his body.” Chapel answered.

“You mean, he’s paralysed?” Uhura asked, her face shocked.

“Not yet, but it’s a matter of time. He’s finding some of the procedures very trying. He’s so fiercely independent.… it must seem like we’re torturing him. He’s insisting on trying to feed himself, even though he can hardly hold a spoon.” Chapel looked at her friend in despair. “He just doesn’t want us near him… We’re trying to help him, but he’s just shutting us out.”

Uhura gave Chapel a quick hug, and looked towards Chekov’s room.

“Well, it seems like Pavel and I need to have a little chat about things,” she said.

She strode into Chekov’s room to find him struggling with a spoon. A bowl of what looked like borscht to her, was on the table in front of him. By the look of the mess, Chekov had been having a lot of trouble. He was sulkily splashing the spoon into the soup. Both of his hands were around the spoon, but there was no grip on the spoon. It lay loosely between his fingers.

“How long are you going to act like a sulky brat, Pavel?” Uhura asked, watching him.

He looked up, his dark eyes petulant. “I’m not, I just… Oh God look at me.” His words ended on a heartfelt sigh that tore at Uhura’s soul. Hardening her heart she continued.

“I am looking.” She said. “And I know that you’re a fighter and can do better than this! Why are you trying to hurt the people who are working their butts off for you?!”

“It hurts Uhura! I hurt all over. They come in always poking and prodding. They look at me with their sad eyes and ‘be a good boy, Pavel’, ‘It’s for your own good Pavel’ .I’m sick of their pity. They don’t see me anymore, all they see is the disease. I wish I was dead.”

“Now, you listen here!” Uhura snapped, her temper matching his. “Don’t you ever, ever damn well say that again! We need you, Pavel. Everybody’s worried sick about you, and the medical staff are working themselves into the ground for you, because you’re important to us all. Now, stop pouting and saying ‘I’m not going to play anymore’ or I will kick your ass out of that bed! Give me the god damned spoon..” she said, snatching it out of his useless hands.

“Now, you need to eat. So eat, “ she said, putting the spoon into the bowl, and moving the full spoon up to his mouth.

His mouth remained stubbornly closed and he turned his head away from her. She smiled, in spite of herself. Typical Pavel.

“Listen,” she said, more calmly. “You need food or the drugs you are taking will poison your system. Do you want the medical staff to come and put another needle into you, or stick a tube down your throat to feed you ?”

He turned his head back to look at her, his eyes dark with emotion.

“It’s not fair, Nyota. I have no pride left … it’s taking everything away from me...” he whispered.

“Not your spirit or your soul, Pavel, and that’s what’s most important to your friends,” she said softly. “I know you’d help me if I were here. So, let me help you. Please..”

He nodded and opened his mouth to take in the borscht. He grimaced, muttering,

“It’s not real borscht… remember the one I made you?” he asked her.

“How could I forget,” she said dryly.

“It was very good borscht!” he said indignantly. Catching her eyes, he saw the smile in hers, and felt a smile creep onto his face.

“You’re a good friend, Nyota,” he said shyly.

“I know, honey. But you’re worth it. Now open wide, like a good boy,” she said.

“Huh, you sound like my mother, “ he muttered darkly.

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Uhura said, smiling.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

It was reaching late afternoon, when McCoy returned to Sickbay. After catheterising Chekov and the scene that had taken place with it, he’d decided that he was better out of Sickbay altogether if he was going to rest. He hadn’t thought that he’d be able to sleep, but he’d managed a couple of hours of dream filled sleep, full of Chekov’s dark eyes looking at him, and his voice saying ‘help me.’

But his body felt better for it. The shower, and change of clothes made him feel more human too. He knew that if there had been an emergency they would have called him. So he knew everything was the same. He grimaced at the thought. The only thing that stayed the same was Chekov’s downward slide.

Walking over to where Christine Chapel was sitting, he said,

“Hi there. You look beat. Tell me what I’ve missed, then go and get some rest. I’ll need you here tonight, just in case anything happens. But you need a break just as much as I did.”

As Chapel filled him in on the afternoon’s events, his eyes alighted on a thin blue clad figure moving through sickbay.

“Well, well...” drawled McCoy. “Paying a social visit, Spock?”

Spock stopped, and turned towards the voice of McCoy.

“No, Doctor. I have some administrative records that need to be updated by Ensign Chekov.”

“I’d have thought you’d have noticed.. Chekov’s sick. Off the duty list. So your records will have to wait.” McCoy said, firmly.

“I am well aware of the status of the Ensign,” Spock replied. “However, these records have to be updated now. There is no time to wait.”

Spock’s voice was cold, and he met McCoy’s suspicious eyes with his own impassive ones.

“Well, as Chief Medical Officer, mind if I tag along to see what all the fuss is about?” McCoy asked.

“That is your prerogative, Doctor.” Spock said.

“Well, follow me, Mister Spock. Chekov’s over here in a side room. Seeing you haven’t bothered to visit him before, you wouldn’t know that.” There was an edge to the doctors voice, but Spock did not reply to his barb.

The Doctor stayed by the doorway, as Spock entered and moved to the side of Chekov’s bed. Spock stared impassively at Chekov lying listlessly on the bed. McCoy saw Chekov’s eyes brighten as they focused on Spock, a smile forming on his lips.

“Mister Spock, sir. Thank you for coming...” Chekov started to say.

“This is not a social visit, Ensign.” Spock interrupted. “I am here to update the personal records that you have not completed since leaving the Academy.”

As McCoy watched by the doorway, he could see the light fade from Chekov’s eyes.

“What personal records are you talking about, Spock?” McCoy asked.

Staring ahead, Spock replied. “The Ensign has not completed the personal records that cover his burial preferences and the disposal of his personal effects.”

“Spock!” hissed McCoy, but Spock stared at Chekov impassively.

“It is a serious oversight, Ensign. One which you would have been reprimanded for had you been fit for duty. However, the circumstances are such, that it will be overlooked in this case.”

“I didn’t expect to die!” Chekov said, in an anguished voice.

“That is an unacceptable explanation, Ensign. Starfleet is a dangerous occupation. The regulations are there for your wishes to be carried out, at whatever time they maybe required. Starfleet is under an obligation to ensure your religious mores are correctly observed. This cannot be implemented if your records are not updated, each year of your service.” Spock’s voice was censorious in it’s tone, and his eyes stared through Chekov with no expression visible.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Chekov said, his voice a whisper. He shut his eyes, as if to block out the image of Spock from his sight and mind.

