Jim's eyes were dry as the desert as he stepped in front of the crew. It'd been little over a week since their catastrophic away mission; it was time to say their last regards to their crewmate. "Chekov, he was more than just a crewmember. He was an integral part of this ship, of our lives. We shared many moments, some happy, some not. I think we can all agree that no matter what, Chekov was someone we could always count on. He was dependable, and smart, and strong. A fierce loyal member of our crew. He was our friend, our family, and this ship is better because of him. We are all better for having known him. So here's to Pavel Chekov, may you rest in peace."

A chorus of "here here's" or "To Chekov's" erupted around the large area, everyone raising a glass and saying a toast to honor their lost friend. Scotty stepped forward with a plaque, a small simple thing, with Chekov's name on it, his smiling picture, and his date of birth and death. It was hung on the wall, specially secured alongside all the other crewmembers that had passed in the line of duty so it couldn't fall, and then just like that, the ceremony was over.

Sure, people lingered and decided to mingle, converse in quiet solemn tones to one another, but Jim couldn't handle that just then. He'd done enough crying in front of people to last him a lifetime, he just wanted to go curl up in his bedroom and drown in his sorrows alone, thank you very much.

Leonard counted three minutes before he decided to follow, quietly excusing himself and hopefully not drawing too much attention to himself so he could go to Jim's room. He paused outside Jim's door momentarily, listening, before he knocked gently.

"Hey Bones." Jim called without even seeing who was outside, he didn't have to see, the two knew each other that well by now.

"Hey." McCoy responded tiredly as he pushed the unlocked door open, a part of him knowing he was the reason it had been left unlocked. It wasn't like he couldn't get in the room anyway, medical override and all, so why waste the time locking to door to begin with? Jim was sitting on the corner of his bed, command gold shirt discarded and shoes dropped haphazardly. "How you doing?"

Jim shrugged, actually seeming to take the time to do an honest assessment. "Okay I guess."

Leonard nodded softly before taking a seat next to his best friend. "That was a pretty good speech you gave."

Jim simply sighed tersely, not meeting the doctor's gaze. "I shouldn't have had to give it in the first place!" He spat heatedly.

Leonard, for his part, wasn't all that startled by the sudden outburst. He'd been expecting it. "It wasn't your fault you know." He was hoping that Jim was over the whole 'blaming himself for everyone's injuries' thing, and obviously there was a difference between a broken arm and death, but he still couldn't be blaming himself.

"I know." Jim responded somewhat forcefully.

An eyebrow rose in disbelief, "You know?"

"What do you want me to say?" Jim hissed, finally turning to face Bones with the most cracked mask the doctor had ever seen. "I know there's no use in blaming myself, but I still can't help but feel responsible! I just wish I could've done something." He finished in a whisper, the anger leaving him in a heavy sigh.

Leonard looked on in sympathy he refused to show externally, knowing Jim hated receiving anything he could perceive as pity. "I know, I think it's safe to say we all do."

"But you weren't there, I was! I mean, maybe if I'd-"

"Goddammit Jim," McCoy cut off with an annoyed groan, "You can't start in on the maybe's and what if's. You can't. They'll tear ya apart."

Jim paused, his wide eyes drifting up to McCoy in a mixture of surprise and denial, but in the end he knew the man was right. And just like that his mask fell, his eyes watered and quickly spilled over, a heart-wrenching sob tearing its way from his throat.

Leonard sighed softly, extending his arms to wrap around Jim and hold him close. The young captain shook violently in his arms, heavy sobs wracking his small frame. He was releasing all the agony and fear and guilt he'd been feeling since beaming back aboard the ship, and McCoy knew he just had to ride it out, let Jim settle down on his own. No amount of false reassurances would be able to calm him.

As the tears finally subsided and the choking gasping breaths had been reduced to little more than uncontrollable hiccups, Jim finally tried talking. "It's ju-just s-so ha-har-hard. It'ss not fair and it-it hurts."

"Yeah it does." Leonard agreed quietly, rubbing circles across Jim's shaking back. "It's probably gonna hurt for a while."

"I know." Jim whispered, all too acquainted with the inner workings of grief.

Suddenly there was a small knock on the door, and Jim was quick to wipe away the tears, taking a deep breath before he called with a moderately shaky voice, "Enter."

The door opened to reveal the rest of the bridge crew standing there, differing variations of grief reflected on their faces. Even Spock's eyes shown with a deeper sadness than usual.

"Hey." Jim called with the best smile he could muster, his surprise at their presence evident.

"Hey." Uhura responded on behalf of the group. "Mind if we join you?"

Jim immediately maneuvered to make more room on the bed, Leonard scooting over with him. "Of course, have a seat."

Uhura smiled gently and entered the room, the others following on her heels. She glanced about the slightly messy living space, Jim following her gaze with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Sorry about the mess."

"No, it's cozy." Uhura was quick to amend.

The room lapsed into silence as each of the four of them found a space for themselves on Jim's bed. It was more than slightly cramped, but none of them were willing to move, too comforted by the close contact of their friends to complain.

"That was a really nice speech." Sulu whispered eventually, just to break the silence.

Scotty nodded in agreement, "Did the lad justice."

