Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Bad news?” Spock immediately asked when Jim came back into his corridors at the Starfleet base. The rest of the bridge crew were gathered, sitting on the floors and couches, anxious for an update.

Jim sighed, “That depends on how you look at it,” he joined the crew and settled on the arm of the chair Spock was sitting in. “The ship is down and will be for the foreseeable future. They’re treating it like paid leave until we’re ready again, another ‘thank you for our harrowing work’.”

“Do we have an estimate on when that will be? I’d go home if it’s going to be a while, or just stay in my apartment here if not,” Uhura thought out loud.

“It was bad, Uhura,” Jim began again. “I think if it was going to be in the realm of soon they would have been able to give us an estimate.”

A silence settled over the room. The small group had gotten close, really close, a kind of small miss-matched family had formed in the trauma of all they had been through together. Paid leave meant leaving each other.

Uhura linked her pinky with Chapels at the same time that Kirk grabbed onto Spock’s sleeve.

“They want to keep us here for a couple of days, process statements, and take care of all of the bureaucracy, then they did recommend going home,” Jim said, looking at the ground. It wasn’t expected that the Enterprise crew was going to be on base and be on base for more than a night, they simply didn’t have the space to accommodate the whole crew for an extended time. It was perfectly understandable.

“My parents have a farmhouse near here,” Bones offered, looking at his hands. He shifted his gaze to see the faces of his crew, some were forlorn, others contemplative. “It’s a bit of a drive, but I say we convene there, process everything, get our ducks in a row. There’s more than enough room.”

“That’s very kind, Doctor, and a wonderful idea, it will certainly take more than a few days to get travel plans sorted, I don’t know what Starfleet was thinking,” Spock said, nodding at McCoy.

Chekov, whose brow had become creased, leaned over and whispered something in Sulu’s ear. Hikaru smiled. “It means to become figuratively organized,” he started, “You know how ducklings follow the mother ducks all in a straight line?” Chekov nodded, “that’s where it comes from…I think…those ducklings are everything you have to do…does that make sense?”

“Da, thank you. Well…net, I don’t understand why you had to bring these ducks here, but da, thank you.” Sulu chuckled at his friend's response.

“How many days do we have exactly?” Spock asked Jim, his index finger lightly brushing against the top of Jim’s hand.

Jim didn’t answer for a second, distracted for a moment by the motion. “Uh-um, three days, two nights.” Spock nodded. “We should leave in the morning.”

“Alright,” Bones got up, “I’ll give you all the address. In the meantime, I’m gonna take a nap.”

The group dispersed. Sulu went to call his husband and daughter. Bones to nap and probably call his own daughter and parents whose home they were going to be using. Scotty had left, talking about a sister and her house back in Edinburgh. Spock and Jim stayed behind in Jim’s corridors, Uhura and Chapel also disappearing together.

Chekov wasn’t sure what to do, he wandered around a bit until making his way back to his apartment. He had left it as is, a simple desk and bed. He hadn’t brought much, to begin with, so there wasn’t much to unpack or pack for that matter.

He paced around the room for a while, restlessly bouncing on the heels of his feet. He picked up a few books and set them down, his mind refusing to focus on anything. There was too much on his mind. Everyone here had a house, a family to go back to, but he…didn’t…not really. He was staying with his cousin, his cousin’s girlfriend, and their friend in a trailer back in Moscow, he didn’t want to go back. It was four people in one tiny trailer, at times it was almost unbearable.

They had an apartment, but eventually lost it, unable to afford rent and receiving continuous noise complaints. Pavel’s cousin, Ilya, didn’t work, instead, he had a theoretical music career that hadn’t taken off yet. So Chekov gave him almost every penny he earned whether that was from Starfleet or some other place. With Chekov’s help, they bought the used trailer instead of being homeless after the eviction.

He continued to pace, thinking about the notion of returning. He loved Moscow. He spent all of his time exploring the city and his favorite haunts, not wanting to spend an extra second in the trailer. But his move there wasn’t a happy one. He grew up in northeast Siberia in a town of 300 people, there were more animals than residents. For most of his life, it was just him and his mother and his father, but then things changed…

Moscow was loud and crowded, it took him a while to get used to this new city and living situation. His cousin barely talked to him, just used him as an asset when he could. His cousin’s friend, Yuri, was alright, he wasn’t around a lot, but when he was, he greeted Pavel and even made polite conversation. He was kind. That meant more to Pavel than he could ever express.

That left Sonia, Ilya’s girlfriend. Pavel tried not to hate anyone. But he couldn’t help but hate her. She was too much. Too mean, too sickly sweet, too disinterested, too interested. She sucked the air out of every room she was in. If it was just that, Pavel would have been annoyed, but not hateful. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just that.

It started with magazines. Sonia had been upset by the notion of some orphan kid coming to live with them, Ilya’s cousin or not. She took out some of her aggression by rolling up magazines and hitting him with them. She started out coming up with small made-up things to hit him over, but she soon found that she was amused by this activity.

Pavel wished that she would just ignore him as Ilya did. But she was too interested in him, once she found the joy in tormenting him, it became one of her favorite things to do. She’d have a magazine with her all the time, giggling with joy as she smacked him. Ilya would just sit next to her, ignoring it.

Pavel made a mistake by starting to hoard books. Since coming to Moscow, Pavel lived in escapism. The grief over his mother, his yearning to see his father, and his new everyday life almost destroyed him if not for the way he dedicated himself to his studies and every book he could get his hands on. But then Sonia made fun of his quiet bookish personality, and she started hitting him with the books. And laughed, god, he hated that laugh.

But the worst was one night in the apartment that he would never be able to forget. One of the ways Sonia liked to amuse herself with his presence, especially in the apartment, was having loud and rough sex with Ilya, leaving their door cracked open and making a show of her moans and screams. Pavel got good at putting his hands over his ears and blocking out the world.

He was 14 when … it happened…, if Pavel could do anything it was survive, and he learned how to survive after… that, staying out late, wandering around. That didn’t stop the burn of the memory or her lingering touches and wandering hands, but it kept him sane.

It was after Ilya and Sonia had just had exceptionally loud sex. Pavel took his hands from his ears and sighed, he just wanted to sleep, but apparently, that was too much to ask here. He heard a gunshot in the street and loud fighting. He was getting more and more used to the city noises, letting them lull him to sleep. He was getting used to seeing city lights instead of a sky full of stars. He would lay on his back and pretend he was an ancient scientist, naming the stars for the first time. There was the Maurice constellation that consisted of three lamps and an overhead light. There was the Raskolnikov cluster, which was the furthest line of single apartment lights he could see. He missed the stars, but Pasha’s constellations would have to wait until he could travel among them.

