Chekov pouted to himself as he looked at the shelf far above him. Sometimes he swore his professors chose the books highest up just to spite him. Yet he refused to give in and ask for help. He may be only thirteen, but he was a Starfleet Cadet. He could get a damned book himself.

The ladder only reached half of the way up and the young Russian had to reach just too far for his balance. He fell, hitting his head on a table on his way down.

No one saw, and he managed to get his book all by himself.


Getting into the local bars was no problem for Chekov; with the help of his Starfleet I.D. he made them all believe that he only looked fourteen. So, he could drink with the other cadets whenever he wanted. It was never him drinking too much that was a problem. It was the other cadets. Too much alcohol flowing and some of them got mean.

Chekov wasn't sure who threw the first punch. All he knew was that he ended up with a black eye, a cut all the way down his back, and taking the fall for everyone involved.


"Pavel, it's nearly two," Cadet Kirk pointed out. "This project can wait until tonight to be finished."

"You go ahead. I would like to finish zis part."

Kirk looked at him for a moment. "Fine. Just hurry up and get yourself some sleep."

Chekov did not sleep that night. He finished the project. However, he feel asleep in the middle of class that afternoon, much to the disappointment to the professor.


Chekov stared in shock at the empty transporter pad. How? How did he lose the signal? He was able to pull both Kirk and Sulu out of freefall, but he had lost her. It was because of him she was dead. Because of him.

He slipped from the chaotic transporter room unnoticed. He found an empty corridor, sat on the ground, and cried.


Chekov sat on the floor of his bathroom, trying to get the large cut down his leg to stop bleeding.

He had fallen during the mission and sliced it open on a rock. The Captain had seen and asked him if he was alright, offered to have him beamed back up so McCoy could take a look, but Chekov assured him he was fine.

Now, as he placed butterfly bandages on the wound, he wasn't so sure.



"Bridge to Ensign Chekov."

Chekov moaned, trying to ignore the voice from the speaker. His head hurt, he felt like he was going to throw up and he was sure the heat in his room had to be broken since it was so hot.

"Captain to Chekov. If you don't answer, I'm sending Cupcake down to get you."

Chekov hit the button on the comm, which was luckily right next to his bed. "I am here, Kiptain."

"You're half an hour late for your shift. Everything alright?"

Chekov shot up, but instantly lay back down as a wave of nausea hit.


He hit the comm again. "Can you call in my replacement? I am too sick to come up." He winced at his own words. He had never been too sick for anything; he always worked through it. Yet he knew, even if he could sit up, he was in no condition to do his job.

"Of course. Try to feel better soon. If you need anything, just call Bones."

"Yes, Kiptain," he agreed, even though he never would bother the Doctor.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock at his door. He hit the button on the comm to the hall. "I do not wish to be bozered right now," he muttered.

"Open up, Kid. It's McCoy."

Chekov reluctantly pressed off the lock. "It is open."

The door opened and the Doctor walked in, his medic bag in one hand. "Jim called me, told me you were sick and he was worried."

Chekov looked at him with glassy eyes. "I will be fine, Doktor. I only need to sleep it off."

"That flush on your face says otherwise." The Doctor took his tri-corder out. "Jim said it may have something to do with that fall the other day. The one you forgot to mention."

"Nyet. That was only a small cut."

"Let me see."

Chekov hesitated, then pulled his pajama leg up.

"Shit. Well, that's why you're so sick. That is most defiantly infected." McCoy started to look through his bag.

"But I cleaned it well."

"Not well enough, apparently. Luckily the tri-corder says the infection is not too serious. I'm going to give you this hypospray to fight the infection, then I'm going to clean and bandage you're leg back up, okay?"

Chekov nodded, then asked, "Should you be in the medical bay, Doktor?"

"I'm off duty right now. Have six hours 'till I have to be back."

"Zen why are you here, not relaxing?"

"Someone needs to take care of you, Kid. And God knows, you're the only person I trust not to crash us into some planet."