ST XI kink meme fill, Sulu/Chekov
Title: Fill for "Chekov/Sulu Hurt/Comfort Part LXIV: The Hurtening and Comfortening"
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Summary: Fill for the following kink meme prompt: "My needs are simple. They're in a situation (my favorite is the away-mission-gone-awry!) where one of them is injured and semi-conscious and too weak to swallow properly and the other has to give him medicine/water mouth-to-mouth. And there is BLUSHING AND TENSION AND ANGST and comfort after."
Note: This was filled a long time ago on the kink meme and I'm reposting it in my journal mainly for archive purposes. So, apologies if you've already read this.
The away mission to Zakun Five was supposed to be peaceful. They were supposed to beam in, assist with upgrading the planet's power generators, exchange cultural pleasantries, and leave.
They were not supposed to be betrayed by the ruling council, and sent racing through the forest to escape the subsequent ambush, while alien projectiles tore through the trees all around them.
But even if they were ambushed, Chekov knew how things were supposed to go.
Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Sulu would spring into action, by now knowing each other's combat skills so well they formed an unstoppable team. Chekov would watch, simultaneously awed and terrified, as the normally clear-headed Sulu transformed into an aggressive, seemingly-crazed fighter on par with Captain Kirk for sheer recklessness. They would win their fight, and no matter what kinds of scabs or bruises decorated his face afterwards, Sulu would clap Chekov on the back and laugh, as if he found it hugely entertaining that Chekov would even consider worrying over him.
That didn't happen either.
Instead, Kirk and Sulu stayed behind in an effort to hold off the Zakun militia while Chekov and Spock raced to safety, a cave tucked into the hillside. The two waited for what felt like hours, Chekov's hands growing increasingly sweaty as he gripped his phaser and stared at the sandy cave walls, until at last Kirk returned.
"What happened?" Chekov was unable to keep himself from shouting.
The captain was carrying Sulu, whose right side had been shredded. Blood soaked his golden shirt dark, and his face had turned so unnaturally pale that Chekov at first feared him dead. But rushing forward he discovered that Sulu was still drawing breath, even if it were rapid and shuddering, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious.
"Projectile blew up right next to him," Kirk explains briskly.
He knelt, setting Sulu down against a cave wall as gently as he could, but Sulu still fought down a shriek as his wounds brushed the rock. Chekov, kneeling beside him, instinctively reached for his hand. Sulu flopped his head to the side with a grateful, exhausted look.
"Spock," Kirk said, "we've got to beam back-"
"That will not be possible, Captain," Spock replied. "The Zakun forces have anticipated this and have put up a crude photon shield. I believe Mr. Scott will be able to break through, but until he does, we must remain in a safe location."
"Dammit! Sulu needs help!"
"I'm fine, Captain," Sulu insisted, although his thin, ragged voice did not make this sound very convincing. "The wounds are superficial."
Spock lifted an eyebrow, while Kirk was openly skeptical. "I'm not sure you're in a position to gauge that, lieutenant," said the captain.
Sulu scowled, but he was too weak to argue. Whatever objection he might have made was lost as Kirk and Spock began to quietly debate their options.
"They are not superficial," Chekov muttered, worry making his voice harsh and angry. He took off his own gold shirt and used it to mop tentatively at the wounds, trying to ignore the way Sulu shut his eyes and grit his teeth. "You are badly hurt, Hikaru. You should not always act so - so- courageously."
Amid the pain, Sulu tried for a smile, and half-succeeded. "You think I'm courageous?"
Chekov glared. "Under these circumstances, it is not a compliment!"
"Pavel," he said, "don't worry so much. I've been through worse."
"How very reassuring," Chekov answered dryly, "to be reminded of all the other times you have almost gotten yourself killed."
Sulu grunted, a little laugh. "Better me than you."
"Do not talk like that." But Chekov could not help an imploring look at Sulu, as if to say don't you know I could never live with myself if that were the cost? He had been in love with his helm partner for the better part of a year, which by now was an open secret on the bridge. But he could never quite tell if some sense of duty or propriety prevented Sulu from returning his feelings, or if Sulu simply did not return his feelings at all.
But Chekov was distracted from such thoughts as Sulu grew increasingly agitated, his eyes squeezing shut and his head turning to the side. A fresh coating of sweat had broken out on his brow. "Pav-" he gasped, clutching at his belly. "Ah, dammit-"
"What?" Chekov cried. "What is it?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but only a choking noise came out, after which he threw up.