From in the apartment, he heard Ilya snoring. He heard Yuri playing some video game. He heard Sonia’s footsteps wandering around. He sighed again, not taking his eyes off his make-shift stars. He wanted to get curtains to block out the light when he wanted to sleep. Usually, he would drape his sheet over the broken curtain rod over the window next to his windowsill/bed, but it was cold tonight, really cold, too cold for even the Siberian native.

The sound of Sonia’s footsteps got closer to his room, the ground creaking underneath. He heard Pytor underneath them bang his broom handle on the roof, shouting for the noise to stop. That earned him a louder snore from Ilya, Yuri turned his video game up, and Pytor’s neighbors yelled at him to stop shouting.

***

Through all the commotion, Pavel hadn’t noticed Sonia opening his door and standing in the doorway. A doorway was a strong word, his room wasn’t really a room, more of a windowsill with some plywood haphazardly fashioned into walls.

Sonia took a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke loudly and towards Pavel. This caught his attention. He sat up and turned towards the direction of the smoke. He almost choked to see Sonia in a lacy set of lingerie. Her eyes held her default disinterested look behind smudged smokey eyeshadow. She smiled a Cheshire-like grin and turned more towards the teenager. “You like?” she asked, gesturing to her body. Pavel just stared at the ground, confused.

“You’re what? 14? Have they taught you about sex yet in school?”

Pavel gave a jerky nod, not mentioning that he whizzed through every grade in public school and two college degrees by the time he was eleven or that just living in this apartment gave him more information than he ever wanted.

“You must be curious,” she said between drags of her cigarette, “With Ilya and I not being able to keep our hands off of each other and all. Your cousin is a real beast,” she laughed. He hated that laugh. “And I mean, they don’t really teach you in school.”

Pavel was growing more and more uncomfortable as she kept talking, he kept his eyes trained on the floor. He heard her walk over to the wide windowsill he called a bed. She sat down, still smoking. “Look at me,” she demanded. He didn’t. “ Look at me ,” her tone was whiny, but vaguely threatening. So he did. He met her eyes, glancing to the floor and back a few times.

“You like these?” She cupped her breasts before bringing the cigarette back to her lips, some ash falling onto her cleavage. Pavel didn’t answer. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to roll out of the window beside him.

Sonia then took the sheet from the sill and tossed it over the curtain rod. Pavel’s breath picked up, he shivered. She sat back down, cross-legged, her underwear not hiding much. She tossed her hair back and gestured again to her breasts, “go on, touch,” she said.

Pavel shook his head bringing his hands to fists and tucked them into his chest. Sonia just laughed again, she reached out and took one of his hands, “go on. Touch,” she repeated, this time forcing his hand to her breast. He tried to pull back, but her grip was stronger.

She moved his hand around in circles, laughing like she found the whole situation completely absurd. She gripped his hand tighter and brought it underneath her bra. She gasped then giggled. “Your hands are so cold!” she took another drag of her cigarette. “We’ll warm you up yet.”

“Please stop,” Pavel said quietly. “I don’t want this.”

Sonia laughed again. She grabbed his other hand, the cigarette dropping ash on his fingers, and brought it to her other breast. “ You’re 14 . Of course, you do!” Pavel tried to pull back again. “Oh come on, do you know how many other little boys would give their arm and leg for this? You’re lucky. I am doing you a favor.” She laughed. Only she was in on the joke.

She let go of his hands, Pavel brought them quickly back to himself, shaking slightly. It was a momentary reprieve. She then crawled closer to him, the same sickening grin on her face and giggle on the tip of her lips. It was a small makeshift bed, and Pavel had always been too small for his age. There was nowhere to go.

Sonia put a finger to her lips and then a finger to his. His heart rate spiked. “Or I’ll…” she whispered, not finishing the sentence verbally. Instead, she turned that finger into her whole hand covering his mouth and nose. And then jammed her cigarette into his wrist. He wanted to scream. He tried to scream, but her hand only gripped down harder on his mouth. She twisted the cigarette a little and then brought it up, giggling. Tears were trickling down his face and blood down his wrist.

“Stay quiet,” she cooed, stroking his face and wiping the tears away. She tossed the cigarette butt onto the floor and pulled out the pack from her waistband, she placed it by the window in what could have only been a warning.

She took his hand again. Giggling, she examined each one of his spindly fingers with care. “So, so cold,” she said again. “I’ll fix that right away,” she smiled. Pavel’s stomach dropped, his heart stuttering over beats. She brought his hand to her vulva, pressing his hand to it. Pavel wanted to yell out, try and get Yuri’s attention over the loud video game, but the still bleeding wound on his wrist kept him silent. He still tried to pull back. Only to learn how strong he was not.

“Mmmm,” Sonia moaned softly. “You like that?” Pavel shook his head. She laughed. He hated that laugh. She maneuvered her underwear slightly, bringing his hand beneath. Pavel looked to the covered window again. How much force would it take for me to launch myself out of it right now? His brain supplied the answer immediately. He tried to come up with more physics problems, each one more complicated and more self-injurious than the last. At least he was kind of distracted. He kept going, doing more and more math.

Sonia put two of her fingers over two of his. Pavel still trying to pull away. Still to no avail. She giggled and slid his fingers inside of her. She gasped again at his icy fingers, letting it melt into a moan. She started to guide his fingers with hers, rocking her hips slightly. Pavel thought he had never felt anything more disgusting. He didn’t even like this person and now he was inside of her. He wanted to die or puke, he couldn’t decide which.

Eventually, she pulled out his fingers and let go of his hand. Pavel shot it back, wiping it on his shirt and forcing back a gag. She leaned over and started stocking his face again. “What a sweet little boy,” she said in a mock sweet voice. She grabbed his already protruding ears and moved them up and down like he was a doll, squeaking about his ‘cuteness.’ It was all a big joke to her. She ran her long nails through his fluffy hair, not caring to be gentle.

Every fake and sick compliment she paid him, she did so because it was amusing to her, it was funny. From magazines to touching, he was the entertainment to her, her little plaything. It made him sick.

She stopped her hands in the back of his head and cut off her own giggle by pushing their lips together. Pavel kept his lips tight as possible, trying to move his head away. It didn’t matter to Sonia, he supposed his resistance was all a part of her joke that was for her and her alone.

“Now you can tell all of your nerdy friends that you kissed a pretty girl,” she giggled.

Pavel responded mentally that he didn’t have any friends, he was years younger than everyone at the academy, and his English was still rocky at best, alienating him from his peers. That didn’t matter to Sonia, nothing he said or did mattered.

“You’re a bit of a runt, hmm? All skinny and short. I’m just teaching you so you’ll be educated, you’ll be a little geek who’s educated in the real ways of the world,” she kissed him again. Then laughed again.

She picked up his wrist where she had burned him. She turned it over before pressing her thumb into the wound. Pavel gasped at the pain. Another warning, he supposed. He was right.

