Things Left Behind: Epilogue
Title: Things Left Behind: Epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Chekov/Sulu, Spock/Uhura
Warnings: None.
Summary: When the Enterprise has to return to Spacedock for repairs, Sulu and Chekov get the chance to research their former selves.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, it belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
A/N: This will make no sense unless you have first read Things Left Behind.
It ended up being three weeks, an away mission that involved bending the Prime Directive and four Klingon warbirds before Chekov and Sulu finally got the opportunity to research their presumed past selves. The Enterprise's library might be huge, but it didn't have everything - and what it was missing was the historical minutiae that would constitute proof.
What they really needed was the chance to access Earth's SolNet Archives. Fortunately, with the Enterprise in Spacedock for repairs, they had all the access that they could possibly want.
"I think we should start with the casualty lists," Sulu said, as if they hadn't discussed this multiple times over the past three weeks. The blue-white glow of the screen in front of him reflected off his face, vivid in the dimmed lights of his quarters. "You remember Dmitri dying in action, right?"
"Yes," Chekov agreed, shivering at the memory. "It is most unsettling, knowing this." His fingers tightened momentarily on Sulu's arms from where he was leaning over the older man's shoulder. Sulu still hadn't told him what had happened to Shinji, but from the hints that he'd dropped, he'd survived more of the war than Dmitri had.
Sulu raised one hand and wrapped it over Chekov's where it lay on his arm, squeezing gently. "Look, Pavel, I know you don't like it. But we do need to find out, and it's our best lead."
Chekov couldn't help but relax at the contact, and he wondered how he'd missed how well they fit together before their trip to Kthalios Majura changed everything. "I know. It is selfish of me."
"Hey." Sulu removed his hand, tapping him lightly in reproof before starting to type in the search parameters. "I challenge anyone to carry around the memory of dying and not be disturbed by it." He hit Search, then frowned at the progress bar that popped up.
Chekov huffed a half-laugh. "Always so practical, Hikaru." He looked at the screen, and his eyebrows rose. "Ah. We are accessing what is usually compressed storage. This is interesting. At the current rate of decompression, I think it will take . . . three hours for all the data to be searched."
Sulu nodded. "And we both have to face the Starfleet repair committee in seven hours. We'd better go to bed." He reached up to blank the screen, then turned to his partner with a hopeful smile on his face.
Laughing properly this time, Chekov grinned in return. "No, Hikaru. I am not that tired."
* * *
A soft chime roused Sulu out of a light sleep. He blinked his eyes open in the darkness of the room, and for a moment he wondered why he'd set an alarm. Then he remembered that he'd forgotten to cancel the search alert.
"Lights, ten percent," he ordered quietly. Beside him, Chekov was sprawled over half the bed, still fast asleep. Sulu smiled. Chekov was adorable when asleep, his curls mussed on the pillow and his body completely relaxed. Not wanting to awaken his young lover, Sulu eased himself out of the bed and padded barefoot over to the console.
The screen brightened at his touch. 1 match found.
Ivanov, Dmitri. Killed in action, 24th June 1941.
Below that was a list of partial matches extending into the hundreds - all the Ivanovs and Dmitris and the various spellings thereof that were not the Dmitri Ivanov who died in 1941 and, really, didn't matter in the slightest.
Sulu stared at the screen for a long moment, then blanked it again. Dmitri and Shinji had waited three centuries. They could wait until after tomorrow's trial by committee.
* * *
"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a bureaucrat!" McCoy snarled as soon as the door shut behind the senior crew. Gesturing towards the committee in their now-sealed room, he continued his diatribe as the crew headed down the space station corridor. "If they think it's so easy to count every bandage and hypospray we use in an emergency situation, they can damn well do it themselves! I'd like to see them cope with incoming casualties when you don't know if the ship will still be airtight in the next few seconds!"
Chekov could sympathise. The committee had grilled them over every decision they'd made during that fight with the Klingon warbirds, down to the number of torpedoes they'd used. He felt wrung out, and about the only things he wanted were to have a good meal and to find a bed to sleep in for about eight hours. Preferably with Sulu. Their quarters on board the Enterprise were sealed off at the moment while repairs were underway, but Spacedock had (grudgingly) provided space for the de-homed Enterprise crew.
