Title: Saying Sorry
Chapter: Oneshot
Rating: NC-17
Universe: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Chekov [you read that right]
Warnings: One major spoiler, angst, sexual content
Word Count: 4689
Summary: We all need somebody to lean on, even Spock.
Author Notes: Now I know I'm not the only one who sees the plausibility in this pairing. This this is all from memory so pardon the mistakes. Also, I don't think this very good. I made so many changes to it and planned on giving up on it, but my friend encouraged me not to. Dedicated to my Lieutenant Kris. :3
Disclaimer: It's just my imagination running away with me.
-

"I'm losing her, I'm losing her! No no no no! I'm losing her!" a Russian accent screamed. The voice faded away to a barely audible: "I've lost her…"

Guilt weighed heavily on Chekov's conscience. Being the cause of death of an acting-captain's mother was unforgivable. If he'd been faster, he would have caught Amanda Gray's frequency and beamed her aboard safely. Transwarp theory was one of his strong points, damn it, this should have never happened! The loss of her life was his fault.

Everyone was quiet. Angry, ashamed tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away, not wanting to look weak. His gaze traveled to the Vulcans whom just arrived on the transporter platform, then drew to the youngest one with his hand outstretched for a lady that would never be able to grasp it again. It further broke Chekov's heart. The misery in Spock's eyes was soul wrenching. He stood up when Spock's arm fell to a step closer to him, unsure what to say.

They stared at one another. The ensign's mouth parted, but the acting-captain strolled past him. If he walked any faster, he would be running. Upset even more, the kid was barely aware of Uhura going after the motherless alien. His glances were shifted toward everyone before landing on Sulu's comforting gaze. He fully ignored it and sat back down at his console.

Uhura returned minutes later to tell the crew just continue performing admirably. There's nothing admirable about killing a coworker's mother. Chekov thought bitterly, fists tightening.

A hand laid atop of his and he snapped his head up. His glare diminished as he realized Sulu only wanted to help. He took his hand away and shook his head slowly. "Zere's nozink you can do." Chekov mumbled flatly. He just wanted to go wallow in his cabin because the thought of Enterprise's navigator being replaced sounded absolutely admirable.

Of course, Chekov's subconscious desire to perform his duty above teenage standards kept him rooted to his chair.

He ached. Ached so damn badly it felt like suffocation. This grief just wouldn't leave him alone. It consumed him whole and left no room for anything else other than anger. That's why he had to end it. Spock couldn't drag Nyota down with him.

She was a woman of worth who couldn't rectify his problems, couldn't make the nightmares go anyway. She didn't understand. As much as she sympathized, the communications officer knew nothing of this misery, of what it was like to be one of ten thousand survivors of a genocide. All she could offer him was comfort, but not the compassion he craved.

"Why, Spock?" Nyota asked him, struggling to hold back the hurt from her voice. She didn't succeed.

"I cannot care for you as I was able to in the past. It… is not the same anymore."

"Is it me?"

"No, it is not you."

It was all he offered her and all she needed to know. He was not emotionally stable for a relationship. At least, not the one she wanted from him. Her desire to share a family with Spock was too much to ask from one whose own family had been destroyed, cruelly taken from him.

Nyota smiled weakly, understanding. "Okay." she barely managed, nodding. She embraced him tightly, pouring all her hopes of a best recovery into it before letting him go and leaving for healing to take place.

She rounded the corner and finally allowed herself to cry, brushing past one of the crew without an apology. Chekov watched the woman go, wondering if she'd be all right. However, his attention was directed to another person emerging. He understood when Spock did not acknowledge him either, only continued walking as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders.

It was late in the night when Ensign Pavel Chekov got the courage to go back to the bridge. Spock was assigned fourth watch and it seemed like the perfect time to apologize. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't choke up this time

The turbolift doors slid open upon reaching the bridge. Green-hazel irises rose only to be greeted by someone standing in front of him. Startled, it took a moment for him to notice that it was Spock. "Mr. Chekov," the stoic man addressed after looking over, "it is to my understanding that you do not have the next shift."

