Fic: "So Many Different Suns" (Star Trek 2009)
Chekov with a side of Pike. \o/ Post-movie. Spoilers. Thanks to cidercupcakes for beta'ing. <3 <3
Pavel's father kept a library of real books, old ones with spines and pages, incredibly valuable and as delicate as jewels. Pavel had learned as a child to step carefully around the books, to touch them with reverence and to behave around them as if he was in a museum or a temple.
And so he was very glad that the Academy used PADDs. It would have been considerably less satisfying if he was unable to throw his schoolwork as soon as he came through the door.
His roommate looked up from his desk at the thud of the PADD meeting the wall above Pavel's bed. "Temper, temper, Chekov," he said, and Pavel waved vaguely at him, trying to stem the flood of flat American vowels before it picked up too much steam. "What's your problem?"
"Nichivo," Pavel said, picking the PADD up and wishing that David weren't there so he might throw it again.
"Bullshit." David checked the time and frowned. "You're back way early. Usually you're in the simulators for another two hours at least."
"The simulators," Pavel said, flopping down on the bed and glaring at David, hugging the PADD to his chest, "are crap."
David grinned. "Krep, huh?"
"You would not make fun of a Vulcan, or an Andorian, for how he spoke Standard," Pavel said, but with almost no heat. It was a very old argument between them.
"A Vulcan or an Andorian would try harder than you do." David turned his chair all the way to face Pavel and stretched his legs out in front of him. "So what's making the simulators kreppy now that didn't bother you for the last three and a half years?"
Pavel blinked at him. "Are you really so very stupid?"
"You're a real dick sometimes, Chekov."
"I was at the helm of the Enterprise," Pavel said, waving his hands. "Compared to that, these simulators, they--"
"They're top of the line."
"They suck."
David laughed and shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know what to tell you, buddy. You have to use them to pass your last couple of classes, or else it's back to old Moscow for you."
"I am from St. Petersburg, David."
"Look, Chekov, you're never going to see the helm of the Enterprise again anyway, but if you flunk your classes you'll never even get to work a science frigate."
Pavel ran his fingers over the edge of the PADD, not looking at David. "Kirk said he wanted to keep the cadet crew intact."
David laughed, a harsh, loud sound that Pavel had never particularly liked. "Jim Kirk is as deluded as you are if either of you really thinks they're going to let him captain the Enterprise. It's a PR stunt, Chekov. They'll yank it in a week."
Pavel stared up at the ceiling, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He couldn't fault David's logic. The bastard.
"I sat at the helm of the Enterprise," he repeated, mostly to himself this time. "I felt her humming under my hands."
David stared at him for a moment with a mixture of pity and amusement that Pavel absolutely loathed. He was not a puppy doing tricks for his classmates, contrary to what they often seemed to think.
"You need something else under your hands, Chekov," David said, getting to his feet and offering Pavel his hand. It was a peace offering, Pavel knew; David never noticed when he was pushing Pavel past the point of amusement while it was happening, but he always caught on eventually. "Like a warm body. Let's hit the town."
**
It was a disaster, of course.
Pavel's mother tried to tell him long ago that it was the destiny of their family and their people to meet disaster at every fork in the road, and to bear up under it stoically. He listened politely as a child--he was an attentive boy, a good child--but he was still realizing just how right she was.
The girl was beautiful, with golden skin and fascinating russet hair that he wants to run his fingers through, tangle and tug in the heat of passion. Or at least the fifteen minutes of passion before her roommate spoiled everything, or whatever disaster might turn up. Pessimism was the order of the evening, especially after two lovely girls and one lovely boy have already turned him down.
"So," this girl said, smiling over the edge of her drink. "You're a first-year?"
"No." He dug his fingers into his palms beneath the table. For God's sake, the very first thing she asks? "I graduate in six weeks."
"But you're too young." She blinked, frowning in puzzlement, and sipped her drink. "Oh, wait, are you not human? I'm sorry, I'm being so speciesist! What's the maturation rate for your people?"
He bit back a sigh, and a mental stream of mat words. She wouldn't understand them, but his mother would somehow know he'd said them, rise from her bed in Peter, find a shuttle, and arrive at his quarters by morning to slap his mouth. "I am human. I came to the Academy early."