"Bones," Kirk said reprovingly. "I think you're underestimating my crew here. If it wasn't for Scotty and Chekov figuring out how to boost the shields, and Sulu's piloting abilities, you wouldn't be here now to complain about it."
McCoy had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. "Yeah, I'll give you that." The doctor checked his watch, then cursed. "Great. I have fifteen minutes to catch my shuttle downside. If you'll excuse me, I'll see you later." Without waiting for goodbyes, he stepped into a turbolift and was gone.
"The time taken by the committee to ascertain the facts did indeed seem excessive," Spock commented calmly.
Sulu snorted. "That's one way of putting it," he agreed.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "How else should I 'put it', Mr. Sulu?"
Chekov surreptitiously elbowed Sulu in the ribs, but two of the other senior staff had already broken into simultaneous and conflicting conversation.
"It's absolutely ridiculous . . ."
"I want to hear . . ."
Scotty and Uhura stopped and exchanged glances. "You first, lassie. Uh, Lieutenant," Scotty hastily corrected himself.
Uhura coughed. "I was just saying that I'd like to hear something that isn't subspace chatter. I believe that there's a lyre concert tonight in New York by a pair of musicians from New Vulcan, if anyone's interested."
Although Chekov would have quite liked to go to that concert, he had eyes and ears and a brain and could use them in a joined-up fashion. So he gave his excuses along with Kirk, Scotty and Sulu, exchanging a private and knowing glance with the helmsman.
"It would be . . . pleasant . . . to hear Vulcan music again," Spock said slowly. "Lieutenant, I would like to accompany you, if you do not object."
Uhura smiled for a moment, then tried to wipe her expression. "I have no objections," she said, sounding remarkably like Spock in that moment. "There's a shuttle leaving in half an hour."
"Then I believe we should be on it." Gentlemen." Spock nodded to the four remaining officers and set off, Uhura beside him. They weren't quite holding hands, but it looked to Chekov as if they should be.
Kirk waited for them to get well out of earshot - even taking into account Spock's remarkable hearing - before commenting, "I wonder if they still think they're fooling anybody."
Scotty, Sulu and Chekov chuckled. "If you ask me, Captain, the only people they're fooling is themselves," Scotty said wryly. They were overtaken by two Engineering non-coms who were muttering at each other about a PADD that one was holding. As they passed, Scotty glanced down at the data.
"The idiots! They're going to completely misalign the warp coils if they do that! Excuse me, Captain. Hey! You there!"
Scotty accelerated after the luckless pair of repair techs, who were showing remarkably little sense of self-preservation due to having stopped and turned around at Scotty's call.
Kirk turned to Sulu and Chekov. "I hate to abandon you, gentlemen, but I have an, um, old friend to visit. I'll see you back on the ship when they've finished the repairs."
"Aye, Captain," the two chorused.
Alone but for the occasional passer-by, the two men turned to look at each other. "Lunch?" Sulu suggested.
"You know me too well," Chekov said gratefully. Due to the lengthy interrogation by the committee, they'd all missed out on the midday meal, and having missed breakfast for a mutual shower hadn't helped the gnawing in his stomach.
Sulu laughed. "Hey, you're not the only one who's starving. Although you might not be hungry after you get a look at the mess hall. Last time I was there, the only things available were reconstituted vegetable soup or meatloaf."
"Hikaru," Chekov said firmly, "I do not care, as long as it has food."
Smiling, Sulu led the way.
* * *
Lunch had been slightly better than he'd expected, which was a relief. Either the canteen had been having a bad day last time, or they were having a good one today. Chekov had vacuumed up his normal amount of food - it still amazed Sulu that the younger man could put so much away and stay so slender - before announcing that he wanted to explore the station. They'd agreed to meet for dinner, since neither had anywhere to go until the next day, and then headed off to their respective destinations.
Sulu had gone back to his Spacedock-provided quarters in search of more historical data. Unlike lunch, however, the rooms were exactly as he'd expected.