Spock ignored the apology, and continued. “Deep space exploration has a higher probability of mortality...”

“That’s enough!” McCoy broke in, white faced. “As Chief medical Officer of this ship, I am ordering you to leave Sickbay at once, as the effect of your visit on my patient is detrimental to his state of health. So get out!”

“Very well, Doctor. Ensign. Do not forget to complete the records.” Spock said evenly.

“I’m gonna throw you out, if you don’t leave this minute!” McCoy shouted.

As Spock left the room, McCoy followed him.

“You cold hearted, green blooded bastard. He looked up to you so much. Don’t you have any feelings at all?!” McCoy said , staring at Spock, with loathing in his eyes.

Spock stared icily at the Doctor. “My feelings are not open for discussion at this time, Doctor.”

McCoy watched him walk away through the sickbay doors, before returning to Chekov’s bedside. Chekov still lay with his eyes closed, but he whispered.

“Mister Spock was right. I didn’t update my records. Now I’ve let him down.”

“What!” McCoy said, surprised at Chekov’s reaction. “You’re just a kid. No one likes filling in those kinds of records,” he said.

Chekov opened his eyes, and looked sadly at McCoy. “Mister Spock trusted me to complete those records, without checking that I had done so. All the others are checked by him each year, in our department.… But not mine..” A look of pride touched his face, before fading away again.

“He trusted me to do it, and I failed him. No wonder, he doesn’t see me anymore.” Chekov said, quietly.

“He doesn’t see anyone, Pavel, because he doesn’t feel anything for anyone.” McCoy said bitterly, putting a reassuring hand on Chekov’s shoulders.

Back in his darkened quarters, Spock sat next to the Vulcan firepot, it’s flame flickering gently. His thoughts were of Chekov… and the effect it was having on the ship and crew. Chekov had touched so many people’s lives on the Enterprise, Spock thought. Now, they were suffering as a result of their affection for him.

It hit him in waves everyday on the bridge. He had had to reinforce his mental barriers to stop the waves of worry, grief and pain breaking through his defences. But everywhere he went on the ship, the same waves of feelings hit his mental barriers… grief and pain for Chekov.

Looking into the flame, he thought of himself. How many would grieve and feel pain for me? A pair of hazel eyes and the face of his friend came to him, but no one else… and then, he saw a hesitant young ensign step forward, his dark eyes and hair making him look very young.… Chekov… Chekov would grieve for me, he thought.

“I grieve with thee, Pavel. More than you will ever know.”

He looked away from the fire pot and stood up, tugging his uniform top down into the proper position. He could not show his feelings as the others did. But by being on the bridge, perhaps it would relieve his closest friend of one task, while James Kirk tried to keep the crew of the Enterprise together.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

James Kirk walked into the gymnasium looking around at the almost deserted area, his footsteps echoing eerily, as he made his way across the room. He’d spent a fruitless couple of hours trying to concentrate on the pile of reports stacked upon his desk, but his mind had been too preoccupied with Chekov to concentrate on anything else. So, finally he’d decided to come here. At least he could work out some of his frustrations in physical exercise, he thought. He wandered through to Harb Tanzer’s office. As usual, he was greeted cordially by the ships Recreation Officer; a silver haired gentle man with eyes that usually crinkled with laughter, today though his face was unusually sombre.

“Evening Captain. How’s the young ‘un doing ?” he asked.

“Not so good Harb. How’s things down here ?” Kirk replied

“Trade’s very quiet. Not much use being made of the gym, or the rec rooms. It’s as if the whole ship’s holding it’s breath to see what happens.”

Kirk nodded. He glanced across at one of the corner areas where Sulu was working out with what looked like a huge stick against a large punch bag. Tanzer followed his glance.

“We’re gonna have a case of burnout in that one if we’re not careful. He’s either down here belting hell out of that punch bag....”

“Or on the bridge running drills.” Kirk finished. “Yeah I know. I’ll try and have a word with him.”

Kirk changed swiftly into his gym clothes, before crossing to where Sulu was fighting his solitary battle. Sulu continued hitting the bag a few more times, the thwack of wood hitting leather echoing around the room, before he realised he was no longer alone. He lowered the weapon, breathing hard. Kirk handed him a nearby towel, and he wiped his face, acknowledging his commanding officer with, “Thanks Captain.”

“What’s that ?” Kirk asked, indicating the ‘stick’.

“This ?” Sulu replied lifting it. “It’s an English quarter staff. Pavel gave me a pair of them for my birthday. He claimed a little old lady from Leningrad invented them, then made her fortune exporting the idea to England.” His attempt at cheerfulness almost came off, but the smile never reached his eyes, and his comment fell flat between them.

“I’ve read about them.” Kirk continued, looking at Sulu. This was the most he’d heard out of Sulu in days. “They were quite a weapon in the right hands.”

“Uhuh .Pavel is… was getting quite good” Sulu’s voice was pained.

“Want to give me a try ? I’m sure I’d make a more interesting opponent than a punch bag ?” Kirk asked. “I really could do with the work out,” he added, when it seemed Sulu was going to decline.

Sulu shrugged his assent, and he walked away from Kirk to the lockers at the back of the gym. He retrieved the other quarterstaff and some protective gear from a locker, and walked back to his waiting captain. At Kirk’s enquiring look, Sulu handed him a quarterstaff and some of the protective gear, keeping some for himself . They donned the gear in silence. Kirk hefted the weapon, gauging it’s weight and balance, copying the hold from Sulu. The lieutenant talked him through a few elementary moves, blocks and blows, before they began properly.

“Uhura seems a bit annoyed with you.” Kirk observed as he blocked Sulu’s first few blows. The staff vibrated in his hands and he tried a couple of blows in return. Sulu remained silent.

“Is it to do with Chekov ?” Kirk tried again as he and Sulu circled each other. The next flurry of blows came harder and faster from Sulu, the loud cracks of wood against wood echoing in the room as Kirk parried his attack.

“Do you think he blames you ? Is that why you haven’t been to see him ?” Kirk probed, trying to get Sulu to respond to him. Sulu’s staff became a blur of motion, and Kirk felt the blow that slipped past his meagre defence jar through the protective padding into his ribs. Sulu’s face was like carved stone beneath the mesh masks they wore, and Kirk couldn’t tell what emotions were swirling through his head. As Sulu stepped back to let Kirk recover, he took the opportunity to try again.

“I understand how hard this must be for you.” Kirk said quietly, breathing hard from his exertions. Sulu stopped still and stood staring at Kirk.

“Is this off the record ?” Sulu demanded.