She looked at him for another moment and then whooped out loud, startlingly, and pointed at him. "You're one of Pike's prodigies."
Mother-fucker. "Yes."
"Oh, wow. This is hilarious."
Pavel finished his drink and stood up, smiling as politely as he can manage. "I have to go."
"Aww, don't! I want to hear--"
He walked away quickly, raking his hand through his hair. One of the other girls tonight, and the boy, had reacted very similarly. The other had asked him a rapid-fire series of questions about where he'd served and what he'd done in the Vulcan Loss, and when he'd replied that he was on the bridge of the Enterprise, she had called him a liar.
Obviously there would be nothing under his hands tonight. Not even himself, as he was no longer in anything even slightly resembling the mood.
He walked back to the Academy grounds, hands shoved deep in his pockets and head down. David was surely right; the praise lavished on the cadet crew was only smoke, a pretty story for the anxious public. Soon a new story would take over, eyes would wander, and Starfleet would reassign them all to science vessels and scouting scows.
He would never dance with anything as beautiful as the Enterprise again.
"This is such shit," he said, knowing he sounded like a sulky child. It was all right, there was no one around to care. And sometimes nothing would do to restore the soul but a deep wallow in the pain that marred it. Russians knew this.
He looked up, glaring at what he could see of the night sky through the ever-present light haze of Earth. "It is not fair to give and take away," he said with all the passion he could muster. "I will endure if I must, but this is...is...crap."
The sky had no reaction and he felt not a bit better. He sighed and looked around him, frowning as he realized that he was nowhere near his quarters. Shit again. It took him a moment to recognize the buildings--he had for some reason walked to the officers' quarters, where the Academy faculty lived if they hadn't requested permanent residency and purchased private homes.
Since he was here, he might as well call on Captain Pike.
Admiral Pike now, he reminded himself, crossing to the correct building and scanning the list of comms. He had come to visit the man often in his first two years; Pike had made the invitation explicit, that Pavel should stop by whenever he felt unsure or frustrated or homesick. They had spent many hours drinking dense, black coffee, arguing about theory, and playing card games or chess. By the end of that second year, he had become terribly comfortable--and met a wonderful boy who kicked off the best and most tumultuous six months of his young life--and the visits petered out.
He pressed the comm next to Pike's name and waited, shifting restlessly on his feet until the soft chirp of response came. "Pike here."
"Captain...izvinite, Admiral. It's Chekov, sir. Pavel Andreievich."
"Mr. Chekov." There was a slight pause, and then the sound of the authorization code being punched in.
Pavel stepped through the main doors and made his way back to Pike's quarters, reminding himself as ever not to gawk or babble. He liked and respected Pike very much, but they were not friends, and he would do well to remember that.
Pike was waiting at the door, and Pavel nearly stumbled when he saw him. He had forgotten about the wheelchair. "Hello, sir," he said, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Admiral."
"Hello." Pike smiled slightly and moved the chair back. "Come on in, Mr. Chekov."
"Congratulations on your promotion," Pavel said, then winced and punched himself sharply on the thigh. It was a promotion in exchange for considerable personal humiliation and great pain. Likely the man would not wish to speak of it.
Pike's smile faded for an instant, then returned, though his eyes were guarded. "Thank you. Congratulations on your fine performance under fire, Mr. Chekov."
"Nyet, chtobui," Pavel murmured, flushing harder, then caught himself. "I mean, thank you, sir."
Pike's smile became a bit more real. "Cultural differences aside, Mr. Chekov, it's important to take a compliment. I've told you that before, I believe."
"Yes, sir." Many times, starting from the first day they met, Pavel the twelve-year-old whiz kid of the Polytechnical Institute with teeth too big for his head, and Pike searching for talent, always searching, collecting the best and the brightest to go to the stars.
"You want some coffee?"
"Please." Pavel followed him to the kitchen, noting that Pike was still new to the wheelchair. His movements were halting, and there were many corrections required on the short trip across the apartment. He would learn quickly, Pavel was sure. Pike was not a man to rage against the universe. He was terribly...modern. He would adapt and pursue from this new vector without pause.
"You're staring," Pike said, and Pavel jumped.