As bridge officers, both he and Chekov had their own cabins. Although cubicles might be a better description, when he considered that if he stretched his arms, he could reach across the width of the room. Each was supplied with a single bed, a narrow locker and a console screen fitted into the wall. In order to access the screen, he had to sit on his bed, since the chair that should have been there had clearly been removed long ago.
Sulu had managed to dig up some information on Dmitri's squad, and had set the computer to running a search for any information relating to it. There was nothing about a rescue mission in the June to July period of 1939, just a list showing equipment losses for that time period. He was about to switch off the console when it chimed and brought up a series of pictures that had been linked to that time and place.
The first black and white photo was of a man sitting in a plane that looked too primitive to fly, although the aerodynamics looked vaguely sensible. He had his head half-turned, grinning at the camera, and Sulu leaned closer to squint at the tiny figure.
"Computer, magnify grid gamma-one."
The image zoomed in on the specified area, and now Sulu could see the pilot clearly. The image was blurred as a result of the low resolution of the original photograph, although modern technology had compensated fairly well. The face . . .
The face was unmistakably Dmitri's.
* * *
A short walk down the corridor in an identical room, Chekov lounged on the bed, feet in the air and head propped on his hands. The screen was filling up grudgingly with information on one Mihara Shinji. It had taken Chekov a while to narrow down which Shinji was the one Dmitri had known, but eventually he'd been able to track the man through his service record.
According to the available data, Shinji had been returned to Japan during a prisoner exchange not long after Dmitri had been sent to the German front. The list of commendations, citations and reprimands in Shinji's service record post-return spoke volumes, especially compared to his file before they'd knocked each other out of the sky. Commendations for valour, reprimands for fighting while off duty. The pattern continued until near the end, when a medical discharge had grounded him. Chekov couldn't help shuddering. For a moment, he imagined not being able to fly again. Dmitri had been afraid of that too - like his former self, he wanted to head out past the sky and keep going. Starfleet offered him that chance. If he couldn't touch the universe any more, he'd hate it.
Shinji had gone . . . where?
The data came up even more slowly, this time, but eventually the screen reformed into an image. Shinji's discharge papers, actual paper, scanned into electronic storage. Chekov perused it, coming up with a date and an address.
25th July, 1945. Hiroshima.
Chekov frowned. That combination sounded familiar.
* * *
Sulu wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the positive proof of Dmitri Ivanov's existence, but the sound of the door buzzer made him start out of his half-hypnotised state. "Who is it?" he called.
"Hikaru, let me in," came the demand from outside.
Sulu jumped up from his chair on hearing Chekov's voice, suddenly wanting nothing more than to share the fact of the image onscreen. He hurried across the room and opened the door, only to be almost run down by an upset Chekov waving a PADD.
"Pavel?" Sulu asked cautiously.
"Why did you not tell me?" The words burst out of Chekov like water under pressure, as if he had to say them or explode. "I have found the information on Shinji. Why did you not tell me what happened to you - to him?"
Sulu's eyes went to the PADD, the word 'Hiroshima' clearly visible, and he winced. "Look, Pavel, I'm sorry. I knew how difficult it was for you to deal with your memory of Dmitri, I didn't want to add anything else to . . ."
Chekov verbally steamrollered right over the top of him. "You thought I could not cope? You thought, perhaps, I am less able to deal with this? Hikaru, I am not a child. I do not need to be protected!"
Barely in time, Sulu stopped himself from saying, Yes, you do. He wanted to protect Chekov, wanted to prevent the world from ever hurting him, but that wasn't fair on the younger man. Chekov was his lover, not his subordinate. He had to let Chekov take on his own burdens, even if it hurt him.
Instead, he said, "You're right. You don't need protecting. I should have trusted that you could deal with it. I'm sorry, Pavel."
Abruptly, the fire went out of Chekov's eyes, and the ensign smiled. "It is okay, Hikaru. If I were in your place, I would probably have done the same. I do not like to see you hurting."
Sulu grinned ruefully. "We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?"
