I'm calling this chapter the 'hardest chapter to write'.
Disclaimer: 2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate!? Tu'van because I actually own something but it's not Star Trek so yeah.
They end up in some dive in the middle of town, partly because the ones closest to the Enterprise are packed full of screaming Tu'vanians and a few already-highly-drunk crew members from the Enterprise. Chekov almost walks into a 'dance club' before Bones realizes why the women are grinning very flirtatiously, promptly grabs the startled Russian and hauls both him and the blank Spock out of there. Then there are some highly suspicious lasers shooting out of the third bar, so they decide unanimously that they're probably not going to try that one.
So the bar that they end up in turns out to be quiet enough that Bones can actually hear himself think over the sound of everything that's happening. Still, he can't shake the bad feeling he has about this place, even though the sun is still streaming through the windows. Maybe it's the windows that look as though they've been hastily boarded up. Or the suspicious looking dark stain on their table top. Either way, Bones eyes all the patrons of the club with a very wary eye.
"So…" he says, not really knowing what to say. "I'll go get something for all of us to drink. Gentlemen?"
They give him their orders – a vodka for Chekov (Bones raises his eyebrow at that but says nothing) and a water for Spock ("Vulcans do not drink, Doctor") – and Bones heads off. Chekov and Spock don't say anything for a long while; the former is too busy staring at his hands, obviously wishing to be back on the ship, and the latter is simply watching him curiously.
"How are the calculations progressing, Mr. Chekov?" Spock asks finally. The chatter in the bar rises above them both, entwining itself in the rickety beams overhead. It somehow only amplifies the awkward silence.
"Not very well, sir," is Chekov's half-hearted answer. "I can't find any other solution to the particle problem. The delicate nature of the particles are already difficult to understand, let alone unravel." He winces. "I am afraid I have failed you again, Mr. Spock."
Spock is about to dryly remark that failure is an integral part of our lives, Mr. Chekov, it seems illogical to dwell on them, but something in him stops the words from leaping off his tongue like barbed darts. He mulls over what the doctor would say, or Uhura, Jim, or even Sulu should they all be here. "I am not familiar with this previous failure you speak of, Mr. Chekov," he offers at last.
Chekov still won't look at him. "I never apologized to you personally for your mother's death. I had her, sir-"
"I disagree with your assumption, Mr. Chekov." The words sting Spock when he remembers the way his mother looked at him as she fell, all those years ago. He remembers asking himself, was it my fault? Somehow he does not find it illogical that Chekov is also haunted by the same question. Still. It was a mistake that any man would have made, even seventeen-year-old boy geniuses who surpassed expectations at every turn. "You have never failed me."
"I have, Commander."
"Failure does not come easily for you," Spock observes, noting the heightened colour in Chekov's cheeks.
"It does not, Mr. Spock. My father-" Chekov stops, embarrassed.
"I presume that your father does not welcome failure. Mine did not, either." Spock blinks slowly, once, twice, thinking about the distance between himself and his father still. He thinks about how there will always be a gap between them without Spock's mother as the bridge. "We are our father's sons, Mr. Chekov, are we not?"
He means this last comment to form some sort of camaraderie, but the teenager only looks ruefully down at the table. "I do not accept failure," he says. "I have never wanted to accept failure, not from myself. And these days-"
"On the contrary, Mr. Chekov. When analyzing your impressive credentials, one notices the list of accolades accrued in such a short time in the Academy. If you have failed, I imagine that they have only molded you into a better person."
Silence.
"You know as well as I that the captain values your work on the Enterprise. I am opposed to Jim on many issues, but on this matter, I support his opinion." Spock steeples his fingers together, still watching Chekov. "Your work ethic is exemplary; your loyalty, unwavering. Captain Kirk and I are hard pressed to find a navigator of exceptional skill such as yourself. Lieutenant Sulu speaks highly of you in reviews, and Nyota has taken a personal liking to you. I also find that Doctor McCoy adopts a paternal form of behavior when he is in your presence. None of us are of the impression that you have failed in any regard, Mr. Chekov." Spock lets that sink in for a moment. "None."
"But the particles, sir-"
"A trifling matter," Spock pauses, "and one that will be dealt with in due course. I feel as though we have been perhaps a little unfair in our demands of you as of late. Perhaps an apology is in order."
"None required, sir." Spock notes with some pleasure that Chekov's smile is a little warmer now, a little freer, a little more cheerful.
Just then, Bones returns from his trip to the bar. "I miss anything?" he asks, voice low.
"I do not think so," Spock replies.
"Good. Because I think we're being followed." Bones growls when Spock tries to look around him. "Good God, man, at least act like you're being subtle." He shifts his weight to put the glasses down on the table, letting Spock get a clear view of the citizens at the bar. "See that guy at the far end?"
"Indeed."
"He's been following us all day. I remember him because he has a blue stripe down his face. He was also watching me the whole time I was at the bar." Bones takes a deep breath. "Either one of you got your phasers on you?"
"Negative," Spock says as Chekov shakes his head, eyes wide.
"Communicators?"
"I did not think it was necessary, Doctor."
"Damn it, Jim told us to do one thing, and we screwed it up," Bones curses. "This was supposed to be a vacation, not a mugging." He glances at Chekov. "You can run, right, kid? Good. I need you to get back to the Enterprise. Find whoever's on board to help you, then keep an eye on our vitals. The minute you see anything spike – the minute anything seems out of place – you send out the cavalry to find us. Okay?"
Chekov nods. "Good," Bones says, exhaling. He watches Chekov slide out of his seat, carefully brushing himself down. "See you soon," he says in a much more normal tone of voice as Chekov turns stiffly to leave. "God, I hope that's going to be true," he mutters to Spock.
Spock glances over as the man continues to watch them from his seat. "Your hypothesis, Doctor?" he murmurs.
Bones takes a sip of his drink, hoping his hands aren't shaking too badly. "I heard him talking to someone earlier. I'm a doctor, not a xenolinguistics expert, but it sounded vaguely like Argelian to me."
"You think he was sent to eliminate us."
"I think it's highly untrustworthy that someone speaking Argelian is in the same vicinity as us, given our skirmishes with them lately." Bones takes a deep breath. "Yet he does not look like the Argelian ambassadors Jim and I went to meet. Too humanoid."
"A pawn in this game," Spock murmurs. "What is our next move, Doctor? Do we engage him?"
The man gets up, leaving a few credits on the table. With his eyes still fixed on them, he begins moving silkily through the room, weaving past tables with slumped patrons, some bleeding, some not. "Engage him?" Bones repeats, hastily getting up. "No, Spock, we do not engage him. In this case, we avoid him as best as we can."
"You are suggesting we run?"
"As though hellhounds are chasing us, yes." Bones makes for the door as calmly as possible, Spock following close behind. When he glances over his shoulder, he notes that the man has picked up pace as well.
"Do we return to the Enterprise?" Spock asks.
"Jim will kill us if we let that madman onto the ship. We play avoidance tactics, Spock. Hopefully the crew gets to us and gets him alive so we know once and for all what Admiral Gluk Keueitt is up to."
"A logical process, Doctor. Very admirable. I did not think you were capable of such plans."
"Is that your logical side talking, Spock?" Bones grabs his arm and begins running as fast as he can. "Because that's not going to help us right now – I need fear. Start running, damn it!"
Caring!Spock is a little harder to write than I thought - so I hope I did it justice!
Much love,
ohlookrandom