"I'm so sorry, Admiral," he said. Pike laughed, a terribly weary sound with very little humor to it.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too. But that's life. Those are the risks we take to see the universe, Mr. Chekov. The universe is a beautiful and terrible thing. She gives and she takes. She creates and she destroys."
They were the proper words, well and good and philosophical, but it was very obvious that Pike didn't mean them yet. But if he needed to repeat them, Pavel would not argue. He was still sorry, though.
He remembered seeing on the monitors as Kirk and McCoy carried Pike back onto the ship, his own ship, like a child. He remembered that horrible slug in the little specimen jar on McCoy's desk after it was removed from Pike's brain. Six hours, that operation, and not as successful as hoped. Nerve damage, the doctor said, too loud as usual, loud enough that lingering ears could hear. Extensive, irreversible nerve damage.
A terrible thing.
"I want to go back, sir," Pavel said.
"I know you do." Pike smiled slightly, shaking his head. "That's why I dragged you here to the Academy in the first place, Mr. Chekov."
"They're not really going to let us have the Enterprise, Admiral. I know this. I am not so stupid or silly as you think."
"I never thought you were either of those things, Mr. Chekov."
"Very young, then."
"That can be overcome. In fact, it will be. It's inevitable." Pike hands Chekov his coffee and moves over to the table. "I was young once myself."
"Yes, sir." Pavel took a sip and closed his eyes. "But the Enterprise--"
"These are extraordinary times." Pike's voice was odd, rough. Pavel looked at him closely for the first time and saw, really saw, the lines of pain and exhaustion around his eyes. Most certainly no more congratulations, for anything here. "Extraordinary circumstances. The normal rules, the normal ways of thinking and chains of command...we can't count on those now. We need to do extraordinary things."
"But the great changes, the chaos...don't those mean that we should preserve order, and rules?"
"We lost one of the core two planets of the Federation, Pavel. Half of its beating heart."
"The Vulcan people--"
"Are broken. They're grieving." Pike sighed wearily, setting his cup aside and rubbing at his eyes. "Nobody with a trace of empathic abilities can stand to be on the same continent as a Vulcan right now."
"But their culture will endure. The elders--"
"The elders." Pike said the word oddly, almost as if for a moment he was going to forget the plural. "The...elders agree that it is a time for the extraordinary."
Pavel blinked and looked down at his cup. "I...am surprised, sir."
"Life should always surprise you, Mr. Chekov. If it ever stops..." He laughed. "Well, if it ever stops, go find Jim Kirk. I have a feeling he won't be done surprising any of us for a good long time."
Pavel looked at him again. "You found him as well, didn't you, sir? Brought him to the Academy?"
"That's right."
"He's one of yours."
"I imagine he would object to hearing that. Jim Kirk places a fairly high premium on being his own man."
Pavel shook his head. "It is...very good, being one of yours, sir."
Pike ran his finger around the edge of his coffee cup, looking down into the liquid. "What brought you here tonight, Mr. Chekov? Shouldn't you be risking flunking your finals by drinking and dancing and picking up civilians all night?"
"Would they really flunk one of the heroes of the Nero War, sir?"
Pike gave a sharp snort. "Is that what they're calling it?"
"It hasn't been settled yet." He ticked them off on his fingers. "The Nero War. The Vulcan Loss. The Battle of San Francisco."
"Those are all awful." Pike took another sip, rolling his eyes. "And you're damn right we'll flunk you if you deserve it."
Pavel hid a smile behind his cup. "Yes, sir."
"So." Pike looked up and pinned Pavel to his chair with his eyes. "Why are you here?"
Because you are unsure, and frustrated, and homesick for the stars. "I came to challenge you to a game of cards, Admiral."
Pike's eyebrows went up. "Really."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll kick your ass, Mr. Chekov."
"Respectfully, sir, that remains to be seen." Pavel got to his feet and carried his empty cup back to the kitchen, placing it under the coffee maker again and smirking over his shoulder at Pike. "I have played three times with Kirk and McCoy and Scott, now."
"So you've learned to cheat."
"Perhaps it sounds better to say I am learning to be extraordinary."
"If you're fishing for compliments, Chekov, forget it." Pike took a deck of cards from the drawer under the table, cutting and shuffling deftly. "Though I will confess I'm glad for the company. Now sit your ass down and deal the cards."