Chekov dropped the PADD on top of Sulu's locker, stepping forward into Sulu's personal space. "Da, Hikaru. We are partners." His arms went around the other man. Sulu hadn't even realised that he'd made the decision, but his arms were around Chekov before he knew he'd done it.
"I don't want to lose you again," Sulu whispered into his ear, greedily inhaling the scent of Chekov's hair.
"We are in Starfleet, Hikaru, I cannot promise anything," Chekov said quietly, his warm breath sparking off sensations in Sulu's neck. "But I want to be with you for as long as I can."
Sulu couldn't think of anything to say in return, so he kissed him instead. It turned out to be the right response.
* * *
The repairs took two weeks, with the entire crew taking advantage of the unexpected shore leave. But all good things come to an end, and soon the Enterprise was back on its five-year mission. Chekov and Sulu were having breakfast in the crowded mess hall together, arguing amicably about whether butter or jam tasted better on toast, when Uhura walked in.
"Hey Uhura, over here!" Sulu called, waving to the communications officer. Chekov looked up from his toast and nodded, remembering that he and Sulu had intended to ask her about the Kthalian word that had puzzled them both.
Uhura nodded back, smiling, then pointed at the food slot. "Be right there," she mouthed back, inaudible over the susurrus of voices. It didn't take her long to get her own breakfast, and she slid into an unoccupied chair of the other side of their table. "Morning, Lieutenant. Morning, Ensign."
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Chekov said cheerfully.
Hikaru had just taken a mis-timed bite of toast, so let out a muffled noise before swallowing quickly. "Umph. Morning, Lieutenant. How was shore leave?"
"Good, thank you," Uhura said serenely. "We - I met an Andorian, and she was kind enough to translate some colloquialisms for me." She leaned forward confidentially, lowering her voice, and the two men automatically bent to match her. "She also taught me a really good list of Andorian swearwords."
"I don't suppose you could pass those along?" Sulu asked, trying for innocence and failing miserably.
"Ask me after this shift," Uhura promised.
There would be no better time. "Did you learn any interesting words back on Kthalios Majura?" Chekov asked, pretending to be more interested in his breakfast than her reply.
"Yes," Uhura replied readily. "The language has some interesting similarities to Earth Italian and Old Orion. Take their word for planet, for example. El'as'vere is very similar to els'var, the Orion word for sphere."
"Did you ever come across the word shai'ashke?" Sulu asked.
Uhura gave him a look that suggested that she knew Sulu was up to something, then frowned in concentration. "Hmmm. Not directly, but I can probably figure it out from the roots. Ash comes from ashchen, birth, and ke is a repeater modifier - like 're' in English. I think shai is the equivalent of spirit or soul - or ghost, depending on the context."
Chekov exchanged a look with Sulu. The helmsman didn't look surprised, exactly, but there was a definite tinge of astonishment melded with triumph. Chekov suspected that his own expression mirrored Sulu's. "So it would mean - reborn soul?" he guessed.
Uhura nodded. "As far as I can understand, yes."
* * *
Conversation trailed into a comparison of shore leaves after that, which lasted until Sulu and Chekov finished eating. Uhura still had half her breakfast left, as she preferred to be leisurely when eating if it was an option. She watched as the two exited through the mess hall doors, then looked away as a familiar flash of blue caught the corner of her eye.
Spock was standing with a bowl of soup in hand, looking around for a free table. She sat up straighter, and resisted the urge to smile as he spotted her and headed purposefully in her direction.
"Commander," she said, junior officer to senior.
"Lieutenant," he responded in kind as he seated himself. "I had observed that your table was full."
Ah. That explained why he hadn't come over earlier. "Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov just left," she said demurely, taking a sip of fruit juice.
"I trust they enjoyed their shore leave," Spock said mildly. Only her expert eye was able to detect the twitch at the corner of his mouth that indicated humour, and her eyes crinkled in response.
"I believe they did," was all she said, but she knew that Spock understood her. She was almost certain that the bridge officers, at least, knew about her relationship with Spock. But if she and Spock were the biggest non-secret on the Enterprise, then Sulu and Chekov had to be the second.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Chekov/Sulu, Spock/Uhura
Warnings: None.