"Oh - okay, Hikaru," Chekov said, stroking the lieutenant's hair back from his head and out of the way, wincing as Sulu plunged forward in another retch. "Sssh, sssh."
The noise attracted Kirk and Spock's attention, the two men breaking off their conversation and hurrying over.
"Curious," Spock remarked, reaching for his tricorder. "Mr. Sulu appears to be displaying the classic symptoms of shock. But according to my readings, he has not lost enough blood to warrant such a severe reaction."
"You don't think that was enough blood?" Kirk cried.
"Actually," Chekov admitted, "Hika- Lieutenant Sulu was not wrong about his injuries. There was a great deal of blood, but none of the cuts are life-threatening by themselves."
"Worrying too much," Sulu muttered, but fell silent when Chekov turned on him with a nuclear glare.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Kirk said. "Sulu, I know you were hurt. I've seen you take far worse punishment and keep going, but this time you were barely moving."
"It is not his injuries that are the problem," Spock said gravely, eyes on his tricorder. "There appears to be a toxin in Mr. Sulu's system. Most likely the Zakun soldiers laced their projectiles with some sort of poison. This would explain his uncharacteristic muscle weakness when you got to him, as well as the sensitivity of his wounds and his nausea now. Was anyone else hit?"
Kirk and Chekov both shook their heads.
Sulu's dark eyes flicked back and forth as he absorbed this. "It - it doesn't feel that bad," he insisted, in defiance of his clammy, pale face and rasping voice. "I'll make it until we get out of here, right?"
"That is unclear, lieutenant," Spock said. "Mr. Scott is doing his best to break the shield, but it may be hours before he can succeed."
Chekov looked up in alarm. Hikaru will not last that long, he almost said, but seeing his superior officers' faces, it was clear they had realized the same thing.
"The hell with that," Kirk said. "Nobody is dying on this planet if I can help it. Spock, there has to be another way."
Spock shook his head. "Our equipment is most limited, Captain. But it is possible-" He reopened his tricorder, tapping experimentally. "There is a plant in this forest with properties that may counteract the toxin affecting Lieutenant Sulu. If we could obtain its juice-"
"All right. Spock, let's go," Kirk said, already heading toward the cave exit.
"Wait," Sulu gasped. "Wait. You can't seriously go back out there!"
Spock frowned. "Your concern is appreciated, Mr. Sulu, but the tricorder shows minimal hostile activity."
"But there's still a risk-"
Kirk rounded on him. "I don't recall giving you a field promotion, lieutenant. You challenge my decision again and I'll write you up for insubordination. Understood?"
Shocked into submission, Sulu immediately stopped arguing. "Yes, sir."
"Ensign, can you take care of him?" Kirk asked, and no sooner had Chekov nodded than he and Spock departed.
Chekov knelt beside Sulu, offering his most encouraging smile. "You can stop being so stoic now that your superior officers are gone."
Sulu smiled faintly. "I don't really enjoy being like this in front of you either, you know," he admitted. His hand flopped out, seeking Chekov's. "But... I am glad you're here."
"Come here." Chekov grasped the outstretched hand, gently encouraging Sulu to shift over so that Chekov could curl beside him. Eventually they were settled, Chekov's arms supporting Sulu's waist, and Sulu having all but collapsed against Chekov's chest. This close, Chekov could hear how his breath had become strained and slow, an omen that the poison would soon rob Sulu of consciousness.
"Hikaru," he said, gently jostling him. "You must try to stay awake."
"I am awake," Sulu protested drowsily, as if offended by the suggestion he would not be.
"Perhaps you should talk to me," Chekov suggested. "Tell me about the first time you did some incredibly crazy, brave thing."
"Mmmm." After a moment he mumbled, "When I was seven, I tried to beat up my sister's boyfriend."
"Why did you do that?" Chekov asked.
"He made her cry."
"Ah, you are a good brother. Very Russian of you," Chekov said approvingly. "This does not sound crazy to me at all."
"Yeah... 'cept my sister and her boyfriend were in high school at the time."
Chekov's loud laugh bounced off the cave walls. "I am certain you taught him a lesson nonetheless."
"Yeah, right. Naoko was so mad..." Sulu was drifting off again. Chekov gently shook him, and grew frightened when he only flopped limply.
"Hikaru," Chekov said sharply. "You are telling me you took on a boy twice your age, but you will be defeated by this?"
Sulu made a faint noise of protest, dragging his eyelids open. "Pavel," he admitted, "I don't think I can stay awake."
"Yes you can," Chekov said, desperately wishing the captain would return already. "You don't have to last much longer, only until they bring the plant. OK?"
