something to do (Pavel Chekov)

1

Author's Note

I realised a few hours prior that things felt kind of empty without emotional investment in a story

And I have a lot written already for this one

I have one that's 112 thousand words but I'm considering releasing that under another name. I don't know yet. I don't know if the world is ready for my non-Star Trek pieces yet. I don't know if I'm even ready for that yet.

But for now, enjoy another part of my soul.

(Also this contains some dark themes, read at own risk)
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something to do {Pavel Chekov}

Two strangers share a glance, but no words between them.

They look at one another again before standing up shakily and looking forward. There's a set of black bars. They have the faintest ominous glow and the first stranger goes to touch it, quickly pulling his hand away as soon as it makes contact. He looks at the bars up and down, the breath in his throat feeling far thicker than usual. He's limping ever so slightly and the second of the strangers speaks.

"What... What are we going to do?"

The boy doesn't look to her. He looks at the bars still and she wonders if he understands what she says. She wonders if he hears and chooses to ignore her. She takes a deep breath as well, noticing the same thickness in the air.

It takes a few minutes for the boy to finally join the girl on the bench extending the length of the cell. She rolls the word 'cell' around in her head a few times. He seems out of breath, though he hasn't been running anywhere. The only thing that has been racing is his mind, and that is more than enough.

"Do you speak Standard?" she tries, only receiving the faintest hint of a nod in return.

"I speak Standard," he says, his voice almost robotic. Perhaps his voice isn't always so monotonous. Perhaps it's just circumstance.

"My name is Eadie Carmen," she mutters, not sure whether to extend her hand to him or not.

"Pavel Chekov," he returns, his eyes finally meeting hers again. She's never seen dark blue filled with such a shade of concern.

"They'll come back for us," she says, her tone sounding more like a question than a statement. "Starfleet will come back for us, right? They won't leave us here... right?"

He looks to the black bars again and says nothing, feeling his throat close up a little. "Right," he finally confirms. "They'll come back. I'm certain they will."

She notices the accent then. She's too tired to ask where it's from. She leans back against the cold wall and shivers travel up from the base of her spine. They don't exchange any more words, any more glances. For a while, they sit in silence. He finally looks over to her and his eyebrows knit together.

"Are you okay?"

She notices he's staring, and she touches the corners of her eyes, realising they're wet. She didn't even realise she was crying. She feels herself nod. "I'm sorry," she says, not entirely sure why she's apologising. She just wipes them again in the hopes they'll stop, but they don't and Pavel moves closer to her.

"It is okay," he says slowly, as if he's trying to convince himself the same thing. "We're here together. We can look after each other until Starfleet comes to get us. Please don't cry."

She nods, her throat even tighter than when she first stood up. She wipes her eyes once more, letting out a shaky breath.

"I'm scared too," he finally says.