Summary: When the Enterprise has to return to Spacedock for repairs, Sulu and Chekov get the chance to research their former selves.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, it belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
A/N: This will make no sense unless you have first read Things Left Behind.
It ended up being three weeks, an away mission that involved bending the Prime Directive and four Klingon warbirds before Chekov and Sulu finally got the opportunity to research their presumed past selves. The Enterprise's library might be huge, but it didn't have everything - and what it was missing was the historical minutiae that would constitute proof.
What they really needed was the chance to access Earth's SolNet Archives. Fortunately, with the Enterprise in Spacedock for repairs, they had all the access that they could possibly want.
"I think we should start with the casualty lists," Sulu said, as if they hadn't discussed this multiple times over the past three weeks. The blue-white glow of the screen in front of him reflected off his face, vivid in the dimmed lights of his quarters. "You remember Dmitri dying in action, right?"
"Yes," Chekov agreed, shivering at the memory. "It is most unsettling, knowing this." His fingers tightened momentarily on Sulu's arms from where he was leaning over the older man's shoulder. Sulu still hadn't told him what had happened to Shinji, but from the hints that he'd dropped, he'd survived more of the war than Dmitri had.
Sulu raised one hand and wrapped it over Chekov's where it lay on his arm, squeezing gently. "Look, Pavel, I know you don't like it. But we do need to find out, and it's our best lead."
Chekov couldn't help but relax at the contact, and he wondered how he'd missed how well they fit together before their trip to Kthalios Majura changed everything. "I know. It is selfish of me."
"Hey." Sulu removed his hand, tapping him lightly in reproof before starting to type in the search parameters. "I challenge anyone to carry around the memory of dying and not be disturbed by it." He hit Search, then frowned at the progress bar that popped up.
Chekov huffed a half-laugh. "Always so practical, Hikaru." He looked at the screen, and his eyebrows rose. "Ah. We are accessing what is usually compressed storage. This is interesting. At the current rate of decompression, I think it will take . . . three hours for all the data to be searched."
Sulu nodded. "And we both have to face the Starfleet repair committee in seven hours. We'd better go to bed." He reached up to blank the screen, then turned to his partner with a hopeful smile on his face.
Laughing properly this time, Chekov grinned in return. "No, Hikaru. I am not that tired."
* * *
A soft chime roused Sulu out of a light sleep. He blinked his eyes open in the darkness of the room, and for a moment he wondered why he'd set an alarm. Then he remembered that he'd forgotten to cancel the search alert.
"Lights, ten percent," he ordered quietly. Beside him, Chekov was sprawled over half the bed, still fast asleep. Sulu smiled. Chekov was adorable when asleep, his curls mussed on the pillow and his body completely relaxed. Not wanting to awaken his young lover, Sulu eased himself out of the bed and padded barefoot over to the console.
The screen brightened at his touch. 1 match found.
Ivanov, Dmitri. Killed in action, 24th June 1941.
Below that was a list of partial matches extending into the hundreds - all the Ivanovs and Dmitris and the various spellings thereof that were not the Dmitri Ivanov who died in 1941 and, really, didn't matter in the slightest.
Sulu stared at the screen for a long moment, then blanked it again. Dmitri and Shinji had waited three centuries. They could wait until after tomorrow's trial by committee.
* * *
"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a bureaucrat!" McCoy snarled as soon as the door shut behind the senior crew. Gesturing towards the committee in their now-sealed room, he continued his diatribe as the crew headed down the space station corridor. "If they think it's so easy to count every bandage and hypospray we use in an emergency situation, they can damn well do it themselves! I'd like to see them cope with incoming casualties when you don't know if the ship will still be airtight in the next few seconds!"
Chekov could sympathise. The committee had grilled them over every decision they'd made during that fight with the Klingon warbirds, down to the number of torpedoes they'd used. He felt wrung out, and about the only things he wanted were to have a good meal and to find a bed to sleep in for about eight hours. Preferably with Sulu. Their quarters on board the Enterprise were sealed off at the moment while repairs were underway, but Spacedock had (grudgingly) provided space for the de-homed Enterprise crew.
