Authors' Note:

Hey everyone! Don't forget to check the author's note at the end of the chapter for a bit of a surprise. Happy reading!

Pavel ducked into a crouch, balancing himself by pressing his palms against the ground as he barely missed yet another swing. He grunted, sweat pouring from his brow as he straightened to a standing position in time to throw up his right forearm, reflexively blocking an incoming punch. He was tired enough to collapse on the floor in a pile of sore muscles and frustration - but he couldn't let on to any sign of weakness. They had been going at it for quite some time, in a way that almost seemed like friendly competitive rough housing. However, he knew that one wrong step, a millisecond late on a defensive move, and he would be in a very bad position. Every day he had been beat, but he never lost his willingness to fight. Though he technically didn't have a choice, he wouldn't stop clutching onto the hope of finally coming out of the match a winner.

It had been three days of torture on this planet, but it felt like an eternity. With every day came two rounds of "physical activity," one before breakfast and the last before dinner. Though no rules had been established, it was understood clearly what his captor meant by this: "if you want to eat, you fight back until I'm tired of playing with you." It was enough to break a man, both mentally and physically.

"Come on, Pavel," he taunted, skirting around the edges of his cell. Even when it was time to for Pavel to stretch his muscles, the man never let him out. He merely passed through the wall as though it were not there, a technology even Starfleet had not developed quite yet. There seemed to be so much that Pavel did not know about the situation he was in. He knew nothing of his captor but his name, which he only just managed to hear from the transmission. He was being mocked, batted around like a toy mouse for a cat. He was merely the entertainment until the real fights began. For now, Thomas was brushing up on his hand to hand combat by using Pavel's Starfleet training skills that were learned in the academy. It was forcing the young soldier to buck up and remember all that he had learned.

Duck down when a blow to the head is coming, dodge left and right when it comes to side hits. Don't tense up your hand too much before a punch, and leave your thumb out from under your fingers. Block when you can, avoid when you can't block, and run when you're too far beat to even avoid the attacks. Though the last wasn't an available option, Chekov wished with all of his heart that he could run. If he could go back in time and do it all over again, he would have just stayed aboard the ship and stewed over the unfair treatment there. Instead, he was stuck in a cell to think over it all, relive every moment from the very beginning. He didn't know what was worse - being stuck in captivity, or being stuck in his own mind.

"Throw a punch, son." He demanded, raising his arms as if he were to let Pavel get one hit in for free. His stomach was entirely open to attack, but Pavel had learned. If he were to go for an offensive hit to the stomach, he would end up getting his hand caught in the man's intricate robe, and be unable to defend himself when his hand was grabbed. That had happened yesterday, resulting in his arm being wrenched behind his back to the point of extreme pain. It had ended the fight, of course, because Thomas knew he had won and wouldn't overdo it. No, no - the boy had to live... for now.

Instead of going for the obvious target, Pavel jumped on instinct - literally. He landed a kick to the man's leg, just above the knee, on the inner thigh. If he had been taller, or perhaps had a better capability to jump, it would have landed somewhere it would hurt more. However, the kick was fairly powerful for a young man his size, and it left his captor doubled over in pain, clutching his leg. He looked up, his dark eyes full with fury, the hood of his robe falling back to reveal a menacing glare. Before the young ensign could let his mind talk him out of doing anything rash, he jumped on the older man, going in for a bear grip on his shoulders. Though Pavel did not weigh much, he managed to tackle him to the ground, and the fight seemed to come to a clattering halt, if only for a minute.

As they grappled for control, he realized that this was no longer an exercise. He had come away with shiners and bruises alike, but this time was different. There was an anger in his eyes, a fury that was unspeakable. As the man let out a deafening shriek of frustration, he toppled over on his side, pushing down on Pavel as much as he could. The young boy could feel his shoulder blades, his spine grinding against the cold concrete ground, even through his Starfleet issued padded clothing. He didn't want to cry out, but the pain was in great amount. He felt his body giving up, even though his mind was pleading himself not to. He went limp, feeling the pressure come to an almost unbearable point until the hands lifted and he looked up.

Cold fingers wrapped around his throat, fragile and breakable in his unprotected position. "You're not going to try that again." Thomas snarled, bright white teeth revealed under a curled back lip. Pavel would have nodded his ascension if he could move at all. The pressure upon his vocal chords rendered him unable to make a sound, and he knew that was how his captor liked it. "As much as this exercise is for you to remain nimble, it is mainly for me to remain in control." He clutched at Pavel tighter, and the young boy raised his hands to his neck, clawing at the hand that grasped him. His strength was unbelievable, and he seemed as though he was holding nothing more than a doll or a pillow. It was too easy for him - how he could be so strong eluded him.

