It was most ironic that Sulu was actually smiling on his way to sickbay. All things considered, it was equally illogical, but he failed to care. His stride was not a stride but a bounce, his arms swinging at his sides.

He should not have been so happy.

Regardless, he found that he was unable to stop himself. For the past four days he had been praying to anyone who would listen that Pavel would show some sign of improvement, however small. Maybe it would be a willingness to look Sulu in the eye, or maybe a few words. As it turned out, it was food. The previous night, Pavel had finally started eating again, and McCoy had decided that this was grounds for letting him return to his quarters.

As thankful as everyone was for this small light, the doctor assured anyone who would listen that, although this was good, it was not exactly a leap nor a bound. He stressed that much progress was still to be made and that this must not be forgotten. Sulu, however, was momentarily satisfied by this one improvement, and he would not let the cynical doctor ruin his mood. He continued toward sickbay; McCoy had requested that Sulu escort Chekov to his quarters in the morning, which Sulu was more than happy to do and might have done even if he hadn't been asked. Even in his current state, Pavel's company meant more to Sulu than anything else he could be given, and he could only pray that the same was true for the Russian.

He arrived at sickbay and the soft whoosh of the doors revealed Dr. McCoy's permanently frowning face, currently directed at a PADD he held in his hand. He looked up when Sulu entered and nodded.

"Good morning Doctor," he greeted, grin still plastered stupidly to his face. McCoy rolled his eyes and lead the way to the last bed. Chekov sat on the edge, clad in a clean, whole uniform minus the boots, face dead but washed. He did not look up when the two arrived.

"Well Chekov, you can go. Just be sure to keep eating and take care of yourself, kid," the doctor instructed, although he elicited no reaction from the boy. "Just come on over when you're ready." For being such a bitter, sarcastic person, McCoy had a fair bit of insight when it counted, and he and Sulu walked back to the entrance and waited for Chekov to gather himself and accompany them.

"Sulu," said McCoy as soon as they stopped, "I want you to continue to bring Chekov his meals until he starts to do it on his own. I'm not sure when that will be." This last comment was honest and worried, and the mood was infectious, darkening Sulu's sunny feelings at once.

"Doctor…," he began, "how do you think…that is, what do you think the best approach would be to help him?" The words felt bizarre on his tongue but he didn't care how he worded it as long as McCoy understood and was willing to help him, willing to help Chekov. The doctor, however, only stared at him, through him. Sulu was not sure he could take this examination and went on to tell him about the Russia outburst, and when he had finished McCoy's eyes darkened.

"This might sound a little weird, but I think…I think that kid might actually feel dirty over this." He wasn't looking at Sulu anymore and Sulu's eyes widened as the small, missing pieces of his plan sunk into place.

"But, dammit, I'm a doctor, not a therapist," he amended, shaking his head. "There's my opinion, take it or leave it. Here he comes."

Sulu turned his head to see Pavel walking toward them, although the word should have been 'limping.' He didn't have a physical limp, but you could tell his body was dragging his mind with it as he advanced on them. His shoulders were drooped forward slightly and he looked very much like a dog that had simply been kicked past its breaking point. His big, green-blue eyes were still flat, and looking at them drove Sulu crazy. He wanted to run over and shake the boy until that spark came back, kiss him until he couldn't not look Sulu in the eyes, hold him until he fell asleep smiling. It was by some divine miracle that Sulu stayed rooted to the spot and did not move until the doctor bade them goodbye.

"So, how are you feeling today, Pavel?" Sulu asked, knowing this would not get a single thing out of him. It was almost the exact same question he's been putting forth since day one, earning only a slight variation each day he recycled it. On no occasion had Pavel answered. Today was no different. The two walked slowly through the halls to a turbolift

"Bet that place is horrid long-term," he attempted again, leaning against the lift wall as they waited to reach their stop. Pavel stood silently, looking crumpled. Sulu's heart fell again and he wondered when it would hit rock-bottom.