"Ah, yes, zat is true," the curly-haired boy admitted nervously as he stepped out. "Zat is not ze reason I haf come, sir."

An eyebrow raised. "What is your reason then, Ensign?"

"You, sir."

"I?" Spock's eyes revealed his confusion, but he waited patiently for the seventeen-year-old to elaborate.

Chekov nodded. He felt his tongue locking down, still not quite sure how to go on about this. A simple "I'm sorry" just didn't seem to cut it. The matter was much more delicate than two words. Sighing softly, he opened his mouth yet was interrupted by the automatic doors sliding open again. They both looked to see the Enterprise's pilot.

Sulu returned the gazes and settled on the man clad in blue. "I thought you were going to crash?" he reminded.

"It is not possible that I 'crash', Mr. Sulu, for I am not in collusion with any object as of present." Spock immediately explained.

"I meant go to sleep." The helmsman cocked his head.

"Forgive me. I find some Earth colloquiums still quite baffling," He then answered the query with, "I was stopped by Mr. Chekov. He wished to inform me of something."

The two switched their attention to the younger boy. "Perhaps it can vait 'til anozzer time…" With that, the ensign disappeared into the turbolift again before any protests could be made.

"I want to apologize." Hikaru said to Chekov first thing tomorrow morning.

The kid stood in the doorway of his quarters with sleep in his eyes and a groggy brain. Rubbing his eyelids, he tried to understand why he was woken at such a godforsaken hour for his friend to apologize for a reason he had no idea about. There were still five hours before Alpha duty in the morning. "Whaa?" was all the restless youth could manage.

Hikaru translated that as Come in since he stepped inside. The whooshing door spooked the navigator enough to some clarity. "Last night you were trying to apologize to Spock. I'm apologizing for making you lose your nerve."

"Oh," Chekov said slowly. "It is all right, do not vorry about it." Now his friend was on his bed, looking at him expectantly. What did he want? Right now the boy didn't care much. "I sleep nof, da?"

"I have something to tell you," Hikaru announced suddenly.

"Can it wait? I am wery tired, Hikaru—"

"No, it can't."

They gazed at each other for an awkward moment. It was unusual for the older man to interrupt anyone, let alone his friend. Maybe something was seriously wrong. Chekov frowned as he closed the distance between them and sat down next to him. Whatever it was, he'd risk fatigue to hear it. "Gwo on." Chekov encouraged, smiling softly.

Hikaru continued to look at the Russian, struggling within himself. It did nothing to assure the lower ranked associate. "I…" The sentence hung in the air, left incomplete. Instead the pilot shook his head. "Never mind. It's actually not that important." Leaving the younger man with that enigma, Hikaru exited.

Chekov sighed heavily as he flopped back. Indecision was a highly unwelcome pest. Never did get things done or solve problems.

Soon, he promised himself, I'll say sorry to Mr. Spock. This apology was so significant to him. No one, especially the Vulcan science officer, deserved carrying that sorrow. And people didn't speak of it in public, but the commander's anguish led to the break up with Uhura. For a man that never showed emotions, Spock's grief was blindingly clear and gradually eating them both inside. He wanted to see Spock happy to rid his own burden while remedying the Vulcan's pain. If Uhura couldn't do it, then the ensign would.

The next day, Captain Kirk claimed Hikaru was sick and couldn't report for duty; in his place would be another lieutenant. Intuition told the navigator that his sudden "illness" had something to do with last night. He made a mental note to visit the helmsman whenever he was free. As for now, he had to concentrate on working with his best friend's replacement, which was proving to be difficult because he didn't have patience for the smart aleck.

Kirk was amused by the quiet bickering, his hand covering his mouth to hide the small giggles running through him. Uhura glared at his display of immaturity while Spock looked slightly peeved.

"What's wrong with speeding up a bit?" the surrogate pilot asked.

"Ze Keptin has not giwen orders to do so. Our current speed is fine." Chekov answered, sighing.

