Hi all! Welcome to my newest foray into the Star Trek universe. I hope you enjoy your stay here :)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the Star Trek universe. Or Star Trek. Or the universe.
"The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone."
-Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet In Heaven
{September, 2263}
"Please state your name, Ensign."
At first he doesn't want to speak; he just wants to cradle the dull ache in his arms and his chest. His answer is reluctant: "Pavel Andreivich Chekov." A memory surfaces; of the first time he'd said that in a medically white ship to a man who reminded him of a kinder father. And another: the second time he'd introduced his full name to a man who looked at him like the big brother he never had, a man he once thought invincible. A hero.
"Your position on the ship, Mr. Chekov."
"Navigator." A slow blink, registering the sluggish beats of his heart on the monitor.
The woman opposite him waits patiently before realizing that no further answer is coming. "Mr. Chekov, do you know what day it is?"
"No." His gaze is permanently fixed on something beyond her shoulder. She glances behind her, but there is nothing there.
"Do you have any recollection of the last few days?"
He shakes his head, slowly, still staring.
"Mr. Chekov. Look at me, please."
"I cannot," he whispers.
"Why not, Mr. Chekov?"
There's a swelling in his throat and it feels as though something is sitting painfully on his chest when he finally looks at her. "You are Vulcan."
She stares back, unperturbed. "I am not aware as to why my species is of relevant issue here, Ensign."
Chekov resumes staring over her shoulder, his hands tightly clenched, white knuckles showing under the bright light. "You do not understand."
The Vulcan woman does not contend with his argument. "Very well, Mr. Chekov. Are you aware of the whereabouts of Captain Kirk and his crew?"
The first crack shows and the knuckles grow tighter. "Yes."
"Please tell me."
There is a pause so long that Chekov can almost hear the unspoken answer twist itself into a reproachful figure staring at him from across the room. Finally, the answer falls reluctantly from his lips: "They are dead, Admiral."