(Star Trek Mirror!Verse OC
tracking: #ifonlytonightwecouldsleep)
Back straight, Pavel logged his hours and formally took himself off-duty. He nodded to the command chair, tapping his chest in some sort of loyalty pledge before slinking towards the ‘lift. He was wary as ever as he strode with purpose through the Enterprise’s labyrinthine corridors. No one stopped him. No one dared. The Russian ensign had won back a tiny shred of fear and respect from the crew after Scotty’s attack after he wreaked havoc through the gossipers and some of Scotty’s trusted comrades. While it was nowhere near the fear he held prior to his attack, Pavel made it work.
He had to.
He stopped by his bunk and grabbed a medium-sized, intricately carved rosewood box, tucking it under his arm. Behind closed doors and in the safety of his room, he yawned, eyes aching. Double shift was hell, the allure of a fitful sleep strong and the adrenaline from his job maintaining weapons and maps warring within him. Stifling another yawn, he threw back his shoulders and haughtily lifted his chin before leaving his room, hoping that the harsh lights didn’t bring out the bags under his eyes too much.
His fingers dug into the sides of the box he carried. He knew he looked terrible from the little limpness in the mirror he caught during his morning ablutions. Sallow, paper-like skin, dark bruises, sunken cheeks, lifeless hair, he hated it. Hated that he wasn’t sleeping properly.
The hallway emptied the closer he got to the recreation room, but he still did not drop his act, all too aware of the cameras on-board and who had access to them. The room was blissfully devoid of life. Setting up shop in front of an abandoned chess game, he unlocked the box and opened it. The antique Turkish coffee set gleamed back at him, and he smiled, quick, ducking his head. It didn’t take long to boil the coffee, fingers already accustomed to measuring out the coffee and sugar in the джезва and boiling it according to the Chekov method. His patience paid off in the end, and he sat, sipping at the boiling coffee greedily. The caffeine shot through him, and Pavel was grateful.
He idly played the unfinished game, snickering at the weak defense of black and white’s roughshod offense. The break room’s doors opened, and Pavel paused, hair on the back of his neck rising up in threat. He figured the room would be empty; he hated miscalculating. Pale gray eyes flickered to the room’s entrance and widened slightly as they landed on the female ensign. T’Androma, the only other Vulcan on the ISS Enterprise. Not exactly the first person he expected. Cautious, he continued to sip at his coffee, free hand moving to his thigh just in case he needed to get out his dagger.
T’Androma eyed his set up, her eyebrows threatening to furrow at the sight of the pot and his drink. She’d heard of sentimentality before, but had never seen it in action. A deep devotion to one’s homeland as well. She tallied it up to homesickness and stepped into the rec room.
It wasn’t until she approached to the replicator on the wall, her back facing him, that she chose to speak. “Evening, Mister Chekov.” Of course, it wasn’t evening. Nor was it morning. Nor was it ever any particular time of day on the Enterprise, which could drive some people to near insanity, but it was part of the job. It was part of the reason that being on a Starship wasn’t cut out for anybody who sought the comfort of a full night’s rest or breakfast next to a window bathed in sunlight. A few weeks out in space, one might find themselves begging for the sweet melancholy that was only attainable when it rained and the smell of petrichor was fresh in the air.
T’Androma knew nothing about that though.
No, but people on the ship addressed the times of the day as ‘morning,’ ‘afternoon,’ and ‘evening’ anyway, as if it was a form of bitter solace, which, judging by Pavel’s tired face, T’Androma concluded he needed.
I do not know what I need. [Pavel begins, stilted and distant. What had he done? How could he? His fingers curls into fists as he remembers hot blood spilling across knuckles, soaking into the grooves of his fingertips, embedding itself under his nails and marking him forever.] Gone. Gone. I can’t. Gone. [He snuffles into her neck, pulling her close] Tammy, I—I do not know what to do. For the first time in my life, I have no more moves. I forfeit. I have lost.
Just…stay, please? Stay with me?
[How could I leave you? How could you ever expect me to let you fall into sorrow? You. I love you even when you cannot see. Even when your heart is devoted to another. It will always be you. But she just nodded against his shoulder and tangled her fingers into his hair and breathed in his scent like she always did.] Always. [It had more than one meaning, of course, but that went unspoken, and T’Androma wondered briefly if he knew.]
[Finally, she pulled the lever up again, and seconds before the doors slid open to reveal their entangled figures, the Vulcan pulled away from his reach. With a quick nod to a few Lieutenants in the hall, T’Androma kept her hand latched to his wrist, and pulled him through the hallway as quick as they could without raising suspicion. They reached her quarters soon, and after punching in her code, she pulled him into her room and locked the door behind her. They were alone again, free to bury their noses in the crooks of each other’s necks as much as they pleased which is exactly what she did.]
ooc: DO YOU SEE WHAT I DEAL WITH?!
what u scared ya i hope ur hungry cAUSE I’M GONNA GIVE U A KNUCKLE SANDWICH DON’T MESS U FUCKIN UP HARD
Who, tal-kam? [Pavels kills people all the time, he couldn’t be talking about anyone he didn’t have an emotional attachment too. As far as she knew, he didn’t have that kind of connection with anyone other than…]
…Sulu?
[He can’t speak. The emotions he was cursed with are choking him, cutting off noise and breath. His lungs burn as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Pavel leans into T’Androma’s strength, bracing and balancing himself against the turbolift’s wall with one arm.] I didn’t…I didn’t…want to. I didn’t want to. [He repeats over and over, each repetition softer and more broken than the last]
[T’Androma pulled him closer, running one hand comfortingly up and down his spine. She could’ve sworn she just saw the two on good terms just a day before. But relationships and tensions could easily change within 24 hours, so if Chekov had indeed killed Sulu, it would’ve been unexpected, yes, but not so surprising]
I’ll help you, Pavel. I’ll help you, I’ll stay with you, I’ll do anything you need me to do, because I… [the rest of the sentence was spoken in that Vulcan way she had, much softer than an audible level for a Human to hear. The turbolift stopped on her deck, and before the doors could slide open, T’Androma pulled the lever to stall the lift. Not yet did she want to break the embrace]
(after the ~family~ is formed c: )
I know now why father has chosen you as his bond mate. You are a good woman. Strong and capable, deceptively smart, beautiful, and determined. Everything I could only hope to be. I am… honoured… to call you my mother.
[lets himself be led, a haunted, dazed look in his gray eyes. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing with barely repressed emotions at the tender touch of her hands on his face.]
I— [he forces out at a mere whisper before clearing his throat and taking in a shuddering breath] I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.
Who, tal-kam? [Pavels kills people all the time, he couldn’t be talking about anyone he didn’t have an emotional attachment too. As far as she knew, he didn’t have that kind of connection with anyone other than…]
…Sulu?
((My dash is hurt and pain.
Gen and Jackie have a serious fight and the whole Mirror Crew is m!a infected.))
a violent disease broke out called emotions
Mister Chekov? Is… Is there something I may assist you with?
I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go. Everything is falling apart, and I’d rather spare you from my chaotic emotions. For as much as I am able.
Pavel… come here. [takes him inside the nearest turbolift] Tell me what’s wrong. [places hands on his cheeks and softens voice] I’m not going to leave.
…I can’t deal with this. I really cannot. I need to take myself off of duty. [takes in a shaky breath, vision blurry]
Mister Chekov? Is… Is there something I may assist you with?