"'Kay."
"Did talking make you more tired?" Chekov asked, and felt Sulu nod faintly against his shoulder. "Yes, I should have anticipated this. I would make a terrible doctor."
The pilot's grunt sounded like an attempt at something reassuring.
"You do not need to be kind," Chekov continued, heartened that Sulu actually seemed to be following along. "I do not have any ego tied up in my medical abilities."
This earned a little shake of the shoulders, which Chekov interpreted as a laugh.
"I would trade places with you if I could," Chekov said softly, reaching up a hand to stroke at Sulu's hair.
Sulu's arms tightened around him. "Nnnn."
"Yes, I would. Do not argue with me, Hikaru. I can be very stubborn, as you know." Chekov halted himself, feeling as if he were teetering on the edge of a high cliff. At any moment he might plunge right over and say something like that is why I have stayed next to you on the bridge, no matter how much it tortures me that you seem to have no idea how I feel.
"Hikaru? Hikaru!" Chekov cried, realizing Sulu had stopped moving. "Stay awake."
Sulu sighed, a weak noise of frustration.
"You heard Captain Kirk," Chekov lectured, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. "He will be very angry if you are not awake to take your medicine when he gets back. Do you want him and Mr. Spock to risk their lives for nothing?"
The faintest twitch of Sulu's brow reassured him.
"You see, you are very strong," Chekov continued. "In only a few hours, you will be laughing at me again for worrying so much."
Sulu's fingers tightened weakly on Chekov's black undershirt, and he whispered something too soft and slurred to be understood.
"What? Hikaru, what?" Chekov begged, shaking him again, but he could not tell if Sulu were in or out of consciousness. "Please, Hikaru-"
And for what seemed an endless amount of time Chekov could only huddle with him there, whispering a steady stream of nonsense in Russian and Federation Standard. He listened vigilantly to Sulu's breathing, which grew slower and shallower with every passing minute, and stroked at Sulu's face on the barest of hopes that he would somehow respond to the touch.
By the time Kirk and Spock finally returned to the cave, it was all Chekov could do not to leap up and scream that they had taken an unforgivably long time.
"The plant," he said, not disguising his agitation very well. "Where is it?"
"Right here, Ensign-" Kirk said, but Chekov was already on his feet, settling Sulu back against the cave wall as gently as possible. The pilot's deathly pale slump drew sudden concern from Spock and the captain.
"Is he physically capable of taking the medicine?" Spock asked.
"What difference does it make?" Kirk demanded. "Are you telling me we don't have a hypo?"
"I am afraid we do not, captain. As you know, this was supposed to be a peaceful mission."
Kirk pushed an agonized hand over his face. "Unbelievable. I don't give a damn how easy an away mission looks, we are never getting caught unprepared like this again. Not on my watch."
"It is logical to learn from our mistakes," Spock replied, "but future planning will not solve Mr. Sulu's present need."
"Dammit, Spock, isn't there anything you can think of-"
"He will take the medicine," Chekov muttered in determination, snatching the plant from Kirk's hand. He would normally never dream of acting this way toward a superior officer, let alone the captain, but terror for Sulu propelled him forward. He asked Spock flatly, "How much does he need?"
"Approximately one ounce," Spock had barely finished answering before Chekov turned away. He squeezed the plant, letting the tiniest drop of black liquid fall onto his finger, and put it to his mouth. The plant's juice tasted like blood, metallic and salty, but with a richly sweet undercurrent.
He knelt beside Sulu, brushing hair back from a pallid brow, and leaned to whisper in his ear.
"Hikaru," he whispered, relieved beyond measure to see Sulu's eyelids flutter a little. "Hikaru, can you hear me?"
Sulu drew in a shuddering breath, and managed to grunt.
"I will be putting medicine in your mouth," Chekov said. "You must swallow it. Do you understand? No matter how it tastes, it is very important that you swallow this medicine. You will die if you do not."
Chekov squeezed the plant's juice into his own mouth, allowing it to accumulate. He cupped Sulu's jaw with gentle fingers, and then with his heart jackhammering against his ribcage, plunged forward for a kiss.
Sulu made the faintest noise of surprise, his eyelids moving sharply, but he did not resist. Chekov let his own lips fall open slowly, tipping their heads so that the medicine would flow more easily from his mouth into Sulu's. He could feel Sulu's throat working, the groan as he struggled to get it down.
