Chekov can feel his heart racing as he is led closer to the door at the end of the hallway he's walking through. The man behind him follows closely, probably making sure he won't try any more escape attempts.
Chekov still cringes from the pain of the voltage stick with every step. The spot on his back where it connected with him burns profusely; no doubt slowly becoming worse the longer it's left untreated. He tries to step carefully as to not worsen the pain, but it's proven very difficult.
They reach the end of the hallway and the man wrenches open the polished steel door. Placing his hand on Chekov's shoulder, he shoves the boy roughly into the room. He slams the door shut, leaving the young Russian even more scared and alone than before.
Or so he thinks.
The room is much better lit than the place he'd woken up in. It's rather large with crates and cargo boxes lining the walls. There's a metal loading dock door on the far wall, but it looks long abandoned and rusted shut. He eliminates the possibility of it serving as an emergency exit.
Chekov jumps, slightly startled by the sudden presence of another person. A man is leaning against a stack of wooden crates, watching the boy carefully. Chekov wonders how he hadn't noticed him before.
"I have to say that when my friends told me they'd be bringing me a valuable resource, I didn't expect a kid to show up," the man speaks with a casual tone.
Almost unconsciously, Chekov feels a little insulted: he's just turned twenty, so technically he's not a kid anymore. The man senses his uneasiness and smiles.
"Not a kid then? Hmm," he murmurs, slowly beginning to pace the room, circling Chekov as he does so. It causes the younger boy to follow him with his eyes. Being observed and watched like some kind of experiment is putting him slightly on edge, his heart rate steadily rising again.
"You look like you should be running hallways back at the academy, not navigating a ship," the man concludes.
Chekov is just about ready to go on his normal "ability over age" rant when he catches himself and wonders how this stranger knows so much about him. His eyes must show clear confusion, because at once the man apologizes.
"This all must be very overwhelming. I'm Jareth," he says politely, even going as far to extend a hand to shake. He looks at Chekov expectantly.
"You already know who I am, don't you?" Chekov asks skeptically, carefully eyeing Jareth's hand. Jareth sighs and lowers his hand to his side.
"Not very polite, are you?"
Chekov finds strength in his voice. "Not to people like you," he answers.
Jareth's head tilts slightly to the right as if contemplating the young boy before him. Chekov finds this posture unnerving. The man's stare is just calculated enough to make him look like he's crazy.
"People like me?" He asks curiously. Chekov doesn't respond and Jareth laughs.
"Obviously you are no fun at all or someone's taught you very well when it comes to stranger danger," he jibes. "Perhaps your mother or father? An older sibling?"
Jareth's tone quickly drops and he speaks gravely. "Or maybe even a close friend…Someone you've worked with and trusted for a long time…"
Alarm bells blare inside Chekov's head as he continues to follow Jareth with his eyes, sensing that something is indeed very, very wrong. He wants something; something that Chekov can only assume has to do with his friends
Jareth glances his way and Chekov tries to conceal his anxious expression.
"No one then?" He asks as he approaches the younger boy.
"No," Chekov answers firmly. Jareth nods his head in acceptance.
"Alright then," he acknowledges and turns toward the door. There's an instant where Chekov wonders what kind of exchange just happened and what this odd man is planning.
And then suddenly Jareth turns, pulls back his arm, and punches forward. Chekov can' t move fast enough to avoid the hit and he feels his head snap to the left as a fist connects with his face. He tumbles to the ground, dazed.
He's on both his hands and knees trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. His right cheek is stinging painfully and there's a small amount of blood dripping from a cut on his upper lip. Chekov brings his hand to his face and feels the tender skin throbbing lightly beneath his touch. He looks up and sees Jareth's smug face looking down on him.
"Before we talk anymore, let me make one thing clear: you lie to me, you won't like the consequences. Tell me what I want to hear," he says, grinning, "then you and I will get along just fine. Understand?".
Chekov suddenly feels sick to his stomach. The bruise forming on his cheek now seems trivial compared to what could lie ahead. His head is spinning a mile a minute and he's slowly realizing how much trouble he's in right now.
Jareth grabs a handful of Chekov's hair and yanks his head backward so that he's looking him straight in the eye.
"I expect a response when I ask you a question," he orders harshly, tightening his grip.
Chekov breathes evenly through his nose to calm his rapidly beating heart.
"Okay," he meekly responds.
Jareth nods and releases his hold, roughly shoving Chekov towards the floor.
"Good," he mumbles.
Chekov rubs the back of his head to alleviate the pain. The sudden movements of the last few minutes have also agitated the burn on his back and it now stings even more severely than before.