“A real education,” she repeated. She then slid her hand down his stomach to suddenly grab his crotch over his pants. He gasped. Feeling betrayed by his body and cursing his 14-year-old hormones for rushing the area with blood.

“S-stop. Please-stop,” he begged again. Sonia just laughed again. “Oh please,” she started palming him, feeling his steadily hardening penis, “you like it, see?”

“N-n-o, s-s-stop-p,” he choked out, biting back his own moan. He hated himself. He hated his body. He tried to bat her hand away, but she just slapped them back, squeezing the burn again. Tears streamed down his face. Her hand went in his pants and she began to stroke him.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” he whispered on loop like a mantra. It was met with more giggles.

His mind was doing a million things at once. It was doing impossible math. It was counting the cracks in the ceiling. It was longing for death. For not being here. It was hating.

And it was wondering how he got here.

Just three years ago, everything had been okay. Three years ago, he had been a completely different person.

Pavel was born into a hungry home, a poor home, a cold home, a home with a dirt floor and walls that were mainly rubble, but nonetheless, he was born into a happy home. In a village where the animals outnumbered the people, where everyone was just barely surviving on the food they had. Where their water would freeze and they would have to eat snow for hydration, where it was not uncommon to find a body succumbed to hypothermia buried in their home or the snow. It was where Pavel had been the happiest.

His mother and father worked themselves to the bone every day, just to come back to a home with holes in the ceilings. It was where Pavel fell in love with the stars, looking up from his blanket on the ground. They didn’t have rooms, just vague areas. A homemade stove, animal hides on the ground to sleep on. They had nothing. But they had each other.

He loved his mother, and his mother loved him fiercely. She filled the house with warmth just by smiling. She was a factory worker and couldn’t even write her own name. But she was always in awe as her son raced through everything his teachers gave him.

They would sit on the floor and he would teach her the alphabet. He taught her in a shaky hand to write her very own name, Olga, she went over the characters: Ольга, Ольга, Ольга, Ольга, Ольга, Ольга, again, and again, and again. At the end of the year, she could read children’s books. She held him with tears in her eyes, saying no one had ever done anything so kind for her before.

He loved his father, and his father loved him. His father lived a life starving and full of joy. He was brimming with life. He’d walk into his home singing after a back-breaking day at work. He’d pick up his son and tell him a story, acting out every character far beyond his energy level. He would wake up every morning and tell his wife how beautiful she was and lucky he was to love her.

And then Olga got sick. Really sick. And the doctor was far away. It was a kind of Cancer he said. It was supposed to be easily treatable, the days of deadly cancers being mainly a thing of the past. But that required frequent visits that the Chekov’s couldn’t make, and healthy bodies that the Chekov’s didn’t have.

She died after a painful battle, holding the hands of her son and husband. Pavel cried, screaming sobs. Andrei stayed still, something dark coming over his face.

He became subdued, drinking often, and becoming quick to anger. He was never violent towards his son, mostly breaking down, laying his drunk and crying head in the eleven-year-old’s small lap.

He took his anger out in the bars. On the same night that his son, Pavel, opened a letter telling him he was accepted to the Starfleet academy, Andrei Chekov killed a man in a bar fight. He didn’t remember doing it, just the blood on his hands and the back of the police car.

An officer picked Pavel up, breaking the news to him, and drove him to his cousin’s apartment in Moscow. “He’s agreed to take you in,” the officer told him. “You’re lucky.”

Ilya recognized the lucrative nature of having a small genius underfoot right away. He had Pavel agree to give him his Starfleet earnings then and there, “to repay me for the shelter and food.” He had Pavel redo his Starfleet forms, bumping up his age a couple of years to get him into a paying position as quickly as possible.

Pavel called his father whenever he could, updating him about Starfleet and lying about life with Ilya. But with the prison halfway across the expansive country, it was nearly impossible to visit him. Pavel could hear the once joyous man grow more and more depressed with every phone call. He had a plan though: make as much money as he could outside of Ilya’s influence, get an apartment, and bring his father home.

His father was serving a ten-year sentence, meaning Pavel would be 21 by the time his father was free. He was prepared and ready to work for both of them, he was determined to take care of him.

But the in-between was hell. The in-between was Ilya drinking and ignoring him, taking his money. The in-between was Sonia.

Sonia.

Sonia who was still on top of him, as Pavel cried, breathing through the unwanted urge to moan as she touched him. How had everything gone to shit so fast? He wanted nothing more than to be curled up on animal skin in a house that refused to keep the cold out. With people who loved him. With people who he loved. People who would never hurt him.

She worked fast. He came fast. She laughed. He cried. She lit up another cigarette and stuck it into his mouth, laughing at her hilarious joke. She sat up. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Say thank you,” she demanded. Pavel just laid there, lifeless. She pressed the burn, “say thank you,” she gritted out.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a voice he didn’t recognize. She laughed one more time before leaving the room.

He smoked the cigarette, in shock. Tears continued to fall down his face. His wrist hurt, it still hadn’t stopped bleeding. He felt so gross, and dirty, and worthless, he leaned over his bed and puked the small amount in his stomach onto the floor.

He felt so gross, so dirty, so worthless. It wouldn’t stop. The memory wouldn’t end. Wanting the feeling of her gone, of her off , he touched the end of the cigarette in his mouth to his thigh. He ran it along his soiled fingers. The burn helped erase the touch for a few hours. But it always came back.

***

Chekov kept pacing his small Starfleet apartment, his finger absently running over the burn scar on his wrist. What was he supposed to do for two days? And did he really have to go back? He missed Russia, he did. He just didn’t want to go back…there, with cramped quarters, where no one would listen to him, where there were magazines and books during the day, and sometimes wandering hands in the night.

He was startled out of the cycle of thought by a knock on the door. He mumbled his confusion in Russian before opening the door to find a middle-aged officer he had never seen before. Здравствуйте- uh, Hello.”

“Mr. Chekov, I presume?” The man said.

“D-yes,” he answered. It was always his first instinct to answer in Russian, having to stop himself with the words halfway out of his mouth. It was exhausting. Speaking another language all the time was exhausting.

“Follow me, Admiral Pike would like to have a word with you,” the man immediately started walking.

Pavel blinked out of his confusion and trotted up next to the man. Anxiety immediately started to overwhelm him. Had they found out he wasn’t as old as he told them? Were they firing him for not being able to save Spock’s mother? He would have. He would lock himself up in a Siberian prison like his father if he was in charge of his case. If so he would take the deserved punishment.

The man knocked on Pike’s door. They stood together for a moment in silence. Then Pike opened the door.

“Russian whiz kid,” he said with a sad smile and somber tone. Chekov looked up at him, nodding. Pike led him into his office, closing the door behind him.

“First, I want to apologize,” he said sitting down.

