Five

The fingers on Chekov's left hand were twisted unnaturally, the bones fractured and shattered. The boy hissed and tried to keep a stoic face as McCoy held the hand in a vice grip, waving the bone knitter over it.

"What were you doing throwing the first punch like that anyway, kid?" McCoy asked, trying to distract his patient from the searing pain and tingly ticklishness of regenerating bones. "There's a reason security officers go out on away missions."

Chekov straightened up, one eye black and both eyes wet with stubbornly unshed tears. "The security officer was... detained. I was forced to react to protect my colleagues."

McCoy smirked. "And which colleague was it, exactly, that you were trying to impress? Sulu?"

"No!" Chekov's cheeks reddened. "Hikaru is only a friend."

McCoy shifted his grip to the ball of Chekov's palm, and the boy hissed in pain. "You haven't answered my question, Ensign," he asked, if only to keep Chekov focusing on something besides his shattered hand.

Chekov squirmed slightly in his seat. "It was... it was Lieutenant Landon," he whispered.

McCoy glanced over at where Martha Landon was sitting with Nurse Chapel, repairing superficial cuts on her face, haughty and self-possessed and a million light years out of Chekov's league. "Well, most of the girls here can take care of themselves, Ensign. You'll have to find some other way to impress her. And anyways, didn't your daddy ever tell you not to fight cavemen twice your size?"

Chekov shrugged, his mouth drooping ever so slightly. "Papa died when I was fourteen. He came to America with me when I start at Academy. But then he... it was a drunk driver."

McCoy's hands stilled just for a split second, and then he finished straightening out Chekov's newly healed fingers. "I'm sorry to hear that, Ensign."

Chekov shrugged again, any distress erased from his face. "Thank you for taking care of my hand, doktor, and for the girl advice." Then before McCoy could say anything he flounced off the biobed and over to Landon.

Four

It was silly, he knew, to feel so affected by something that didn't even happen. He knew he was gifted, that he was the best at what he did, that everybody around him was impressed by it. But when he was instrumental once again in saving the Enterprise and everybody who worked in her, and all he got was a "Good work Ensign!" and a slap on the back from the Captain, and a wry, knowing smile from Sulu, he couldn't help but feel slightly cheated.

All he wanted was for someone to say they were proud of him, the way his Papa did when he was accepted to the Academy or achieved honours and high marks in some class or another. He knew it was silly when he was accomplishing so much, and living the life he had dreamed about, but something still ached inside him.

So when Doctor McCoy squeezed his shoulder as they passed each other in the busy hallways after yet another crisis, and said "I heard what you did, you should be proud of yourself," it was close enough, and he beamed for hours afterwards.

Three

"You should tell them," McCoy heard Sulu whisper to Chekov on the edge of their party.

Chekov shuffled his feet and looked incredibly worried. McCoy glanced between the two of them and at Kirk, Spock, and Uhura, who were trying to communicate with a belligerent group of locals. The away team, consisting of the six of them and two silent security guards, had all been deemed too young to speak to the village's leaders. There was a challenge, a puzzle they could undertake to prove that they were accomplished enough. They only had one shot at it, and if they failed, they would be expelled from the planet.

Chekov, in an uncharacteristic display of the shyness that sometimes welled up within him, was not volunteering to solve it.

"What if I get it wrong, Sulu," he whispered back.

"But you won't. You told me how you thought you could solve it, not five minutes after we got here."

"That was just first glance though."

"Well tell Mr Spock what you think. You guys can figure it out together."

Chekov stiffened slightly, his hands gripping his own shoulders, seemingly against the cold. McCoy had seen that posture before though, when Chekov sat on his own in the mess hall, in the weeks after the Narada incident. Chekov had never said it, and McCoy never asked, but he had pieced together that Chekov never forgave himself for what happened to Spock's mother, and that sometimes (rarely, but sometimes), he was afraid to show his work to the commander. Even if he knew he was right.

McCoy wandered over to the two younger men. "You got this figured out, Ensign?"

Chekov's eyes went big. "I do not know, Doktor. It is only theory."

McCoy nodded. "Commander Spock!" he called out. Spock turned, and Chekov stared down at his feet again. "I think our boy here has a theory about this ridiculous puzzle," McCoy went on.

"Ah, excellent news Doctor," Spock responded, and he started over to the group.

Chekov shivered and gulped, and started building up the courage to talk to Spock. "Thank you Doktor," he said, so small that only McCoy could hear him.

Two

"It is not fair!" Chekov cried as McCoy pushed him into his private office. "You do not have the right to say this to me. It is my own business!"

"The hell it is," McCoy growled. "This is a small ship, kid. It's not some sleepaway camp or junior high school, it is a professional workplace and a community. You can't treat people like that and not expect there to be consequences."

"It is nothing to do with you. It is private affair!" Chekov said, his face red with anger.