“I don’t see either of us wearing any stripes, Hikaru,” he replied, uncertain of what would come next. But it had to be better than silence, he thought to himself.

“Then with all due respect sir, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I know he doesn’t blame me. I blame me. I was the one who was injured on the landing party. I was the one who caused the organism to activate. I was the one who signed his death warrant.” Ripples of pain flowed through his words, and he renewed his attack with increased vigour.

Kirk frantically tried to block, or deflect the blows that rained upon him, while trying to find the words to ease his helmsman’s guilt.

“Hikaru, Doctor McCoy and I were also on that landing party. Any one of us could have infected him. Blaming yourself isn’t going to help him. We’ve all just got to do what we can to get him through this,” he said, the cracking of the staff’s punctuating each of his words.

The next blow caught him off guard, knocking the wind from him. Kirk stumbled on to one knee. Sulu stood over him, breathing hard.

“Through this !” his voice was incredulous. “He’s not going to get through this ! It’s terminal. He’s going to die!” he shouted at Kirk.

“Doctor McCoy...” Kirk managed to get out, as he struggled back to his feet.

“McCoy can’t fix everything. What makes you so sure he can come up with a cure, when the Kaladans couldn’t .It wiped out their entire civilisation ! Why can’t you see it?” Sulu’s words exploded at Kirk.

“You can’t give up hope.” Kirk argued.

“THERE IS NO HOPE!” Sulu stood before him, desperation in his voice, as he tried to make Kirk understand. “It’s just so damn unfair. We all know that our chances of returning from a deep space mission are far from certain, but you expect it to come from an attack. Klingons or maybe Romulans. Not from this. He’s just a kid. He’s like the little brother I never had...” His voice tailed off.

Kirk stood one end of his staff on the floor, and reached out to Sulu, resting his hand on his shoulder.

“No-one said the universe was fair Hikaru, but for his sake, we have to stay positive. He needs us to be there for him.” Kirk said gently.

Sulu dropped his own weapon, and hung his head.

“I can’t be positive. I can’t pretend that there’s some rosy future at the end of this when I know it’s not going to happen.” Sulu said in despair.

“So if you can’t be positive, at least be there for him. Visit him. Spend time with him.” Kirk tried to be encouraging.

“I can’t.” The Asian’s desperation tore at the Captain. Kirk knew that Sulu desperately wanted to see his friend; needed to see his friend. He had to get him past the barrier that was stopping him. He lifted the staff again and after a moments hesitation, Sulu did the same.

This time Kirk initiated the attack, and as Sulu parried the blows, Kirk threw in his taunt.

“Just what is your problem, Sulu ?”

The blows came fast and furious. Kirk blocked and parried as many as he could, but he knew despite the padding he’d be bruised later. But if it helped Sulu break that barrier, it would be worth it, he thought to himself. Kirk found himself backing up against the onslaught, and then a low sweeping blow took his legs away, and he found himself on his back, blocking the helmsman’s staff from crushing his neck.

“My problem ?” Sulu spat down at him . “I’ll tell you what my problem is ! My best friend is lying in sickbay. He’s 22 and he’s dying. And I’m supposed to go and see him and say what ? Hi there pal. Sorry about all this, but hey ! Shit happens ! Is that what you’d say ? If it was Spock in sickbay instead of Pavel ?”

The two men were very still for a long moment before Sulu relaxed slightly, Kirk held in place as much by the impact of the anger in the hurled words, as by the staff. Kirk was silent.

“Exactly” Sulu finished as he stood up. He threw the staff to the floor at the side of Kirk, and stormed across the gym to the exit, stripping off the protective padding and shedding it around him as he went.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Kirk gingerly sat up, watching Sulu’s receding back and angry movements, trying to decide whether or not to go after him, when the decision was taken from him by the intercom and Uhura’s voice.

“Captain Kirk to the bridge. Captain Kirk to the bridge.”

Pushing himself off the floor, Kirk stood and moved towards the intercom on the gymnasium wall near the exit. As he walked, he pulled away the protective clothing and dropped it on the floor, smiling ruefully to himself as his fingers touched the aching flesh around his ribs. Well that was one thing he’d been right about anyway, not that he’d gotten much else right with Sulu, he thought.

“You made a right mess of that James T.” he said out loud. Sulu’s words came back to him. Would he behave the same if it was Spock lying there in sickbay? He blocked the thought from his mind quickly. He didn’t ever want to think about Spock dying.

As he reached the intercom, he punched the button, wincing slightly as he moved his arm up to do so. A good hot shower and a change of clothes was what he needed, he thought.

“Bridge.” The cool Vulcan voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Kirk here. What’s the problem?” He said, shortly.

“We have been hailed by the survey vessel Sceptre. They are standing by to remove Ensign Chekov to their vessel for relocation to the nearest starbase medical facility in this area.” Spock’s voice was inflectionless through the intercom. Kirk felt his muscles tighten.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, cutting the connection.

He ran down the corridor towards the nearest turbo lift, stabbing the button viciously to hail it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait too long before the doors opened, and he stepped inside the empty lift.

“Bridge.” He snapped.

So it had come to this, Kirk thought. He’d hoped that Starfleet would listen to his report and recommendation that Chekov should stay aboard the Enterprise. Damn them! He’d given his word to Pavel, and he meant to keep it. No one was going to take him from his home and family. He belongs here. The thought struck Kirk, suddenly. Pavel was an important part of the soul of his ship. “I won’t let them take you away from here,” he said out loud, determination in his voice.

The doors opened to display the bridge, the tension meeting him in a wave as he walked through the open doors. Uhura’s eyes met his in a desperate look.

“I thought I told you to rest, Lieutenant,” Kirk said with an edge to his voice.

Defiance flashed across Uhura’s face, as she replied, coldly. “I did. I’m here to see if Chekov’s parents have sent a reply to his message yet. I told Seaton to take a break.”

“Very well. Hail the Sceptre, Uhura.” Kirk said, formally. As their eyes met, she could see the tenseness in Kirk’s hazel ones.

Spock had already vacated the Captain’s chair, as Kirk stepped down to it, but he remained standing in his usual position of support behind the seat. A raised eyebrow, made Kirk painfully aware of his lack of uniform, but he ignored the look, instead smiling gratefully at his First Officer for his unspoken support. However, Spock’s eyes remained impassive and fixed on a point only he could see.

Sighing quietly with frustration, Kirk sat down in his chair, the cold leather sticking instantly to his sweaty back. Moving forward to get comfortable, he looked up briefly to see the bridge view screen shimmer to show the inside of the Sceptre’s bridge. A man sat in the command chair, tapping a swagger stick impatiently against his knee.