"Bones," Kirk said reprovingly. "I think you're underestimating my crew here. If it wasn't for Scotty and Chekov figuring out how to boost the shields, and Sulu's piloting abilities, you wouldn't be here now to complain about it."
McCoy had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. "Yeah, I'll give you that." The doctor checked his watch, then cursed. "Great. I have fifteen minutes to catch my shuttle downside. If you'll excuse me, I'll see you later." Without waiting for goodbyes, he stepped into a turbolift and was gone.
"The time taken by the committee to ascertain the facts did indeed seem excessive," Spock commented calmly.
Sulu snorted. "That's one way of putting it," he agreed.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "How else should I 'put it', Mr. Sulu?"
Chekov surreptitiously elbowed Sulu in the ribs, but two of the other senior staff had already broken into simultaneous and conflicting conversation.
"It's absolutely ridiculous . . ."
"I want to hear . . ."
Scotty and Uhura stopped and exchanged glances. "You first, lassie. Uh, Lieutenant," Scotty hastily corrected himself.
Uhura coughed. "I was just saying that I'd like to hear something that isn't subspace chatter. I believe that there's a lyre concert tonight in New York by a pair of musicians from New Vulcan, if anyone's interested."
Although Chekov would have quite liked to go to that concert, he had eyes and ears and a brain and could use them in a joined-up fashion. So he gave his excuses along with Kirk, Scotty and Sulu, exchanging a private and knowing glance with the helmsman.
"It would be . . . pleasant . . . to hear Vulcan music again," Spock said slowly. "Lieutenant, I would like to accompany you, if you do not object."
Uhura smiled for a moment, then tried to wipe her expression. "I have no objections," she said, sounding remarkably like Spock in that moment. "There's a shuttle leaving in half an hour."
"Then I believe we should be on it." Gentlemen." Spock nodded to the four remaining officers and set off, Uhura beside him. They weren't quite holding hands, but it looked to Chekov as if they should be.
Kirk waited for them to get well out of earshot - even taking into account Spock's remarkable hearing - before commenting, "I wonder if they still think they're fooling anybody."
Scotty, Sulu and Chekov chuckled. "If you ask me, Captain, the only people they're fooling is themselves," Scotty said wryly. They were overtaken by two Engineering non-coms who were muttering at each other about a PADD that one was holding. As they passed, Scotty glanced down at the data.
"The idiots! They're going to completely misalign the warp coils if they do that! Excuse me, Captain. Hey! You there!"
Scotty accelerated after the luckless pair of repair techs, who were showing remarkably little sense of self-preservation due to having stopped and turned around at Scotty's call.
Kirk turned to Sulu and Chekov. "I hate to abandon you, gentlemen, but I have an, um, old friend to visit. I'll see you back on the ship when they've finished the repairs."
"Aye, Captain," the two chorused.
Alone but for the occasional passer-by, the two men turned to look at each other. "Lunch?" Sulu suggested.
"You know me too well," Chekov said gratefully. Due to the lengthy interrogation by the committee, they'd all missed out on the midday meal, and having missed breakfast for a mutual shower hadn't helped the gnawing in his stomach.
Sulu laughed. "Hey, you're not the only one who's starving. Although you might not be hungry after you get a look at the mess hall. Last time I was there, the only things available were reconstituted vegetable soup or meatloaf."
"Hikaru," Chekov said firmly, "I do not care, as long as it has food."
Smiling, Sulu led the way.
* * *
Lunch had been slightly better than he'd expected, which was a relief. Either the canteen had been having a bad day last time, or they were having a good one today. Chekov had vacuumed up his normal amount of food - it still amazed Sulu that the younger man could put so much away and stay so slender - before announcing that he wanted to explore the station. They'd agreed to meet for dinner, since neither had anywhere to go until the next day, and then headed off to their respective destinations.
Sulu had gone back to his Spacedock-provided quarters in search of more historical data. Unlike lunch, however, the rooms were exactly as he'd expected.
