By the time Chekov reached the cabin he'd been assigned, his legs were about to give up on him. It was a measure, he supposed, of how many casualties the Enterprise had sustained, how many still needed urgent treatment just to stay alive, that he'd evaded McCoy and reached the bridge. That Kirk had let him stay there, even welcomed him.

That felt good.

His hand hesitated over the key pad. Someone was already in occupation. It was another indication of the decks out of commission on the badly damaged ship. Only seventy men and women had been brought aboard from the Reliant while as many again, those in good enough health, had remained on the Genesis research station. Yet they couldn't give Reliant's first officer a cabin to himself.

He smiled tiredly. Or maybe Kirk, who'd just now - Chekov could hardly believe it - called him 'Ensign', had forgotten his old navigator now merited the trappings of rank.

It was at least a cabin in 'senior staff' territory. Maybe Sulu had volunteered to have a room mate for the two weeks it would take to return home to Earth. That, Chekov reflected, rubbing a hand across eyes that stung with salt and fatigue, would be nice. It would be nice to let Sulu look after him. But he suspected Sulu, as shattered as the rest of the Enterprise crew by Spock's death, would need more coddling himself than Chekov was up to giving at the moment.

He hit the release and looked inside. It was a decent sized stateroom. He vaguely remembered it might have been Guy M'Benga's, once upon a time. The lights were turned down low and the big bed beyond the screen was occupied. Chekov stepped softly over to the computer and brought up a ship's manifest to discover the identity of his co-occupant. He shook his head in disbelief, smiling in spite of himself. He hadn't thought anyone knew... well, they did now.

The closets already contained a few clothes, hung neatly. Some books had appeared on the shelves - the titles weren't familiar to him, and they must have been borrowed. Then Chekov remembered the Enterprise's famous 'real books' lending library. He half smiled. Some things stayed the same. Obviously the ship's new captain hadn't decided paper books were illogical, and John, predicatably, had homed in on them. One book lay open on the cover of the bed, pages fanned. Presumably the reader had fallen asleep over it and dropped it there. Chekov closed it carefully and laid it on the bedside table. He undressed slowly and methodically, although he felt tired enough to simply dissolve and drain out of the legs of his uniform pants. In the bathroom, he did no more than comfort demanded, then padded naked back to the bed.

"John," he said softly, not wanting to startle his lover. Then, more softly still, "Vanya..."

John Kyle grunted, turned, smiled and opened his eyes. "Ah, they told me you were alive, just."

"Can I come to bed?"

The grey eyes opened wider. "Of course. This is your cabin, after all. It's a little too grand for me. I only escaped from a rack of triple bunks by dropping your name in the appropriate ear." He scooted over to make room, holding the cover up so Chekov could slip in next to him. "Pavel, you're shaking." Kyle's strong arms folded round him and held him tight. The shakes built up for a few moments, then faded again. Kyle kissed the nape of Chekov's neck.

"I am just so tired."

"You're cold too, cold through. Did you break out of sickbay when no one was looking?" Kyle was out of bed, heading for the cabin's little replicator. "Will you eat?"

"No, I couldn't."

"Tea, then. Hot and sweet."

"Hot and sweet sounds good. And no, I didn't break out. They signed me off while the balance of their minds was disturbed."

Kyle brought the drink back to the bed. "Yes."

"Oh, John." They sat and embraced each other, Kyle holding the tea at arm's length, his other arm round the Russian.

Chekov buried his face in the crook of Kyle's shoulder. "Oh, God. The captain, all those scientists from the station, murdered, and now Spock. I never imagined... I never imagined the Enterprise without Mister Spock." He sniffed once, quickly, embarrassed. "I was on another ship, but still... it was good to think that the Enterprise was still the same. And now..."

"You know Scotty lost his nephew."

"No. I didn't know that." Chekov sniffed again. "I didn't know he had a nephew."

"Uhura says he was proud enough that Peter might as well have been his own son."

"You and Nyota have been catching up?" Chekov thought about it. "Which is why you are sharing my cabin?"

"There wasn't time for catching up," Kyle grumbled. "I haven't seen her or Sulu for nearly seven years. I just dropped the bombshell and ran."