Chekov tilted his head, why would Admiral Pike apologize to him if all people?

“I’ve heard of your exploits on the Enterprise, first with Nero and then all you did during that meteor shower, the whole crew is alive and well because of you… you’ve saved countless lives, Mr. Chekov.”

Pavel flushed at the statement. It was true that Chekov had been the one to notice the unaccounted for meteors, jumping into action right away. No one was hurt because of his quick thinking and acting. The same could not be said for the well-being of the Enterprise itself. He felt guilty over the state of the ship, but everyone assured him to cast the thought away- everyone was alive because of him.

That thinking didn’t work on account of Spock’s mother. No one had said anything to him about it and he hadn’t brought it up, instead electing to stew in his guilt. A murderer, he called himself. Like father like son, he supposed.

“I was wrong to dismiss you on account of your age, I’m sorry.”

Pavel just shook his head, “it’s fine,” he assured. That couldn’t be the reason he was here.

Pike dragged his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “I, um. Mr. Chekov,” he paused, not looking Pavel in the eyes. “What’s your name?” He asked in a completely different tone. “I don’t want to call you whiz kid or Mr. Chekov for this.”

‘For this,’ Pavel contemplated. He was out. He was being fired. Just when he got out, he would be tossed back to a dinghy trailer in Moscow, thrown away like sour milk. “Pavel,” he answered softly, trying to keep his panic at bay. “Pavel Andreievich.”

“Andreievich,” Pike whispered to himself. “Pavel. Because you’re still a minor…to reach you…the…facility…where your father…,” Pike stopped to collect himself. Pavel’s panic skyrocketed, this wasn’t what he thought it would be at all. “They connected Starfleet to tell you…,” another deep breath. “Your father was found dead yesterday…Pavel, I’m sorry.”

In an instant, the precarious life that Pavel had built for himself came crashing around him. It was a wonder that nobody flinched at the noise. Bang, bang, bang. The walls fell, glass shattered, all the while the only sound around him was the persistent ticking of the clock in Pike’s office.

“Pavel-”

“How?” he interrupted the man, not caring for the pity that would probably follow the news. “How did it happen?”

Pike sighed, clearly hoping this question wouldn’t be asked. “He, um they said…he-he killed himself, with his bed sheet…”

Pavel looked at his hands and nodded. He wished he could say he was surprised. But his father had lost his life the day his wife lost hers. It occurred to him then that he truly was an orphan in the purest sense of the word. The thought ached, but it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He’d been an orphan for quite some time.

“Your cousin,” Pike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Obviously, still has custody, but please, if there is anything Starfleet can do…let us know…” it was clear Pike didn’t actually know what that would be, Pavel didn’t either. It’s not like he could sit in this man’s office and ask for full citizenship and an apartment while another person had custody.

“I-Pavel, I’m so sorry…” he offered again. Pavel just nodded again.

“Thank you, sir,” he said softly, standing. He needed to get out of this room, he needed to get out, out anywhere.

Pike nodded again, at a complete loss of what to do or say.

Pavel left the room in a rush, hugging his arms to his torso and willing himself not to cry. He kept his eyes down and walked with fervor. He didn’t know where he was going until he was exiting the Starfleet building. It was cold and he didn’t have a coat, but the biting wind was welcome on his Siberian skin.

He kept walking. And walking. And walking. Until he was no longer in Starfleet’s territory. He kept walking. There were shops, restaurants, and apartment buildings around him. He must have found the nearest city or town. His feet hurt from the dissociative stroll. The sun was going down. There were dried tears on his face. He didn’t remember crying, but evidently, he had.

He looked around, his eyes set on a liquor store. He needed a drink. He was already walking the aisles of the store when he remembered the drinking laws in America. Dammit. Frustration took over his whole body. “Эта глупая страна!” ‘ This stupid country!’ , he shouted in the middle of the store, stomping his small foot like a toddler, startling the elderly woman next to him. “Извинение,” ‘excuse me/sorry’ , he mumbled before storming out of the store.

“Глупая, глупая, глупая Америка,” ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid America’ , he mumbled, leaning on the wall of the liquor store. He checked his phone: four missed calls from Chapel, five from Uhura, seven from Sulu. And several texts.

Dr. McCoy: Hey kid, we’re headed to lunch

Dr. McCoy: Are you in your apartment? Where are you?

Captain: CHEVOK CHEKOV CHEKOV CHEKOV

Captain: cccccHHHHHHEEEeeeeekkkkkKKKKoooOOOOvvvVVVV answer me!!!!!!!!

Captain: As your Captain, I require an answer.

Captain: Kidding!

Captain: But for real, where you at? we’re looking for you

Mr. Spock: Mr. Chekov, your disappearance is becoming confusing and vaguely concerning. Your presence was missed at lunch and dinner and has led me to believe you have not had the proper amount of sustenance that is required for a human of your age.

Uhura: Hey hon, are you okay? We’re all missing you.

Uhura: Do you need anything?

Uhura: Did something happen?

Uhura: Just let us know you’re alright

Uhura: please

Chapel: Where you at you little shit

Chapel: kidding, you’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here

Chapel: EXCEPT YOUR NOT HERE

Chapel: And you’re not in your apartment

Chapel: By the way, you left your apartment unlocked

Chapel: Did you fall into a hole?

Chapel: Or like a bread box or something?

Chapel: You could fit in the vents

Chapel: Oh my god are you in the vents

Chapel: Or a shoebox?

Chapel: Or a cabinet

Chapel: idk you’re small as hell, it could happen

Hikaru: Hey man, where are you?

Hikaru: You left your apartment unlocked

Hikaru: I’m calling Ben, do you want to meet him?

Hikaru: He sure wants to meet you :D

Hikaru: I’ll be honest with you

Hikaru: You’re kind of freaking me out

Hikaru: Please let me know that you’re okay

Hikaru: Are you okay

Hikaru: I probably should have started with that

Hikaru: I totally understand wanting to be alone

Hikaru: We’re not trying to pester, but you straight up disappeared

Hikaru: just a little message would be really helpful

Hikaru: It’s getting really late, dude

Hikaru: Okay, I’m going to leave my phone on, please let me know if you need anything

Hikaru: <3

The kind messages just made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve this concern, this kindness. He felt like dirt for making them worry, for taking up any space in their minds at all. With his emotions already going haywire, the guilt fluctuated into annoyance. “Оставь меня в покое!” ‘Leave me alone!’ he choked out, sliding to the ground and pulling his knees up to his chest. Fresh tears tumbled out of his eyes, “оставь меня в покое,” he pleaded again in a whisper. He wasn’t sure at who this time.

He took a shaky breath and turned his phone back on, scrolling until he found the contact he wanted.

: How much could I pay you to buy me a bottle of vodka?
: This country has stupid drinking laws

Scotty: It certainly does.