"I will always be one step ahead." He growled, almost to the point of laughing at Pavel's feeble attempt to escape. "I will always be the one in charge here." He pulled up with his arm, lifting him slightly from the floor. Pavel's cheeks were red, his eyes swollen and brimming with the frustration and pain in his tears. He could barely breath, and Thomas knew it. Dropping his hold on the young man, he grinned at the sickening sound of Chekov's head hitting against the concrete. His curly hair bounced back, covering his face, the defeat in his eyes hidden by his eyelids as he scrunched his face in pain. He refused to cry out, to vocalize the damage he had taken in, but as he lay there, his body curled inward. He sat on the concrete, stuck in the fetal position, taking time to account for all of his wounds. Nothing felt broken, but everything seemed bruised. His ribs, his face, his knuckles, his pride. It all hurt, especially his throat, where he knew there would be purple imprints left from his fingers. Going in for an attack had been a mindless, careless idea. He had given into the taunting and managed to almost get himself killed. Good work for the day, Pavel. You sure showed him.

"Get up." Thomas had only given him a few minutes to sit and recuperate. He needed more time, of course, but the man liked schedule. Army crawling to his bed, he managed to pull himself over the side to sit on the bed, leaning against the wall. He wished he could take a long shower. He pictured the hot steam relaxing his muscles and the warm water easing the pain of his bruises. Yet he was only allowed one shower a day, in the mornings before his time for exercise. The cell had a dip in the floor that lead to a drain, and a shower head was positioned in the corner. As much as it was embarrassing to be showering in the middle of a room, Thomas was always off somewhere else during such times, to give him privacy. However, he only had about eight minutes to shower, and less time to dry off before he had to be dressed and ready for exercise.

"Dinner is served." Thomas said, much too cheery. He had a small kitchenette positioned across the laboratory room, where he could pull out precooked meals to serve to his captive. Tonight was a plate of assorted vegetables, covered in some sort of meat and gravy sauce. Pavel wrinkled his nose, wishing he could chose not to accept the plate. However, Thomas shoved it into his lap, grabbed his hand, and forced him to curl his fingers around his fork.

He pulled a chair up across from him, and sat to eat his dinner. It was almost a ritual for them. They would eat together every night, much to Panels discomfort. The man had disgusting eating habits, due to the fact that half of his face would not cooperate and his jaw was barely functional. It made Pavel frown and wince at the sounds he was making, but he couldn't avoid it.

"Go on, eat." Thomas implored, eyes alight with fire. He was frustrated with his stubborn captive, that was sure. Pavel merely shook his head, too tired to even lift the fork. "I know you have heard me, Mr. Chekov. I suggest you do as I say. We want to keep your strength up." He grinned maliciously, and Chekhov managed to stab his food with ferocity that he hadn't even known he possessed. He gingerly passed the food through his mouth, something that he thought was broccoli but couldn't be entirely sure of.

"Oh come now, Pavel. Why so despondent all of a sudden? Do you not wish to talk anymore?" Thomas questioned, his voice taking an innocent tone they both knew he was far beyond. He leaned his elbows on his knees, head resting on his interlocked hands, his face set in his trademark lopsided smirk.

Pavel hated the sight of him, hated that he was stuck here to fight every single day. He wasn't a fighter by nature. He was a brainiac, the last person anyone would expect to throw a punch. He believed in peaceful resolutions, only using violence when necessary. That was why he thought he could handle negotiations in the first place, because he was genuinely good with people. He used to think that there was a way out of everything if he thought about it, if he used the gifts he knew his mind possessed. But Pavel did not feel like the optimistic boy everyone knew on the Enterprise any longer. It was as though Thomas was changing his very nature with each fight, turning him into a different person, until Pavel could not recognize himself anymore. And perhaps the part of the whole situation that bothered him the most was that he had not even the faintest idea why it was happening. What did Thomas want with him so badly that he insisted on Pavel being in shape? Why did he continue to hail the Enterprise if only, as he claimed, to taunt them? What was he aiming to achieve from all of this?

