Chekov hated himself. There was a self-loathing ignited inside of him that almost drove him mad, but he forced himself to stay in control. He couldn't lose it now, not when Kirk and the rest of the Enterprise crew was coming for him. But, he consistently reminded himself, they wouldn't have to come and get you at all if you hadn't been such an idiot and thought you could handle something like this. The harsh truth that this was all his fault nagged at Pavel, refusing to leave his mind. He had plenty of time to dwell on it, of course, as he sat nearly motionless in a transparent cell. He had been unceremoniously tossed in there a few hours ago, and already the silence, much like that of the planet outside, had begun to bother him. He wasn't even sure he was on the same planet anymore. As soon as he had regained consciousness, there had been a phaser -his phaser-pointed at his head, and any thoughts of where he might be were swept from his mind as his captor had hailed the Enterprise. His ship... he'd give anything to be back on it now, even with the relentless taunting he put up with because of his age. Age. What a stupid thing to get worked up over.

Shame dug at him once again, the sting of it almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. Everyone told him he was still going through a rough stage in his life, that his hormones were still unpredictable, but he knew it was no excuse for what he had done. His rash behavior had landed himself and his family into a heap of trouble, just as Captain Kirk was known to do. NO. He reprimanded himself, narrowing his eyes at his own thoughts out of perhaps a reflex. The captain is a great man. He knows what is best... he would not have rushed off like you did just because he was offended.

Chekov cursed himself inwardly, leaning his head back against the glass wall. He could already imagine the conversation he would have to endure back on the Enterprise, and it defined the dread that he felt in the pit of his stomach. He could practically see the disapproval in Spock's face, the sadness in Uhura's small frown, and worst, the disappointment in Kirk's eyes. He had let them all down, and he knew it. They all expected him to be at their level of professionalism, to take whatever was thrown at him with the strength of the man he was supposed to be at eighteen. He was supposed to be a prodigy, and he knew that meant handling himself in a manner above what was usual at his age. Coming down to this planet had proved nothing like he had been convinced it would-all it had resulted in was a waste of time and his loss of the crew's trust. There would be no way they would let him alone again, and they probably had written him off as a delinquent or worse. Putting the crew in danger meant possible suspension - perhaps being sent back to the academy to retake all of his finals, to prove he could handle living on the Enterprise before they sent him back. He had made a huge mistake, and instead of gaining respect, he had lost it all-and that fact in itself almost made him wish the crew wouldn't find him.

The man who had taken Pavel hadn't harmed him so far, aside from holding him at phaser-point and almost yanking his hair out. Though he couldn't be sure of what happened when he had passed out, Chekov found no wounds. Other than his head pounding, and a few strands of hair missing, he was in total health. Then again, he hadn't had any food in a few hours. Sighing, he got to his shaky feet, and realized how dehydrated he was. Time seemed to pass at an unusual rate on this planet. He could only keep up with how much was passing by the different demands his body gave him. He figured it must have been at least five hours since he had been aboard the Enterprise. He had eaten dinner an hour before he left, which was probably why he was starving. Standing, he tried to square his shoulders and stride forward like a presentable Starfleet officer, but he managed to merely jolt forward and run straight into the wall of the cell. How he hated invisible cell walls and his pounding head ache.

Across the room, a man chuckled, leaning cooly against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He was masked in shadows, a dark cloak pulled over his body to cover him almost entirely. In the shadow of his hood, Chekov could make out the man's twisted smirk and the glint of his chocolate eyes, but that was it. Squinting, Pavel resisted the urge to tap on the glass. That, or try to break it. All that was in his whitewash cell was a bed, which was basically a big plastic sort of box with a blanket and pillow. He knew that would be uncomfortable, but after waking up on the floor already, he knew he didn't really have much of an option. Either way, he'd be full of cramps, that was for certain.