Chekov frowned. "How did she take it?" He reached out a hand and Kyle placed the mug of tea in it.

"I don't think anyone's brain is registering anything, Pavel. You'll have to tell her again in the morning."

They sat in silence for a while.

"Do you remember Khan, from the first time?" Chekov asked.

"Oh yes."

"I only saw him for a moment. And yet he remembered me. If he hadn't..."

"Shshhh. There's no point..."

"Or if I had only remembered..."

"When we first met Khan, you were so new aboard, you'd hardly worked out which way was up."

"But he remembered..."

"You were memorable. I remembered you. I remembered you for years. It's not your fault. You remember Khan because he was stark raving mad. I don't know why *he* remembered *you*, but I remembered you because..."

"Because I was the idiot with the funny accent."

"That's it. Right on the nail." Kyle waited a beat. "You still are."

Chekov sighed and drank his tea. He placed the mug carefully on the floor and let Kyle settle him back onto the bed and begin kissing him.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Chekov said softly, but did nothing to stop it. He thought about Spock while his lover did things that normally stopped him thinking - thinking about crew evaluations, and fuel consumption reports, and whether he was being a good exec to Captain Terrell, and whether Paul Terrell wasn't the most boring man in the universe, and whether they'd all die of ennui before they got any shoreleave...

Kyle let his tongue linger on the flat pink disk of a nipple. Chekov shivered, and not in a good way. His lover reached down and hooked the bedcovers over them both. "You need a good night's sleep. It'll be a little easier to live with tomorrow morning, and easier still the day after that. The past does get easier to live with."

"I should have..."

"What? What the fuck should you have done that you didn't? Kill yourself like Paul Terrell? Get by on your luck, like Kirk?"

"John!"

The Englishman spread his hands.

"His luck ran out today," Chekov said, and covered his face.

Kyle leaned forward and held him. "You know," he said, "I do remember you, fifteen years ago, coming aboard this ship for the first time. And now I see boys like you, not much more than boys, boarding the Reliant..."

"You won't see any more," Chekov objected, muffled by the embrace.

"They're all still alive, Pavel," Kyle continued unperturbed. "Every one of those boys. Every man and woman on the Reliant. You stood up to Khan, even with his bloody worm crawling around inside your brain. You persuaded him to leave us on Ceti Alpha Five. You shamed him into giving us the supplies we needed to survive, you..."

"Captain Terrell..."

"No, Pavel, *you*. And I heard how it ended too. Terrell disobeyed Khan and killed himself. You disobeyed him and survived." He pulled back and looked at his lover. When Chekov wouldn't meet his gaze, he hooked the younger man's chin up with his forefinger. "Didn't you?"

"I don't... I don't feel very alive at this exact moment."

"Too bad, because you are alive, and you might as well make the most of it."

Chekov grunted.

"You've got bruises all over you. Have they forgotten how to use a regenerator in that sickbay?"

"They're too busy to worry about bruises."

"Did Khan do this to you?"

Chekov looked up, shocked by the sudden tightness in Kyle's voice. "He murdered those scientists, John. A few bruises... I am not complaining. I am glad to be alive, remember?"

He rolled his partner over, taking charge, halting the discussion before the memories became any more unbearable. 'I'm glad to be alive,' he told himself. 'Let's get on with it.' Sitting astride Kyle's hips he ran his hands over the man's body, shoulders to waist. He stopped. "Why are you wearing these?"

"Because I'm in bed?" Kyle said innocently. "Because I wasn't expecting you to join me tonight?" He frowned at Chekov's serious expression. "It's cold? These sheets itch?"

The commander leaned forward and pressed a finger into Kyle's ribs. His lover winced. The wince became a growl of objection.

"Okay, Khan was freeer with his fists than you might have realised."

"Why? Why did he do this to you?" Chekov was stretching the soft silver jersey sleep top in order to see underneath. He caught his breath at the sheer piebald variety of discoloration on display. "You *have* been to sickbay?"

"Yes." Kyle started to wriggle out from under. "As you can see, my ribs are knitted, the swelling in my spleen is almost gone, I can move without wishing I was dead. This is just cosmetic, apparently. I'm fine."

