V.
By the time Chekov's up and moving the next morning, Pike has already left for work. There's a written note attached to the kitchen counter that he spots on his way to pour a glass of water:
Food in fridge and pantry. Help yourself. Will be back late, left you a key on the table by the door. –Pike
Not keen on creating a large mess his first morning here, Chekov settles on a simple bowl of cereal for breakfast. After a few minutes of rummaging through the cabinets, he manages to procure a bowl and spoon. He adds a decent amount of milk to his flakes and takes a seat at the kitchen table. Curiously, he surveys the flat closer as he eats. It's well maintained and nicely furnished; nothing overly lavish, but neatly sleek and modern. Chekov thinks this place reflects the man who inhabits it rather well.
He stands, bowl in hand, and approaches the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. It's a beautiful view: the sun just beginning to rise over the building tops, and purplish clouds blending with red daylight to create a magenta hue on the horizon. Below him, the city is slowly waking. Some dozen-odd commuters pass by the sidewalks and streets; shops are just beginning to open their doors. Chekov watches the people below, captivated by their every movement. He sees a mother and child walk hand-in-hand across the road. A man in a top coat and hat passes by them briskly, politely offering a smile as he goes. Two boys play by the corner with a small dog excitedly jumping between them. A group of five students dressed in uniform-red converse with one another as they make their way into the city; all of them most likely headed for the academy.
Chekov finishes his cereal and turns from the window toward the kitchen. He quickly washes and dries his dishes before neatly returning them to their rightful places. Following that, he decides to clean himself up a bit before heading out into the city. The shower takes several frustrating minutes to figure out, but he eventually manages to get it working. Once finished, he exits into the guest bedroom. It doesn't take long for him to realize that the only clothing he has right now is the dirtied uniform he'd arrived in. Chekov wonders for a moment if he'll be able to find the washing machine and get it to work. However, based on his less than stellar shower experience, he highly doubts things will go smoothly.
His uniform shirt and pants are balled into an unkempt heap in the room's farthest corner, and he unhappily goes to retrieve them. As he bends down to pick them up, a flash of color catches the corner of his eye. Chekov stands and sees another note from Pike, this one sticking out from the top drawer of the dresser.
Borrowed these from Jim. Might be a bit big.
Inside the drawer is a fresh pair of jeans, t-shirt, and jacket. Chekov sighs happily, quite relieved to have clean clothes for the day. He also smiles, amused in imagining such an esteemed and formal man like Pike taking the time to scribble out instructions for the unworldly teenager he's housing. He makes a mental note to keep a close eye out for any other messages that may be scattered around the flat.
He dresses quickly and, not eager to rummage around looking for a brush, runs a hand through his hair a few times. Once he manages to tame his curls, he takes a look in the closet's full-length mirror to be sure his appearance maintains at least a somewhat presentable standard. For the most part, the outfit works well. The pants are a little long, and the leather jacket is definitely more Kirk's style than his own, but it's all very comfortable and more than enough to go about his day. Chekov slips on his shoes and then grabs the key Pike left for him on his way out. Locking the door behind him, he takes elevator down and exits through the building's front entrance.
A warm breeze envelops him immediately, and he sighs at how refreshing it feels. The sunshine is a welcomed blessing he hasn't genuinely felt in years. Its warmth is something that just can't be replicated by any technology aboard a ship, and he revels in the opportunity to experience it again. He walks east into downtown where McCoy mentioned having lunch.
The aforementioned doctor is waiting outside the diner to greet him and the man's eyes are immediately drawn to Chekov's attire. He raises an eyebrow.
"They're Kirk's," Chekov explains, tugging on a too-long jacket sleeve.
"Ah," McCoy says, nodding his head. "Should have known he'd subtly start morphing you into a mini-him. He loves projecting his idiotic personality onto anything it'll stick to. "
Chekov laughs and McCoy smirks.
"Is he as aggressively irritating in your world as he is this one?"
"I can safely say there is no difference," Chekov answers.
McCoy chuffs as he opens the restaurant door.
"My condolences to your crew then."
Giggling, Chekov follows the doctor in through the entrance and into a retro-themed burger restaurant complete with glossy, red stools and neon-laced walls.
