A/N: Thank you to who-ever voted on my poll! The story ended up being a two-shot, because it seemed to flow better this way to me, but I think it's still good. I hope that everyone else here thinks so! This was my first time writing a Star Trek 2009 story so I really hope it turns out okay.

Five Times Chekov Put Himself Behind Others...

1. Felicie

"It iz okay, Lapochka. Jour Big Brudder vill take care of jou." Chekov sent a small, broken smile at his younger sister, Felicie, as the frail girl curled up in the single blanket he had on his cot.

Below, they could hear their Father storming around in the kitchen. Glasses clanked together, the smell of smoke drifted up the stairs and into the door-less room; loud, rovacious laughter drifted up the stairs from the group of drunken men gathered in the well-furnished rooms underneath of Chekov's own near bare one.

Felicie, a young and thin girl of eight, let out a soft whimper and curled up closer to Chekov. In turn, the slightly older boy put an arm around his sisters shoulders and pulled her into his lap. At the movement, slight as it was, the whole cot shook and creaked as if it was about to give way and collapse with the two children on it.

"Do not vorry, Lapochka. I vill not let him hurt jou." And, even though Chekov was only two years Felicie's senior, he meant that with every fiber of his being. He would not let his Father anywhere near the younger girl. Not when he could still move. Could still breathe. Could still take the pain in her place.

And Felicie knew that her brother would protect her. He always did. Always shielded her from Father's swings, wild and filled with a drunken rage, ever present since the death of their Mother almost four years ago. And though the dark marks that were forming on her brothers pale skin, on his arms and his chest and his back and his face, scared her...Those marks being on her own body scared her more.

2. Sulu

He was going to be so late. Advanced Theoretical Physiches III started in exactly...Two minutes. And not only was the class all the way across campus, which would take far longer then two minutes to cross, he didn't have any books with him.

No the sole book that Chekov was carrying, a thick black leather bound one, wasn't for his class. Or for him, even. Because, while it was an Advanced Theoretical Physics book, it was for the second set of classes. Not the third, and most difficult, one that he was in. No, it was for his room mate, Hikaru Sulu.

The older man had ran out of their dorm room that morning, while Chekov was collecting the last of the books he'd need for the day, completely forgetting the very important book that was laying on their table. That was what happened, Chekov thought ruefully, when you over slept by almost forty minutes though. Which was exactly what Sulu had done. But Sulu also had an ATP II test that day which he would need the book for.

So, with only minutes to spare before he had to be heading towards his own class, Chekov had abandoned his own bag of books and taken off down the hall after his friend. The Russian prodigy, and he was a prodigy having been excepted into the Starfleet Academy when he was fifteen, could always re-take his exams in ATP III after he finished the rest of his days classes.

3. Scotty

"Jus' leave." Scotty's words came out as a murmured whipser, pain clearly seeping into each sound that he made, barely loud enough to hear over the noise of the howling wind.

And, though he made no move to respond to the fallen man, Chekov heard them. They made his heart stutter in his chest and his own voice more panic-filled. Brown eyes wide, filled with fear and pain, he tried once more to get the comm to pick up the Enterprise's signal. Anyones signal. Anything! At this point, he'd even settle for one of the enemy ships to get his distress signal just so that he could hear someone elses voice. But no one answered. The only thing that Chekov got, in between his shaky requests for Enterprise to answer, was static.

Behind him, half-propped against one of the shattered pieces of red-stone, Scotty was sprawled out. Dark red was soaking through the standard issue Starfleet uniform; staining the spots that hadn't been torn by jagged pieces of rock and metal. The same crimson color was caked around the mechanics mouth from when he'd coughed up blood only moments before.

The Scotts-man looked as though he wanted to protest again, to tell Chekov to save himself, but the only noise he seemed capable of making now was a strangled gasp as he tried to bring air into his lungs. Desperatly tried to get air in his lungs. But he couldn't.