Pavel's father kept a library of real books, old ones with spines and pages, incredibly valuable and as delicate as jewels. Pavel had learned as a child to step carefully around the books, to touch them with reverence and to behave around them as if he was in a museum or a temple.
And so he was very glad that the Academy used PADDs. It would have been considerably less satisfying if he was unable to throw his schoolwork as soon as he came through the door.
His roommate looked up from his desk at the thud of the PADD meeting the wall above Pavel's bed. "Temper, temper, Chekov," he said, and Pavel waved vaguely at him, trying to stem the flood of flat American vowels before it picked up too much steam. "What's your problem?"
"Nichivo," Pavel said, picking the PADD up and wishing that David weren't there so he might throw it again.
"Bullshit." David checked the time and frowned. "You're back way early. Usually you're in the simulators for another two hours at least."
"The simulators," Pavel said, flopping down on the bed and glaring at David, hugging the PADD to his chest, "are crap."
David grinned. "Krep, huh?"
"You would not make fun of a Vulcan, or an Andorian, for how he spoke Standard," Pavel said, but with almost no heat. It was a very old argument between them.
"A Vulcan or an Andorian would try harder than you do." David turned his chair all the way to face Pavel and stretched his legs out in front of him. "So what's making the simulators kreppy now that didn't bother you for the last three and a half years?"
Pavel blinked at him. "Are you really so very stupid?"
"You're a real dick sometimes, Chekov."
"I was at the helm of the Enterprise," Pavel said, waving his hands. "Compared to that, these simulators, they--"
"They're top of the line."
"They suck."
David laughed and shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know what to tell you, buddy. You have to use them to pass your last couple of classes, or else it's back to old Moscow for you."
"I am from St. Petersburg, David."
"Look, Chekov, you're never going to see the helm of the Enterprise again anyway, but if you flunk your classes you'll never even get to work a science frigate."
Pavel ran his fingers over the edge of the PADD, not looking at David. "Kirk said he wanted to keep the cadet crew intact."
David laughed, a harsh, loud sound that Pavel had never particularly liked. "Jim Kirk is as deluded as you are if either of you really thinks they're going to let him captain the Enterprise. It's a PR stunt, Chekov. They'll yank it in a week."
Pavel stared up at the ceiling, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He couldn't fault David's logic. The bastard.
"I sat at the helm of the Enterprise," he repeated, mostly to himself this time. "I felt her humming under my hands."
David stared at him for a moment with a mixture of pity and amusement that Pavel absolutely loathed. He was not a puppy doing tricks for his classmates, contrary to what they often seemed to think.
"You need something else under your hands, Chekov," David said, getting to his feet and offering Pavel his hand. It was a peace offering, Pavel knew; David never noticed when he was pushing Pavel past the point of amusement while it was happening, but he always caught on eventually. "Like a warm body. Let's hit the town."
**
It was a disaster, of course.
Pavel's mother tried to tell him long ago that it was the destiny of their family and their people to meet disaster at every fork in the road, and to bear up under it stoically. He listened politely as a child--he was an attentive boy, a good child--but he was still realizing just how right she was.
The girl was beautiful, with golden skin and fascinating russet hair that he wants to run his fingers through, tangle and tug in the heat of passion. Or at least the fifteen minutes of passion before her roommate spoiled everything, or whatever disaster might turn up. Pessimism was the order of the evening, especially after two lovely girls and one lovely boy have already turned him down.
"So," this girl said, smiling over the edge of her drink. "You're a first-year?"
"No." He dug his fingers into his palms beneath the table. For God's sake, the very first thing she asks? "I graduate in six weeks."
"But you're too young." She blinked, frowning in puzzlement, and sipped her drink. "Oh, wait, are you not human? I'm sorry, I'm being so speciesist! What's the maturation rate for your people?"
He bit back a sigh, and a mental stream of mat words. She wouldn't understand them, but his mother would somehow know he'd said them, rise from her bed in Peter, find a shuttle, and arrive at his quarters by morning to slap his mouth. "I am human. I came to the Academy early."
She looked at him for another moment and then whooped out loud, startlingly, and pointed at him. "You're one of Pike's prodigies."