Scotty: How much you offering?

: I don’t care
: whatever you’ll take

The three dots on Scotty’s end blinked and disappeared a few times. Right when Pavel was going to turn his phone off, the screen lit up.

Scotty: vodka is terrible

Scotty: its potato juice

Scotty: potato juice that I give my cat

Pavel let out a breathy laugh at his answer. Maybe he should try and get a stranger to buy him some.

Scotty: why the vodka?

Scotty: and don’t say because its russian

Pavel thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure exactly what Scotty was asking him. Why the choice of drink? Or why was he asking for the drink in the first place? For one, it was what he was used to and it was nostalgic, he needed a little bit of home right now. As for the second question…well…

Scotty: i’m not saying no, but

Scotty: i better have a good reason for committing a crime

Scotty: well, that’s not entirely true

Scotty: i better have a good reason to set a bad example for the youth

He considered for a moment before responding.

: Когда я очутился на самом дне, то услышал как снизу кто-то постучался

Scotty: i don’t know what that means

Scotty: and im too lazy to look it up

Pavel sighed. He was too tired for this. He was too tired for English. He was too tired to exist. His bones were getting stiff from his position. It was completely dark out. He looked up to see the liquor shop employee turn the sign to ‘closed.’ Well, there goes that. Since when do liquor stores close?

: america is stupid

Scotty: aye laddie, it often is

Scotty: i’ll tell you what

Scotty: i have a couple of bottles of scotch here in my apartment

Scotty: come on over, you can keep your money, and we keep the crimes to a minimum

It was somewhat of an unspoken tradition for the bridge crew to eat together when they had the opportunity. It was a wonderful way to relax with one another without the pressures of their work. Jim and Spock were the first ones to arrive. They picked a table and waited, talking in whispered tones.

Uhura and Chapel came together, with Sulu right behind them. McCoy walked in with Scotty who was holding an ice pack to his head and getting a lecture about the dangers of playing catch with wrenches.

Friendly chatter immediately sprung up among the crew, each one eating and jumping into each other’s conversations. Until Sulu asked something that brought it to a stop.

“Hey, where’s Pavel?”

There was a mummer as the group glanced around the table. “I texted him a while ago,” said McCoy. “And knocked on his door, but I don’t know, he could have been sleeping or something. I think he deserves a nap the most out of all of us,” he chuckled slightly.

“He’s so small, I don’t like the idea of him missing a meal…” Sulu contemplated, the father in him showing. “I’m gonna go check his apartment.” He got up and left the dining hall.

He came back a few minutes later, alone, his brow creased slightly. He sat back down, quickly typing a message on his phone. “He’s uh, he’s not in his apartment… and the door was unlocked.”

The last statement caused Chapel to look up at Sulu. She had been quite a rebellious teenager herself and didn’t think much of a 17-year-old being flaky. Even if the 17-year-old in question was never flaky. “He always locks his door. He even gave me a lecture once about locking mine. I don’t know what he thinks is going to happen, security here is pretty tight, but he always locks his door. I’m not saying it’s anything… it’s just… he always locks his door.”

“Human error,” Spock said.

“Maybe,” Chapel responded, pulling out her phone.

“Come on, he’s a kid, a kid with a lot of responsibilities. When I was his age I made a full-time job of just fucking around and still I was stressed, he’s got an actual full-time job where he saves lives, he’s probably just blowing off some steam, exploring the place,” Jim said.

“Here here,” Scotty raised his water glass. “Let the wee lad be a wee lad.”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” Sulu responded a little distantly.

The crew dispersed, each one with the pull of anxiety in the back of their heads

Then the hours started to tick by. The sun started to go down. And there was no sign of Chekov. Anywhere. Every call went unanswered. Every text was unopened.

Therein opened a strange conflict. Chekov of course was his own person and a capable one at that. No one outside of a professional capacity was in any place to tell him what to do. However, he was a member of a small family, a crew, a community, with people who cared. And when push came to shove, he was a minor in a country he’d never really explored outside of Starfleet.

They gathered again for dinner. They waited. No Chekov. It got darker. No. Chekov. They went on, drifting into a comfortable, not quite as carefree, but still delightful after-dinner conversation.

And then Scotty’s phone went off. “HA! I win, I didn’t even text the little bugger, and I’m the one he texts. Take that.”

Uhura made a grab for his phone, almost getting it if Scotty didn’t toss it up above her head. “What’s he saying? Is he okay? Where is he?”

Scotty smiled as he read the text. “Kid after my own heart,” looking at the expectant faces around him, he sighed and continued. “He’s asking how much he could pay me for a bottle of vodka, then he called your country’s drinking laws stupid.” Scotty began to type.

“That’s it? What are you saying?” Uhura asked.

“I’m concurring,” Scotty said. “They are stupid. You should be able to drink at 18.”

“He’s not 18.”

“No, but he’s Russian, he should get a pass.”

Scotty then frowned momentarily at his phone. “What’s he saying now?” Sulu asked.

“I asked how much he would pay, he said he didn’t care.”

“You’re going to purchase alcohol for a minor?” Asked Spock, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah, no. No. Probably not,” answered Scotty. Spock looked at him for another second. “Okay. No, definitely not, I would never.”

“Ask him where he is ,” Chapel urged.

“No, I’m not going to do that,” Scotty answered, typing something out. “I’m gonna tell him that vodka sucks.”

“Scotty, this isn’t a joke,” McCoy said with a pointed stare.

“I know that,” Scotty took on a suddenly serious tone. “Right now I have a teenager on the other end of this line who, despite being so completely and utterly loyal and respectful to all of you, almost to a fault, has ignored every inquiry to his whereabouts and is trying to find a way to acquire alcohol, and rather despondently I might add. I’m not going to scare him off. I have a plan.”

“And that is?” Jim prompted him.

“I’m going to lure him back with scotch,” Scotty answered, rather pleased with himself.

Spock put his head in his hands. “So you’re not going to buy a minor alcohol, but you’re going to give him alcohol?”

“Yeah, it sounds like he needs it,” Scotty answered, not acknowledging Spock’s exasperated tone. “And he can drink with the best of them, he’ll be fine.”

“Wait, don’t say any more,” Jim said with a smile. “Plausible deniability.”

Scotty huffed and went back to typing. “Do any of you speak Russian?” he asked after a moment. “I asked him why and he responded in Russian. I don’t know Russian.”

Uhura took a look at it and shook her head, her specialty being non-earth-based languages. “Can you look it up?” She asked.

“Hmmm, I don’t feel like it,” Scotty responded, typing again. “Hey look at that, it’s not just the drinking laws! Congratulations, Chekov has deemed your whole country stupid.”

Sulu laughed, imagining Chekov coming to that conclusion. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“I thought the whole of North America was years ahead of Russia in terms of development of quality of life?” Spock asked in earnest.