"Now," Jareth says, standing directly in front of Chekov, "let's have a little talk about James Kirk, shall we?"
Everything inside Chekov freezes and he can swear his heart skips a few beats. The air suddenly feels dry and stale. He finds it hard to breathe.
"W…what?" he brokenly gasps.
Jareth grins a sickly smile. "Seems my colleagues were right about a reliable information source. Now tell me," he says in a disturbingly polite tone, "how long have you known that Kirk has been alive?"
Chekov isn't quite sure why he answers with what he does. But there's about a three second window between answering and what he guesses is potentially giving away one of his oldest friends, and his first instinct is to protect that friend no matter what.
"He's dead. He died a long time ago," Chekov answers, his eyes fixated on the ground. Even saying it brings an ache to his chest, but he says it nonetheless. His answer is immediately met with a kick to the stomach. Pain explodes across his abdomen and he curls into himself, coughing violently.
"I'm not exactly in the joking mood!" Jareth yells, his harsh voice echoing off the walls. "Now I asked you a question: How long have you known that James Kirk is alive!"
Chekov moans. He's pretty sure he's got a bruised rib, if not broken. The kick was harder than he first thought.
"I…I didn't know he was alive," he answers, a cough interrupting him.
Jareth is incredibly fast and grabs the front Chekov's shirt, pulling the boy forward until he's a few inches from his face.
"I thought we had an agreement, Pavel," he spits harshly. He reaches back and punches once more. Chekov groans and stars explode before his eyes. He feels blood trickle down the side of his face, a cut burning the top of his forehead.
"Now I will ask one. more. time." Jareth threatens lowly. "How long have you known that Jim Kirk is alive?"
Chekov feels incredibly dizzy and the room is tilting dangerously. He blinks twice, still unable to see clearly. It's like a fog has settled over his mind but he can still clearly recognize one thought: that he is going to die if he doesn't do what this man asks of him. Chekov runs through his options. Perhaps this small bit of information won't be that damning. It's clear they know that Kirk is alive, what difference does it make if one other person knows too?
"I haven't known for long" he mutters lightly, "I only found out yesterday".
Jareth's eyes widen in surprise and Chekov can see the thoughts in his head racing. The other man's expression quickly darkens and he pulls back his hand once more. Chekov cringes, awaiting the pain.
"If you're lying," he warns.
"I'm not I swear!" Chekov pleads desperately. Jareth studies him for a moment, but doesn't lower his hand.
"This…this could change everything then," the older man begins to talk excitedly to himself. "You only just found out. Which means Kirk was with you recently! My god he slipped right out from under us! He must have told you himself," Jareth guesses correctly. Then he looks to the boy in his grasp, "which means he's probably noticed your disappearance".
There's a pause and then a frightening smirk slithers its way onto Jareth's face.
"Which means he'll probably be looking for you," he mumbles in realization.
"You my friend," Jareth says; and his tone is frightening enough to send chills up Chekov's spine, "have just become a very valuable resource".
He tightens his grip on the front of Chekov's shirt and punches one last time.
It's the last thing the young boy sees before his world is dark once again.
...
...
He can hear screaming, but the sound of a collapsing building is gone. Chekov slowly opens his eyes and blinks, the sudden presence of a bright light blinding his eyes.
He still has his arms wrapped tightly around the young girl next to him who is once again crying, wet tears tracing down her dust-covered face. Chekov shakes his head and an entire pile of dirt and debris spills from his curls.
He coughs a few times, evacuating his lungs of the stale, dirty air he'd inhaled. He then surveys his surroundings. He's back in the transporter room. A familiar man in a red shirt is running towards him.
"Laddie yer okay! My God we were so worried we'd not get there in time!" Scotty slaps a hand against his forehead in relief. "This amount of stress isn't good for ma heart," he breathes.
The Scotsman glances at Chekov and notices the extra passenger with him. "Well who's this then?" he asks.
Before Chekov can even admit he doesn't know the little girl's name, a siren blares through the room and the hallways connecting to it. The little girl covers her ears and begins screaming.
"God damn it!" Scotty yells out in frustration.
"What's happening?!" Chekov yells above the chaotic noise. Scotty runs back over towards the console and reaches for his comm.
"Jim!" He yells frantically into the small device. "Jim ye bastard answer me! The atmosphere is starting to liquefy! We've got about five minutes before this entire ship is under a bloody ocean!"
Chekov had nearly forgotten the time limit they were on since arriving on this strange planet. When they'd been called in to monitor and put an end to local terroristic attacks, they were warned that the planet was unusual in that its atmosphere took on two different states of matter during separate parts of the day.
