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An End
Years and years ago, when it had been time to leave the City, Pavel Chekov had shared one of his favorite sayings from home on the network:
If all the options are bad, choose the one that hurts the least.
He'd been fairly optimistic then in the face of bad options--sad, of course, to say goodbye to his friends and those who had become more like family, but pleased that he'd get to keep his memories of the City. Saying goodbye does not erase someone from your life, he'd said, confident and nineteen and too young to wonder if holding on to people after they were gone might be less than ideal.
And, back then, he hadn't been alone. Isaak Sirko was going to cheat death and return home with him. The Ukrainian was going to put his life of crime behind him and open a bar in the twenty-third century.
(It hadn't worked. Pavel had ended up in Marina, and he hasn't seen Isaak since.)
It's been at least six years since he left the City--maybe as many as nine, if Pavel's suspicions about how time operated in MarinaNova are correct--and the years have not been terribly kind. Pavel has lost more friends than the seventeen year-old version of him that first entered the City could have imagined he would ever have. On the rare occasion that people returned, it was never with all of their memories. Crew mates came and went--six times, in Kirk's case--and had not always been eager to embrace Chekov as he was. He has fallen in love three times; all three times, it ended with her leaving (or, in Kitty's case, him leaving and finding a different version of her). If nothing else, the years have taught him that love and acceptance are never guaranteed.
So now, six (or nine) years after leaving the City, Pavel is ready to leave the Fleet. He doesn't bother making a public post on the network. He has no words of wisdom or optimism, and even if he did, there are very few friends left to share such things with. Not enough friends to warrant a broadcast.
Even though he still doesn't know where 'home' is, he has decided that he will return to his original universe. Maybe his crew won't want him there, and maybe he's no longer officer material, but that's where his father is. Andrei Chekov is the one person who asked Pavel to stay, years and years ago when he had been fourteen and determined to join Starfleet. Pavel had left, of course, and their relationship had remained icy. Civil, but not warm. He owes his father a conversation, at the very least.
Maybe, once he's back, he'll quit Starfleet. He could become a professor like his mother had been, or he could work in the shipyards like Andrei.
Or maybe he'll stay with Starfleet and hope that an apology and promise to visit will be enough to mend things with his father. Maybe he'll have a chance to do something brave and heroic. Pavel has always wanted to be a hero; that hasn't changed in his years in other universes.
Or maybe, whether he stays with the fleet or not, he'll uncover the secrets of controlled intra-universal travel. He could visit the near future in the version of his own universe where Nero didn't destroy Vulcan and find the Voyager. Janeway and Chakotay and Harry wouldn't remember him, but he'd like to see them again regardless. Pavel could search for Isaak. He could scour the universes for the friends that he has lost--see how Howl and Sophie are doing, if Peter Vincent is still drunk somewhere, if Korra and Hei are together or if that inadvisable team-up fell apart. He'd look for Tessa and Ginny and Delacroix and Doc Brown, and Doc Brown would be impressed with his innovations and understand the science behind it.
He would check in on Lucy. For the last six (nine?) years, he has hoped that she was able to find happiness at home. He likely wouldn't talk to her if he found her; nothing good would come of that. But he'd like to know how she's doing.
He'd say hello to Kara and meet her sister. He'd track down Felix Gaeta and offer him a new identity in the twenty-third century. He'd go see a live Walkure concert.
Maybe he would stumble across another version of himself--a Pavel who did make it home with Isaak after the City, or a Pavel who stayed with Kitty in Marina. Or maybe it would be best if he didn't know how his life would have gone, had things been different. Maybe it's best just to imagine that those Pavels are happy.
He doesn't know what will happen once he returns to his own universe. He isn't even convinced that he'll make it back there; his last attempt to go home, after all, led to MarinaNova. Even if he makes it back, neither the hosts nor the Interceptors guaranteed that they would keep their memories.
Forgetting would be a kindness, but Pavel hopes he remembers.
If all the options are bad, choose the one that hurts the least.
He'd been fairly optimistic then in the face of bad options--sad, of course, to say goodbye to his friends and those who had become more like family, but pleased that he'd get to keep his memories of the City. Saying goodbye does not erase someone from your life, he'd said, confident and nineteen and too young to wonder if holding on to people after they were gone might be less than ideal.
And, back then, he hadn't been alone. Isaak Sirko was going to cheat death and return home with him. The Ukrainian was going to put his life of crime behind him and open a bar in the twenty-third century.
(It hadn't worked. Pavel had ended up in Marina, and he hasn't seen Isaak since.)