As bridge officers, both he and Chekov had their own cabins. Although cubicles might be a better description, when he considered that if he stretched his arms, he could reach across the width of the room. Each was supplied with a single bed, a narrow locker and a console screen fitted into the wall. In order to access the screen, he had to sit on his bed, since the chair that should have been there had clearly been removed long ago.
Sulu had managed to dig up some information on Dmitri's squad, and had set the computer to running a search for any information relating to it. There was nothing about a rescue mission in the June to July period of 1939, just a list showing equipment losses for that time period. He was about to switch off the console when it chimed and brought up a series of pictures that had been linked to that time and place.
The first black and white photo was of a man sitting in a plane that looked too primitive to fly, although the aerodynamics looked vaguely sensible. He had his head half-turned, grinning at the camera, and Sulu leaned closer to squint at the tiny figure.
"Computer, magnify grid gamma-one."
The image zoomed in on the specified area, and now Sulu could see the pilot clearly. The image was blurred as a result of the low resolution of the original photograph, although modern technology had compensated fairly well. The face . . .
The face was unmistakably Dmitri's.
* * *
A short walk down the corridor in an identical room, Chekov lounged on the bed, feet in the air and head propped on his hands. The screen was filling up grudgingly with information on one Mihara Shinji. It had taken Chekov a while to narrow down which Shinji was the one Dmitri had known, but eventually he'd been able to track the man through his service record.
According to the available data, Shinji had been returned to Japan during a prisoner exchange not long after Dmitri had been sent to the German front. The list of commendations, citations and reprimands in Shinji's service record post-return spoke volumes, especially compared to his file before they'd knocked each other out of the sky. Commendations for valour, reprimands for fighting while off duty. The pattern continued until near the end, when a medical discharge had grounded him. Chekov couldn't help shuddering. For a moment, he imagined not being able to fly again. Dmitri had been afraid of that too - like his former self, he wanted to head out past the sky and keep going. Starfleet offered him that chance. If he couldn't touch the universe any more, he'd hate it.
Shinji had gone . . . where?
The data came up even more slowly, this time, but eventually the screen reformed into an image. Shinji's discharge papers, actual paper, scanned into electronic storage. Chekov perused it, coming up with a date and an address.
25th July, 1945. Hiroshima.
Chekov frowned. That combination sounded familiar.
* * *
Sulu wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the positive proof of Dmitri Ivanov's existence, but the sound of the door buzzer made him start out of his half-hypnotised state. "Who is it?" he called.
"Hikaru, let me in," came the demand from outside.
Sulu jumped up from his chair on hearing Chekov's voice, suddenly wanting nothing more than to share the fact of the image onscreen. He hurried across the room and opened the door, only to be almost run down by an upset Chekov waving a PADD.
"Pavel?" Sulu asked cautiously.
"Why did you not tell me?" The words burst out of Chekov like water under pressure, as if he had to say them or explode. "I have found the information on Shinji. Why did you not tell me what happened to you - to him?"
Sulu's eyes went to the PADD, the word 'Hiroshima' clearly visible, and he winced. "Look, Pavel, I'm sorry. I knew how difficult it was for you to deal with your memory of Dmitri, I didn't want to add anything else to . . ."
Chekov verbally steamrollered right over the top of him. "You thought I could not cope? You thought, perhaps, I am less able to deal with this? Hikaru, I am not a child. I do not need to be protected!"
Barely in time, Sulu stopped himself from saying, Yes, you do. He wanted to protect Chekov, wanted to prevent the world from ever hurting him, but that wasn't fair on the younger man. Chekov was his lover, not his subordinate. He had to let Chekov take on his own burdens, even if it hurt him.
Instead, he said, "You're right. You don't need protecting. I should have trusted that you could deal with it. I'm sorry, Pavel."
Abruptly, the fire went out of Chekov's eyes, and the ensign smiled. "It is okay, Hikaru. If I were in your place, I would probably have done the same. I do not like to see you hurting."
Sulu grinned ruefully. "We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?"