"He wouldn't even notice."

"Yes he would, but zat is not ze point!" the Russian snapped. "You can't gwo faster unless Keptin Kirk says so. Deal wiz it."

Scowling, the pilot looked back to his screen. His eyes drifted to the buttons for warp speed and his fingers slowly inched toward it. "That would be most unwise, Mr. Hallmark. Acting without granted permission by a superior is against regulations and could warrant the loss of your occupation." Spock's cold, commanding voice cut in. Hallmark jumped in his chair as his head snapped toward the first officer, who had mysteriously appeared right next to his station. "I suggest you do well to heed Ensign Chekov's warnings as he has both more experience in obeying rules and controlling the Enterprise than yourself."

"Uhhh, y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Chekov stared at the Vulcan in surprise. It melted away at the twitching of the expressionless alien's lips, a sign he took as a smile, and nodded his thanks. He turned back to the helm as Spock walked back to his own station, unable to stop the grin stretching his mouth.

Lunch break came around faster than the boy expected. Except Chekov didn't go to the mess hall, he went to the Enterprise's computer to look something up. If he wanted his gift for Spock to be perfect, he needed to figure out how to cook it first.

. . .

The end of Gamma shift finally came and the second-in-command was most grateful. His sleeping patterns had been off since the destruction of Vulcan, so these late night duties were wearing on his fatigue. As a Vulcan, he could last longer without sleep or eating than humans, but it was apparent that that line was being crossed. He almost slumped in the turbolift as it carried him to the deck his private quarter was on.

Spock exited and made quick strides to his cabin room. All he could think about was showering, laying down, and getting much needed rest. However, someone had other plans for him. He hoped Pavel Chekov waiting on him wouldn't become routine.

"I would inquire what you are doing here, Ensign, but I believe I'm already aware," he said once stopping in front of his door. A sheepish smile appeared on the younger man's face. The code to open his door was entered and the metal slid back. "If you wish to speak with me, let us discuss the topic inside."

Nodding, Chekov motioned for Spock to go in first and he followed after him, the door closing shortly behind the two. When Spock turned to face the lower ranked officer he noticed Chekov's arms were kept behind his back. Finding it peculiar, the decision to point it out opened his lips, but the boy spoke first.

"I'm sorry," Chekov blurted, achieving an eyebrow raise. "Fwor not beink able to safe your mozzer, I mean."

The Vulcan was greatly taken aback. Blinking several times, his eyes lowered to the floor as his shoulders stiffened. His wounds were still fresh. "It was not your fault, Mr. Chekov. My mother was unfortunate to—"

"But it is my fault!" the Russian exclaimed, making Spock look up. "If I had been fast enough, I could haf locked onto her and beamed her aboard. I-I-I just didn't expect zat cliff to break! Ze zhock prewented me frwom actink quicker."

"Your guilt is illogical. You cannot be prepared for the unexpected."

Angry tears that would go unshed filled the brim of Chekov's eyes. "It… it just hurts, sir," he murmured, "knowink zat it led to the deazz of a relatife of a cherizhed covorker under my control…"

Silence floated between the two of them, one fighting to hold back his emotions and the other staring with all the emotion in his eyes. Their distance closed as a warm hand landed on a thin shoulder. The navigator looked up, sniffing.

"Thank you." Spock accepted softly, entirely sincere.

It was then Chekov finally let himself cry. Two rivers leaked from green-tinted eyes, but Chekov instantly wiped them away with his forearm. A weight had just been lift from him and he felt as if he was finally breathing after drowning for so long. He couldn't understand why the commander didn't blame him, but was glad he didn't. The Vulcan's gratitude made him feel like an innocent rather than a murderer.

Getting a hold of himself, the boy revealed the package that was hidden behind his back. "I made zis is for you." Chekov said, setting it in the older man's hands.

Spock stared at the small pastel pink box with the maroon ribbon tied in a bow. It was almost too perfect to ruin. But, not wanting to offend his associate, he opened it, as carefully as possible. After removing the lid, Spock's senses were overcome with a thick sweetness he hadn't smelled in ages. His mouth watered.