Mother-fucker. "Yes."
"Oh, wow. This is hilarious."
Pavel finished his drink and stood up, smiling as politely as he can manage. "I have to go."
"Aww, don't! I want to hear--"
He walked away quickly, raking his hand through his hair. One of the other girls tonight, and the boy, had reacted very similarly. The other had asked him a rapid-fire series of questions about where he'd served and what he'd done in the Vulcan Loss, and when he'd replied that he was on the bridge of the Enterprise, she had called him a liar.
Obviously there would be nothing under his hands tonight. Not even himself, as he was no longer in anything even slightly resembling the mood.
He walked back to the Academy grounds, hands shoved deep in his pockets and head down. David was surely right; the praise lavished on the cadet crew was only smoke, a pretty story for the anxious public. Soon a new story would take over, eyes would wander, and Starfleet would reassign them all to science vessels and scouting scows.
He would never dance with anything as beautiful as the Enterprise again.
"This is such shit," he said, knowing he sounded like a sulky child. It was all right, there was no one around to care. And sometimes nothing would do to restore the soul but a deep wallow in the pain that marred it. Russians knew this.
He looked up, glaring at what he could see of the night sky through the ever-present light haze of Earth. "It is not fair to give and take away," he said with all the passion he could muster. "I will endure if I must, but this is...is...crap."
The sky had no reaction and he felt not a bit better. He sighed and looked around him, frowning as he realized that he was nowhere near his quarters. Shit again. It took him a moment to recognize the buildings--he had for some reason walked to the officers' quarters, where the Academy faculty lived if they hadn't requested permanent residency and purchased private homes.
Since he was here, he might as well call on Captain Pike.
Admiral Pike now, he reminded himself, crossing to the correct building and scanning the list of comms. He had come to visit the man often in his first two years; Pike had made the invitation explicit, that Pavel should stop by whenever he felt unsure or frustrated or homesick. They had spent many hours drinking dense, black coffee, arguing about theory, and playing card games or chess. By the end of that second year, he had become terribly comfortable--and met a wonderful boy who kicked off the best and most tumultuous six months of his young life--and the visits petered out.
He pressed the comm next to Pike's name and waited, shifting restlessly on his feet until the soft chirp of response came. "Pike here."
"Captain...izvinite, Admiral. It's Chekov, sir. Pavel Andreievich."
"Mr. Chekov." There was a slight pause, and then the sound of the authorization code being punched in.
Pavel stepped through the main doors and made his way back to Pike's quarters, reminding himself as ever not to gawk or babble. He liked and respected Pike very much, but they were not friends, and he would do well to remember that.
Pike was waiting at the door, and Pavel nearly stumbled when he saw him. He had forgotten about the wheelchair. "Hello, sir," he said, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Admiral."
"Hello." Pike smiled slightly and moved the chair back. "Come on in, Mr. Chekov."
"Congratulations on your promotion," Pavel said, then winced and punched himself sharply on the thigh. It was a promotion in exchange for considerable personal humiliation and great pain. Likely the man would not wish to speak of it.
Pike's smile faded for an instant, then returned, though his eyes were guarded. "Thank you. Congratulations on your fine performance under fire, Mr. Chekov."
"Nyet, chtobui," Pavel murmured, flushing harder, then caught himself. "I mean, thank you, sir."
Pike's smile became a bit more real. "Cultural differences aside, Mr. Chekov, it's important to take a compliment. I've told you that before, I believe."
"Yes, sir." Many times, starting from the first day they met, Pavel the twelve-year-old whiz kid of the Polytechnical Institute with teeth too big for his head, and Pike searching for talent, always searching, collecting the best and the brightest to go to the stars.
"You want some coffee?"
"Please." Pavel followed him to the kitchen, noting that Pike was still new to the wheelchair. His movements were halting, and there were many corrections required on the short trip across the apartment. He would learn quickly, Pavel was sure. Pike was not a man to rage against the universe. He was terribly...modern. He would adapt and pursue from this new vector without pause.
"You're staring," Pike said, and Pavel jumped.