“Yeah,” McCoy started, “I mean, sure we’ve all got our issues, but yeah, Russia’s had a…difficult history …I went there once on some medical training and yeah…there’s still a lot of poverty there, a lot of people have fallen through the cracks.”

“That’s it though, right?” Chapel cut in. “It’s different. It’s not what he’s used to. He comes back to earth and things should look familiar but they aren’t quite right. And he still has to think about speaking English. Everything up there,” she gestured up, “is so different and it’s supposed to be. Now he’s home but he’s not home . I’d have a hard time imagining he’s not a bit homesick.”

Scotty hummed at her statement. “Also America is kind of stupid.”

Chapel smiled. “Well yeah, that too.”

“Okay,” Scotty put his phone down. “I’ve invited him for scotch and encouraged him not to drink alone. That’s that.”

Pavel looked down at his phone, another message came in.

Scotty: Plus, i try to avoid drinking alone whenever i can help it.

He could see through Scotty’s efforts and the thought of being bombarded by the rest of the crew made him unbelievably anxious. But it was dark and cold and he needed to get back to Starfleet somehow. As if on cue, it began to drizzle. Okay, that was it.

: okay
: see you in 10
: thanks

He ordered a taxi and waited under the measly awning as the rain started to pick up and come down harder. He picked his phone back up, he felt bad for ignoring everyone. So he began one by one, giving a generic but vague enough answer to let them know he was alive and thankful for their concern without having to get into the ‘are you okay?’ or ‘where are you?’

He was soaking wet by the time the taxi got there. He apologized profusely for getting the back seat wet, but the driver just grumbled, mumbling audibly about ‘damn immigrants.’ Chekov slunk back in the seat feeling a little self conscious about his voice and tried to make himself as invisible as possible, which he could do, he was good at invisible. No longer feeling safe with this man, Pavel asked him to drop him off at a destination near Starfleet, he could walk the rest of the way.

In the back of the taxi, the weight of the day crashed into him and he had never felt so small before. So inconsequential to the universe. In truth, Pavel had grieved his father a long time ago. Yes, his whole heart and soul ached for wanting to hear his father's voice again, that he hadn’t seen his father in years, that his father would never see the person he turned into. But what stung most painfully was the future Pavel had held onto like a lifeline through all of the misery was gone, in an instant, it was gone. Now he was floating, directionless, the tether that grounded him was gone.

And he couldn’t help but be angry, his father knew what the plan was, he knew Pavel had a future in Starfleet. And he knew his son was waiting for him. Had Pavel not been enough to fight for? To wait for? He looked down at his hands. Maybe he wasn’t. Still, he couldn’t help but feel abandoned.

“We’re here, get out,” the driver said. Pavel thanked him again and tipped him more than he should’ve, but he still felt bad about getting the seat wet, and he felt vaguely bad about his whole existence.

It was still raining, but he could see Starfleet, it wouldn’t be more than a two-minute walk. He shivered, the cold and the rain finally getting to him.

He probably looked like a drowned kitten by the time he made it to the base. And he certainly felt like one. He chuckled, he and Masha the cat were a lot alike, they occasionally saved lives while being cold and homeless. No, he would never bring Masha down by comparing her to a human, she was a god.

He ran his hands through his hair outside, hoping the majority of the water would ring out. It worked kind of…not really. He carefully toed off his shoes and held them in his hands as he walked. There weren’t many people still in the lobby or the halls, but he ignored the looks he received from those who were still out.

He reached his apartment to see Scotty making his way down the hall, a bottle of scotch in his hand. He raised it and smiled. Pavel couldn’t help but return the smile with a sigh of relief.

“You’re soaked, laddie,” Scotty said when he reached him. “Get yourself a hot shower and some dry clothes and come find me for a drink. I don’t want you getting my carpets wet, I plan on walking on them with socks later.”

Chekov smiled and slipped into his apartment. He turned around and locked the door. The hot water burned against his skin. As he let himself relax against the water, the tears came back, mixing with the droplets from the shower. He thought about what it would be like to go back to Ilya and Sonia with no plan, with no light at the end of the tunnel. He supposed he’d have to organize a funeral, maybe Ilya would come, Andrei was his uncle after all. He’d try to reach out to his old neighbors back in Siberia.

Pavel turned off the water and wiped his eyes. He was so overwhelmed and exhausted. Scotch sounded good right now. He didn’t have a lot of clothing besides his Starfleet uniform, but he found something soft and left his apartment, making sure to lock the door on his way out.

Scotty went back to his apartment and waited about 20 minutes before grabbing a bottle of nice scotch and making his way to Pavel’s apartment. He caught the kid in the hall, he was soaked to the bone, holding his shoes in his hand, and his eyes were red and puffy making it clear that he’d been crying and crying hard. He encouraged him to go get dry and made his way back to his own apartment.

To: Uhura, McCoy, Spock, Jim, Chapel, Sulu

: got him
: he’s soaked from the rain
: but otherwise alive

Uhura: and he’s okay?

: i don’t know
: he’s been crying

Sulu: IM
Sulu: ON
Sulu: MY WAY

: okay
: don’t overwhelm him
: i don’t want to bombard him ya know

McCoy: im on my way too
McCoy: i wanna make sure he’s not sick

Chapel: i might get thirsty for scotch later idk
Chapel: just a heads up

Jim: you know spock and i might also get thirsty for some scotch later…

Spock: Jim, I don’t drink. You know this.

Jim: Spock shhhhhh

: you guys i only have so much scotch

Spock: And you’re giving it to a minor

: ya

Spock: Alright.

Sulu: IM HERE
Sulu: OPEN UP
Sulu: WHERES MY BOY

Pavel padded softly to Scotty’s apartment, he’d learned a long time ago how to walk silently, now it was a habit he couldn’t break. He knocked on the door, just loud enough to be heard.

Scotty opened the door with a smile and a glass already in hand. “Aye laddie, come on in.”

“Привет” Hi he answered, still too tired for English, Scotty’s accent making comprehension difficult even when he did have his usual copious amounts of energy.

Inside Scotty’s apartment sat Sulu and Dr. McCoy. Pavel nodded to them, slightly ashamed he had ignored them earlier.

Sulu raised his glass with a smile, but he couldn’t hide the concerned quirk in his brow as he took in Pavel’s fatigued state, his eyes and nose red and cheeks a bit shiny.

“Alright, come here, kid,” McCoy said, beckoning him with his hand.

Pavel took a moment to process the words before nodding and walking over. Bones stood and pressed his hand firmly to the kid’s forehead. Pavel stopped breathing for a moment, his eyes watering slightly. The doctor’s hand felt so much like his father’s. Maybe it was just the events of the day influencing his thoughts. But he couldn’t help but draw the parallel. It hurt. He hadn’t been touched innocently, gently, kindly, in so long that the simple action burned.

