"Eets you fault she's gone! Zou should have known!"

A young Pavel Chekov sat in the corner of the room, weeping. Weeping over the pain as his father (he's stopped being Papa long ago) hit him. Weeping over the fact that his sister was dead; shot by a bully at her school who had been tormenting her for months. Weeping because this wasn't the first time he had ended up balled up in the corner of his room, trying to block out the feeling of the blows landing on his head and back.

His father was drunk, he knew that much. He usually was, but it was worse now. If Anya hadn't gotten killed…

No! He wouldn't blame her for his punishment! He deserved it anyway. He'd known. Known for a while, in face. He should have told someone. Maybe then she'd be alive. And he wouldn't be getting the beating of his young life.

Andrei* picked up his son by the back of his collar, his eyes burning with a fierce rage Pavel had never seen, and almost sadness too, but he must have been imagining that.

"Eets zour fault my baby girl is gone."

He felt more than saw his head hitting the wall, and the blood dripping down into his eyes. And then, darkness.

Chekov woke with a start in the darkness of his room on the Enterprise, a cold sweat covering his brow. He sighed, and sound palpitating as he ran a hand through newly slick hair. This was the fourth time that week, and he didn't even want to know what ungodly hour he'd woken up this time.

His roommate, Sulu, slept peacefully on the other side of the room, oblivious to his friends night terrors. Though he would never admit it, Chekov envied him. He was as close to perfect as a guy could get. Good looks, charming, and seemingly nothing wrong with his life. Of course everyone was screwed up, just a little, Sulu was just… less screwed up than most people.

Chekov, on the other hand, was "cute", awkward around most people in general, and was just about the second most screwed up person on the ship, probably only topped by their captain.

He sighed again, realizing sleep wouldn't be coming again any time soon, just like every other night. As quietly as he could, Chekov got up, walking out of the room. Maybe he could go down to sickbay and get a light sedative from one of the nurses. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

A few groggy, stumbling and nearly-getting-a-concussion minutes later, Chekov was on the lift, leaning against the wall. He almost didn't notice when the lift doors opened. And he very nearly didn't see who was still in sickbay too.

"Sheet!"

Of course Doctor McCoy was there! Why wouldn't he be in the one night Chekov decided to ask for a sleep aid? The universe hated him, after all, so it has to put up one, not-so-tiny obstacle in his way of getting a good nights rest.

Chekov quickly tried to press the manual button that would shut the doors before the southern man caught sight of him, but alas, he was to chose the exact moment the lift doors opened to turn around, catching the Russian teen just as he muttered his cure.

"Pavel!" He exclaimed in slight surprise. "What're you doin' up?"

Chekov felt a light pink spread across his cheeks. "I just needed a minor sedative, Doctor. I-I've been having a beet of trouble sleeping lately."

The older man nodded in understanding, walking over to a nearby shelf and grabbing a vial for a hypo, silently gesturing for the teen to take a seat on a biobed as he did so.

"Why the trouble? Too many quantum physics equations runnin' around that skull of yours?" McCoy chuckled at his own joke as he loaded the hypo.

Chekov shuddered as he remembered his earlier dream. His father… Blood… Anya's voice ringing in his ears not to tell anyone even though she was gone…

He shook his head to clear the memories from his mind, hoping McCoy hadn't noticed he'd just been staring off into space for those few seconds. "Da, zat must be eet."

The CMO nodded, seeming to accept the excuse.

"Zank you wery much, Doctor." Chekov said, his timing only moments before the hypo was administered. McCoy paused.

"Vhat?"

"Nothing, nothing," McCoy said with a dismissive flick of the hand. "I've just always wondered; why do you pronounce your v's like w's? Last time I checked that ain't normal for an accent like yours." Chekov merely shrugged, hoping against all hope he looked nonchalant.

"A slight speech impediment developed vhen I vas a child*. I could never quite get reed of eet." Yes. A speech impediment. Nothing at all to do with nearly ten years of abuse.

McCoy raised an eyebrow, sensing the teen wasn't telling the whole truth, but said nothing, administering the hypo. "Alright then. Why don't you stay here tonight? These thing work-" He was cut off by the soft thump Chekov's body made as it hit the mattress.

McCoy silently chuckled to himself, bringing the thin sheet on the biobed over the younger mans shoulders. It looked like he wasn't getting much choice in staying over-night then.

When Chekov woke the next morning, it was slowly and without an alarm buzzing in his ear.

The lack of alarm in itself was enough to send quite a few red alerts going off in his head, but he ignored them, instead curling up into a slightly tighter ball and moaning slightly. He could barely feel the hand that immediately landed on his shoulder.

He did, however, notice the slightly southern accented voice above him.

"Pav. Pav! Come on, kid, wake up. Don't do this again…" Blue-green eyes forced themselves open, met with the worried hazel of Leonard McCoy.