Jim smiled at that, his heart giving a little flip of joy. He'd been so nervous about his dedication to Chekov, unsure whether or not the speech was good enough. Knowing his and Chekov's closest friends aboard the ship had thought he'd done a good job warmed his heart. "Thanks."

The group lapsed into a companionable silence, everyone simply relishing in the warmth of the body lying next to them on Jim's bed. It was slightly awkward if not comfortable, and probably would have been an amusing sight for anyone to walk in on, but they didn't care.

"He was so bad drunk." Sulu finally whispered, his voice thick and tired but with a hint of a smile in it.

Scotty made a guttural noise of agreement, "But he could drink so much! The little bugger bested me on more than one occasion!"

"I just remember the singin'." Bones added, wincing from the memory.

Jim simply chuckled, "Oh yeah, I used to sing with him sometimes."

"Yeah, and unfortunately, neither of you had any talent!" Uhura cut in, nudging Jim with her elbow playfully.

"I thought we did a really job on some of those Russian lullabies!" Jim cried defensively.

"Jim," Spock, began, joining the conversation for the first time that evening, "You are a man of many talents, however, singing is not one of them."

"And the Vulcan weighs in, there ya have it Jim, you can't sing."

"Boooones." Jim whined, pouting only slightly. "You know I don't like it when you guys gang up on me."

The group laughed, the room seeming to settle, and then they all fell silent. One by one they fell asleep, curled up against one another on a bed that barely fit one comfortably.

It was some hours later when Jim awoke. The room was dark, and filled with the steady breathing of his friends. He glanced over each of them, smiling at how much more relaxed they all looked in sleep, none of the lines of grief that had been taking over their faces present.

Suddenly overcome with a deep ache in his heart at his missing member, Jim expertly detangled himself from the group and made his way silently out the door. He wandered about for a little while, lost in thought, but eventually found himself standing exactly where he needed to be. He stared up at the wall full of plagues, sighing at how sad it all was.

He heard the soft steady steps of Spock before the Vulcan could even announce himself, this late and no one was really up and moving about the Enterprise.

"Is this really it? All we amount to is a name on a plaque? How meaningless is that?" He decided to start before Spock could even offer a greeting.

"It is as meaningful or less as we make it." Spock responded softly, stopping to stand beside his Captain.

"I just-I can't help but feel like this was all so dumb. What great cause did he die for ya know?"

"Not everyone can sacrifice themselves for a purpose larger than themselves Jim. Sometimes people simply die, and there is no rhyme or reason."

Jim smiled mirthlessly, nudging Spock with his elbow, "Hey, that's one of ours." He joked, referring to his choice of phrase.

Spock swayed with the movement, even looked to be smiling in the dim light. "I figured the common phrase from your vernacular was particularly applicable to this scenario."

The lighthearted moment was short-lived, and Jim sighed heavily as reality once again crashed down upon him. "So what now?"

"There are a great deal many things to attend to in the not too distant future, to which is the 'now' that you are referring?"

It was bait, Spock attempting to get a rise out of him, but for once Jim wasn't in the mood. "How do we just go on living our lives, completing our missions, as if he was never here?"

Spock took a moment before he responded, letting Jim's words sink in. "I do not believe we should necessarily live as if Chekov was never among us. On the contrary, I believe we should live each day in honor of his sacrifice."

"What happens when the pain becomes bearable, and then we stop thinking about him? What happens if we forget him?"

Again Spock paused, this time to level his gentle, knowing gaze on Jim. "Chekov will always be a part of our crew and our family. He has touched our lives in ways that I believe we are not even fully aware of yet. The pain will subside eventually, however, his memory will live on. After all, he cannot truly be forgotten if we remember him."

Spock dipped his head before making his way back down the hallway, apparently having said what he'd come there to say. Jim watched him go before turning his gaze back to the wall, a smiling picture of Chekov staring back at him.

Losing Chekov had hurt, almost as much as losing any of the other crew members that had earned plagues up on that wall. He felt slightly guilty saying almost in regards to the other fallen crew, it wasn't as if their sacrifice was worth any less, and he'd felt truly awful after each death, but with Chekov- Jim sighed, somehow it still hurt worse.

But there was nothing he could do now, he had made his decisions, each and every one of them culminating in the away mission that had taken Chekov's life. There were so many what-if's and if only's, so many scenarios and possibilities for things to have turned out differently. But he couldn't live in the past, it wouldn't do anyone any good.

So they'd carry on, finish their mission, and remember. Jim sniffed slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, knowing that was what Chekov would have wanted.

"Gone, but not forgotten. Never forgotten." He promised.

And in the abandoned hallway, Jim stepped back, and saluted. Saluted every single crew member who had died in the line of duty. Who had died doing something they loved and believed in. Their stories would live on, in the memories of the people who loved them. Gone, but never forgotten.

A/N: There we have it. Once again I apologize for the feels, although this chapter was a bit better right? Maybe? *sigh* Seriously though, rest in peace Anton, we will miss you and your portrayal of such an iconic character. You have become Chekov to a whole new generation, and that is an amazing feat. You will be missed, but your legacy will live on in Trek fans all across the world. 3