With a quiet whoosh, the door opened, allowing for exit. Sulu walked out ahead of Pavel, barely resisting the urge to grab his hand out of a need to comfort. Pavel followed solemnly. Silence fell on them like a boulder, and Sulu was growing increasingly worried. His previous mood had been wiped out by the doctor and it was becoming substantially worse with every quiet footstep the two took together. Finally, however, they reached Chekov's quarters, which were adjoined by a bathroom to Sulu's. Sulu did not forget to thank his lucky stars for this fact.

The door slid open and Pavel walked in unprompted.

"Do you…want me to stay?" Sulu asked, desperately hoping the answer was yes. When his answer was a sad headshake and a closing door, the Asian felt as though he could cry had his tears not run out the day of Pavel's attack.

But he could not cry. He had things to do. He had Pavel to save.

He would do it. He gave himself no choice.

He turned on his heel.

-+-+-+-

His next stop was Spock's quarters. He did not feel like seeing or speaking to his first officer, but he knew that Kirk had just gotten off duty and would probably be heading there to play chess. He needed a word with his captain.

The tall blonde was just rounding a corner when Sulu caught sight of him. He yelled his name, causing Kirk to pause.

"Captain, may I have a word?" Sometimes Sulu wondered why he even asked anymore. Of course he could have a word, or even a few, and no one cared, but maybe that's just how he was raised.

"It's about Pavel, sir," he informed, and Kirk's eyes took on a look of interest and understanding that Sulu thought looked most odd on his features. In a few hurried sentences, Sulu filled in the captain on Pavel's comment about Russia and his conversation with Bones.

"And so I think maybe if he sees that there's a huge distinction between what those bastards—" Sulu spit the word as if it were poisoned"—had planned for him and actual male-to-male love, then he'd feel…I don't know…more at ease with himself? What do you think?" he finished, watching Kirk's face carefully for approval or rejection. His eyebrows were knit in thought, and he wasn't looking at Sulu but rather over his shoulder. After a few seconds, he broke into a slow grin, blue eyes twinkling.

"Mr. Sulu, I have just the idea. But I'll have to talk to a certain someone first. We'll talk more tomorrow but I think that just might work," he said enthusiastically, clapping Sulu on the shoulder. Sulu could not help but imagine Kirk's hand as Pavel's for the second it touched him.

With that, his commanding officer maneuvered around him, heading down the hall to Spock's quarters. Satisfied with his efforts momentarily, Sulu decided to return to his quarters.

If his plan worked…

But he couldn't let himself think that. He had to wait and see. His footsteps sounded lonely by themselves and with copper-sand hair and doe eyes on the mind, he decided to cut through Pavel's quarters to get to his own.

Whoosh.

Suddenly his heart was in his mouth and he couldn't feel his feet as he stepped forward, step-step-step-step toward the bed.

Pavel—his beautiful Pavel—sleeping. But it was the way he was sleeping that caught Sulu's heartbeat. The pale Russian was not relaxed, the way one should be when asleep. Indeed, he hardly even looked asleep. He was curled into a tight ball, knees drawn uncomfortably up to his chin, arms wrapped around them, muscles tensed. His eyebrows were drawn together in discontent, stress obvious in his every feature.

Sulu had to again resist the urge to touch him, to crawl into bed and wrap his arms around him in the hopes that at least in sleep Pavel could have peace.

"Pavel…" Sulu's voice was strained and quiet. He shook his head, turning to leave.

This plan must work.

There was simply no other way.

AN:: Someone was confused about Chekov's comment in the last chapter about Russia. What I meant was, if he had been in Russia and that had happened, it is possible that someone could have thought, 'He attracts men in a dirty way, he is a homosexual, blah blah blah' and that person might have beaten him up for it or possibly killed him. I may have exaggerated that statement, I'm not very familiar with Russia and that comment stemmed mostly from what I read about Russia's army and the way homosexuals are looked at there. Sorry for the confusion and again, I don't mean to offend.

Also: I can't get on often enough to reply individually to reviews. If I think it's important or merits an answer, I will respond in an author's note.