"Bones," a voice calls. "Over here!"
The weave their way through multiple tables until they stop at a semi-circle booth where Kirk, Uhura, and Spock all sit waiting for them.
"Hi everyone," Chekov says timidly, not sure how they'll react to his presence. Uhura smiles in greeting and Kirk looks more than excited. Spock offers a small nod.
"Look at you," Kirk says. "Lookin' good."
McCoy groans.
"Of all the people Pike could have borrowed clothes from," he laments.
"Pike has good taste," Kirk comments. McCoy rolls his eyes.
"How are you settlng in, Pavel?" Uhura asks, ever the compassionate one.
"Good," Chekov answers. "I'm staying with Admiral Pike for the time being."
At this, Kirk almost chokes on his water.
"Wait what!? I thought he just asked me for those clothes to pass on to you wherever you were staying. I didn't know that place was with him!"
Chekov ducks his head, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention.
"Leave the kid alone, Jim," McCoy comments. "There's barely any room and board to spare in the city after Nero's attack. Pike probably had no other options."
Chekov looks to the doctor, eyes grateful. From there, the conversation takes on a more general, lighthearted tone.
They order and, for a moment, Chekov forgets where he is. It's like he's back home, out to lunch on shore leave with his family: nothing amiss in the whole wide world. They share stories, but the conversation mostly focuses on Chekov's adventures with his own crew.
Everyone is curious to know who their universal counterpart is.
"Well, we were examining artifacts from a recent away mission," Chekov explains the events leading to his appearance in this world. "The captain and Sulu had a bet going to see who could sneak the largest native wildlife onto the ship without anyone noticing. Sulu lost after getting attacked by a small bear-creature."
Everyone laughs.
"Those two," McCoy groans. "They'll be the death of me."
They eat, comfortable banter exchanged. It's at the end of the meal when things take a less-than preferable turn.
"Mr. Chekov," Spock addresses. "Have you at all looked into your counterpart's existence in this world?"
Chekov stops mid-bite, setting down his fork and swallowing.
"Uh…no, not yet," he answers honestly. Was that even a possibility? Chekov thinks he simply didn't exist in this universe. How could he be anywhere but Starfleet right now?
"Well, luckily I took the liberty of searching your profile in a worldwide census database."
"Spock," Uhura reprimands. "I thought I told you this wasn't the right time."
"And I highly consider your opinion, Nyota, however, I believe Mr. Chekov has the right to know who his alter counterpart is in this universe."
Uhura crosses her arms disapprovingly.
"Pavel, you don't have to do this now if you're not comfortable."
"Nonsense," Jim interrupts. "I wanna hear what the boy genius is up to in our timeline!"
He's on the receiving end of a vicious glare from Uhura which he promptly ignores as he takes the tablet from Spock. Everything is happening too quickly; Kirk starts reading before Chekov has a chance to protest. Perhaps just a bit of insight wouldn't hurt?
Kirk starts reading off a slew of article titles that include Taganrog Native Named World's Youngest Chess Masterand Child Prodigy Excels in University Physics.
"Damn, kid," McCoy says, impressed.
"Oh, here's a good one," Kirks says. "'Moscow's First Teenage Astrophysicist'".
The whole table, even Uhura-who still looks entirely unsupportive-are all intrigued as Kirk begins to read.
"The Nikolai Research Center has made invaluable progress in dozens of scientific fields like theoretical transportation physics and photovoltaics, while also continuing to provide crucial data in the ongoing study of subspace stellar anomalies. And the prestigious organization now adds another mark to its expansive history of milestones with its appointment of Pavel A. Chekov as a lead astrophysicist on the center's team of principle researchers. At just 17, Chekov will not only be the youngest recruit in the research department, but the youngest individual to ever receive commendation and appointment of position from the Nikolai Center.
The accomplished teen, quite often referred to as 'wunderkind' by his university professors, has an impressive resume spanning a near decade and a half beginning at just two, when he was first enrolled in primary school by his parents.
His father, Andrei, is a science instructor at Britanskaya, a primary school located in the Chekovs' hometown of Taganrog.