Kirk watched as the man became aware that the Enterprise had hailed them. No doubt in response to being told by one of the ensigns behind him, the gold clad officer, stopped tapping his stick, and instead moved to sit straighter in his chair.

“Kirk...” he said smiling blandly. The smile faded, as he studied Kirk’s image, and was replaced by a smug, superior look. “It is Kirk? One can’t tell, with such a relaxed dress code. Could be anyone, and it’s such a bad example to set to his crew.”

A martial light in Kirk’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he smiled charmingly at the image.

“I’m Captain James Tiberius Kirk,” he said emphasising each part of his name clearly, the edge unmistakable in his voice. “I was told you were in a hurry? ...? You are?” he asked pleasantly, but Kirk’s eyes never smiled, and Uhura held her breath. She knew Kirk was at his most dangerous when he was like this. But that jumped up idiot was asking for it, she thought. Swagger stick indeed! She knew where she’d like to shove that stick! His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Commander Stiles. I’m staff attaché to Admiral Komack. I’m here to relieve you of a burden you have on your hands.” Stiles smiled, and he held the swagger stick between his hands in front of him, bending each end slightly as he spoke.

So Komack was behind this, Kirk thought to himself. He should have known. Stiles was Komack’s ideal type of officer: immaculate, pompous and unimaginative.

“So you’re Komack’s new errand boy are you?” Kirk asked, dryly.

He could feel Spock stiffen behind him, but he continued to stare pleasantly at Stiles’ image in front of him.

“We can’t all be heroes, Kirk.” Stiles said stiffly. “Some of us have to ensure that starfleet’s rules and regulations are adhered to. To keep it running and tuned like a well oiled machine.” He smiled at Kirk, pompously, and continued in a sneering voice.

“We have to clean up after your kind break the rules, and tarnish starfleet’s reputation by doing so. We re-build the bridges, so to speak… Let people know that starfleet isn’t just a bunch of mavericks with no respect for anyone or anything.”

Kirk flushed in temper. In a dangerously soft voice, he said.

“I have never violated any of starfleet’s rules and regulations without having just cause to do so. They are supposed to be a guide, not a bible. There are times in deep space exploration when you need more than the rules and regulations, you need instinct and imagination just to survive. That’s something that desk bound admirals and their lackeys will never understand.”

A murmured, “Captain,” from behind him, checked Kirk from saying anymore, and he took a deep breath to compose himself. Sitting, if possible, even more rigidly in his chair, Stiles tapped the swagger stick against the arm of his chair.

“I don’t have time for this, Kirk. By order of Admiral Komack, I am here to remove Ensign Chekov to the nearest starbase, as per the regulations set out in...”

“I’m aware of the regulations, Commander.” Kirk interrupted firmly. “Permission to board the Enterprise is denied. Ensign Chekov will not be leaving this ship.”

Kirk heard a stifled gasp from Uhura. The two officers in front of him at the helm, De Salle and Roberts, seemed to straighten up with fierce protectiveness, and they looked battle ready and alert for any command he made. Chekov’s friends were everywhere, he thought, a slight smile forming on his lips. He should have known.

“Now, listen here,” Stiles blustered.

“No .You listen for once, and stop revelling in rules and regulations.” Kirk demanded, the order obvious in his tone of voice, and Stiles closed his mouth and was silent.

“My Chief Medical Officer has gone on record as stating that Chekov could not receive any better treatment at a starbase facility than he can get here. This is a constitution class starship, with the finest medical facilities and laboratories available to starfleet. Doctor Leonard McCoy is one of the best medical officers in the fleet. Pavel Chekov can’t get better treatment anywhere else.” Kirk said firmly, a light of steel in his hazel eyes.

“Doctor McCoy and his team have been working day and night to find a cure for Chekov. If there’s a cure, they’ll find it. Not some faceless researcher on a starbase, who sees Chekov as a piece of medical research for a dissertation,” he ended fiercely, his hands gripping the sides of his command chair.

Shaking his head, Stiles sighed and said. “The regulations are there for everyone to follow for a reason. The Enterprise is almost at the Romulan neutral zone for a dangerous patrol mission… Ensign Chekov’s a liability to your ship, and a distraction to your crew. This patrol should be your first priority.”

“Do you think we’d forget Chekov if he was removed from the ship?” Kirk said, incredulously. “Doctor McCoy has already said that action would detrimental to morale, because of the guilt the crew would feel for letting their friend down. A betrayal of the trust between them. Chekov’s a valuable member of this crew, even now, because he’s always been there for his friends when they’ve needed him. He’d fight tooth and nail to keep his fellow crew members safe and sound, on any patrol, no matter what the cost to himself. They deserve the right to do the same for him.” Kirk ended quietly.

“A damned right we do,” from Uhura, caught Kirk’s attention, and he stared briefly at her, before looking back at Stiles. The warmth in her gaze, and her pride in him, brought a lump to his throat. He stood up from his chair and moved forward towards the view screen, as though by being closer to Stiles, he could make the intransigent officer understand all the crew’s feelings. What he said now was felt by every member of the crew on board. He couldn’t let them down, Kirk thought fiercely. They needed him to speak for them.

“When you’re on a deep space mission, everyone knows that the risks are much higher than in any other form of starfleet duty. There’s a good chance you’ll never make it home.” Kirk said softly, thinking of Earth and the farm he had been raised on. Smiling, he looked up into Stiles’ eyes.

“Knowing that means you have a bond of trust, a loyalty between you that goes beyond starfleet oaths and regulations. Regulations won’t protect you out in space, but that bond of trust between you will, because the closer it gets, the better the crew, the better the ship.”

Kirk turned and paced back to his chair, standing before it as he turned around and looked at Stiles again. Pride was etched on his face and in his stance as he stood hands on hips and said.

“The Enterprise is the finest ship in starfleet because of the bond of loyalty between each and every crew member. We’re a team. Everyone is willing to die to save a fellow member of this crew. As Captain, I give my loyalty to each and every member of this crew. They know I will do everything in my power to keep them safe and protected. They give me their 100% loyalty in return. It’s a two way bond of trust, not just based on a starfleet oath, but from a personal oath to each other. I trust them with my life, and they give me the same trust in return.” Kirk’s hazel eyes stared into Stiles’ soul, as he continued.