"You made it a public affair when you said those things to Yeomand Rand in public," McCoy shot back, his arms crossed and his face cloudy. "If Chapel heard it, then everybody else in the mess could hear it."

Chekov made a 'pfft' sound and crossed his own arms, a mini version of McCoy staring right back at him. "It is not my fault that woman is such a gossip -"

"You shut your mouth about Nurse Chapel," McCoy pointed a finger threateningly and Chekov shut up, swallowing slightly. "You lost the right to criticize anybody else's behaviour when you called Rand those things."

"It is not fair!" Chekov fell back on his previous, childish refrain, his resolve threatening to break into tears. His fingers squirmed against each other in a way that McCoy only saw when Chekov realized he was wrong about something. "Hikaru is already mad at me, and now you -"

"Sulu is mad at you because he's your friend and he expects better from you. And so do I."

Chekov sniffed. "But I don't even like her. I had to say something to get her to leave me alone!"

"You could've said something nicer, and you could've done it in private. You are a Starfleet officer and a gentleman, and you better start acting like both if you want people to take you seriously."

Chekov stared down at his feet and a beat passed. He sniffled and wiped his face with one hand. "I'm sorry Doktor," he said, his voice small.

McCoy sighed, kindly, and put his hands on Chekov's shoulders, his thumbs lightly brushing the young man's neck. "It's all right kid. Tempers can run high in a tin can like this." He patted Chekov's shoulders and turned to the door. "You take a minute, and then I expect you to apologize to Nurse Chapel, and Mr Sulu, and Ms Rand. Got it?"

Chekov nodded, still looking at his feet. "Yes Doktor."

McCoy opened his mouth and 'good boy' almost came out, but he stopped himself just in time.

One

To say Chekov was devastated would be an understatement. Now he wasn't as emotionally turbulent as Jim, McCoy reflected, and it had taken a while to get through the stony faced claims of "I am fine", but eventually a few tears fell and Chekov consented to McCoy putting a heavy arm across his shoulder, as they sat on the couch in McCoy's quarters.

"It is not just Martha," Chekov said between hiccups. "That was just lust. It is only... I am just a little lonely," he said helplessly, dissolving into quiet tears and trying not to lean into McCoy's chest.

"Well, you have Sulu," McCoy offered. "And Ms Gaila, and Scotty."

"Da, I know," Chekov wiped his face. "But it is different. I just want something... more? And Martha does not want me, that is what is worst."

McCoy nodded, and let the silence hang, knowing there wasn't much to be said that would make that feel better.

Chekov looked up at him, eyes still slightly wet, looking embarrassed. "Sometimes," he said, his voice tiny, "I want to go home. Just for a little while. Just so I am somewhere I know I am wanted."

McCoy nodded again, and he let himself run a hand through Chekov's curls. Chekov didn't pull away. "You are wanted here. It's just homesickness. Everybody gets homesick sometimes."

"It is very hard," Chekov said, his accent thick.

"God, I know," McCoy unthinkingly pulled Chekov closer to him, and the ensign put his head on his shoulder.

And One Time Chekov Returned the Favour

McCoy was content, after a fashion, to just lie there on his floor. He wasn't even drinking, Jim had thoughtfully made sure his quarters were free of alcohol, and McCoy was left to spend the day painfully sober. They were too far out from Earth to make real-time calls, and he worried endlessly about whether his last data burst had reached home in time, whether or not the gifts he ordered had made it, whether or not Jocelyn let Joanna see any of it.

His door chime buzzed and he rolled over on the hard floor, covering his head. "Go away Jim, Christ."

"Doktor?" a familiar young voice came through the entry phone. "May I come in?"

McCoy looked up from his view of the carpet, puzzled for a second. "Ensign?" he said. "Enter."

Chekov, looking even younger in jeans and a red sweater vest over a short-sleeved shirt and tie, timidly stepped into the room, carrying a bottle. "I was going to bring you vodka, but then I thought you might not like. So I asked Scotty a favour and got some of his bourbon," he held the bottle out, seeking approval.

McCoy smiled, slowly, the sensation strange on his face. "Kid, you are a life saver."

Chekov beamed, his face shining. "Nurse Chapel said you should not have any alcohol today, but I think that is silliness."

They sat cross legged on the floor, McCoy pouring out glasses of neat bourbon. "I have a little sister," Chekov said. "She was a baby when Papa and I come to America. I have not seen her for so long, but I see her when I call Mama, and she has gotten so big," he looked up at McCoy with shining eyes. "Every time she gets bigger. I miss her very much."

McCoy nodded, handing a glass to Chekov. "It's hard, isn't it."

"Da," Chekov looked at the floor for a second. "You do not have to miss her alone, doktor."

McCoy smirked, an almost imperceptible little thing. "Thanks, kid."

"I have never had bourbon before," Chekov straightened up, eyes big and inquisitive.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," McCoy responded, his smile growing. He clinked his glass against Chekov's. "Cheers."