His mother shares her son's alma mater, Moscow University, where she graduated with two degrees in aerospace engineering. Pavel will be working alongside his mother, Anna, who also heads the astrophysics department at the Nikolai Center."
McCoy whistles and even Spock nods his head in approval.
Chekov notices none of it. He's spinning that last sentence in his head over and over again, the words swirling in a cacophony of overwhelming noise. Working alongside. Will be. Mother.
His breathing quickens, and, beside him, McCoy takes immediate notice. Unfortunately, so does everyone else.
"Are you alright, Mr. Chekov?" Spock asks. Chekov's wild eyes snap towards the vulcan.
"What?" He says, unable to hear over the rushing of blood in his ears.
"He asked if you're alright, kid," McCoy tells him at the same time Uhura leans over to Spock to whisper "I told you this wasn't a good idea".
Chekov breathes in a heaving gulp and tries to calm himself. Shaking his head, he seeks to reassure the others around the table.
"I'm fine, it's alright," he tells them, heart still racing. "That was just a lot to take in is all."
They all share a look, clearly unconvinced, but decide to leave the boy to his own privacy. It seems they've intruded enough on it as is. Meanwhile, Chekov wishes he was anywhere but in this booth.
Next to him, McCoy chimes in.
"Hey, don't you have a meeting with Pike you were telling me about?" He asks.
Chekov looks at the doctor, befuddled. He never made any mention of such a meeting.
"I…"
"Yeah, you said you were meeting him at the Acadmey at 3. It's already 2:30, you might wanna skidaddle if you don't wanna be late."
And suddenly Chekov sees the lie for what it is: an out. McCoy is giving him the freedom to escape this increasingly awkward situation. He hopes his eyes can convey the gratitude he feels.
"Oh right! I almost forgot, thank you for reminding me," Chekov says standing.
The others look mildly upset at the young boy's early departure, but allow it without protest. Chekov gives them all a wave goodbye before hurrying out of the diner and onto the street. Once clear of the restaurant, Chekov breaks into a dead sprint. He runs all the way back to Pike's apartment, almost collapsing into the elevator when he finally gets inside.
He's able to hold himself together until he rips open and subsequently slams the door to Pike's apartment shut. The second the silence hits him, he drops to the floor. He hugs himself close and leans over, head nearly touching the hardwood beneath.
He cries at the unfairness of it all. That he should be here so far from his home. That this version of himself has an unbroken life back in Russia.
He cries for the unlived moments he could have shared with his mother; for the unlived happy memories he and his parents could have had.
He cries until his head hurts and his eyes dry. Chekov lifts himself off the floor and chooses to shower away the sorrow. In the mirror in his room, he stares at his reflection: a sad, skinny teenager lost in world that is not is own. He thinks of his mother. Would she be proud of him? He likes to think she would be. Sighing, Chekov curls up on the sofa in the living room; a book in hand.
He reads, willing away the heartache.
~0~
Later that evening, Chekov begins to realize that Pike isn't around much. He shouldn't be surprised: the admiral surely has plenty of duties to attend to, and making time for a wayward teen isn't top priority.
Still, Chekov finds the vast and empty apartment rather lonely. He's still on the couch reading his book as he lightly dozes off. It's around 11 pm when he's suddenly awoken by the sound of the door knob jostling. Scrubbing his eyes, Chekov sits up and yawns; stepping towards the door to open it for whom he assumes is Admiral Pike. After a few moments of analyzing the aggressive door knob movement, though, Chekov realizes that whoever is on the other side of the door doesn't have a key. They're trying to pick the lock. They're trying to break in.
Panicked, Chekov runs to the kitchen and picks up the first thing he can find: a soup ladle leftover from when he made dinner. He cautiously approaches the front door, standing off to the side to catch the would-be burglar off guard. He raises the ladle, ready to swing, when the door kicks open and-
"Captain Kirk!" Chekov screams, throwing himself off balance as he tries to swerve the direction of his ladle swing. The movement sends him crashing to the floor and he scrambles to sit up and right himself.
"What," he gasps, adrenaline racing, "what are you doing here? I could have killed you!"