Chekov yelped, sitting up as his heart rate skyrocketed. "D-doctor!" He tried to control his breathing, though semi-failed. "V-vhat…?"

McCoy sighed in relief. "I gave you that sedative you asked for and you conked out in five seconds. Maybe I should have used one that took longer to knock you out…"

"Vhat time is eet?"

"About 0900 hours. Why?"

The Russian's eyes widened. "I'm late!" He scrambled to get out of the biobed, but McCoy pushed him back.

"Relax, kid. I told Jim you wouldn't be comin' in today. How long has it been since you got a good nights rest, anyway?"

Pavel shrugged. "Zhree, maybe four days." McCoy merely looked at him with a sort of gob smacked look. "Vhat?"

Silence, if only for a moment.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about these nightmares sooner?"

Chekov blanched. Crap. Had he…? Oh no. Well, that explained McCoy's original reaction to the moan at least.

"Zhey've been going on for years. Eet's never really effected me before, so I never mentioned eet." Or did he just not want to re-live childhood terrors? Probably, but the answer he'd given made sure things weren't pressed.

"And what are these nightmares about?"

Well…

Double crap.

"Nozing. Can I go please?" Chekov was already standing up, making his way for the lift doors. Before he could get there though, there was a firm hand grabbing his wrist. He froze, and the grip loosened. Neither moved.

"Eets nozing." Chekov whispered again, but he could feel the tears welling in his eyes and the cracking of his throat. It wasn't nothing. It never had been, and never would be.

McCoy pulled him closer, back on the biobed, and sat down beside him. He gently stroked the bronze curls, trying to calm the now sobbing teen. "Shh, shh. It's okay, Pav. Just forget about it. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." But now I'm curious, and I will find out eventually, said some small part of the CMO's brain. He ignored that part.

"He used to beat me."

The words were small, barely audible amongst the tears, but McCoy heard. It didn't even take a second to put two and two together. Hopefully he was getting four and not six.

"Your dad?" The kid nodded against the spot he had adopted on the older mans chest, clutching the medical blues like a life raft. "You sure you don't wanna talk about it?" Chekov sucked in a sharp breath, but said nothing. Simply sat there, shoulder's shaking and tears streaming down blotchy red cheeks.

"Eet started vhen I vas four, I zink. I don't know vhy, but my father-" The word was spat out like bile. "-had been an alcoholic since after I vas born. I guess he just… snapped zen.

"Eet got vorse vhen I got older. I think the vorst he got though vas vhen I vas ten. My sister, Anya, had died at a school shooting. She vas my only older sibling, and ze only girl in ze family too. She vas getting bullied, and it vent too far. I think he blamed me because I knew and newer said anyzing." His breath hitched for a second, and McCoy took the pause as time to ask one of the many burning questions.

"Where was you mom when all this happened?

"My parents vere divorced. Momma got my two leetle brothers and my father obviously got me and Anya. Momma didn't know about it."

Bones pulled him in closer. "Oh, Pasha… What happened to your dad?"

Pavel swallowed, silently thanking that no one was seeing this except McCoy. "He died from alcohol poisoning vhen I vas elewen. Best day of my life vhen I got to live vith my momma and brothers." Bones had to stop himself from physically punching a hole in the wall there. A kid should never be happy when their parent dies, especially not an eleven-year-old.

"And then Starfleet when you were thirteen?" The CMO questioned.

Chekov nodded. "Enlisted ze day after my birthday." He sat up, wiping as his eyes with the back of his hand, standing up and heading toward the lift. This time, McCoy didn't try to stop him.

"Zank you."

The two words echoed around the near empty sickbay, and McCoy couldn't help the small, sad smile that came across his face. The kid would be okay, eventually.

*I would like to thank my first two lovely reviewers for correcting me on Chekov's dad's name. Thank's for the info! *lightly smacks self* Bad fan!
*Mispronouncing the letter v doesn't happen when speaking with a Russian accent (take it from someone who does the accent rather well herself), which would mean that it's a speech impediment. I just made it so it wasn't a natural speech impediment. ;)

A/N: Oh, I'm just full of this kind of stuff lately. This, and major fluff. Wow, I'm screwed up.

I started this fic at roughly 1:30am off an insomnia induced idea. I finish it for you now at around a quarter-to-four. I deeply apologise for any and all errors made because of my lack of sleep, and feel free to correct/nag.

Also, there is a little sort of half-epilouge thing that isn't here. It's around 300-500 words long, but I wasn't sure if I should add it or not. Should I do a second chapter with that little epilouge?

Thank you for taking the time to read this. And, for all the androids out there (kudos to the TNG fans that get this), domo arigato Mr./Mrs. Roboto. (Seriously, listen to the song and you'll get it. If you watch TNG, anyway)

~Piki :B (Wow! Another lucky story with the signed A/N! I blame my lack of sleep.)