Chekov shook the comm again, desperatly calling in for someone to pick up, before he hooked the small, blood-splattered device to his belt and struggled to his feet. He hadn't been as hurt as Scotty was, or at least he didn't think that he'd been as hurt, but he hadn't gotten away with out injuries. It would have been impossible to escape the explosion (one he'd only been caught in because he was helping Scotty repair the planet's Bio-Terra System to be nice) unharmed, after all.

Pain shot through the Russian's body as he stood up, his head swam and his vision blurred, but he was determined to get out of the ruins they were both sitting in. He hobbled over towards the prone mechanic, ignoring the gasps to 'leave' and 'save himself', and used a blood-stained hand to try and lift the older man to his feet. "Ve 'ave to get out of here, Sir. Try and -a wet cough broke his sentence here, the same crimson that was on the mechanic staining his own lips- get up."

And somehow he managed, with little actual help from Scotty, to get the other man up and an arm over his shoulders. The Russian's body shook, legs threatening to give out under him with the added weight, and it was all that he could do to start walking forewards.

"Chekovw to Enterprise. Chekovw to Enterprise. Iz anyvone there? Mishter Scotty is wery injuwed. Please pick up." But there wasn't any response. Just that pain-filled silence that meant it would be longer until he could find help for his injured comrade.

A strong, dirt and heat filled wind swept past the Russian. Grains of sand, burning hot, buried itself into his own injuries; open and freely bleeding gashes that covered his legs and his arms, scratches that were scattered about his face, burns on his hand. Even the bruises, forming thick and dark and promising of internal problems, felt the wind push itself into him.

But he kept pushing foreward. Kept putting one foot in front of the other, one breath after the last, because he knew that if he stopped then Enterprise would never find them and Scotty would die. And he wouldn't let the older man die, alone and in pain on an alien planet, if he could do something about it.

So as his breath came in gasps, each one shallower and wetter then the last, he kept walking and kept calling into the Comm. And as his vision started to blurr, he heard the heart-leaping noise of someone answering back...

"Pavel? Can you hear me? It's Ohura. Listen to me, Pavel. We're going to try and get close enough to land the ship. Our beams aren't working right. Tell Scotty to hold on a bit longer!"

5. Kirk

Letting out a low groan, Chekov rolled over in his bed and threw an arm up to cover his eyes. The lights had turned themselves on by themselves, as they did everyday at 5am, almost ten minutes ago but the Russian was reluctant to get out of the bed.

He felt positivly awful that morning and, since it was his one day off that month, he didn't plan on getting up anytime soon. He'd just forgotten to turn the light-system off before he went to sleep the night before.

Over the past few weeks,ever since they had stopped by Xandel IIX, a virus had been spreading it's way through the members of the Enterprise. It wasn't anything deadly, otherwise Bones would have confined everyone on the ship to their rooms by now, but it wasn't a pleasent thing to have.

Spells of dizziness and light-headedness, vomiting, coughing, migranes, fever; it came with the whole package. And as far as Bones knew, there wasn't a cure for it. The people that got it just had to lay back and let it run it's course on it's own.

Chekov was pretty sure that he had it.

He'd gone to bed the night before, more like the morning before since he hadn't actually made it into his bed until sometime after two, with a massive head-ache and a sick stomache. He'd woken up with that, a wave of dizzyness when he'd tried to get out of the bed to turn the lights off, and an ache that spread through his whole body.

That had actually what spurned the young man to stay in bed and try to sleep a little longer instead of getting up and hitting the tread-mill like he usually did on his days off. A few extra hours of sleep wouldn't hurt his schedule and he really didn't feel like trying to stand up and face the dizzyness.

Just as he was falling back to sleep though, a loud beeping rang out through his room. Eyes shooting open, Chekov through his arm away from his face and blindly reached out for the button on his bed-side table that let messages come into his room. It took a few tries, in which the beeping just added to his growing head-ache, but he eventually managed to hit it.

"Pavel? Pavel, this is Kirk. I've got that stupid virus that's been going around the ship and I need someone to cover my shift up on the deck. Would you mind?"

Letting out another groan, Chekov pushed himself up in bed. It took a few seconds to blink away the dizzyness but once it was gone he hit the button again so that he could respond to his captian. "Of course, Keptain. I will be up wight away."