“Chekov trusts me to look after him, and to protect him. Not starfleet. ME. He wants to stay here… As his commanding officer, his fellow officer in trust and loyalty, and as his friend, I have promised him that I will keep him on the Enterprise for as long as he wants to stay. There is no rule or regulation written that will make me hand over Chekov to you, Stiles. No orders from Komack, or anyone in starfleet will make me change my mind. Pavel stays here with us.”

“You’re a fool, Kirk. He’s not worth it.” Stiles said.

Turning away from Stiles, Kirk made a cutting gesture to Uhura. Understanding him immediately, she terminated the connection. The bridge view screen shuddered back to show a starview, with a small, survey ship sitting very much alone in space.

Taking a deep breath, Kirk said. “Get us away from that ship. Ahead, warp 2.”

“Aye .Sir!” Came the swift reply. Kirk watched as the Sceptre started to recede into the distance on the screen, before he turned and looked at Uhura.

“Captain .It appears that our communications link has failed to the Sceptre.” Uhura said seriously, her eyes smiling. But they looked very bright with unshed tears to Kirk. Feeling emotionally drained, but matching her smile, Kirk said.

“Really ?Well, he didn’t appear to have much to say anyway, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’ll be able to fix the problem, before Seaton returns from her break.” He made a little bow towards her and continued. “I need to go take a shower and change my clothes. I’m a little under dressed. You have the con, Mister Spock.” Kirk turned towards Spock, as he went to go past him to the lift. Spock was looking at him, a hint of something Kirk couldn’t define in his eyes.

“Spock?” he asked.

“That was unwise.” Spock said quietly. “Admiral Komack is a powerful enemy to make. He will not let the matter drop, now you have ignored his orders and the regulations. You could face courts martial, as a result of your actions.”

Kirk stared at Spock, hurt and angry for Chekov, and for himself. Of all people, he had thought that Spock would understand.

“Starfleet will recognise my actions for what they are; a purely humanitarian act.” Kirk said, heatedly. “Besides, you of all people should know. I protect my friends, no matter what the consequences are for myself.”

Spock’s face became rigid with the effort to remain impassive, and a wall of non emotion dropped in front of his eyes.

Spock’s quiet. “Yes .I know,” as he moved past Kirk to the command chair, tore at Kirk’s heart. Damn! He thought. He’s worried about me, and I’ve lost him again, barricaded behind those Vulcan shields. But there was nothing he could do now. Not here. So he walked away from his friend, and off the bridge.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Christine Chapel wrung out the cloth she was using to wipe Chekov’s fevered hot face, and wondered again, at her choice to enter the nursing profession, with all it’s attendant heartaches. It was all very well, for the now faceless training instructors, to have mouthed phrases such as; ‘clinical detachment’, but quite another to maintain that detachment, amongst the close knit community of a starship.

Reapplying the cloth to the too hot forehead, she tried once more to quiet the restless movements and heart tugging whimpers of the young man. She’d taken over from the young technician only an hour before, but it felt like she’d spent days in the room.

McCoy had had a long, heated discussion with M’Benga earlier in front of her. The two doctors arguing ‘for and against’ the use of Formazine. The drug might prevent Chekov’s gradual slide into unconsciousness and coma, but it’s possible hallucinogenic side effects were a serious consequence that made using it, yet another major decision. Neither doctor was happy with using it, but in the end, McCoy had overruled M’Benga’s complaints. McCoy’s anguished, “ if he goes into a coma, he’ll be lost to us, anyway,” had silenced all the discussion.

There was a constant medical presence in his room now, and Christine felt it should be people Pavel knew well and had some chance of recognising. She knew that no matter how painful it was to be here, she desperately wanted to help the young boy in front of her. He’d been so brave, she thought. She couldn’t leave him now, even though some small part of her wanted to run away and hide from the pain and sorrow in the room. Chekov’s cries had lapsed to incomprehensible mutterings half an hour previously. She presumed from the odd ‘Nyet’ that she recognised, that he was speaking in his native Russian. She wished that she could tell what he was saying and knew that he understood her in return. But there was no sign that he did, just a continuous sound of his whimpering, and his restless movements. It made her feel like she wasn’t helping him at all.

The door of the room stood open. She could hear the rest of the medical staff going about their normal duties in the main ward. She could hear the hum of conversations, without being able to make out the actual words. A sudden burst of laughter made her want to yell at them, in an uncontrollable burst of anger, to shut the hell up! and that there was a boy dying here!

She caught herself before she spoke, feeling the anger wash away in a sudden wave of intense sadness. She mentally shook herself, berating her unprofessional attitude. It wasn’t their fault. Resolutely, she turned all her attention back to her patient, concentrating fiercely on his needs. Blocking everything else out, she narrowed her focus until her immediate world consisted of nothing but that room and its occupant. Taking a limp hand in hers, she dampened the dry lips, and Chekov whimpered at her touch.

“Shush, Pavel. It’s all right,” she murmured. Gradually, she realised that she was no longer alone. She looked up to meet the gentle hazel eyes of her Captain standing at the opposite side of the bed. Dark, glazed eyes also turned to look in Kirk’s direction.

“Papasha ?Pamaguy.” Kirk could only recognise the first word in the gasped Russian phrase, but he did recognise the pleading tone. He looked up at Chapel, his eyes asking the silent question.

“Pavel doesn’t recognise any of us. It’s a side effect from the Formazine. Doctor McCoy believes that the drug may keep him from lapsing into a coma until his parents arrive. He stopped making sense about half an hour ago. From what I do understand, I think he thinks you’re his father.” Chapel answered softly.

Kirk nodded, pulling up a seat. Looking only at Chekov, he said. “Uhura speaks some Russian. If you ask her, I’m sure she’ll translate for you.” As she hesitated to leave her charge, he continued. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with him.” His sad eyes never left the restless head tossing on the pillow. Chapel nodded and stood up, moving away from the bedside. She tried to still the feeling of guilt, that she could be so grateful for a moments reprieve from the tension in the small room. She glanced back from the doorway. Kirk had taken Chekov’s hand and was quietly talking to him. The low tones appeared to calm the ensign, the ever moving head slowly stilling.

Moving into the main sickbay area, she went directly to the intercom and paged Uhura.

”Uhura,here.”

“Nyota .It’s Chris. Can you come to sickbay? I need you to help us translate what Pavel is saying,” she said to her friend. Feeling her composure slipping, she faltered, “He’s talking Russian...He doesn’t know us anymore. The drugs...Captain Kirk is with him… He thinks he’s his father..” she choked on a sob, and couldn’t go on.

There was silence from the intercom, and then a quiet, “I’m on my way,” from Uhura, before the connection was cut.