Kirk raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"With a soup ladle?" He asks.
Chekov looks at the mentioned utensil and hides it behind his back.
"No, I-just…what are you doing here?" He repeats.
Kirk casually strides in, shutting the door behind him.
"I stop in time to time when I know Pike's got a long weekend. Clean the place up a bit and all."
Chekov pointedly glances around the spotless apartment.
"Alright, alright," Kirk concedes. "Sulu and I were supposed to go out tonight but he blew me off for a date instead."
"Why didn't you just knock?"
"Tried to, figured you were asleep which ah…looks like you were." Kirk motions to his own hair and Chekov reaches up self-consciously to tame his wild curls.
"Would have been easier to get in with a key, but a certain Admiral doesn't just go around giving out spare apartment keys to just anyone. Specifically me. I don' think he trusts me with unfettered access to this place."
Chekov stares at the broken lock. "I can't imagine why."
"Alright, you little smartass," Kirk says, lunging forward. He grabs Chekov in a headlock and rubs his knuckles aggressively against the poor boy's head.
"Ah! Stop! Stop!" Chekov yells, fervently trying to wrestle his way out of Kirk's grip.
Eventually, Kirk relents and releases the squirming teen. Chekov huffs and uses both hands to fix his matted down hair.
"So what are you actually doing here, then?" He asks. Kirk shrugs and launches himself onto the couch.
"I brought you new clothes. And…I figured you could use the company."
Oddly touched, Chekov joins Kirk on the couch.
"Here's your new wardrobe," Kirk says, handing over a bag of clothing. "I picked them out myself."
Chekov can't imagine McCoy would approve and he smiles despite himself.
"Thank you," he says sincerely.
"No worries," Kirk says. He pauses. "You know, you could make it up to me by sharing a drink or two. Pike's got a killer antique liquor collection."
"Um…"
Chekov wouldn't mind, but he's not so keen on stealing from the man whose own home he currently resides in. Kirk must sense the young boy's hesitancy because he smirks and produces a brown, bottle-shaped paper bag from behind his back.
"Don't worry, kid, I won't make you raid the old man's liquor cabinet like some high school senior looking to impress his friends," he says. "Brought our own to enjoy."
And so that's how Chekov find himself on the couch, head hanging over the back as he stares at the ceiling and the white noise of some unidentifiable movie plays in the background. The ceiling spins slightly as he tries to focus on what Kirk is saying next to him.
"-and god, don't even get me started on the first time I met Spock. His ego was so bruised over a test I conned a win out of and-"
"Oh," Chekov finally finds his ability for vocal communication, though his thoughts feel as slurred as his speech. "The Kobyashi Maru."
"Yeah," Kirk answers. "Guess you probably already knew that."
Chekov nods his head, recalling his own part in helping his Kirk subvert the supposedly 'unwinnable' simulation. The thought stops him suddenly as realization hits him.
"Wait, where did you get the subroutine program from?" He asks.
Kirk pauses, thinking back.
"No one I knew could help so I reached out online. A white hat hacker helped me out, designed the whole thing."
After a few seconds of incredulous staring, Chekov starts laughing. It's small giggles at first, but then they grow into full blown guffaws as he struggles to catch his breath.
"What?" Kirk asks, thoroughly confused. "What am I missing here?"
Chekov wipes tears from his eyes as he explains.
"In my universe, I'm the one who designed that program for you. I didn't know how you could have done it in this one without me. But I guess I was right!"
"Pav, I'm way too drunk to be following any line of explanation here," Kirk admits.
Chekov giggles again.
"I was a white hat hacker in high school. It was just a hobby at the time, but I gave it up when I joined Starfleet. Looks like the me from this place kept the habit."
"So you're saying the you from this universe is the one who helped me out? What are the odds?"
Chekov shrugs his shoulders, finding some bit of comfort knowing that he still has a connection to his crew in this universe, no matter how small.
There's a comfortable silence as both men revel in their shared inebriation.
"White hat hacking aside, it sounds like you had some pretty wild adventures with your crew based on the stories you were telling me earlier."
Chekov smiles fondly as he reminisces.