"I want to know why I am here." Pavel managed to spit out, words seething through tightly clenched teeth. His stomach churned to think about the demands he had just made. He was already skating on thin ice after such a dangerous fight, and now he was being disrespectful to his captor. He often wondered what the other members of the crew would have done in the same situation. He imagined Kirk would be the one to win fights with Thomas. Of course, he had heard of the infamous fight in the bar, when Captain Pike first recruited a young James Tiberius - but that had been against four men in an unfair fight. He hadn't really seen his captain fight anyone else, but he knew that Kirk was strong, and when he lacked the physical strength, he still would not give up. It made Pavel feel weak, that he had so often been beaten to a pulp and wanted to cry instead of get back up and throw the next punch. Though he knew there were other crew members, ones who were not fighters, like Spock, or Uhura, they would have made better choices in the same situation. Spock would have thought of a logical way out of it all, and managed to never break by shutting his feelings off. When it came to Uhura, Pavel was sure that Nyota would have won Thomas over with her kindly charm, and talked him into negotiations in seconds. Why couldn't he himself have the same kind of affect? If only he had the brawn of his captain, the brains of Spock, and the grace and charm of Uhura. There would be nothing stopping him. But he was just Pavel Andreivich Chekov, and he knew that had to just be enough for now.

"A logical request. Although, haven't I made it quite obvious?" Thomas leaned in further, his plate balanced precariously on his knees, between his elbows. His grin made Pavel lay his fork down, unease causing his stomach to clench. Had the answer been staring him right in the face the whole time? Had he been blind to it? He was supposed to be a prodigy, how had he not been able to figure it out by now? It was amazing to Pavel that one question from Thomas could send his mind reeling, could cause him to doubt everything about himself.

"Well, my dear friend, I'm sure you've been wondering." He let the words slide out slowly, as if they weren't the most obvious revelations. "I'm thirsty for revenge, don't you see?"

"Revenge... against the Enterprise?"

"Ah, we don't all think ourselves into boxes like some Starfleet members. I prefer to dream bigger than just the Enterprise." He shook his head sadly, as if Pavel actually caused him pain. "No, I mean against the entire Starfleet. I plan to take you all down. If it means going through your fleet one by one, picking off every miniscule flea or fly, I will do it. I will make sure that every one of you pays for what you have done to take part in ruining my life."

"What have we done, exactly?" Pavel inquired, suddenly more interested in the man's intentions. This wasn't just about him, or his family back on the ship... it was about all of them, now. The more information he could get, the more of a help he would be if - no, when - he got out of this mess.

"You assisted in the capture and cryogenic freezing of Khan." His words were hard, and cool as ice. However, on the next sentence, he began to break. His eyes had been staring darkly into Pavel's, and were now downcast. He froze, seemingly stuck in reliving something, gaze fixated at the floor. "You prevented him from completing the work he had begun with me, and this is something that I cannot allow to go unavenged. It was the actions of Starfleet that has made our efforts so far in vain, and thus it is they who must take the fall for they have done. You are just the beginning, Mr. Chekov. A pawn, nothing more."

Pavel was taken aback, to say the least. He straightened, his back as stiff as a board. His eyes were wide and confused, searching the man's face for any trace of deception. Yet he seemed to be telling the truth - or, at least, believing the lies he told himself. Thomas Harewood was working with Khan? From the little snippets that Chekov had heard, the man was forced into servitude, used by Khan in the same way Thomas was using Pavel. He didn't know the details, but he had heard that Khan's blood had saved Lucille Harewood in the same way it had saved Captain Kirk. Of course, it didn't come for free, and Harewood was forced to activate a bomb in the Kelvin Memorial Archive, forfeiting his own life for his daughter's.

"How are you even here right now?" He managed to voice his number one question. Thomas Harewood was supposed to be dead. Of course, in the wreckage of the Archive, hardly any bodies were found - but no one could survive setting off - and being so close to - an explosion of its size without a miracle. "You're supposed to be dead." He felt a sinking dread in his heart. Part of him hoped that this was not the real Thomas Harewood, that he was playing a part in someone else's sick games. Yet he knew, somewhere deep inside, that this man was telling the truth.

"The wonders of modern day science." Harewood leaned back, spreading his arms wide and pretending to be amazed. "He beamed me up, of course." He rolled his chocolate colored eyes, looking back at the young boy to sneer, his mouth turned into a vicious snarl.

"Impossible." Pavel challenged, his eyes sharp as he leaned forward. "No one could have gotten you out of there that fast." His thoughts flashed back to the Vulcan incident. He knew from experience that there were only certain time spans to which you could beam a person before... before you lost them. He resisted the urge to close his eyes to fend off the memory of Amanda Grayson's signal dropping faster and faster away from him...away from the Enterprise...