For 12 hours it was a normal gaseous atmosphere with breathable oxygen. The next 12 hours was when the water vapor in the air expanded and returned back to its liquid state. The natives on the planet were very much used to this rapid change of environment and were born half-aquatic to compensate for it. The Enterprise and all of its crew however, were not. They'd been watching the time carefully all day but since the attacks had started, no one had been paying much attention.
Oops.
From the comm, Jim's voice reverberates off the walls. "Hear you loud and clear, Scotty!" he yells. "The attacks are dying down! Spock and his team captured the head of the attackers but we still have a few scattered down in engineering!"
There's a gap in the conversation where only the sounds of Jim yelling and grunting can be heard. There's a clashing of metal and then he's back.
"Send reinforcements to B deck!" he orders. "I can handle the last few here but we need back up to help Spock get the leader to the brig!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Scotty replies, typing away commands on his PADD. "Are you sure you're alright down there Jim?" He asks, concerned.
Jim answers, panting from what Chekov can assume is the constant fighting. "I'm fine. I've got Sulu down here with me. Just make sure that security gets to the brig. Make sure that they get to Spo-"
And then there's a sound that will haunt Chekov's nightmares for endless months to come.
It's a sharp, inward gasp of breath followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Scotty looks to Chekov in shock for a moment before turning his full attention back to the comm.
"Jim?" He asks. "Jim!"
There's no response.
Chekov is out the door faster than he's ever run before, yelling back over his shoulder for Scotty to watch over the little girl he left behind.
Left. Right. Down a flight of stairs. Right. Right. Down again. Left. Down. Right. The path to engineering is seared into Chekov's memory at this point. Though he doesn't believe he's ever traveled it this quickly before.
He's through the single metal door to B deck and racing down the catwalk stairs, taking them two at a time and then jumping down the last five. Chekov runs frantically throughout the machines lining the floor, looking left and right; searching.
He comes to the center of the deck and is panting as he cranes his head, his body turning 360 degrees as he surveys the area.
There, just a few yards in front of him, is a pair of legs sticking out from behind a row of control panels. He takes off towards them and all but slides into place next to Jim, who is sloppily propped up against a metal machine.
"Keptin," Chekov whispers breathlessly. He takes in the sight before him, his stomach dropping as he does so. There's blood; there's so much blood. He can't even tell where it's all coming from. Kirk's eyes are weary and glazing over.
Chekov looks around frantically for something to help but he stops when he watches Kirk begin to close his eyes. He grabs Kirk's face between both his hands.
"Listen to me," he says sternly, "you hold on for me. We are going to get you help, okay? Just focus on breathing and keeping your eyes open".
Kirk looks back at the younger boy before him. "It's okay," he says softly. "It's okay."
Jim's eyes flutter for a moment before slipping shut completely. Chekov stares in disbelief for a moment, shocked at what's just happened.
"No," he says firmly, shaking Jim's face slightly.
"No".
He places two fingers against his Captain's neck and feels for the familiar presence of a pulse. He waits for ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty…and nothing happens.
"No," he mutters, hot tears dripping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. "No".
He shakes Kirk's shoulders this time, thinking that maybe it will be enough to make the older man stir.
It's in vain.
There's dried blood coating his hands, but Chekov can't even see it through his blurry eyes. He screams out, his pain-filled voice echoing throughout the cavernous ceilings of the room.
He's still screaming when the others find him, and he's all but dragged away from the horrific scene. Someone's arms are then wrapped tightly around him and all he can see is the tint of blue of fabric. He sobs into whoever's shoulder loudly, tears dampening the shirt he's crying on.
Whoever holds him is crying too because he can feel their arms shaking slightly.
Chekov can't focus on anything. The only coherent thought racing around his head is that his brother is dead.
And he can't handle that.
He cries until he can't cry anymore. And when that happens, he falls asleep. When he wakes, he cries again until it seems like all his tears have been spent. Then he sits in silence for a few hours in the darkness, his chest aching an awful, unhealable pain.
"Please come back," he whispers tearfully to himself. "Please come back".
"Please".
"Come back".
"Please just come back".
"Come back, come back, come back…"
"Come back," Chekov startles himself awake. He immediately recognizes the racing pulse and the rapid breathing that usually follow his nightmares. He looks around and sees that he's in the room he'd first woken up in.
He backs up until he's against the wall and pulls his knees into his chest. His entire body is shaking. He sobs a few times before the tears slowly begin to make their way down his cheeks. He sits there alone, scared, and in the dark.
And he cries.