Chekov dropped the PADD on top of Sulu's locker, stepping forward into Sulu's personal space. "Da, Hikaru. We are partners." His arms went around the other man. Sulu hadn't even realised that he'd made the decision, but his arms were around Chekov before he knew he'd done it.
"I don't want to lose you again," Sulu whispered into his ear, greedily inhaling the scent of Chekov's hair.
"We are in Starfleet, Hikaru, I cannot promise anything," Chekov said quietly, his warm breath sparking off sensations in Sulu's neck. "But I want to be with you for as long as I can."
Sulu couldn't think of anything to say in return, so he kissed him instead. It turned out to be the right response.
* * *
The repairs took two weeks, with the entire crew taking advantage of the unexpected shore leave. But all good things come to an end, and soon the Enterprise was back on its five-year mission. Chekov and Sulu were having breakfast in the crowded mess hall together, arguing amicably about whether butter or jam tasted better on toast, when Uhura walked in.
"Hey Uhura, over here!" Sulu called, waving to the communications officer. Chekov looked up from his toast and nodded, remembering that he and Sulu had intended to ask her about the Kthalian word that had puzzled them both.
Uhura nodded back, smiling, then pointed at the food slot. "Be right there," she mouthed back, inaudible over the susurrus of voices. It didn't take her long to get her own breakfast, and she slid into an unoccupied chair of the other side of their table. "Morning, Lieutenant. Morning, Ensign."
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Chekov said cheerfully.
Hikaru had just taken a mis-timed bite of toast, so let out a muffled noise before swallowing quickly. "Umph. Morning, Lieutenant. How was shore leave?"
"Good, thank you," Uhura said serenely. "We - I met an Andorian, and she was kind enough to translate some colloquialisms for me." She leaned forward confidentially, lowering her voice, and the two men automatically bent to match her. "She also taught me a really good list of Andorian swearwords."
"I don't suppose you could pass those along?" Sulu asked, trying for innocence and failing miserably.
"Ask me after this shift," Uhura promised.
There would be no better time. "Did you learn any interesting words back on Kthalios Majura?" Chekov asked, pretending to be more interested in his breakfast than her reply.
"Yes," Uhura replied readily. "The language has some interesting similarities to Earth Italian and Old Orion. Take their word for planet, for example. El'as'vere is very similar to els'var, the Orion word for sphere."
"Did you ever come across the word shai'ashke?" Sulu asked.
Uhura gave him a look that suggested that she knew Sulu was up to something, then frowned in concentration. "Hmmm. Not directly, but I can probably figure it out from the roots. Ash comes from ashchen, birth, and ke is a repeater modifier - like 're' in English. I think shai is the equivalent of spirit or soul - or ghost, depending on the context."
Chekov exchanged a look with Sulu. The helmsman didn't look surprised, exactly, but there was a definite tinge of astonishment melded with triumph. Chekov suspected that his own expression mirrored Sulu's. "So it would mean - reborn soul?" he guessed.
Uhura nodded. "As far as I can understand, yes."
* * *
Conversation trailed into a comparison of shore leaves after that, which lasted until Sulu and Chekov finished eating. Uhura still had half her breakfast left, as she preferred to be leisurely when eating if it was an option. She watched as the two exited through the mess hall doors, then looked away as a familiar flash of blue caught the corner of her eye.
Spock was standing with a bowl of soup in hand, looking around for a free table. She sat up straighter, and resisted the urge to smile as he spotted her and headed purposefully in her direction.
"Commander," she said, junior officer to senior.
"Lieutenant," he responded in kind as he seated himself. "I had observed that your table was full."
Ah. That explained why he hadn't come over earlier. "Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov just left," she said demurely, taking a sip of fruit juice.
"I trust they enjoyed their shore leave," Spock said mildly. Only her expert eye was able to detect the twitch at the corner of his mouth that indicated humour, and her eyes crinkled in response.
"I believe they did," was all she said, but she knew that Spock understood her. She was almost certain that the bridge officers, at least, knew about her relationship with Spock. But if she and Spock were the biggest non-secret on the Enterprise, then Sulu and Chekov had to be the second.