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[personal profile] deawrites
Title: Different Kinds of Hero
Author: [ profile] dea_liberty
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov (Star Trek XI)
Rating: R
Warnings: Abuse and beating, author making up physics as she goes along
Disclaimer: Not mine! Just playing in someone else's sandbox.
A/N: Originally written in answer to a prompt for in a hostage situation, after Chekov watches Sulu get flogged and almost raped he goes slightly crazy and uses his genius level intellect to plan their escape at [ profile] st_xi_kink. For that reason, this is unpolished and unbetaed.

He's crying. It's not particularly manly or brave or whatever, but he doesn't care. He can't care. Kirk's holding him, trying to shield his eyes, telling him to turn away, to stop looking - but he can't.

How can he be such a coward when Sulu's being so brave?

He cries out when Sulu goes down, barely catching himself before his head hits the floor - and Kirk's arms around him are the only things keeping Chekov from throwing himself forwards, from doing something stupid - from making Sulu's sacrifice mean nothing.

They'd meant to take him. Sulu had intervened, insulted and challenged and done everything until there was no way they couldn't hurt him. Which meant they'd left Chekov alone, to watch Sulu get half beaten to death.

He'd been strong at first. Been stoic and gritted his teeth, which had turned out to be a mistake.

There's absolutely nobody in the universe that could stay silent, stay still and unaffected after what they've done, what they're doing to Sulu.

Chekov feels every slap of the cane, every crack of that whip, every bruise and every cut like they're on his skin. Maybe it'd have hurt less if it'd been him - because watching Sulu scream is breaking him, shredding him far better than any whipping of his own.

Sulu barely has the energy to push up on his hands and knees anymore, and every time he manages it, they kick him back down. He eyes are squeezed shut, blood and sweat smearing his skin - and god, Chekov's never seen anything more amazing. He concentrates on Sulu's breathing; if he's breathing, he's still alive - and some part of his mind tells him they'll keep him (keep them all) that way until they get what they want, but they've done so much harm, Chekov's not entirely sure how Sulu's still breathing.

When the beating stops, Chekov watches in horror as the man - if you could even call him that - runs the flogger slowly up Sulu's back, crouches down and grabs Sulu's chin, turns his head to face him.

No one in the room makes a sound. Everyone holds their breath, and all they can hear is Sulu's harsh breathing.

"What do you think your little boyfriend would do if I fucked you?" The man asks, laughing. "You wouldn't even be able to fight me. Maybe you'd even enjoy it." He looks over to Chekov, and Kirk moves almost imperceptably in front of him.

The man laughs again, turns and leans down, tilts his head - and gets a face full of blood and spit. Sulu bares his teeth - and the sound of the flogger makes when it slaps Sulu in the face echoes around the room.

"Filthy bastard," the man snarls and all but throws Sulu back onto the floor. "Like anyone would touch you now."

Kirk waits for the click of the door to loosen his grip on Chekov, who practically scrambles across the room, ignoring the blood and whatever the fuck else to get to Sulu, lifts his head carefully into his lap, brushes shaky fingers over Sulu's skin, tries to avoid the injuries - but god, it's so damn hard.

"Hikaru?" he whispers, voice breaking. "Hikaru, please, open your eyes."

Sulu's always been bad at denying Chekov anything. His eyes flutter and open slowly, and Sulu tries to smile. "I'm okay," he tries to reassure, and Chekov just snorts, wiping at his own eyes.

"Oh Hikaru, oh love, why did you... Why? You should not have. Maybe they would not have hurt me so much." He probably would have broken easier, earlier.

"Because that would have hurt me more," Sulu admits, and closes his eyes, tired and in pain. "Can't stand to see you hurt, my Pasha. Not even a little."

Chekov knows they'll come back. He knows it in his heart that this isn't over, that negotiations cannot be going well. They need to get out. "Rest now," he says, leaning down to kiss Sulu softly. "I will get us out of here."


He leaves Sulu with Kirk, giving Kirk the evil eye when he tries to protest, and flutters around the room, from person to person, looking at what they've got with them, what they're wearing - noting every detail, every bit of wire however small. Then he has a go at going around the room.