"Yeah," he says, "we did."
He falters as he remembers just how far away his family is, and his smile drops.
"Hey," Kirk says, expression serious. "We are going to get you home." It's sincere.
"Don't go making promises you can't keep," Chekov jokes to bring some levity back to the conversation. "It's a terrible habit of yours."
"Oh really?" Kirk says, sounding almost insulted. "Example?"
"Well, there was this time you promised me nothing would go wrong when we went on my first away mission."
"And?"
Chekov holds up his right leg and points to a short, thick scar on the side of his calf.
"Native wildlife didn't turn out to be friendly," he explains. "Thirty-six stitches."
Kirk cringes.
"Well, too bad that's your Kirk. You can't hold anything he did against me."
Chekov laughs.
"Fair enough," he replies.
There's a comfortable silence before Kirk turns to Chekov, expression more reserved.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Hm?" Chekov hums, head buzzing.
"At the diner earlier today, why did you get so worked up when I mentioned your mom?"
That question smacks a bit of sobriety into Chekov.
"Oh, um, I just don't like talking about her much. She…she's not alive. In my world."
Kirk sobers a bit too at this revelation.
"Aw man, Pav, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
Chekov shakes his head.
"No, no. It's alright. It was…a long time ago. It was just a shock to find out she's still alive here. I imagine that's why I still live at home and never came to Starfleet: I never lost her in the first place."
Chekov sinks into the couch and reaches for his drink as Kirk ponders on a thought for a moment.
"Have you thought about reaching out?"
Chekov almost chokes on the drink at his lips.
"What?" He coughs. "Are you insane? I can't just suddenly call her and tell her there's two of me in this universe!"
"Wouldn't be any weirder than the past two weeks for us," Kirk comments. Chekov rolls his eyes.
"Alright," Kirk gives in. "Maybe you just don't tell her. You could call her, pretend it's you from this universe."
Chekov goes to counter the suggestion but stops. Perhaps Kirk, in a drunken state of idiotic brilliance, has a point. Maybe he could reach out to his mother if she thought he was her son.
"You…you think that might work?" Chekov asks timidly.
Kirk shrugs.
"Anything's worth at least one try, isn't it?"
Chekov leaves it at that, the idea filed away for later thought.
After a beat, they continue more lighthearted banter well into the night until Chekov notices a prolonged lack of response from his drinking companion. He looks over to see Kirk curled up on his side: completely knocked out. Giggling, and still a bit drunk, Chekov wobbles over to the sleeping captain and drapes a warm blanket over him before heading back to his own bed. He slips peacefully into his dreams and sleeps so deeply that he doesn't hear the front door opening a few hours later.
It's nearly dawn when Christopher Pike finally enters his apartment. He immediately spots a tuft of familiar blond hair sticking out of a blanket cocoon on the couch.
"So that explains the broken lock," he says quietly to himself. He goes over to readjust the blanket and, once he's done, treads lightly down the hall to check in on his youngest charge.
Carefully, he creaks open the door and watches a sliver of light stretch across the sleeping form snuggled up in bed. Pike smiles despite himself at the sight of the young teenager completely wrapped up in three different blankets and wild curls sticking up at every odd angle. His eyes dance briefly across the room and he spots mounds of crumpled paper just beside the trash can by the bed.
Quietly, he pads over to the bin and picks up one of the crumpled paper balls. Unwrapping it, he's met with a myriad of coordinates, numbers, and half-done mathematical warp calculations. Bending down to pick up another one, he's met with the same thing. He must find where the math stopped working because all of those numbers are scribbled over and crossed out in apparent frustration. Pike assumes the remaining crumpled papers are also Chekov's failed solutions at trying to get himself home.
He glances at the sleeping boy again, hoping against hope that they'll somehow be able to send him back. He doesn't know if he'll have the heart to tell the poor kid otherwise.
From the other room, Kirk's snoring echoes and Pike shakes his head in exasperation. He quietly exits the room, shutting the door softly and leaving the sleeping boy to his dreams.
Bonus points if you've read the comics and knew that's where the Koabyashi Maru/white hat hacker plotline came from