Chekov could not very well talk, and so he whimpered a soft noise of encouragement. He let his mouth open a little wider, slowly releasing the rest of the medicine, closing his lips over Sulu's more firmly when it began to drip. Slowly, slowly, Sulu gulped it all down. When at last there was no more medicine, Chekov pulled away, breathing hard. Dimly, he realized his hands were shaking.
Sulu sucked in a deep, semi-conscious breath, and promptly began to cough. Chekov watched him worriedly, afraid he would vomit again before the medicine could work, but he did not.
"Did you swallow it?" he finally whispered, and Sulu could do no more than move his head in a faint nod.
The plant's juice had stained Sulu's mouth black, all the more vividly against his sallow skin, and Chekov suspected his own lips were dark as well. It occurred to him that they must make a very strange portrait indeed, but for the first time in his life, he could not care less what his superior officers might think of him.
He turned back to Kirk and Spock with a little bit of defiance. "I told you he would take it."
The captain was appraising them with frank curiosity, while Spock had lifted an eyebrow nearly to his hairline. But when the Vulcan spoke, he was as dry as ever.
"Indeed, Ensign. That was rather resourceful." Spock approached, snapping open the tricorder. After scanning Sulu for a moment, he nodded. "Most resourceful. He appears to be stabilizing."
Chekov let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over his face. "How soon until we return to the ship?"
"Scotty's still working on it," Kirk said. He knelt, clapping Chekov on the back reassuringly. "Ensign. You've done well today. He'll be all right, I promise."
Chekov nodded, eyes still fixed on Sulu, who rolled his head back and forth and moaned. He was already regaining some small bit of strength. The ensign slid in close, inviting Sulu to rest against him again.
Chekov sat with Sulu's head cradled against his chest for a good two and a half hours before the transporter signal finally shimmered around them. By the time it did, Sulu had recovered enough to firmly interlace his fingers with Chekov's.
&&&&
After the mission debrief, Chekov went straight back to his quarters. Drained and shaky, he stripped the blood-and-grime-stained uniform from his body, and nearly collapsed in the shower when the hot water first struck his skin. After a good twenty-five minute scrub, Chekov pulled on a set of loose civilian sweats and settled on his sofa. He was asleep within minutes.
His doorchime awakened him.
Groggily Chekov arose and hurried to the door, squinting at his chronometer in confusion. He had only been asleep for a few hours. When he opened the door and found Sulu waiting out in the hallway, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You should be in sickbay!"
"Don't worry. McCoy himself released me." Sulu shifted on his feet, practically bouncing, in a rare display of nervous energy. "Apparently, I was healthier than they thought, which... it seems I owe to the treatment I received on the planet."
"This is wonderful," Chekov said.
He looked Sulu over carefully, pleasantly astonished at how clean and healthy and energetic the pilot appeared. It was as if his brush with death had never happened at all.
Chekov could not help a little laugh. "You are quite strong."
Sulu shook his head. There was none of his usual what-are-you-so-worried-about attitude to be seen. Instead he seemed almost shy, something Chekov had never before seen from him.
"Pavel," he said, "you're the one who deserves credit, not me. I-I was pretty out of it down there, but I remember what you did for me. I don't know if I can repay you."
A slow, exhilarating heat crept into Chekov's face. He very deliberately locked eyes with Sulu.
"I think you can," he ventured.
Sulu did not miss the hint. He stepped forward, crushing Chekov in a fierce kiss, as if to make up for all the strength and vitality he hadn't had while under the poison's influence. Chekov made a muffled noise of relief, his arms going up and around Sulu's shoulders and clinging tightly, dragging him into his quarters and letting the doors shut behind them.
"God, Pavel," Sulu said breathlessly. "I've been so stupid."
"Stupid?" Chekov managed, in between further frantic kisses.
"I've wanted to do that since-since-" Sulu broke off in exasperation. "Since fucking forever. But I was so afraid of being that type of creepy senior officer, you know, the type ensigns change assignments to avoid-"
Chekov laughed against Sulu's cheek, a little helplessly. "I would not have found this a problem. You are too gallant for your own good."
"God." Sulu pulled back, staring at him in open affection. "I can't believe this is what it took."
"Hikaru," Chekov said. "When we were on the planet, and you were losing consciousness. You said something to me, but I could not hear it."
A blush, nearly scarlet for its intensity, stole over Sulu's face. He abruptly drew Chekov into another tight embrace, muffling his voice against the younger man's shoulder. "You'll laugh at me," he said. "It's such a cliché, but I wanted to tell you I love you, in case... well, you know."
Wrapped up in his arms, Chekov could only kiss at Sulu's cheek and temple. "It is a shame I have not taught you more Russian," he said, "because then you would know I told you the same thing."