"I'm so sorry, Admiral," he said. Pike laughed, a terribly weary sound with very little humor to it.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too. But that's life. Those are the risks we take to see the universe, Mr. Chekov. The universe is a beautiful and terrible thing. She gives and she takes. She creates and she destroys."
They were the proper words, well and good and philosophical, but it was very obvious that Pike didn't mean them yet. But if he needed to repeat them, Pavel would not argue. He was still sorry, though.
He remembered seeing on the monitors as Kirk and McCoy carried Pike back onto the ship, his own ship, like a child. He remembered that horrible slug in the little specimen jar on McCoy's desk after it was removed from Pike's brain. Six hours, that operation, and not as successful as hoped. Nerve damage, the doctor said, too loud as usual, loud enough that lingering ears could hear. Extensive, irreversible nerve damage.
A terrible thing.
"I want to go back, sir," Pavel said.
"I know you do." Pike smiled slightly, shaking his head. "That's why I dragged you here to the Academy in the first place, Mr. Chekov."
"They're not really going to let us have the Enterprise, Admiral. I know this. I am not so stupid or silly as you think."
"I never thought you were either of those things, Mr. Chekov."
"Very young, then."
"That can be overcome. In fact, it will be. It's inevitable." Pike hands Chekov his coffee and moves over to the table. "I was young once myself."
"Yes, sir." Pavel took a sip and closed his eyes. "But the Enterprise--"
"These are extraordinary times." Pike's voice was odd, rough. Pavel looked at him closely for the first time and saw, really saw, the lines of pain and exhaustion around his eyes. Most certainly no more congratulations, for anything here. "Extraordinary circumstances. The normal rules, the normal ways of thinking and chains of command...we can't count on those now. We need to do extraordinary things."
"But the great changes, the chaos...don't those mean that we should preserve order, and rules?"
"We lost one of the core two planets of the Federation, Pavel. Half of its beating heart."
"The Vulcan people--"
"Are broken. They're grieving." Pike sighed wearily, setting his cup aside and rubbing at his eyes. "Nobody with a trace of empathic abilities can stand to be on the same continent as a Vulcan right now."
"But their culture will endure. The elders--"
"The elders." Pike said the word oddly, almost as if for a moment he was going to forget the plural. "The...elders agree that it is a time for the extraordinary."
Pavel blinked and looked down at his cup. "I...am surprised, sir."
"Life should always surprise you, Mr. Chekov. If it ever stops..." He laughed. "Well, if it ever stops, go find Jim Kirk. I have a feeling he won't be done surprising any of us for a good long time."
Pavel looked at him again. "You found him as well, didn't you, sir? Brought him to the Academy?"
"That's right."
"He's one of yours."
"I imagine he would object to hearing that. Jim Kirk places a fairly high premium on being his own man."
Pavel shook his head. "It is...very good, being one of yours, sir."
Pike ran his finger around the edge of his coffee cup, looking down into the liquid. "What brought you here tonight, Mr. Chekov? Shouldn't you be risking flunking your finals by drinking and dancing and picking up civilians all night?"
"Would they really flunk one of the heroes of the Nero War, sir?"
Pike gave a sharp snort. "Is that what they're calling it?"
"It hasn't been settled yet." He ticked them off on his fingers. "The Nero War. The Vulcan Loss. The Battle of San Francisco."
"Those are all awful." Pike took another sip, rolling his eyes. "And you're damn right we'll flunk you if you deserve it."
Pavel hid a smile behind his cup. "Yes, sir."
"So." Pike looked up and pinned Pavel to his chair with his eyes. "Why are you here?"
Because you are unsure, and frustrated, and homesick for the stars. "I came to challenge you to a game of cards, Admiral."
Pike's eyebrows went up. "Really."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll kick your ass, Mr. Chekov."
"Respectfully, sir, that remains to be seen." Pavel got to his feet and carried his empty cup back to the kitchen, placing it under the coffee maker again and smirking over his shoulder at Pike. "I have played three times with Kirk and McCoy and Scott, now."
"So you've learned to cheat."
"Perhaps it sounds better to say I am learning to be extraordinary."
"If you're fishing for compliments, Chekov, forget it." Pike took a deck of cards from the drawer under the table, cutting and shuffling deftly. "Though I will confess I'm glad for the company. Now sit your ass down and deal the cards."