Uhura soon arrived, and calmly took a seat opposite her captain, adding her melodic voice to his as they talked and calmed the terrified boy. Chapel felt like an intruder, as she checked on them from the doorway. She did not enter, not wanting to disturb them. Instead, she relocated her vigil to the nurses station, where she could monitor his condition through the instruments.

Uhura watched Kirk soothe Chekov’s pain and fear. She tried to reconcile the irate Starfleet Captain she’d seen on the bridge, with the gentleness he showed now, amazed at the contrast.

“Mamasha ?Gde tee? *Where are you?* “ A pain cracked voice called her attention back to the present. Focusing back on Chekov, she said gently, taking his hand.

"Sshhh Pasha. Ya zdes *I’m here*. Ya nye tebya astavlyu *I won’t leave you*” .But Chekov remained agitated and panic stricken. Gasping with each breath, he cried out to Kirk.

“Papa !Pamaguy. Nye morsh deeshatch!” Uhura looked up at Kirk worriedly, seeing her own fear mirrored in his eyes.

“What’s the matter? What’s he saying is wrong?” Kirk asked quickly.

“He says he can’t breathe.” She translated, looking back down at Chekov. The ensign’s dark eyes held hers, and as she watched, the light seemed to flicker and die from them. As she opened her mouth to speak to Pavel, all hell broke loose.

McCoy burst in, followed by M’Benga and several technicians. As they all rushed to Chekov’s bed, Kirk moved quickly out of the way to give them room to work, knowing something was very wrong. Uhura seemed frozen into place, almost too shocked to move away from Chekov. She was gripping his hand fiercely.

“Take her out Jim !” snapped McCoy. Dazedly, Kirk dragged his gaze away from the figure on the bed, to the doctor working frantically over it. “Get Uhura out!” McCoy repeated motioning towards the door with his head. Kirk nodded, and took Uhura by the shoulders, pulling her away from the room. He led her to McCoy’s office, pushing her into a chair at the desk. Glancing around the room, his eyes flickered briefly on the coffee pot, before he moved to a cupboard and retrieved the brandy he knew the doctor kept there. Retrieving two glasses, he poured them both a large brandy, placing one in Uhura’s shaking hands.

“Drink it,” he said “All of it.” he continued firmly, as she took a hesitant sip. She complied, pulling a face at the burn of the alcohol on her throat. He knocked back his own drink in a single swallow, feeling the brandy steady his shaken nerves.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours before McCoy joined them. Each lost in their own thoughts. Kirk looked at the desk chronometer, feeling surprised that only 15 minutes had passed, since they had come here. Neither of them dared look at the monitors which indicated how Pavel was doing on the doctor’s desk. It wouldn’t tell them much, anyway.

“What happened Bones?” Kirk asked, as McCoy walked slowly into his office.

“We lost the battle Jim.” McCoy sounded totally exhausted and defeated. “He’s now on full life support. There’s nothing more I can do to help him.” He slumped into one of the vacant chairs, his eyes full of pain.

“Nothing ?Bones are you sure?” Kirk asked desperately.

“Of course I’m sure!” McCoy snapped back, exhaustion and grief surfacing as anger. Standing, he moved over to Kirk and stood in front of him.

“For Christ sake, Jim! Do you think if there was anything else I could do, I wouldn’t do it? Face up to reality Jim. He’s dying. It’s just a matter of time. I know it. Uhura knows it.” Staring into Kirk’s eyes, his voice became quiet, “and deep down so do you. You just don’t like it when a crew member blots your copy book by inconveniently not making it.”

“Doctor...” pleaded Uhura.

“That’s enough Doctor.” Kirk said softly. The two locked eyes in a mutual glare, before Kirk lowered his eyes, stood, and left the room.

“That was totally uncalled-for and unfair Doctor,” said Uhura, heatedly. “Chekov matters to him. We all matter to him. We’re not just numbers on a record. If you had heard him on the bridge earlier fighting for Pavel....” She tailed off. Her eyes dropped to the desk, and the monitors indicating Chekov’s condition for a few moments, before looking the Doctor straight in the face. “But then again, you should know all this. You’re supposed to be his friend, remember?”

McCoy’s shoulders drooped, and he looked apologetically at Uhura.

“Yeah I know. Sometimes....” He sighed, and stared blankly at the monitors in front of him.

“I tried...,” he whispered, shaking his head. “It’s so damned hard...”

“I know Doctor. He’s going to leave a big hole in all our lives, and we’re all going to need each other in the next few days.” Uhura put a hand on McCoy’s arm, and kissed him on the cheek. “No one could have done more for Pavel than you Leonard, but Jim needs you too. And you need him. Don’t shut each other out.” She finished softly, before leaving the office. She walked out into the main ward, and glanced across to Chekov’s room.

A lone figure stood in silhouette, beside the bed. Uhura moved quietly to the doorway, and stood silently listening as the ship’s helmsman talked to his friend.

“I’m sorry for failing you Pavel. For not being the friend you deserved. I was so angry at you for getting sick… that we would never get to finish all those plans we’d made.… As if it was your fault,” she heard Sulu whisper.

“Then I was scared. Scared to face you. I didn’t know what to say to you. I caused all this. It’s all my fault, and I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. Sorry I made you sick. Sorry I couldn’t find the guts to come and face you when it still mattered....” His voiced quavered on the edge of breaking. Uhura ventured further into the room to stand at his side. As he glanced around at her, she slipped her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m too late Nyota,” he said brokenly. “He can’t hear me now, can he?”

“I don’t know, Hikaru.” she replied honestly.

“I wanted to come before. Really I did. I tried. I came down so may times. I even got as far as the doors one time, but I just couldn’t face him.” Uhura squeezed his shoulders gently. “My great Grandfather once told me of a Japanese legend. If you meditate whilst folding one thousand paper cranes, you can make a miracle happen. But it doesn’t work. It didn’t work then, and it hasn’t now,” he said, sadly.

Silent tears slid down Uhura’s face. Tears for Chekov and for Sulu. They stood silently saying goodbye to their friend; each caught in their own thoughts and memories. Uhura bent and brushed a gentle kiss on Chekov’s cheek.

“Da svidanya Pasha,” she murmured.

“So long, kid.” Sulu said, softly.

Sulu placed the hand he’d been holding back onto the bed. As they left the room, the hand slipped open and a tiny, crumpled paper crane fell onto the bedcovers.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

McCoy stood at the doorway of Chekov’s room, listening to the gentle hum of the machines. It had been two days since he had been forced to put Pavel on full life support. Two days of monitoring his patient for any signs of deterioration. But the steady flicker of the K3 indicator refused to cease. Pavel’s brain was still hanging on; tenaciously clinging to what little life it had left.

