Chekov stopped in his tracks when the door to the Captain's cabin slid closed behind him. Standing alone in the corridor, he suddenly became aware of how ridiculously wide and expansively long the ship's passageways were. The corridors went on forever, sweeping in every direction, and the Navigator quickly pressed his back instinctively against the bulkhead, feeling horribly exposed and unsafe. He felt free-form panic rise as the thought settled on him that he could not simply stand there cowering against the bulkhead for an indefinite period of time. If only because he was an officer and the crew would no doubt latch onto the notion that he appeared to have been sent to the principal's office.
His own cabin was next door, but the boy would have already figured that out. What was he to do? Where could he possibly go where he would be away from the boy and safe? Where could he go that everyone would stay safe? Go away from everybody, his mind said desperately. Find isolation. Be nowhere...
It didn't matter that the Russian language didn't even have a word for privacy originally. Pavel Chekov had learned from the people around him to cultivate the concept with guilty pleasure. Through careful investigation, he had even found that on a crowded starship solitude was still possible and he sought it out now with a vengeance.
The blackness of space filled his vision as he sat suspended in the midst of the expansive starfield. From here the panorama was perfect. No magnification distorted the view; no projection from the computer of an image that belonged elsewhere obstructed the mind. He pressed his palms down on the walkway's edge and leaned out from under the railing. Peering down at his booted feet dangling among the stars gave him the sudden, thrilling impulse to launch himself off the walkway into a freefall among the luminous, heavenly jewels that surrounded him.
"You're avoiding me," came a subdued observation from the doorway.
A chill gripped him at he sound of the voice. He sighed and let resignation settle into the very pit of his soul. Of course he knew from the very beginning that he was defeated.
"I told you to go away," he responded flatly without turning his eyes from his feet hanging amidst the stars.
"I did. I found you again."
"Fine. Now go away again."
"I want to talk to you," the child persisted.
The voice, so eerily familiar, caused his ears to ache. Chekov straightened, but he let his deep brown eyes only rise to the starfield directly in front of him. "So you've told me. It isn't wise," he answered tentatively. He didn't know why exactly--but Dimitri's presence scared him.
"Why?" The youngster's words were even and determined: a maddening simplicity for any adult to combat.
The older man drew a ragged breath and tried to seek solace in the stars before him. "No one comes to this Observation Lounge," he said, avoiding the question. "How did you find me?"
"I checked the blueprints in the ship's computer. This is the only view of the stars on the ship that's actually a window, not a viewscreen. I know you, remember?"
"Don't turn on the lights!" Chekov snapped as he sensed the movement. He shifted his eyes and watched as the boy dropped his arm dutifully from the light switch he'd been reaching for.
The child stood there a moment: not hesitantly, but calculating. He turned his eyes to the rows of benches rising in the darkened gallery on the other side of the walkway briefly before looking over at the Navigator. "Why are you sitting on the floor in the dark?"
He received no answer, so he moved soberly over to where Chekov sat and quietly climbed down onto his knees. Letting his hands come to rest on his thighs, the young man raised his eyes up, peering under the protective rail at the massive window that filled the expansive wall of the room. He then let their dark depths follow along the curve of the window as it disappeared under the walkway.
"Oh," he said breathlessly in understanding, then giggled as Chekov instinctively reached out to stop the boy from leaning out too far and falling under the deck.
"Yes," the child quipped. "You best: Lord knows what a klutz I am."
Chekov turned to look at him finally. The young face was bathed in the shadows of the dark room, but the eyes were brilliant with self-satisfied amusement that came not entirely from the reflection of the stars. He studied the face—the classic Muscovite bone structure and features—and the fine brown Russian hair with just a hidden trace of red beginning to creep in. The child's eyes were a reflection of Chekov's people: wide and expressive, able to somehow communicate more than most people could with words. It was the utter, depthless darkness that the Navigator occasionally caught a glimpse of in those eyes that held his attention: it spoke clearly of at least some non-Russian ancestry.
"You've never fallen have you?" the boy finally asked. Chekov saw in those eyes now that Dimitri had knowingly waited, patiently, until the older man's scrutiny was complete.
"I'm not eight."
"Neither will I be next week," came the quick reply, and he turned to squirm around and hang his feet over the edge like Chekov. He leaned out over the edge again and the Navigator clenched his teeth to stop himself from restraining the boy.
The man turned his attention, instead, to imitating the child's movements. They sat there in silence a long while staring out at the stars together. While Chekov was just enjoying the rare view, it became apparent the child was engrossed in contemplation. "They don't give you many opportunities for EVA's, do they?" he surmised.
The Navigator eyed the Dimitri warily, recognizing immediately the scheming child's attempted manipulation to get him to talk. This particular question did seem benign, though. "No," he finally answered. "We train in the Academy, and EVA's are occasionally needed in deep space, but not often." Staring down at the stars again, he smiled slightly at the child's instinctive understanding of what drew Chekov to sit here. "This is usually the closest thing to a spacewalk on the ship without actually going AWOL." He found himself self-satisfied that hadn't played into the boy's hands. Or so he thought.
"You would think," Dimitri drawled carefully, and turned calculating eyes on the Starfleet Officer, "that routine drills would ensure that you'd do the most efficient job when called upon."
Chekov's eyes widened in alarm at the demonic, triumphant look in the child's eyes. He growled deep in his throat. "You can't go around changing things."
"Bet I can," the boy quipped.
"You're a little shit," the Navigator blurted out in frustration.
"You would know," Dimitri shrugged. He began swinging his leather boots in happy rhythm.
"Spacewalks are in my blood," he continued easily. "It's genetic: Alexei Leonov did the very first one on March 18, 1965."