-end-
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Summary: Fill for the following kink meme prompt: "My needs are simple. They're in a situation (my favorite is the away-mission-gone-awry!) where one of them is injured and semi-conscious and too weak to swallow properly and the other has to give him medicine/water mouth-to-mouth. And there is BLUSHING AND TENSION AND ANGST and comfort after."
Note: This was filled a long time ago on the kink meme and I'm reposting it in my journal mainly for archive purposes. So, apologies if you've already read this.
The away mission to Zakun Five was supposed to be peaceful. They were supposed to beam in, assist with upgrading the planet's power generators, exchange cultural pleasantries, and leave.
They were not supposed to be betrayed by the ruling council, and sent racing through the forest to escape the subsequent ambush, while alien projectiles tore through the trees all around them.
But even if they were ambushed, Chekov knew how things were supposed to go.
Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Sulu would spring into action, by now knowing each other's combat skills so well they formed an unstoppable team. Chekov would watch, simultaneously awed and terrified, as the normally clear-headed Sulu transformed into an aggressive, seemingly-crazed fighter on par with Captain Kirk for sheer recklessness. They would win their fight, and no matter what kinds of scabs or bruises decorated his face afterwards, Sulu would clap Chekov on the back and laugh, as if he found it hugely entertaining that Chekov would even consider worrying over him.
That didn't happen either.
Instead, Kirk and Sulu stayed behind in an effort to hold off the Zakun militia while Chekov and Spock raced to safety, a cave tucked into the hillside. The two waited for what felt like hours, Chekov's hands growing increasingly sweaty as he gripped his phaser and stared at the sandy cave walls, until at last Kirk returned.
"What happened?" Chekov was unable to keep himself from shouting.
The captain was carrying Sulu, whose right side had been shredded. Blood soaked his golden shirt dark, and his face had turned so unnaturally pale that Chekov at first feared him dead. But rushing forward he discovered that Sulu was still drawing breath, even if it were rapid and shuddering, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious.
"Projectile blew up right next to him," Kirk explains briskly.
He knelt, setting Sulu down against a cave wall as gently as he could, but Sulu still fought down a shriek as his wounds brushed the rock. Chekov, kneeling beside him, instinctively reached for his hand. Sulu flopped his head to the side with a grateful, exhausted look.
"Spock," Kirk said, "we've got to beam back-"
"That will not be possible, Captain," Spock replied. "The Zakun forces have anticipated this and have put up a crude photon shield. I believe Mr. Scott will be able to break through, but until he does, we must remain in a safe location."
"Dammit! Sulu needs help!"
"I'm fine, Captain," Sulu insisted, although his thin, ragged voice did not make this sound very convincing. "The wounds are superficial."
Spock lifted an eyebrow, while Kirk was openly skeptical. "I'm not sure you're in a position to gauge that, lieutenant," said the captain.
Sulu scowled, but he was too weak to argue. Whatever objection he might have made was lost as Kirk and Spock began to quietly debate their options.
"They are not superficial," Chekov muttered, worry making his voice harsh and angry. He took off his own gold shirt and used it to mop tentatively at the wounds, trying to ignore the way Sulu shut his eyes and grit his teeth. "You are badly hurt, Hikaru. You should not always act so - so- courageously."
Amid the pain, Sulu tried for a smile, and half-succeeded. "You think I'm courageous?"
Chekov glared. "Under these circumstances, it is not a compliment!"
"Pavel," he said, "don't worry so much. I've been through worse."
"How very reassuring," Chekov answered dryly, "to be reminded of all the other times you have almost gotten yourself killed."
Sulu grunted, a little laugh. "Better me than you."
"Do not talk like that." But Chekov could not help an imploring look at Sulu, as if to say don't you know I could never live with myself if that were the cost? He had been in love with his helm partner for the better part of a year, which by now was an open secret on the bridge. But he could never quite tell if some sense of duty or propriety prevented Sulu from returning his feelings, or if Sulu simply did not return his feelings at all.
But Chekov was distracted from such thoughts as Sulu grew increasingly agitated, his eyes squeezing shut and his head turning to the side. A fresh coating of sweat had broken out on his brow. "Pav-" he gasped, clutching at his belly. "Ah, dammit-"
"What?" Chekov cried. "What is it?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but only a choking noise came out, after which he threw up.
"Oh - okay, Hikaru," Chekov said, stroking the lieutenant's hair back from his head and out of the way, wincing as Sulu plunged forward in another retch. "Sssh, sssh."