McCoy moved his hand to his cheeks, humming slightly. He picked up Pavel’s hands and rubbed them quickly for a few seconds, trying to warm them up with friction. “Alright. You’re a little warm, I’ll leave it tonight, but come see me tomorrow, okay?”

“Da, yeah. Thank you,” Pavel nodded, his accent twice as thick in his exhaustion.

Chekov plopped down on the grown by the coffee table where Scotty had placed a glass of scotch for him “большое спасибо,” ‘thank you very much’ he said. He took the scotch to his lips and took a deep sip, relishing in the warmth that spread through his chest.

Scotty pulled out his phone and put it into Chekov’s face, showing him their own text thread. “What does that say?” he asked him, pointing to the string of Cyrillic letters Chekov had supplied him earlier.

Pavel blinked then gave a small smile. “It is an old Russian,” he waved his hand around, looking for the word, “девиз motto …фраза phrase - phrase, phrase or joke: Когда я очутился на самом дне, то услышал как снизу кто-то постучался,” Pavel cast his eyes to the dark golden tones of the scotch. “It roughly translates to: ‘We thought we were at rock bottom until we heard someone knock from below,” he huffed. “It sounds better in Russian,” he assured.

“Pavel, are you okay?” Sulu asked after a moment.

Pavel’s eyes watered at the sincerity. A part of him wanted to open the flood gates. Talk about his mom, what it was like to watch her die because they didn’t catch the illness fast enough, because they were malnourished because they couldn’t make it to the doctor fast enough. Talk about watching his father slowly lose himself to drink and grief. About an officer showing up at the door to bring him to Moscow, to a cousin he’d never met. To roll up his sleeve where cigarette burns littered him, point to the one on his wrist and scream and cry about Sonia. To rip himself open over Spock's mother, demand that they force some kind of retribution onto him. To confess the news he’d received, how it left him abandoned and hopeless.

But he had been so tight-lipped over his life in Russia up to this point. It could be dangerous to speak. What if they take him from Ilya’s custody and put him in the system? That would mean revealing his age and maybe losing his job, and what if it was worse than what he already had? It was too risky.

He was silent for a moment, his thumb going over the scar on his wrist. His eyes darted around, his overwhelmed body freezing in indecision. “Я- um. I built myself a future in my head. I held to it like lifeline- like a lifeline,” he shut his eyes and shook his head a bit. “This morning I learn it has died. It’s just- just gone . I knew what I was doing, I had plan- I had a plan,” he paused. “It only took a few moments for everything I built myself- for myself- that I lived for- that I knew, it is destroy…-ed.”

Before any of the men in the room could say anything or ask any questions about the mess of English, the door opened and a smiling, laughing Jim walked in, Spock in toe.

“Ensign, don’t drink that while I’m looking,” Jim said, still grinning ear to ear.

“Plausible deniability?” Chekov asked with a small smile on his own face.

“Nail on the head,” Jim said, flopping down on the couch and pouring himself a glass.

Chekov frowned, too tired to ask about what Jim had just said.

“It means you’re right,” Sulu said, reading his friend.

“Спасибо,” ‘thank you’ , Chekov nodded, pushing the glass a few inches from him.

“I’m glad you’re back and dry, Mr. Chekov,” Spock said, taking a seat close to Jim.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Spock,” Chekov said.

With the group growing they moved into friendly chatter and joking. Pavel was too tired to try and keep up. He was fluent in English, there was no question of that, he never struggled on The Enterprise besides the pesky pronunciation that the computer required. When he studied English, he did so for Starfleet, he knew every term and word he needed to keep up on a starship. Unfortunately, that did not extend to colloquialisms and phrases that he was picking up every day. He was a fast learner after all. However, no matter how comfortable and fluent he became, speaking another language took a little more brain power, and the more fatigued he became, the less brain power he had to put into that part of life.

Growing up where he did in Siberia, he had no reason to learn English. When he was accepted into Starfleet and left for the academy that coming September, he didn’t speak a word of the language. In fact, he’d never really seen the Roman alphabet besides in pictures at school in history class.

The very thin silver lining of him being uprooted from his life and moving to Moscow was that the fear of the unknown was so much less prevalent. The idea of moving to an unknown environment where he didn’t speak the language didn’t feel as scary as it probably should have.

Pavel was an eleven-year-old from an isolated village in Siberia who already had a degree. He was a genius and a hard worker. He picked up fast. He recorded his lectures and translated them. He finished a long day at school only to get to work on studying English. It only took a few years for him to pass his fluency test. It was something, despite his difficulties that persisted like listening fatigue, that he was proud of.

Pavel jumped when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, “бля Блять,” ‘fucking fuck’ he mumbled, looking up to see a slightly concerned but smiling Nyota.
“Hey love,” she squeezed his shoulder. “Watch your language,” she teasingly scolded. “I don’t know Russian but I’ve heard that before.”

Pavel gave a playful huff and ducked his head. Christine and Nyota settled on the ground next to Pavel by the coffee table. They joined the conversation with ease. Chekov went back to his spaced-out half listening to what was gibberish to his ears and foggy mind. He sipped sparingly at the warm scotch and let his mind take over. He remembered his mother’s funeral through teary vision.

She should have looked like a peaceful angel clothed in white, instead, she looked like a gaunt skeleton with her skin still attached. He helped his father tie the belt around her, ‘to bind her soul to her body.’ They placed flowers around her and kissed her. All their neighbors they knew were there. They couldn’t afford a real casket so they built one the best they could. She was still buried in the unofficial cemetery by their village. He’d find a way to visit her someday.

He wondered if the prison would release his body to Pavel so he could bury his father with his mother or if they would insist on him spending eternity in a prison graveyard. He’d have to call the prison tonight to make sure they knew of his intentions of giving his father a proper burial if not a funeral.

How much did caskets cost? Could he take some of his paychecks from Ilya? Maybe he could tell him it wasn’t paid leave. But then Ilya would want him back right away to find a job in the meantime. He really didn’t want to go back, he wanted to savor every moment of having a break and not being confined to a cramped apartment or tiny trailer he had to avoid. He could probably build a casket, no he could definitely build one, but that would take time, time that he didn’t have as long as the prison had his father’s body and he’d have to acquire some wood. Maybe he could get some at Dr. McCoy’s farmhouse. But then again, that would mean traveling with a casket.

How was he going to get the funeral clothes? He wasn’t too shabby with a needle and thread, growing up with nothing left him with numerous skills. Okay, he’d find some cloth. Maybe he could ask around for white clothing people didn’t want anymore or sheets or something. He had a traditional belt, he’d worn it for the Captain's ceremony after the whole Nero situation. It was red, but he could fix that. It would just barely fit his father. Pavel had enough to have been spared many of the permanent effects of his childhood lack of food, despite finding himself sick more often than most and a blind spot in his right eye, both things easily treated when he got to Starfleet with doctors around every corner, but his body would always be a bit small, that was something they couldn’t help.