The man rolled his eyes, simply turning his head to the side and lowering the hood of his robe once more. There were his scars, covering the left side of him entirely. It made Pavel want to cringe, just looking at them, imagining the pain he had gone through. "Obviously, he wasn't able to get me out of there fast enough. Hence my disfigurement." He spat, running his hand along his scalp, feeling the rough skin. "Oh, but I did survive that explosion. Mister Khan made sure of that. I would thank him for my survival - if I could."

"Wait," Pavel interjected, confused. "Why would Khan want to make sure that you would survive?" He knew quite well that Khan wouldn't have hesitated to kill any single one of them... so why did Thomas insist that the man now forever encased in a frozen slumber would have even bothered to spare him at all?

"Ah, Khan." Thomas said slowly, the name on his lips sliding slowly. It was as if with every second that he drew out his name, he was reminiscing over the memories he had with him. What had happened? It amazed Pavel, the changes that Thomas Harewood had gone through. At one point, he had been determined to do anything for his daughter to live, to smile for another day, to become a young woman and live a happy life. Had he dreamed of walking her down the aisle, holding his first grandchild? Now, it seemed as though the only thing in his dream was revenge, and he couldn't fathom why. Wouldn't he want to focus on how to cure his Lucille? Unless she was already... no. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the thought of a dead Lucille Harewood was one he didn't want to dwell on. He hadn't even known the girl, only heard of her condition after the Section 31 incident. She was miraculously improved, thanks to Khan's amazing blood - yet some miracles don't last very long. Did he know that his little Lucy was slowly falling apart, with no one to hold her but her widowed mother, with no hopes for a future now that her father seemed to be doing nothing to help anymore? He had abandoned them, so it might have seemed to her. And it only gave Pavel more of a reason to hate Thomas Harewood.

"He needed me, I suppose. I was valuable to him." The way that he elongated every word made Pavel wonder if he even knew what he was saying. It wasn't a prepared speech, that much was obvious. Perhaps he didn't plan on telling his captive what it was that made him do this. "I feel as though he enjoyed the rage that I felt. Oh, if only he knew - I was angry with the world back then. I was frustrated with God, for ruining my chances. If he thought I was ready to start a war then, he should see me now." He laughed without humor, voice hard and impenetrable. Though Pavel wished he could ask a thousand questions, he kept his mouth shut, and waited to see what he would be told. "I have to say, you and the rest of the Enterprise crew has made this all quite more interesting for me than it was going to be, and for that I thank you. You and your captain seem so willing to play directly into my plans. It was almost comical for me to watch this all unfold. The best part of it all was your arrival, Mr. Chekov. It allowed me to save my resources for the time being."

"Your resources?" Pavel prompted, although something told him he already knew exactly what resources Thomas was referring to.

"Yes, I must admit that it was nice to have a bargaining chip. I could play with you and your friends for a while, rather than focus on my job too much. It really is stressful, constantly thinking of revenge. Finding new people to toy with - now that makes my job much more entertaining," He admitted with a wicked smile, skirting around Pavel's initial question.

"But...what do you want?" the boy implored, a hint of desperation in his voice. That was really all he wanted to know. An object, a goal, some sort of tangible kind of proof that there was a reason behind the madness. That this wasn't all just for revenge. Thomas had said Chekov was a pawn, a bargaining chip. So there had to be something more, didn't there? Harewood looked directly into Pavel's eyes at the question, all earlier pretense and mirth gone from his twisted face.

"I want Khan."

Authors' Note:

Hello again, Marcelle and Val here! We hope you've enjoyed this update. There are a few things we'd like to talk to you about before our next upload. First, because she's a very musical kind of person, Marcelle requests I advise you all of what music we listen to while we write. Our favorite from the past few days has been Imagine Dragon's "Ready, Aim, Fire" (You can find it available on Youtube). Also available on Youtube are the sound tracks for both Star Trek: Into Darkness and the 2009 Star Trek film (those are what Val prefers to listen to!)

On an entirely different note, we would like to thank all of our readers for reviewing! The first thing we do every morning is log on and check for new reviews (don't hate, you know you would do it, too). To encourage you to continue with your kind comments, we have decided to hold a contest! Leave us a comment with a review - something to do with the story and your opinions on it would be nice - and we'll pick our favorite. The winner gets a one shot written by yours truly!

*more information will be given to the winner upon being chosen*