The noise attracted Kirk and Spock's attention, the two men breaking off their conversation and hurrying over.
"Curious," Spock remarked, reaching for his tricorder. "Mr. Sulu appears to be displaying the classic symptoms of shock. But according to my readings, he has not lost enough blood to warrant such a severe reaction."
"You don't think that was enough blood?" Kirk cried.
"Actually," Chekov admitted, "Hika- Lieutenant Sulu was not wrong about his injuries. There was a great deal of blood, but none of the cuts are life-threatening by themselves."
"Worrying too much," Sulu muttered, but fell silent when Chekov turned on him with a nuclear glare.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Kirk said. "Sulu, I know you were hurt. I've seen you take far worse punishment and keep going, but this time you were barely moving."
"It is not his injuries that are the problem," Spock said gravely, eyes on his tricorder. "There appears to be a toxin in Mr. Sulu's system. Most likely the Zakun soldiers laced their projectiles with some sort of poison. This would explain his uncharacteristic muscle weakness when you got to him, as well as the sensitivity of his wounds and his nausea now. Was anyone else hit?"
Kirk and Chekov both shook their heads.
Sulu's dark eyes flicked back and forth as he absorbed this. "It - it doesn't feel that bad," he insisted, in defiance of his clammy, pale face and rasping voice. "I'll make it until we get out of here, right?"
"That is unclear, lieutenant," Spock said. "Mr. Scott is doing his best to break the shield, but it may be hours before he can succeed."
Chekov looked up in alarm. Hikaru will not last that long, he almost said, but seeing his superior officers' faces, it was clear they had realized the same thing.
"The hell with that," Kirk said. "Nobody is dying on this planet if I can help it. Spock, there has to be another way."
Spock shook his head. "Our equipment is most limited, Captain. But it is possible-" He reopened his tricorder, tapping experimentally. "There is a plant in this forest with properties that may counteract the toxin affecting Lieutenant Sulu. If we could obtain its juice-"
"All right. Spock, let's go," Kirk said, already heading toward the cave exit.
"Wait," Sulu gasped. "Wait. You can't seriously go back out there!"
Spock frowned. "Your concern is appreciated, Mr. Sulu, but the tricorder shows minimal hostile activity."
"But there's still a risk-"
Kirk rounded on him. "I don't recall giving you a field promotion, lieutenant. You challenge my decision again and I'll write you up for insubordination. Understood?"
Shocked into submission, Sulu immediately stopped arguing. "Yes, sir."
"Ensign, can you take care of him?" Kirk asked, and no sooner had Chekov nodded than he and Spock departed.
Chekov knelt beside Sulu, offering his most encouraging smile. "You can stop being so stoic now that your superior officers are gone."
Sulu smiled faintly. "I don't really enjoy being like this in front of you either, you know," he admitted. His hand flopped out, seeking Chekov's. "But... I am glad you're here."
"Come here." Chekov grasped the outstretched hand, gently encouraging Sulu to shift over so that Chekov could curl beside him. Eventually they were settled, Chekov's arms supporting Sulu's waist, and Sulu having all but collapsed against Chekov's chest. This close, Chekov could hear how his breath had become strained and slow, an omen that the poison would soon rob Sulu of consciousness.
"Hikaru," he said, gently jostling him. "You must try to stay awake."
"I am awake," Sulu protested drowsily, as if offended by the suggestion he would not be.
"Perhaps you should talk to me," Chekov suggested. "Tell me about the first time you did some incredibly crazy, brave thing."
"Mmmm." After a moment he mumbled, "When I was seven, I tried to beat up my sister's boyfriend."
"Why did you do that?" Chekov asked.
"He made her cry."
"Ah, you are a good brother. Very Russian of you," Chekov said approvingly. "This does not sound crazy to me at all."
"Yeah... 'cept my sister and her boyfriend were in high school at the time."
Chekov's loud laugh bounced off the cave walls. "I am certain you taught him a lesson nonetheless."
"Yeah, right. Naoko was so mad..." Sulu was drifting off again. Chekov gently shook him, and grew frightened when he only flopped limply.
"Hikaru," Chekov said sharply. "You are telling me you took on a boy twice your age, but you will be defeated by this?"
Sulu made a faint noise of protest, dragging his eyelids open. "Pavel," he admitted, "I don't think I can stay awake."
"Yes you can," Chekov said, desperately wishing the captain would return already. "You don't have to last much longer, only until they bring the plant. OK?"
"'Kay."