It's been at least six years since he left the City--maybe as many as nine, if Pavel's suspicions about how time operated in MarinaNova are correct--and the years have not been terribly kind. Pavel has lost more friends than the seventeen year-old version of him that first entered the City could have imagined he would ever have. On the rare occasion that people returned, it was never with all of their memories. Crew mates came and went--six times, in Kirk's case--and had not always been eager to embrace Chekov as he was. He has fallen in love three times; all three times, it ended with her leaving (or, in Kitty's case, him leaving and finding a different version of her). If nothing else, the years have taught him that love and acceptance are never guaranteed.
So now, six (or nine) years after leaving the City, Pavel is ready to leave the Fleet. He doesn't bother making a public post on the network. He has no words of wisdom or optimism, and even if he did, there are very few friends left to share such things with. Not enough friends to warrant a broadcast.
Even though he still doesn't know where 'home' is, he has decided that he will return to his original universe. Maybe his crew won't want him there, and maybe he's no longer officer material, but that's where his father is. Andrei Chekov is the one person who asked Pavel to stay, years and years ago when he had been fourteen and determined to join Starfleet. Pavel had left, of course, and their relationship had remained icy. Civil, but not warm. He owes his father a conversation, at the very least.
Maybe, once he's back, he'll quit Starfleet. He could become a professor like his mother had been, or he could work in the shipyards like Andrei.
Or maybe he'll stay with Starfleet and hope that an apology and promise to visit will be enough to mend things with his father. Maybe he'll have a chance to do something brave and heroic. Pavel has always wanted to be a hero; that hasn't changed in his years in other universes.
Or maybe, whether he stays with the fleet or not, he'll uncover the secrets of controlled intra-universal travel. He could visit the near future in the version of his own universe where Nero didn't destroy Vulcan and find the Voyager. Janeway and Chakotay and Harry wouldn't remember him, but he'd like to see them again regardless. Pavel could search for Isaak. He could scour the universes for the friends that he has lost--see how Howl and Sophie are doing, if Peter Vincent is still drunk somewhere, if Korra and Hei are together or if that inadvisable team-up fell apart. He'd look for Tessa and Ginny and Delacroix and Doc Brown, and Doc Brown would be impressed with his innovations and understand the science behind it.
He would check in on Lucy. For the last six (nine?) years, he has hoped that she was able to find happiness at home. He likely wouldn't talk to her if he found her; nothing good would come of that. But he'd like to know how she's doing.
He'd say hello to Kara and meet her sister. He'd track down Felix Gaeta and offer him a new identity in the twenty-third century. He'd go see a live Walkure concert.
Maybe he would stumble across another version of himself--a Pavel who did make it home with Isaak after the City, or a Pavel who stayed with Kitty in Marina. Or maybe it would be best if he didn't know how his life would have gone, had things been different. Maybe it's best just to imagine that those Pavels are happy.
He doesn't know what will happen once he returns to his own universe. He isn't even convinced that he'll make it back there; his last attempt to go home, after all, led to MarinaNova. Even if he makes it back, neither the hosts nor the Interceptors guaranteed that they would keep their memories.
Forgetting would be a kindness, but Pavel hopes he remembers.
Video
If she didn't believe at all there'd be no reason for this call. They'd have their little battle and then the next day it would just be more of the same and she'd see Chekov on the Iskaulit or on a planet and they'd chat and everything would be fine or maybe everything would be awkward, but it would be their normal. And yet she calls because maybe, just maybe things are about to change again.]
Do you think this is really going to happen?
no subject
I think that something is going to happen. A change of scenery, if nothing else. [His tone is light, but Pavel's clearly not excited about the prospect of leaving. Although he hasn't been happy in the fleet, there's an inherent uncertainty in traveling between universes; here, at least, is familiar.] What do you think?
no subject
But...
I think we'll have to choose anyway. [And maybe, just maybe in that choice lies where they go as much as she doubts it.] Probably for ratings. [She smirks a little.]
no subject
You have likely decided already where you will try to go [and he isn't going to push her to tell him what her decision is, as much as he'd like to know] but, if you have not, the invitation to my universe still stands.
[As it has for years. He hadn't even known Kitty particularly well the first time he had issued that invitation, and he has never seriously expected her to take him up on it. That she would want to seems unlikelier now than ever, but the option remains.]
no subject
[She smiles softly at him.] It still means a lot, you know? That you want me there. [But he's right. She's decided or she thinks maybe she has anyway. And it's not there. It's none of the many good choices she could make.] I'd return the favor but that would be a mean thing to do. No one should go to my world. [And yet...]
no subject