“Stubborn as its owner,” he muttered, out loud. Turning away, he wandered back into the darkened sickbay. The room was empty. He’d given all his staff orders to take a rest. Apart from Chekov, there were no patients and none of his team could help the boy now. God, they’d tried though. He couldn’t have asked anymore of his staff.

There was an air of dejection and grief around sickbay that wouldn’t leave until this ended. The dark-haired patient, a constant reminder of their failure, and how quickly life could be taken away out here. McCoy had allowed some of Pavel’s friends to come and say goodbye to him, even though he couldn’t respond to them. The doctor knew they needed these brief moments to reconcile themselves with what had happened. Scotty had been silent and sombre, others had left crying, but none of it helped the grieving doctor’s suffering. No matter how many times he was thanked for doing his best, all he felt was a sense of futile helplessness. His best was just not good enough. All he could do was watch and wait.

As a doctor, he read the test results on Pavel’s brain stem and corporal functions, but it told him none of the things he, as a friend and humanitarian wanted to know. Was Pavel in pain? Was there anything left of the dark eyed, serious ensign he’d been teasing just a few days before? He could only hope that these tests and reports helped any future research into this disease. There had to be some good come out of this nightmare, he thought in despair. “I’m not going to let your suffering be in vain, son. God knows, I owe you that much.”

Running a hand through his hair, he moved to his office. His door was open and a light was glimmering softly. An opened bottle of brandy and a solitary glass stood on his desk. Sitting, he poured himself a drink. He tried to remember how many he’d had before, but gave it up. ‘Who cares?’ he thought. He needed something to help him through this. He knew he would be unable to sleep until this was over. Chekov’s dark eyes would haunt him wherever he went. Jim had been to sickbay every day, his hazel eyes full of concern every time he looked at him. His mumbled attempt at an apology had been met with Jim’s gentle hand on his should and soft words. “It’s okay, Bones. I know. I’m sorry too. I should know you by now.” He needed that friendship. Uhura had been right. They all needed each other at the moment.

Chekov’s voice echoed in his mind. ‘Promise me, that when it gets.. when I’m not really there anymore, and there’s no hope - don’t keep me hanging on just in case - let me go with some dignity.’

“I’m a doctor! I’m here to save lives, not take them. As long as you’re alive , there’s a chance a cure could be found!,” he shouted angrily. The room echoed with the sound of his voice, but a treacherous whisper inside his mind kept nagging at him. Would the cure really be found? Chekov’s was the only known case. The Kaladan civilisation had been wiped out by this disease. What made him think he or Starfleet could find a cure where they had failed? He knew that they’d lost Pavel. His body was a shell. Like the blackened remains of a super nova. Where once everything had been full of life and light, only darkness remained. Would a cure really give Chekov his life back as before? He shook his head, in despair, knowing that a cure would only prolong the boy’s life, but not restore everything he had lost.

“What sort of life would that be for you?” he whispered. “You deserve so much more than that.”

Making a decision, he picked up his drink and made a toast to the empty room. “To Pavel, who was a shining star to the end.” Swallowing the drink in one gulp, he slammed the glass down onto the desk, stood and strode out of his office over to Chekov’s room. Pausing at the doorway, he looked at the innocent boy lying there.

“I didn’t promise you then, but I won’t let you suffer anymore. You’ll keep your dignity, Pavel,” he said softly. Slowly he walked over to the life support machine, removing the control mechanism from its recess. He inserted it into the side of the diagnostic bed, near his patient’s head, hearing it click into place and activate.

Hesitating, he looked down at Chekov. As he did so, Pavel’s face coalesced into the suffering face of his father.

“No!” he cried out in pain. “Dad !I released you… You were suffering so much. I wanted to preserve your dignity..”

Falling to the floor, he buried his head in his hands. “I thought there was no hope, but they found a cure. A god damned cure. If I’d have just hung on a little while longer...” he stopped as his body was racked with pain filled sobs. Finally, his tears ceased, and he looked up at Chekov’s sleeping form.

“I can’t do it, Pavel. I killed my father, when he could have been saved. I can’t make the same mistake with you. I killed my father, then they found the damned cure.”

Emotionally drained, he stood and removed the control device from the bed, placing it down on the covers. Bending over, he took Pavel’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry son. Please forgive me.”

Picking up the control device, he put it back in its recess, and stumbled wearily back to his office. He sat down heavily into his chair. Moving forward, he slowly opened one of the drawers in his desk. Gently, he took out a photograph and looked at it. It was of himself and his father, taken one long hot summer’s day, years ago. Both of them were smiling, his father’s arm across his shoulder. Touching his father’s face gently, he whispered. “You should still be alive, dad. I’m so sorry.”

Putting the picture down onto his desk carefully, he put his arms around it and rested his head wearily. It was the closest he could get to being embraced by his father now.

A tall dark shape moved silently through the darkened sickbay. The only lights showing were glimmers from McCoy’s office and Chekov’s room. The dark shape threaded his way to Chekov’s room, and to the side of the ensign’s bed. For a long minute, he stood looking down at the still figure, and at the monitors showing the low, but still present, brain activity. Spock listened to the steady beep and hum of the life support. He breathed deeply, running through a series of elementary calming exercises, preparing himself for the mind meld. He raised long fingered hands from beneath the dark robes, and gently he placed his fingers on Chekov’s temples as he intoned the litany that commenced a meld.

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

There was no obstruction barring Spock’s way into the young man’s mind. He found himself in a desolate waste; a foggy barren landscape, empty of what had once been the essence of Pavel Andreivech Chekov. Where normally there would be vibrant colour and warmth, there was only a monochrome emptiness that echoed hollowly with Spock’s footsteps. He moved further down the depths of Pavel’s consciousness, in search of what remained. On either side, dark empty tunnels swirled with a grey fog, cold and void of any spark of existence. Pausing briefly, he scanned ahead, looking for anything which might show him that Pavel still remained here. Ahead, through the cold fog was a fragment of light. Quickly, he moved towards it. Towards what warmth and life remained in the barren mindscape.

As Spock stepped into the light, he was surprised to see a woman. A slight woman, with dark hair and deep fathomless eyes. Eyes that were mirrored in the small, dark-haired child, cradled on her knee, as she sat rocking, before a sun streamed window looking out onto a bright winter landscape.

Spock realised with a start that the child was Pavel, when he began to speak.