Pavel straightened, trying to make himself seem more sophisticated, threatening, or at least taller than he actually was. He had to keep his promise to Kirk, he had to eliminate any fear that was lurking inside of him. And as much as he hated to admit it, Pavel was afraid, as much as he tried not to be. He knew full well that that this man could have killed him earlier, could still kill him now-and it would be easy. He had Pavel's phaser, and he was fully aware that there were settings worse than stun. He vaguely wondered why he was still alive, but found that he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. The fact that he hadn't been killed yet only left him with the possibility that he was being used for something, that there was a reason he was being allowed to live. The sick feeling in his stomach told him that this reason wasn't particularly one he should be thrilled about, but he managed to keep his facial expression as angry as possible as the cloaked man approached him.

"I thought you might like some company," he said lightly, but Pavel could hear the cruelty in his words.

"Not from the likes of you," he spat back, eyes narrowing as he spoke. He wasn't entirely sure how he could hear his captor so clearly through the invisible walls, but he honestly had no desire at the moment to consider it-the anger possessing him was quite distracting.

"Now now, don't be so quick to judge, Pavel," the man cooed, turning slightly on his heel. "You act as though I'm some sort of monster." He laughed, a mirthless sound, and Chekov nearly winced at it.

"You are, as far as I'm concerned," he replied firmly, although taking an involuntary step back from the glass as the man came forward. The hood still concealed most of his face, for which Pavel couldn't help but be a bit grateful for.

"I am not the one who beamed down to a hostile planet all alone, am I?" the man pointed out smugly, causing the familiar guilt to shoot through Pavel once again. He remained silent, knowing he wouldn't be able to think of a suitable reply. The man was right, Pavel had led himself right into this, but that did not mean he had to admit it aloud. The cloaked man gave a satisfied chuckle, crossing his arms against his chest. "Exactly. I merely used the situation to my advantage. Surely that doesn't go against Starfleet regulation."

"Zis is a hostage situation, which is clearly against our code," Chekov retorted, his accent thick with indignation. He frowned, watching as the man faltered in his pacing. He twisted towards him, dark eyes glaring a hole in the invisible walls of Pavel's cell. The young Russian almost shrank back in fear. Though everything inside him told him to head as far away from the danger as possible, all he could do was stand taller and square his shoulders. "If you don't want to go to jail, I suggest you let me out of zis cell." He demanded, trying to put on a negotiation voice - though he couldn't help when his voice shook with a slight amount of fear. He had belief that this man wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but he knew there was some reason he was being kept. There was something more going on here than a simple hostage-for-ransom situation.

"Jail is not a concern for me." The man said simply, walking forward a couple of paces. He stopped in front of a small table Pavel had not noticed before. On it appeared to be a few picture frames, turned so that their backs faced the boy and hid the image inside. Chekov couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in confusion as the man slowly picked up one circular frame and stared at it almost longingly before carefully setting it down again. So this man did at least have some sort of capability for emotion, it seemed. It was an interesting possibility, one which made Chekov wonder if he could use that to his advantage somehow. If only he could see what was in the frame...

"I would be counting my blessings if I were you, ensign," the man suggested lightly, although Pavel could clearly detect the underlying malice. "There are far worse places you could have beamed down to, far worse creatures than me to deal with. Klingons, for example. Particularly nasty, they are. They would have killed you on sight, and would have made easy work of it. Yes, you are quite lucky I'm not Klingon, Mr. Chekov." Pavel swallowed nervously despite himself, pressing his lips firmly together as the man turned away from him, his head slightly inclined in the direction of the table.

"You... you say creatures. You make it sound as if you are not human..." He mused, almost accusingly. "What are you?" The question was reluctant, as though Pavel wasn't quite certain he wanted to know the answer. The man only slowly raised his hands to his head in response, firmly grasping the seam of his hood.

Authors' Note:

We're very sorry for the delay in this (kind of short) chapter. Val was at band camp for two weeks, and Marcelle was suffering from writer's block. Now we are back, and plan to work all day on the next installment! Thank you all for reading and leaving wonderful comments. We love all of our reviews, they fuel our writing fire. Just wait until next chapter and see what happens...