"This is—"

"Chocolate, yes," Chekov nodded. "It's an Earzz custwom to gif chocolate to someone to recwoncile. I know Wulcans are wegetarians and might not eat sweets, but since you are half-human I thought you might like it anyvay," He paused at the blank look on Spock's face. "… Vas I mistaken?"

The Vulcan glanced up. "No, no, it's just…" (He was already losing eloquence.) Of course the human didn't know of the effects it would have on him. His ignorance was a good thing. Rejecting a gift was rude, even to Vulcans, so he'd just have to bear with it and control himself to the best of his abilities. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Chekov. I will thoroughly enjoy it."

"Pawel, call me Pawel." the ensign encouraged with a smile.

"Pavel." Spock agreed.

Another pause.

"Would you care to eat them with me?" Spock extended the box. "There is plenty enough for both of us to consume."

"Um, sure. Zhank you."

They arranged themselves to sit on the edge of Spock's bed, side by side. Chekov reached in and removed an oddly shaped brown cube. His cheeks flushed at its handmade imperfection as he bit into it. The taste wasn't as bad as he thought. He watched the first officer put one into his mouth and saw his eyes close. Was that disgust or pleasure? Well, he was chewing slowly, as if savoring, so he figured the latter.

Minutes passed with each taking turns at picking a piece to eat. The Russian had begun noticing nuances in the alien. Spock's sorrel eyes glazed over first and he would occasionally, faintly sway. The muscles in his face, then body, were going lax. And was that a smile forming on usually stern lips? It almost looked like Spock was getting drunk off the candy.

Both reached for the last chocolate piece simultaneously, which caused their fingertips to brush. Spock released a hiss like he'd been burned and Chekov immediately took his hand away. Dark, glossy eyes stared at the boy, nostrils flaring a bit and breath turning slightly heavy. Keeping eye contact with Chekov, the Vulcan picked up the cube to place halfway between his teeth. The box fell to the floor as strong hands gripped skinny biceps while an ebony head lowered swiftly.

The candy bumped Chekov's lips, opening his mouth instinctively. His eyes widened briefly before they fluttered closed at the feel of silky lips against his own. He bit into the dessert and as he chewed, a tongue coated his bottom and upper lip with chocolate melting from Spock's hot breaths. A moan that itched his throat couldn't be contained. There was a low growl he heard come from Spock before his mouth was fully attacked. His arms draped around the Vulcan's shoulders as he was pushed down against the mattress, his superior's inhumanly warm body covering his own.

Fingers dug into the ensign's curls when that mouth pressed harder to his and a tongue stabbed inside. The exotic taste of the first officer lingered in a delicious blend with the rich candy. Strong hands gripping narrow hips kept the navigator firmly in his place as plump lips broke apart to pay attention to the column of his neck. Chekov shuddered at the bite to his jugular, murmuring he didn't know what in Russian. A gasp followed once his adam's apple was sucked into a hot Vulcan mouth, an equally blazing tongue swirling over the lump. The nipping snapped his spine into an arch that effectively pressed their bodies closer.

An actual groan resonated from the commander, probably surprising them both. Spock sat up on his knees and yanked off the boy's shirt, not bothering to fold it like he usually would after discarding clothes. The eager innocence in Chekov's unique eyes fueled his arousal even more. He kept that gaze on him as his fingers pinched the hem of the blue uniform top and black undershirt. Both raised slowly, teasing, and jade irises were acute as his smooth midriff gradually revealed itself until, finally, no colors obstructed his view. Chekov awed at the lithe torso above him, licked his lips upon seeing the distinct tuft of black hair below protruding collarbones that was a sign of the Spock's manhood. The Russian was still going through puberty, thus was always attracted to emblems of an adult male.

There was power in that olive-flushed physique. Power often doubted of, but the ensign saw it in the thick broad shoulders and ropes of muscle lining long arms. He was tired of looking—now he wanted to touch.