“I hoped you’d come. I want you to help me. Please, make them let me go. I’m not the person they knew anymore. I’m tired… so very tired, and it hurts so much. I want it to end.”

Spock looked at the child with gentle eyes. “I, too, find myself reluctant to lose you, Pavel, and to leave you here alone.” Spock replied.

“But I’m not here. I’m at home. With Mamasha. Look through the window and see. I’m safe and I’m where I want to be. Let me go. Try to make them understand that I don’t blame them. It was no-one’s fault. No One’s.”

Reluctantly, Spock agreed. “I will mourn your unique perspective, Pavel. I have learned much from you, and I will honour your memory.” He raised his hand, in the Vulcan salute.

“I thank you for your trust in me. You taught me so much. “Da svidanya.” Pavel replied, and the child smiled up at Spock.

Spock withdrew gently from the meld, resting his hand briefly on Chekov’s forehead. Pavel’s words resonated in his mind, and he made his decision. He ran his hand down the back of the ensign’s head to his neck, quickly and efficiently locating the correct points for Tal’shaya .The ritual neck snapping that granted a merciful death. Seconds later, it was over.

The medical monitors sounded belatedly in McCoy’s office. Rousing himself from his slumped position at the desk, the doctor moved quickly over to Chekov’s room, seeing the departing vulcan from the corner of his eye. He made no move to stop him. Quickly, he examined his patient, sighing with relief at the peaceful expression on the boy’s face. At last it was over.

“Rest in peace, Pavel,” he said quietly.

Turning, he activated the computer to formally record the time of death. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he wandered through the darkened sickbay area to the intercom. He pressed the button gently, feeling too drained to do anything else.

“Jim.”

“Yes, Bones?” came the reply.

“It’s over. Chekov’s just passed away. I’m sorry.”

There was silence at the open end of the intercom. He didn’t expect Kirk to make a reply, but there was something he needed to do for another before he terminated the link.

“Jim .I think you should go and talk to Spock. He was with Pavel at the end,” he said, quietly.

Kirk understood. He knew that Spock couldn’t show his emotions, but he knew his friend had them. He hoped Spock would let him help. Kirk knew that the vulcan had become fond of the ensign in his own way, and considered him his protégé.

“Thanks, Bones. I know how hard this has been on you, too. Let Uhura and Sulu know will you. I’ll make an announcement to the crew in the morning. Then go and get some rest. I’ll call by, after I’ve talked to Spock.” Kirk said gently.

“Thanks, Jim. I’d appreciate the company.” McCoy said, tiredly. He closed the connection. Sighing deeply, he paged Chekov’s closest friends.

Spock stared into the flickering flames of the fire pot in his darkened quarters. The calmness of meditation eluded him. The structured disciplines that he had followed from a child could not erase the images of the afternoon’s events.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

The small chapel had been crowded. He hadn’t realised how many lives the ensign had touched. People he didn’t think Chekov had even met, had gathered together, with his friends to share their grief and celebrate his life.

Jim had given a short, but moving eulogy about Chekov. How good a navigator he had been, and what a tragedy it was that such promise would be unfulfilled. Chekov’s parents had sat in front of the dais, flanked by Scott and McCoy, each senior officer offering silent support to the grieving couple.

Uhura had sung. Her lovely voice trembling on the notes of Chekov’s favourite song. The air of grief and loss in the room had been overwhelming. You didn’t need to be a telepath to feel it. It had beaten against his shields in never ending waves, until he had felt an almost uncontrollable urge to leave. To escape the outpouring of sadness. Only looking at Jim had stilled him. His friend had needed him there, so he had remained, giving him what support he could.

Spock’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounding of the door chime. Moving to the door, he said. “Enter,” and waited to see who could be visiting at that late hour of the evening. It was Chekov’s mother. A slight woman, with dark hair, touched by grey at the temples. Her dark eyes were deep and full of her loss, as she looked at the austere vulcan officer.

“I apologise for disturbing you, Mister Spock. Pasha spoke of you so often in his letters, I just had to speak with you before we left.”

Spock stood aside to grant her entrance to his quarters, intoning the formal, “I grieve with thee,” as she passed by him, to move into his quarters. She looked at him intently.

“Yes .I believe you do. I know you were there at the end, and I wanted to thank you for being with him, so that my Pasha was not alone,” she said, sadly.

Spock looked at the grieving woman and tried to say something, but she seemed oblivious to him. Instead she moved further into the room, and stared deeply into the flickering flames of the fire pot.

“It’s just so hard to lose him like this. To know that I signed his death warrant on the day he was born. I wish I’d never....” her voice faded away into silence.

“Mrs .Chekov.” Spock spoke from behind her. Moving to stand in front of the fire pot, he looked at the grieving mother until she raised her eyes to look at him.

“Pavel did not blame you. Indeed, he blamed no one for this tragedy.” Hesitating slightly, Spock continued.

“You may be aware that vulcans are touch telepaths ?” She nodded at him. “We are able to touch the minds of other sentient beings, through something we call a meld. It is the telepathic joining of two minds together. Before your son died, I was able to perform a meld with him. His thoughts were of you, and your home in Russia. ”

Silent tears streaked down her face, as she whispered. “I wanted so much to see him before he died. To be with him at the end. I wanted him to know that I’d never have.… ”

“Do not do this to yourself,” Spock said, interrupting her. Taking a deep breath, he said, “With your permission, I can show you Pavel’s last thoughts. The meld will help you, if you allow it.”

“You can show me? Please, show me my son. My Pasha.”

“Very well. Please relax your mind. I will place my fingers on the meld points on your face. Do not fight the joining of our minds. I give you my word, that I will not invade your privacy.”

“Pasha trusted you, Mister Spock. That is enough for me. Please proceed.”

As she stood there, Spock gently laid his fingers on her face, finding the correct meld points. The room seemed to blur and fade. Instead, she moved into a sunlit winter landscape. There was a dascha in front of her, and she moved towards a golden window pane. Home, she thought.

Looking through the window, her breath caught. There inside was a dark-haired woman, with deep fathomless eyes, holding a child that mirrored her looks, sitting cradled on her knee as she sat rocking him gently.

“Pasha...” she whispered, her tears falling “little one....”

Spock’s voice whispered across her mind, as she stared at herself and her beautiful son, who snuggled lovingly in her arms.

“It is illogical to blame yourself. By wishing he had never been, you are negating what he gave to the universe and to those who knew him. He was a unique individual, and I, like many others, am saddened by his passing.”

-o- THE END -o-

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