Unfinished Business

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek.

Yet another fic spawned from an LJ prompt . . . my shamelessness knows no bounds. Please enjoy this anyway. Lol.

The shots hit Chekov so soundlessly that he was almost unaware of them. Before the pain hit his eyes caught a flash of red trickling starkly down his yellow shirt front, and he dimly understood the foreboding of it, swaying on his feet.

"Is everybody alright?" Kirk asked, panting. His phaser was still drawn, but the planet's group of rebels had retreated when they recognized the Starfleet insignia on their uniforms. Chekov glanced in a daze and saw that all four of the other ensigns were roughed up, but otherwise unharmed.

Kirk gave them all a fleeting once-over. Satisfied, he pulled out his communicator. "Scotty, have you managed to restore transport ability?"

"Working on it, captain—"

"Shit!"

Chekov heard Kirk swear as he stumbled forward, clutching at his torso. All at once the agony of the shots pulsed through his body. His breath hitched as he saw the blood staining his hands, leaking all over, too much of it—

The captain was at his side at once, a protective hand on his back. Chekov squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his tongue hard so he wouldn't cry out and shame himself. "Kirk to Enterprise, have medical on stand-by—dammit, Scotty, how much longer?"

"Give me a minute!"

Chekov couldn't breathe. His lungs were filling and every time he tried to gasp he coughed until his mouth felt tangy with blood. "We don't have a minute," Kirk barked. His grip on Chekov's shoulder tightened, as if he could somehow hold him together and keep him alive. Softening his voice, he said, "Don't worry, kid. You'll be fine. Bones will fix you right up—"

He was lying. Chekov appreciated it, but even at eighteen he'd been on enough away missions and seen enough people die to know that he wasn't going to come back from this. "Keptin," he choked out. "I need you—I need you to tell—"

Kirk shook his head vehemently. "C'mon, Chekov, don't talk like that, we're going to get you out of here."

"Please," Chekov begged. His head was ringing from the pain but somehow he managed to lift his arm and clutch at Kirk's sleeves, compelling the man to look him in the eye. "Listen." When Kirk didn't interrupt, he said, "I need you to tell Hikaru that I love him."

"What?" Kirk managed dumbly. "No, no, Chekov. You tell him."

A violent shudder ran up his spine and Chekov knew he was finished. "Please . . ." he moaned, his grip on Kirk slackening as his vision swarmed out of his control.

After a beat of silence, Kirk said gravely, "Alright. I'll tell him."

"Transport control repowering. Counting ten, nine, eight—"

Kirk sucked in an anxious breath. "Hold on, Chekov."

It wasn't possible. He closed his eyes again, Kirk and the other ensigns and the planet's dry surface all disappearing in one swoop. Then Chekov felt the darkness swarming around him, felt no pain, felt nothing at all.

He woke up in sickbay.

"I'm not dead?" The words were stupid-sounding the moment he uttered them, but he was too bewildered to care. He touched a hand to his chest in disbelief.

Bones snorted from the other side of sickbay. He looked exhausted. "Save for a minute or two there, you are very much alive." When Chekov was too astonished to reply, he added a dry, "You're welcome, kid."

Chekov gaped for a minute and stammered, "Thank you, doctor."

Bones grunted in response. "You should be free to leave in a few hours, after the sedative wears off. And you're off duty for the next three days."

"Three whole days?" the ensign repeated.

"Captain's orders."

"But I'm f—"

"Kirk said you had some—what was it?—'unfinished business' to attend to," said Bones with his usual exasperation. He looked at Chekov sternly. "He said you would understand this irritatingly ambiguous reference and take appropriate measures."

Chekov felt the heat rising into his cheeks. He had openly confessed his most protected secret to his captain and four complete strangers. "I understand, but . . ." He bit his lip. "Three days?"

Bones shrugged. "Better do what he says. After all, he is the captain," he deadpanned.

Chekov's ribs were still aching as he walked slowly back to his quarters, declining an escort from sickbay. He was already embarrassed enough being the only person hurt on the mission—as if it wasn't enough being the youngest on the ship, he now looked like the weakest one, too.

He heard footsteps padding behind him, but didn't turn around until he felt a hesitant hand touch his. Chekov flinched.

"Sorry," Sulu muttered, and Chekov felt himself blushing again.

"Hikaru," he said softly. He found himself noting all of the pilot's slightest movements, trying to determine whether or not his would-be last words had been repeated to him. But Hikaru just looked concerned and slightly out of breath.

"Are you alright?" Hikaru was facing him fully now, and set both his hands on the sides of Chekov's shoulder's, bracing him.

Chekov's eyes flitted to the floor. "I am fine, thank you."

"I was just out looking for you."

"You were?" Chekov asked, cursing himself for how eager he sounded.

He nodded. "I was—I was on the bridge when the away team was attacked. I couldn't get off until just now."

Chekov's lip twitched upward sheepishly. "That was humiliating," he sighed.

Sulu shook his head. "That was terrifying. I thought you were dead." Chekov looked up at him then, surprised at how low and strained Sulu's voice sounded. The helmsman cleared his throat. "We all did," he said louder this time, recovering himself.

"I'm sorry to have worried you," Chekov mumbled.

They stood there for an awkward moment until Sulu abruptly took his hands off of Chekov's shoulders. "Well I'm just glad you're still here."

As he was turning away Chekov spluttered out the name like a hiccup. "Hikaru . . ." Chekov started to follow the helmsman, but tripped and fell right into him. Sulu caught him deftly before they both toppled over.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sulu asked worriedly.

"I—I'm fine—" Chekov stammered, and his sudden boldness was gone in a flash. How could he even think of telling Sulu the truth? He was just an inexperienced boy, and Sulu was . . . Sulu was . . .

"Here, let me walk you back to your quarters, you should probably lie down or something."

Chekov just nodded numbly, letting Sulu escort him down the halls while he thought of every dirty Russian curse he could at his own cowardice. They reached Chekov's door and Sulu typed in the access code himself.

He sucked in a breath. It was now or never.

"Hikaru-I-have-something-to-say-to-you," he gasped out in a rush.

Sulu's brow furrowed. "What was that?"

Deep breath. "I have something to say to you." Chekov struggled to maintain eye contact, and hoped Sulu wouldn't notice that his eyes were tearing up a bit in trepidation. "It's just that I . . . back on the planet, when I thought I wouldn't—"

"Pavel, what's wrong?" Sulu asked, taking a step toward him.

Chekov nearly shivered at the closeness, but he caught himself. "Nothing is wrong. It's just—I know it's stupid, and if you don't want to talk to me again I understand, and I hope we can still be friends, it's just that when I was stuck down there I kept thinking—I kept thinking—"

Sulu leaned in and kissed him, and Chekov stopped thinking. It was short and chaste, and Sulu pulled away first, searching Chekov's face with a question in his eyes.

"I love you," Chekov blurted in a less-than-suave manner.

Sulu grinned at him. "I know," he said, almost cheerfully. "Kirk told me while you were unconscious."

Chekov's eyes widened to the size of bowls. "The keptin told you? But I—but we were—"

Sulu raised a hand to quiet him. "He only told me because I've been talking about you for months."

"About . . . me?"

Sulu laughed out loud and pulled his arms around Chekov's waist. "Yes, Pavel." He kissed the ensign a second time and whispered, "And I love you too."

So sappy. DON'T JUDGE ME (alright, judge me, but keep it to yourselves!)