"Did talking make you more tired?" Chekov asked, and felt Sulu nod faintly against his shoulder. "Yes, I should have anticipated this. I would make a terrible doctor."
The pilot's grunt sounded like an attempt at something reassuring.
"You do not need to be kind," Chekov continued, heartened that Sulu actually seemed to be following along. "I do not have any ego tied up in my medical abilities."
This earned a little shake of the shoulders, which Chekov interpreted as a laugh.
"I would trade places with you if I could," Chekov said softly, reaching up a hand to stroke at Sulu's hair.
Sulu's arms tightened around him. "Nnnn."
"Yes, I would. Do not argue with me, Hikaru. I can be very stubborn, as you know." Chekov halted himself, feeling as if he were teetering on the edge of a high cliff. At any moment he might plunge right over and say something like that is why I have stayed next to you on the bridge, no matter how much it tortures me that you seem to have no idea how I feel.
"Hikaru? Hikaru!" Chekov cried, realizing Sulu had stopped moving. "Stay awake."
Sulu sighed, a weak noise of frustration.
"You heard Captain Kirk," Chekov lectured, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. "He will be very angry if you are not awake to take your medicine when he gets back. Do you want him and Mr. Spock to risk their lives for nothing?"
The faintest twitch of Sulu's brow reassured him.
"You see, you are very strong," Chekov continued. "In only a few hours, you will be laughing at me again for worrying so much."
Sulu's fingers tightened weakly on Chekov's black undershirt, and he whispered something too soft and slurred to be understood.
"What? Hikaru, what?" Chekov begged, shaking him again, but he could not tell if Sulu were in or out of consciousness. "Please, Hikaru-"
And for what seemed an endless amount of time Chekov could only huddle with him there, whispering a steady stream of nonsense in Russian and Federation Standard. He listened vigilantly to Sulu's breathing, which grew slower and shallower with every passing minute, and stroked at Sulu's face on the barest of hopes that he would somehow respond to the touch.
By the time Kirk and Spock finally returned to the cave, it was all Chekov could do not to leap up and scream that they had taken an unforgivably long time.
"The plant," he said, not disguising his agitation very well. "Where is it?"
"Right here, Ensign-" Kirk said, but Chekov was already on his feet, settling Sulu back against the cave wall as gently as possible. The pilot's deathly pale slump drew sudden concern from Spock and the captain.
"Is he physically capable of taking the medicine?" Spock asked.
"What difference does it make?" Kirk demanded. "Are you telling me we don't have a hypo?"
"I am afraid we do not, captain. As you know, this was supposed to be a peaceful mission."
Kirk pushed an agonized hand over his face. "Unbelievable. I don't give a damn how easy an away mission looks, we are never getting caught unprepared like this again. Not on my watch."
"It is logical to learn from our mistakes," Spock replied, "but future planning will not solve Mr. Sulu's present need."
"Dammit, Spock, isn't there anything you can think of-"
"He will take the medicine," Chekov muttered in determination, snatching the plant from Kirk's hand. He would normally never dream of acting this way toward a superior officer, let alone the captain, but terror for Sulu propelled him forward. He asked Spock flatly, "How much does he need?"
"Approximately one ounce," Spock had barely finished answering before Chekov turned away. He squeezed the plant, letting the tiniest drop of black liquid fall onto his finger, and put it to his mouth. The plant's juice tasted like blood, metallic and salty, but with a richly sweet undercurrent.
He knelt beside Sulu, brushing hair back from a pallid brow, and leaned to whisper in his ear.
"Hikaru," he whispered, relieved beyond measure to see Sulu's eyelids flutter a little. "Hikaru, can you hear me?"
Sulu drew in a shuddering breath, and managed to grunt.
"I will be putting medicine in your mouth," Chekov said. "You must swallow it. Do you understand? No matter how it tastes, it is very important that you swallow this medicine. You will die if you do not."
Chekov squeezed the plant's juice into his own mouth, allowing it to accumulate. He cupped Sulu's jaw with gentle fingers, and then with his heart jackhammering against his ribcage, plunged forward for a kiss.
Sulu made the faintest noise of surprise, his eyelids moving sharply, but he did not resist. Chekov let his own lips fall open slowly, tipping their heads so that the medicine would flow more easily from his mouth into Sulu's. He could feel Sulu's throat working, the groan as he struggled to get it down.
Chekov could not very well talk, and so he whimpered a soft noise of encouragement. He let his mouth open a little wider, slowly releasing the rest of the medicine, closing his lips over Sulu's more firmly when it began to drip. Slowly, slowly, Sulu gulped it all down. When at last there was no more medicine, Chekov pulled away, breathing hard. Dimly, he realized his hands were shaking.