“You’re thinking so loudly,” Uhura whispered to him, everyone else still speaking animatedly around them.

“Hmmmm,” Chekov humed in response. “Making plans. Do you have any white clothing or sheets you do not want?”

Nyota raised her eyebrows at the seemingly random question. “Yeah, I’m sure I have some, how come?”

Pavel took a deep breath. “I might be getting ahead of myself…but I’ll need to make a traditional Russian garment for someone. I am trying to acquire things that could used- could be used- as cloth,” he said trying to remember his articles.

“Alright,” Nyota smiled at the non answer. “Are you going back to Russia during your leave? I have a place here where I’m going to stay and wait for news, but I’ll probably go back to Nairobi for a few weeks and visit my family.”

“That sounds lovely,” Pavel smiled at her, knowing she was staying more for Chapel than she was news about the Enterprise. “I’ll have to,” he answered. “I have some things to take care of and I don’t know where I would stay here.”

She hummed. “It'll be nice to go home, you won't have to speak English all the time,” she said knowingly, “and I’m sure your family misses you.”

Pavel almost laughed. What family? Ilya? As long as he has his paycheck, he couldn’t care less. And Pavel thought he might just lose his sanity to consider Sonia as family. Pavel offered a smile and shrugged. He had the sudden urge to ask her to his father’s funeral if he could organize one, to ask them all. His father had been a stickler for tradition. But what was the point of tradition if no one was there to share it with?

He glanced around the room. Then again, who was he to ask anything of these people? He was small and inconsequential, just an ensign, sure he was the navigator on the bridge and Kirk had spoken more and more about promoting him, he was just an ensign and a kid. An ensign and a kid who had murdered Spock’s mother .

Pavel’s thoughts spun around in his head, he ducked in momentary shame. He’d have to do this alone. He shot the rest of the scotch in his glass with ease. “I have grown tired,” he said quietly to Nyota. He thanked Scotty for the drink, or “not for the drink,” he winked at his captain much to Spock’s chagrin and padded silently out of the room.

He was a few steps from his door when he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Hey! Wait up!” Sulu jogged up to his friend.

“Hikaru,” Pavel greeted fondly, his accented omitting the ‘h.’

Sulu stopped in front of him at a sudden loss for words. “I-uh-I-just-” he took a moment to collect himself. Instead of saying anything, he took his friend in his arms, hugging him tightly.

Once he got over the shock, Pavel put his arms around Hikaru and squeezed. He genuinely could not remember the last time someone hugged him. It felt so nice a few tears fell out of his eyes, he was shocked he had any left. He sniffed against the tears. Hikaru held him tighter and once again found his words.

“You know I’m here for you, right? Whatever you need. We care about you. A lot. Whatever you need,” he gave him one final squeeze for good measure.

Chekov whipped his eyes, “Спасибо,” ‘thank you’ . He turned around to unlock his door when Sulu spoke again.

“Security is really tight here, pal,” he pointed out with a smile. “You probably don’t have to keep locking and unlocking your door.”

Chekov smiled sadly at him. “I’m glad for you. That you have not wanted for a lock before,” he supplied. Sulu cocked his head, hoping for more information. “I trust security here, it is not paranoia. It is the fact that I have a lock at all. I never have before.”

Sulu nodded slowly, not fully understanding, but digesting his friend’s words all the same. “Alright,” he hugged him again. “Goodnight and please don’t disappear again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “спокойной ночи- мой друг,” ’good night, my friend’ .

Chekov entered his apartment and locked the door, letting some of the constant tension in his muscles dissolve. He changed into his pajamas and picked up the phone before calling the familiar number he used to use to reach his father.

After a few minutes, the conversation ended and Pavel felt fresh tears prick at his eyes. Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying, he scolded himself.

The prison would not release his body, mandating that he be buried in the prison graveyard. But they would allow Pavel to carry out traditional proceedings. It most likely helped that most of the staff knew Pavel relatively well, as he’d been calling their facilities for years.

Not yet wanting to sleep, Pavel considered calling Ilya, but quickly shut it down. His cousin’s voice was one of the last things he wanted to hear right now. He thought for a moment, mulling around ideas before he dialed another number.

“Привеееееееееет! Павлууууууушааааааааа!” ‘Hiiiiiiii! Pavluuuuuuushaaaaa/ Hi Pavlusha’ (a diminutive of Pavel) a considerably drunk voice answered behind a cacophony of noises, people shouting, conversation, loud music.

Pavel smiled at Yuri’s voice, drunk or not, he was always nice to speak to. He felt better, in fact, considering he would probably not remember this conversation in the morning. He almost blushed at the greeting. It had been a long time since someone had called him a nickname like Pasha or Pavlusha. If it was someone else, he would have scoffed, but it wasn’t and right now it felt nice.

“Привет, Yuri (Юрий),” he answered.

“How are you? How’s space?” Yuri slurred over his words.

“I’m back on earth right now, we took a hit and had to come back to a starbase.”

“OooooOOOOooo noOOO! Are you coming home, Pasha? I think the average IQ of the whole block went down when you left”

Pavel smiled, the notion that someone had noticed his absence was almost overwhelming. “Soon. I’ll have to make funeral arrangements, my father died yesterday,” he said quietly.

“What?” Yuri yelled over the loud music and conversation.

“Soon,” Pavel repeated a little louder.

“Oh, nice! I know Ilya and Sonia will be happy to see you!” A shiver ran down Pavel’s spine at Yuri’s cheerful words.

“Yuri, will you come with me to my father’s funeral?”

“Why not, птичка ‘little bird’ ! You know I’m always down to party!”

Pavel almost chuckled at Yuri’s state of incomprehension. “Спасибо, Yuri,” ‘thank you’ he said. Pavel heard the energy swell at whatever party Yuri was at. “Well, thank you for picking up the phone. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, Pashenka! оставайся свободным и веселись до упаду- малыш! ‘Stay free and party hard, little man/laddie/kiddy’

Pavel smiled again and hung up. He tossed his phone aside and pulled the warm covers up around him, closing his eyes to try and let sleep claim him.

The silence of his room became quite noticeable. Strange, how it took so long to get used to the noises of Moscow, that he now missed them as the quiet took hold of him. Even in Siberia, there would always be the sound of the wind whistling through the holes in their house and an animal bleating outside. But if there was one thing he could do, it was adapt. And adapt he would.

Pavel took a deep breath, whistling slightly like himself was the wind, trying to quell every thought and emotion clawing at his mind like a feral cat, and fell into a light and restless sleep.