"Why did he do this to you?" Chekov repeated stonily, pinning him.

"He didn't need reasons."

"Tell me why?" A note of desperation entered Chekovs's voice. "He didn't need to do this. He had me and the captain doing whatever he..."

A long sigh. Kyle pulled an arm free from Chekov's grasp and rubbed his nose, then resubmitted to the restraining hold . "He wanted tactical input, an opinion on what Captain Kirk would be doing. That was the ribs. Don't look at me like that. He couldn't get the information from you or the captain. Those ceti eels were stopping you doing any thinking that called for more than three or four words in the right order, and you were only prepared to make the effort to communicate if he'd talk about the safety of the crew. Mostly he was kicking me out of frustration at his own methods."

"You didn't..."

"I told him that I hadn't served with Captain Kirk for nearly fifteen years. I told him I didn't have the faintest idea what he'd do. The whole point of Kirk is that he never does the things a run of the mill bridge officer has been trained to do. Why do you think Command hate him so much?"

Chekov looked at him, and bit his upper lip.

"And that was the gamble you made, wasn't it? Your crew would be safe, and Kirk would defeat Khan anyway. If only Kirk had been firing on all cylinders..."

"You said that to Khan?" Chekov broke in, annoyed. "That Captain Kirk was unpredictable?"

"I think he knew that, Pavel." Kyle turned his head to one side and looked at the time display by the bed. He sighed. "I don't remember *exactly* what I said to Khan. I'm just glad he already had all the straightforward answers from Terrell and from... and I didn't have to..."

"What?"

"That I didn't really have a choice, the choice to say anything I shouldn't have. And I'm glad I could convince him I was some kind of idiot, who was so terrified I would already have talked if I knew the answers." Kyle met Chekov's eyes. "Did you think you'd done enough betraying, enough being humiliated, for all of us? I'm afraid Khan wasn't keeping score."

"How did you convince him?" Chekov demanded, his voice a desperate growl.

"I grovelled. I offered to do things he couldn't believe an officer and a gentleman would do. I let him think I would have sold Kirk out in a minute, if I'd only had the information."

"Vanya..."

"Do you feel better for knowing?"

"Of course not," Chekov snapped. "Maybe. Do you feel better for telling me?"

Kyle thought, then nodded. "I'm glad you're alive, and it won't hurt you to know that sometimes you have to let someone else save you. You can't do all the saving any more than all the... Not this time." He smiled. "I wanted my turn."

"Oh, John."

"I love you."

Chekov shivered again, this time in anticipation. "You're crazy."

"I know." Kyle wrapped his arms round Chekov. "Close your eyes."

"Why.... okay." In a second their positions were reversed, Chekov lying flat on his back on the bed, Kyle astride him. He could feel the weight on his pelvis shift as Kyle shrugged off the jersey tunic, rose on his knees to slide the pants half off, then sat back, flesh on flesh, to finish removing them.

"I wish I could say he showed me a few new tricks," he said. "I just hope poor Marla McGivers was less disappointed than I was."

"How can you joke about it?" Chekov asked.

Kyle moved to kneel between his legs, taking Chekov's cock in his hands and cupping it. "Because you're alive and he's dead. See? He was never this alive even when he was alive. Worn out old twentieth century queen." The hands slid away to caress the insides of Chekov's thighs, his balls, sliding between him and the mattress to grasp his ass. "What do you want to do?"

"If I wasn't afraid you would call me a worn out old twenty third century queen, I would tell you I need to sleep."

"But since I will... And since you're not on duty tomorrow, unless you can persuade Kirk to let you play at being navigator for old times sake..."

"John, he called me 'Ensign Chekov' today."

Kyle spluttered. "No, it's not funny. You know it was his fiftieth birthday last week? Poor old man."

"That's not so old. You are forty five," Chekov reminded him. "And I am..."

"Thirty eight. If you were a woman, you'd be at your sexual prime."

"Thank you."

"Mmm. I think you are at your sexual prime after all. And if you were a woman, I couldn't do this."

"Uhh. Gknnh. Mmmph. Vanya... "

Kyle didn't answer until much, much later.

The End.