Sulu sucked in a deep, semi-conscious breath, and promptly began to cough. Chekov watched him worriedly, afraid he would vomit again before the medicine could work, but he did not.
"Did you swallow it?" he finally whispered, and Sulu could do no more than move his head in a faint nod.
The plant's juice had stained Sulu's mouth black, all the more vividly against his sallow skin, and Chekov suspected his own lips were dark as well. It occurred to him that they must make a very strange portrait indeed, but for the first time in his life, he could not care less what his superior officers might think of him.
He turned back to Kirk and Spock with a little bit of defiance. "I told you he would take it."
The captain was appraising them with frank curiosity, while Spock had lifted an eyebrow nearly to his hairline. But when the Vulcan spoke, he was as dry as ever.
"Indeed, Ensign. That was rather resourceful." Spock approached, snapping open the tricorder. After scanning Sulu for a moment, he nodded. "Most resourceful. He appears to be stabilizing."
Chekov let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over his face. "How soon until we return to the ship?"
"Scotty's still working on it," Kirk said. He knelt, clapping Chekov on the back reassuringly. "Ensign. You've done well today. He'll be all right, I promise."
Chekov nodded, eyes still fixed on Sulu, who rolled his head back and forth and moaned. He was already regaining some small bit of strength. The ensign slid in close, inviting Sulu to rest against him again.
Chekov sat with Sulu's head cradled against his chest for a good two and a half hours before the transporter signal finally shimmered around them. By the time it did, Sulu had recovered enough to firmly interlace his fingers with Chekov's.
&&&&
After the mission debrief, Chekov went straight back to his quarters. Drained and shaky, he stripped the blood-and-grime-stained uniform from his body, and nearly collapsed in the shower when the hot water first struck his skin. After a good twenty-five minute scrub, Chekov pulled on a set of loose civilian sweats and settled on his sofa. He was asleep within minutes.
His doorchime awakened him.
Groggily Chekov arose and hurried to the door, squinting at his chronometer in confusion. He had only been asleep for a few hours. When he opened the door and found Sulu waiting out in the hallway, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You should be in sickbay!"
"Don't worry. McCoy himself released me." Sulu shifted on his feet, practically bouncing, in a rare display of nervous energy. "Apparently, I was healthier than they thought, which... it seems I owe to the treatment I received on the planet."
"This is wonderful," Chekov said.
He looked Sulu over carefully, pleasantly astonished at how clean and healthy and energetic the pilot appeared. It was as if his brush with death had never happened at all.
Chekov could not help a little laugh. "You are quite strong."
Sulu shook his head. There was none of his usual what-are-you-so-worried-about attitude to be seen. Instead he seemed almost shy, something Chekov had never before seen from him.
"Pavel," he said, "you're the one who deserves credit, not me. I-I was pretty out of it down there, but I remember what you did for me. I don't know if I can repay you."
A slow, exhilarating heat crept into Chekov's face. He very deliberately locked eyes with Sulu.
"I think you can," he ventured.
Sulu did not miss the hint. He stepped forward, crushing Chekov in a fierce kiss, as if to make up for all the strength and vitality he hadn't had while under the poison's influence. Chekov made a muffled noise of relief, his arms going up and around Sulu's shoulders and clinging tightly, dragging him into his quarters and letting the doors shut behind them.
"God, Pavel," Sulu said breathlessly. "I've been so stupid."
"Stupid?" Chekov managed, in between further frantic kisses.
"I've wanted to do that since-since-" Sulu broke off in exasperation. "Since fucking forever. But I was so afraid of being that type of creepy senior officer, you know, the type ensigns change assignments to avoid-"
Chekov laughed against Sulu's cheek, a little helplessly. "I would not have found this a problem. You are too gallant for your own good."
"God." Sulu pulled back, staring at him in open affection. "I can't believe this is what it took."
"Hikaru," Chekov said. "When we were on the planet, and you were losing consciousness. You said something to me, but I could not hear it."
A blush, nearly scarlet for its intensity, stole over Sulu's face. He abruptly drew Chekov into another tight embrace, muffling his voice against the younger man's shoulder. "You'll laugh at me," he said. "It's such a cliché, but I wanted to tell you I love you, in case... well, you know."
Wrapped up in his arms, Chekov could only kiss at Sulu's cheek and temple. "It is a shame I have not taught you more Russian," he said, "because then you would know I told you the same thing."
-end-