He's a genius, for crying out loud. He's smarter than every one of those terrorists put together. At least, that's what he's got to believe. He occasionally circles back to check on Sulu before he flutters off to check the wiring of the doors again, checks the measurements of the room, the make up of the lights and the ventilation.

Someone has a pencil, and he finally settles in the corner, mumbles quietly to himself as he lists everything down, tries to figure out what the hell he can make, what he can do.

His eyes keep going back to Sulu.

When he finally makes himself concentrate, he realises that the wiring's not that complicated. That the mechanism of everything in the room is so much simpler than it looks.

He can do this.

He can really, really do this.

He goes back around the room, collects everything he needs and enlists the help of one of the diplomats who knows systems used on the planet better than he did. Then he gets to work.

It takes time - too much time, in his opinion, because he's unfamiliar with everything and he's distracted. Sulu's hurt and Chekov's no doctor, but he's pretty sure that the longer he goes without medical attention, the closer Sulu is to dying, and it makes him panic, makes his hands shake and his breathing hitch, and he can't afford to think like that.

Knowing that doesn't stop him from jumping every time Sulu groans or from circling back to Sulu every once in a while.

And then, when it's done, they wait.

By the time the terrorists come back in, Sulu's half awake and Chekov is supporting his weight as they lean against the wall. He keeps Sulu's head on his shoulder, brushes his fingers gently through his hair, crusty as it is with dried blood. He glares at their attacker when the man starts to head their way.

"He needs water," Chekov says quietly. "Or he is going to die."

The guy laughs. "That wouldn't be any great loss, would it, kid?" He's actually unbuckling his belt. "Or would it? Is he really that good a fuck? Are you?"

He takes three more steps closer and Chekov counts them, looks past the guy at the one-two-three-four others in the room, walking closer too - and then shouts, "Captain, now."

The lights change - shift and slams around the four men, sends guns and metalic objects flying, belt buckles almost ripped from clothes - and outside the field of energy, everyone hangs on, shields themselves from the equipment forced outward.

Kirk throws up his hands and laughs. "You did it, Chekov. It actually fucking worked."

He picks up a couple of guns, comes slowly back to their side, careful to avoid the energy field. "C'mon," he says, helping Chekov get Sulu to his feet. "Let's go."

Very calmly, Chekov takes one of the guns. "Just one minute, Captain," he says, surrendering Sulu to Kirk's hold. "There is one last thing I must do."

Directly in front of him, the terrorist's eyes go wide. "You...shit, kid, you wouldn't."

"Shut up," Chekov shouts. "Shut up, shut up, shut UP." His hands are shaking with rage but he knows he won't miss. He's going to hit the bastard in the center of the fucking forehead and he's going to watch him bleed.

The man drops to his knees. Chekov's hand follows, finger on the trigger of the blaster.

"Pasha," Sulu rasps, hand curling around Chekov's, coaxing him into lowering the gun. "Don't do that, love."

"But he. You. He deserves to die for what he did to you," Chekov cries, turns to Sulu, steps up closer when Sulu reaches for him, stumbles out of Kirk's grasp to curl his arm around Chekov's neck. "He should die. I want to watch him suffer."

"I don't want you to kill him," Sulu whispers. "I don't ever want you to enjoy killing anyone."

"I will enjoy killing him."

"That's not you," Sulu says softly. "You are not a killer, Pavel - not unless it's out of necessity. Come on," he whispers, tired now. "Let's go home."

Chekov's breathing hitches and he looks at the blaster - raises it before Sulu can stop him, and shoots the man in the leg. Then he hands it back to Kirk, slides his arms more securely around Sulu and heads for the door.

"He deserved to suffer more," he complains as they head towards a communicator, as Kirk shoots down two more terrorists to get to the panel.

"I know," Sulu says and smiles as Spock's image appears on the screen, eyes wide and looking surprised to see them. "But let's leave the punishment for other people, my love. Your mind is far too beautiful to be ruined by that."

Sulu knows him too well. Chekov lets out a soft sigh and turns a little into Sulu's touch as Sulu tucks his face into Chekov's neck, and the Enterprise prepares to beam them home.
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