"So you've taken the first step in becoming the next Leonov family historian," Chekov commented with ill humor.
The boy twisted his head around on an angle, letting his wide brown eyes stare at the older man blankly as he blinked his long lashes several times.
"Alexei was one of the first twenty cosmonauts chosen in 1959," Dimitri stated simply after a moment, turning back to look at the stars with some amount of disinterest now. "He was scheduled to be the first man on the moon, but the launch was cancelled after the launch pad explosion in Balkynor. He was also scheduled…"
Letting his eyes close, Chekov let out a groan. He had, after all, walked right into this.
"…and it was a good thing he got sick, because all the cosmonauts on that flight died in space when they ran out of oxygen. Alexei did fly the Soyuz-Apollo hook-up flight later, though."
"And when he retired he became an artist, which is what he intended all along," the Navigator interrupted irritably. "I do know something of space flight history."
"I'm working on Dedushkato let me start doing EVA's soon," Dimitri continued, as if having not heard the older man. "I want to do lots of them when I'm in the Fleet too."
Chekov fixed a cold stare at the child. "In Russia children may be spoiled, but don't expect the rest of the universe to give you everything you want."
The child stood, and grabbing the rail, twisted down to eye the man, the light in his eyes dancing. "Your semantics are wrong. In Russia, children know how to get what they want. And it's a skill I imagine the clever ones don't forget." He flashed a mesmerizing smile, as if in illustration.
Chekov scowled dramatically at the boy and turned away, looking down but not seeing the stars. It didn't matter because he could still hear the child giggling outlandishly at the older man's attempt to hide his smile.
"Tell me," he asked. "Are you planning to torment me the entire time you're here?"
"I don't know. It had occurred to me."
The Navigator turned back around to fix his gaze on the child. "You found me again. You talked to me like you wanted. You even found a way to wreck havoc in both our lives while you're here. Now why don't you go wander away again—find someone to talk into giving us more EVA's," he suggested, knowing it was the boy's intention anyway. With a sinking feeling only a baited animal could have, he braced himself for however it was the boy was figuring to manipulate him. "I'm waiting to tell the Captain that you need to leave. So go away."
The boy twisted his arms around the railing. "I suppose I could go explore the Bridge. It is the heart of the ship and I haven't been up there yet. Uncle Grigory lets me spin in the command chair when I'm on his bridge."
Chekov's eyes shot open in alarm and he would have gasped with horror had not all the air been pounded out of his body.
"I could go to Engineering too, and I could play with the transporters," Dimitri continued, twisting about the railing with utter happiness.
The sledgehammer was pounding repeatedly into Chekov's chest.
"Uncle Grigory would let me and he's a Captain. So Captain Kirk wouldn't mind…after all, all Captain's are the same aren't they?" The boy's patent stare was downright demonic. "Aren't they?"
The Navigator blinked several times, willing himself to breath again. Despite expecting it, he was still genuinely impressed with the swift, bloody attack the child had settled on.
Dimitri tilted his head down without moving his gaze. The eyes fixed upon Chekov were neither warm nor brown. They were dark and gleaming—shining up through his dark lashes to intensify the effect. A slow smile creased over his face then. It was a smile that could only have been rivaled by Satan's when he was given Hell to reign.
The Navigator pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arm around them. If I can't keep myself safe from this willful child, what hope does the rest of the ship have? he wondered with hollow dread.
"You want me to give you a tour of the ship," Chekov stated finally, staring back at the child and wishing he could feel more defeated than impressed.
"Well, I can get to most places, you know. I want see the more important areas, though, and I can tell Kirk is the kind of Captain that expects his ship to be respected. Besides, I should have supervision when I'm not in my cabin: I just can't roam around freely. I am, after all, only eight."
Dimitri's eyes had shifted again and Chekov met in the shadows the wide-eyed glimmer of practiced innocence in the dark gaze. He twisted his head away swiftly and snorted involuntarily—the air escaping his mouth as his body shook.
The boy straightened, blinking at him suspiciously. "What? Are you laughing?" he demanded.
The man turned back to the child then and let a brilliant, gleaming smile sweep over his face and spill over into his dark shining eyes. "Yes," he said, allowing the laughter to overtake him then.
"I've never been on the receiving end of your particular…charms," Chekov concluded when he was able to stop chuckling.
The innocence sank out of the boy's eyes then, and their depths reflected maturity beyond his years. "My father taught me well," he observed with a conspiratorial smile.
"Oh, please," Chekov intoned as he shook his head. "You were taught by a person that can get anyone to drop at their feet." He stood up then, bending over so his sparkling eyes met the boy's gaze. "Your mother is the architect of your particular talents."
The child hid an urchin like smirk of agreement on his features.
The Navigator sighed lightly then: they both knew who had won this particular battle of wills. Frankly, Chekov was exhausted by the effort. He took the boy's hand and straightened back up. "Let's see what we can do about a tour," he said. At least it will pass the time, and minimize the danger while I wait for the Captain.
The child hesitated when Chekov tried to move him forward. "Mr. Chekov," he said, "My name is Dimitri Ivanovich."
The man eyed him curiously a moment. He had not, in fact, called the boy by name yet. "Is it now?" he asked, a strange tone in his voice. Dimitri Ivanovich had been Russia's first hero. "He changed the world," Chekov finally said. "Tell me, Dimitri Ivanovich, are you going to change the world?"
The boy's face was completely overcome by a petulant scowl. "I don't even like to change my clothes!" he blurted out.
The laughter burst out of Chekov unavoidably. Grinning wickedly, the boy pulled him out of the lounge while he was still laughing. Maybe the kid won't be that horrible to be around a short while, he thought.