His hands reached out as he sat up, swiping down the alien's front curiously. He sifted through the stoic expression to coffee eyes that were positively aflame. Smiling, Chekov maneuvered himself to his knees and bent his head to Spock's chest, tongue flicking his nipple. If the hitch in Spock's breath was anything to go off of, the kid would say he liked it. He did it again, bolder this time, and suckled it to a point before switching to treat the opposite similarly.

Kisses and licks rained down, leaving the Vulcan content. A wet tip delved into his navel, extracting a gasp at the odd feeling. Spock felt the chuckling breath against his skin that succeeded a sharp bite. Deft fingers unfastened his black trousers and pulled out his twitching erection. Chekov was fascinated with its vaguely grassy coloring, finding it exotic and strangely desirous. He stroked tentatively at first, but wasn't satisfied with the quiet unintelligible sounds it produced. Using the flat of his tongue, the navigator collected the bitter fluid crying from the slit. This elicited a loud gasp and jerk that bumped the head against his teeth.

Spock sunk his fingers in Chekov's hair to encourage—not beg. He got his wish upon the sensation of a small palm sliding down to the base for a wet warmth to engulf him. Moaning, the commander closed his eyes as the slow suction began. It was a steady rhythm that was both pleasing and taunting in its pace, but he did not rush. This was the boy's first time, as was obvious from his careful motions and occasional painless scrapes of teeth.

Chekov grew more confident, sucking harder and bobbing his head, each time pulling Spock deeper. It got to the point where his hips rocked in sync, briefly making the ensign falter but continue diligently. Thin hands were set on his waist for both stability and askance of not to be too impatient. Chekov remembered another use of his tongue as it circled around the girth nestled home, laving its underside with saliva.

Chekov was yanked off by his hair then and tossed recklessly onto his stomach. Heavy breathing, indiscernible between whose was louder, filled the room as unbuttoned pants were tore down, making the Russian hiss in the pleasure-pain as fabric ran over his arousal. There was a clear sound of another pair of pants and boxers being removed. Chekov gripped the sheets nervously when two hands spread his cheeks and he gave a startled jolt from the blunt end of a finger pressing against his virgin ring.

"Relax." Spock soothed in that even baritone, tainted by allure.

He took a steady breath, nodded, and did as told. The digit was met with some resistance as it pushed in. The boy bit into a pillow, muffling the slightly pained groan at the numb stinging. It thrust leisurely for a few moments before being joined by another slippery finger. Unsure of where the substitute lubricant was coming from, Chekov was surprised at the easy loosening of his muscles. A third assisted its brethren to be on the safe side and this time bliss was all he felt. He released the pillow to find out his breathing quickened.

"C-commander, please…" Chekov begged shyly, blushing furiously.

The Vulcan hardened impossibly harder under that request. He was incredibly grateful his pre-ejaculate served as a liquefied relaxant as he grasped the ensign's slim waist. Spock aligned himself and pressed forward. It forced loud moans from an inexperienced mouth until he was fully seated. The first officer waited for permission to move, which was given in a heady nod. His hips swayed forward sharply, releasing a deep noise from Chekov. He tightened his hold and increased his pace to a sensual persuasion.

The boy levered himself on his arms and slammed back, craving more from him. Spock took the hint, ramming into him with a force that broke his stability. Chekov crumpled to the bed in whimpers and moans as his channel was relentlessly penetrated, loving the feral grunts coming from the Vulcan. An arm wrapped around his canting body for support him as euphoria filled them both. Fire touched his dampened back in the form of a Vulcan chest, hot exhales tickling his ear and sending tremors throughout his nimble frame. A sinuous tongue teased the shell of his ear as the thrusts became harder, deeper. Arching, Chekov practically keened when his prostate was struck, teeth clamping on his earlobe and suckling it.

Another encompassing heat covered his neglected, weeping length and made him cry out. Russian nonsense spilled from his lips, overwhelmed with the increasing urgency of Spock's hips and the persistence massages on his flesh. Involuntary shakes racked his form as he pressed his face into a pillow to stifle embarrassing noises. However, his superior officer didn't like that decision.

