hsavinien

Title: Child

Author: H. Savinien

Rating: PG-13, for language

Disclaimer: The characters are the intellectual property of the Roddenberry Estate and J.J. Abrams.

A.N.: Thanks to kinkme for beta.

Summary: Pavel Andreievich Chekov is not a child. Chekov buddyfic.

***

Pavel Andreievich Chekov is not a child. Eventually, he hopes, the rest of the crew will notice that, and stop fucking treating him like one. He got cut across the face this morning, on an away mission, and right now half of Dr. McCoy's nursing staff is fluttering around him like blue butterflies, getting in each other's way and making his head hurt. He's about to snap at them to put the dermal regenerators away and leave him the scar so people will finally start taking him seriously, when the doctor shoves through the crowd and hauls him off the bed, dragging him into the CMO's office by his shoulder.

“All right, there, kid?” McCoy asks brusquely, pushing him into the chair and pulling a bottle of alcohol out of a cupboard. He raises one eyebrow at Pavel, who nods, and takes the shot glass McCoy hands him.

“Da,” Pavel replies gloomily. “I am just tired of being the pet. It is...annoying. I am a Starfleet officer.”

“Good luck there. I think some of them decided you were Jim's good luck charm back when you pulled his and Sulu's respective asses out of Vulcan's atmosphere.”

“Fuck,” Pavel says, then apologizes. “I would still have done it, but I have spent so much time already trying to prove that I belong here, that I deserve my place! I do not want to be anyone's symbol but my own.”

McCoy claps him on the shoulder and gives him another drink, and chases the nurses away so Pavel can get back to his quarters without getting fussed at. Pavel likes McCoy, even if he does call him “kid” still. He calls everyone kid except Mr. Spock, so that's not singling Pavel out.

***

Pavel likes spending time with Hikaru. He's cool, all grin and daring, and teaches Pavel fencing moves and responds to Pavel's taunts when they run on the track with comfortable insults. The first time Hikaru calls him “Pasha” while they are changing after exercise, Pavel hits him.

“Wha-?” Hikaru sputters. “Huh?”

“I am not a baby, Hikaru. I do not want pet names, especially from you!” Pavel growls, and stalks away. It's worse than everyone else, really. Hikaru is his friend and if he thinks Pavel's still a kid, then there's no hope of looking like an adult to the rest of the crew.

***

McCoy tells him to shut up when he apologizes for showing up in Sickbay late in Gamma shift. Pavel explains that he is not hurt, just frustrated again, and McCoy waves him toward the cupboard with the whiskey. It is not vodka, but it is still good and strong.

***

Talking is the way to try to fix things, Pavel thinks. It wasn't exactly fair to hit Hikaru without explaining why. The whiskey may have helped spur this revelation, but he can still walk straight, so there is no problem. He is, as the Americans say, A-OK. The corridors are not quite how he remembers them. He clicks his tongue in frustration as he stumbles into the bulkhead again. Perhaps the inertial dampeners are malfunctioning. As soon as he apologizes to Hikaru, he will go and help Mr. Scott fix them.

Pavel stops to get his bearings twice. The numbers for Hikaru’s cabin are switching in his head, which is very bad thing. It is not right, for a navigator to mix up numbers. That way lies flying into stars and singularities and making Hikaru do more work to get them out of messes. Very bad. He pauses in the turbolift to assess his course in his head. He has it straight now. Pavel hears himself laugh at the silliness of straight lines along a corridor in a saucer and frowns quickly. It sounds too much like a drunken giggle, which is bad, because he is not drunk and he does not giggle. He reaches Hikaru’s cabin and requests entry at last, listening to the faint chime as he leans back against the bulkhead.

“Hunh?” Hikaru sticks his head out into the corridor, all sleep-tousled and not at all cool-looking. “Pavel? What’s going on?”

“You look sleepy, Hikaru, hello, I am sorry,” Pavel says, stumbling over the words a little. “I should not have hit you, especially since you are a superior officer and my friend.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Only a little, shh, do not tell,” Pavel says conspiratorially. “I was angry and needed something to distract me.”

Hikaru stares at him. “Uh… D’you want to come in?”

“Yes, okay, that will be good.” He follows Hikaru into his quarters and sits at the desk, straddling the chair backwards.

“Okay. Now. What? And slower this time, please? Is this about this afternoon?”

Pavel stares at the carpet – regulation grey – and the walls – regulation grey – and the shelves with keepsakes and trophies spaced along them – many colors, some quite shiny. There is a little silver pendulum that swings into motion with the slightest vibration of the ship and a plant with tendrils restlessly curling around themselves.

“Sulu to Chekov, come in Chekov.”

“Oh! I am sorry, Hikaru.” Pavel looks back at his friend. “I am sorry. I should not have hit you.”

“Why did you? I mean, I shouldn’t have called you anything without asking, but I thought if you didn’t like it you’d just… laugh.” Hikaru’s hair is falling across his forehead and sticking up in the back and his forehead is wrinkled and his t-shirt is inside out, as if he pulled it on quickly.

Pavel examines the toes of his boots. They are scuffed. He needs to polish them tomorrow. “I…um, Pasha is a... How do you say? Diminutive? It is for little kids. Or babushkas to use to embarrass boys in front of schoolmates.” He sighs. “I am very very very tired of being treated like little child and I did not think you would do that to me and I was angry, so I hit you. I should not have done so, but I would like it if you did not call me that.”

“Oh, hell,” he looks up and Hikaru is ducking his head, shoulders dropped. “Sorry, Pavel. I didn’t realize.” He drags his fingers through his hair, rumpling it farther. “I was talking to Uhura about names and naming kinds of things, she was asking about ‘Sulu,’ so I asked her about Russian names and…” Hikaru winces. “Should have checked context a little better, huh? Sorry, man, won’t happen again.”

“Ah.” Pavel feels as if the clouds have blown away and the sun has come back out in his stomach, and beams at Hikaru in pure relief. “That is okay then. I am glad you do not think I am a baby.”

***

Pavel wakes up with smelly feet in his face, which makes him swear and push away, which makes him fall on the floor with a thump. Hikaru sits up from the other end of the bed, looking around groggily as Pavel groans, clutching his head.

“Computer, lights thirty percent,” Hikaru says and squints down at him. “Painkillers and water on the desk,” he says, yawning wide enough that his jaw pops.

Pavel grunts acknowledgement and fights free of the blankets to get them, then crawls back into the bed, his back to Hikaru’s legs so that he will not get smelly pilot feet in his face again.

***

Pavel goes to see Dr. McCoy later that day, avoiding the nurses as best he can.

“Hey, kid.” McCoy looks him over, one eyebrow raised. “Feeling better? You look like crap, but judging from that smile your emotional state’s picking up,” he drawls, accent thick around the ‘psychology bullshit’ words, as he calls them.

“I am much better, thank you, Doctor. Could I maybe have some painkillers to keep in case of headaches or bruises in the gym?”

McCoy rolls his eyes and scowls and tosses him a bottle. “Now git, kid. I’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Pavel grins.

He is not a kid, but Dr. McCoy calls everyone that, except Spock, so it is okay.