Pulling out, Chekov was promptly flipped onto his back, taut arms forcing his knees toward his chest as Spock slammed in, the vigor punching the bed noisily into the wall. Then a shout and bend of the ensign's back made the Vulcan purr, "I wish to hear you, Pavel."

It didn't take more than a few more snaps of talented hips, bare flesh ringing his ears, for Chekov to scream Spock's name and burst all over his stomach. Head falling back, the commander climaxed hard enough to drain his strength not long after. He nearly collapsed atop the Russian, but fell on his side at the last moment.

Panting was the only sound in the room for awhile as they managed their breathing. Eventually the two came down from post-coital bliss, each on their back staring at the ceiling. Chekov turned his head to look at that now stoic face for some sort of answer. Dark eyes shifted, watching back. Spock tilted his head down to chastely kiss the boy's temple.

"Thank you for the gift, Pavel. It was very delectable."

Chekov grinned triumphantly. Well, that settled his woes. He didn't even care if the chocolate had triggered something in the Vulcan—said Vulcan liked them regardless. However, he knew when he overstayed his welcome and sat up slowly.

"You are velcome, Commander. I vill see you tomorrow mornink?" he asked hopefully. When receiving a small nod, his smile widened and he got up to redress. His movements were slow and he winced a few times, but didn't accept any offered helped. It was good kind of pain.

On his return to his own quarters Chekov was surprised to see Hikaru there sitting down, his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. It looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep. Calling out to the helmsman, the Asian's head raised and his mouth stretched in a bleary smile as he stood. The Russian hugged him tightly before ushering him in the room.

"I vas vorried about you! The Keptin said you vere sick?" the navigator said immediately.

Hikaru nodded halfheartedly. "Yeah, I wasn't feeling too good. But… I'm all right now. Just needed some time to myself, to think."

"I do not understand."

Hikaru looked at the confusion and concern on his younger friend's face. The need to tell him overcame the Japanese man, but he had noticed the small twitches and almost unnoticeable flinches whenever Chekov moved. Plus, he smelled of sweat and musk; even his hair was still damp and mussed. It was all too obvious what had happened in the first officer's cabin.

So he smiled and shook his head. "Never mind. How'd it go with Spock?" As if I didn't know.

The blush told him all, but the ensign answered steadfast. "Wery vell! He vas wery forgwiwink of me and accepted my chocolates." Chekov grinned again.

Hikaru returned a small smile and patted his friend's shoulder. "That's great, I'm proud of you. Anyways, you're probably tired so I'm going to let you get your sleep." Another forced smile and the pilot was gone.

The next morning both Chekov and Spock were beaming—well, the Vulcan was visually passive, but there was a shimmer to his sepia eyes. During lunch in the mess hall the two sat together and chatted about things other than science and math for once. They spoke of other interests as if getting to know each other. These meetings didn't stop either. They continued on schedule until it was obvious that the lunches they shared were dates.

Suspicions had died after four weeks of the new behavior and the crew got over it. Uhura was very supportive on both sides. Kirk, of course, teased them. Scotty was still perplexed, not understanding how this relationship had formed in the first place. McCoy didn't give a rats ass as long as he didn't have to see them being all lovey-dovey. And Sulu? He kept his opinion to himself. Denial still ran deep in him.

It wasn't until after his late night shift that he could reject the facts no longer.

Hikaru yawned and stretched as he headed down the hall, wanting to work out his aching muscles instead of taking the turbolift. Yet as he stumbled on the scene before him he wished he had. Chekov was exiting Spock's room and they were saying their farewells, which was fine. But then the first officer lowered his head to the navigator's level to exchange a sweet kiss goodnight. He felt like a trespasser, witnessing something so intimate.

Spock's automatic doors closed and the helmsman's love interest strolled away, back turned to him. It was then Hikaru regretted not confessing his feelings. He had the chance to do so twice, but the first time all he did was say sorry.