Will to Live
A/N: so this is an AU, where Chekhov is a Russian student of physics travelling abroad, and when he, erm, borrows a car to get to his parents' friends he meets a strange man with red hair and an old bike. A kind of crossover of 'Interstate 60' and ST : Reboot.
Also, crack!fic. The universe is more Interstate than anything.
I was going with moderate speed, since I'm not a confident driver and had not driven there before. The cars were rare. I had enough fuel. The weather was, and promised to be, fine.
It shouldn't have been difficult to reach my destination. Then, I'll find my parents' friends and live with them for a while, and then I'll go home and not go au pair ever again.
A great plan, in theory.
And then, there was this loud popping sound, and the car swerved, and I was going to die in a canyon and I wanted to live please I just wanted to live mom
It stopped at the very edge, and I scrambled out of it and fell into the dirt. I lied there with my heart in my throat. Then, I heard someone's footsteps. There was a man with an old bicycle in front of me, red hair, worn clothes, and clear eyes. He squinted at the skid marks and whistled. Then, he took out a pipe and settled down nearby.
'Mind if I smoke?'
'No, yes. It's bad for your lungs. Cancer. Um. Please?'
I wasn't sure how to be polite in English. I wasn't even sure how to speak English right then.
He tucked the pipe in his pocket, unlit. He was very calm and smiled affably as if we were acquainted.
'Lungs are overrated. Though they are less overrated than, say... OK, kid. Stop shaking, you're alive. What's your name?'
'Pavel,' I said when I found my voice. 'Chekhov.'
'Pavel Chekhov. Well, Pavel, I'm O. W. Grunt.'
He didn't look like a grunt, at least not like I imagined them.
'Tell me what happened.'
He could see it himself, but I already knew they like questions here.
'...And I need a new tire.'
'Show me your ID?'
I swallowed.
'I forgot it at home.'
'I see.'
'So... what?'
'A new tire won't save you, Pavel. What you need is a hero.'
He was probably being sarcastic, but I was too tired to take offence.
'Do you know one?'
'James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man...' He trailed away. We blinked at each other. He was obviously waiting for something. I rather suspected this was his true name, and O. W. Grunt a stupid nickname.
'...but that was another life. What should I do with you?'
I didn't want anything to be done with me, so I asked the first thing I thought of.
'Who's Kirk?'
'A captain of the Enterprise.'
'What enterprise?'
His eyes bugged.
'You haven't watched 'Star Trek', have you?'
There was genuine wonder in his voice.
'You watched it?'
He shrugged.
'Had to, to stay in the business. Sort of. I met that guy, Rotten - whatever, I hope he took care of it, there's a cure - not that I'm interested or anything... Anyway, you're not into the law, are you? I'm tired of lawyers.'
'I'm phisik!'
'Sure. Silly me.'
He eyed the car. I was afraid we’d be run over by some truck if we continue sitting there. However, there was nobody else.
'Seems to me, you're stuck.'
'I'll walk back to the city.'
'It's a long walk.'
That, at least, was true. I stood up. 'At least I can trust my own feet. Long walks were made in Russia.'
He froze. I waited for the inevitable 'it's an American thing, really.' These people don’t acknowledge other nations' achievements.
'Invented. That's the word.'
'Invented.' I nodded. How could I forget? I've read it often in the articles.
'No-no-no! That's not how you say it! In-wen-ted.'
He was so serious about it. Usually when I make mistakes when I speak, they just smile and we continue talking. Perhaps he was a teacher.
'In-wen-ted,' I repeated. I will never get used to this language. It's too unpredictable.
'Good. Very good. Now, kid, what would you say if we call maintenance - wait! I know it's not yours,' I jumped away, 'and while they are coming, we shall resume our journey.'
'How?'
I was desperate, because it was either I get arrested for, well, multiple reasons, and it's so terrible if you're vacationing in another country. Or I could agree and go with a stranger to whatever place he was travelling to on his suicidal bike.
My hands were trembling. I've read stories about kidnappings. This Grunt could be one of those crazies that raped and killed and mugged and...
He grinned and patted the rear seat of his suicidal bike.
'Can't promise it's totally safe, but I'll do my best to take you wherever you want.'
I sighed. It was all crazy. If I take my backpack, with my books, then I'll have to leave all my other things behind. Better even to throw them away, or the police will find me and throw me in jail.
'I'm going to San-Francisco.' From there, in two months, I was flying home.
He'd have to be completely mad to take me there. It was several more hours by car. Probably days by bike. Or weeks. And anyway, I didn't have money to pay him back.
Mister Grunt smiled, a bit vacantly.
'Pavel Checkov, a phisik, in Frisco? Oh, you’ll love it there.'
Also, crack!fic. The universe is more Interstate than anything.
I was going with moderate speed, since I'm not a confident driver and had not driven there before. The cars were rare. I had enough fuel. The weather was, and promised to be, fine.
It shouldn't have been difficult to reach my destination. Then, I'll find my parents' friends and live with them for a while, and then I'll go home and not go au pair ever again.
A great plan, in theory.
And then, there was this loud popping sound, and the car swerved, and I was going to die in a canyon and I wanted to live please I just wanted to live mom
It stopped at the very edge, and I scrambled out of it and fell into the dirt. I lied there with my heart in my throat. Then, I heard someone's footsteps. There was a man with an old bicycle in front of me, red hair, worn clothes, and clear eyes. He squinted at the skid marks and whistled. Then, he took out a pipe and settled down nearby.
'Mind if I smoke?'
'No, yes. It's bad for your lungs. Cancer. Um. Please?'
I wasn't sure how to be polite in English. I wasn't even sure how to speak English right then.
He tucked the pipe in his pocket, unlit. He was very calm and smiled affably as if we were acquainted.
'Lungs are overrated. Though they are less overrated than, say... OK, kid. Stop shaking, you're alive. What's your name?'
'Pavel,' I said when I found my voice. 'Chekhov.'
'Pavel Chekhov. Well, Pavel, I'm O. W. Grunt.'
He didn't look like a grunt, at least not like I imagined them.
'Tell me what happened.'
He could see it himself, but I already knew they like questions here.
'...And I need a new tire.'
'Show me your ID?'
I swallowed.
'I forgot it at home.'
'I see.'
'So... what?'
'A new tire won't save you, Pavel. What you need is a hero.'
He was probably being sarcastic, but I was too tired to take offence.
'Do you know one?'
'James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man...' He trailed away. We blinked at each other. He was obviously waiting for something. I rather suspected this was his true name, and O. W. Grunt a stupid nickname.
'...but that was another life. What should I do with you?'
I didn't want anything to be done with me, so I asked the first thing I thought of.
'Who's Kirk?'
'A captain of the Enterprise.'
'What enterprise?'
His eyes bugged.
'You haven't watched 'Star Trek', have you?'
There was genuine wonder in his voice.
'You watched it?'
He shrugged.
'Had to, to stay in the business. Sort of. I met that guy, Rotten - whatever, I hope he took care of it, there's a cure - not that I'm interested or anything... Anyway, you're not into the law, are you? I'm tired of lawyers.'
'I'm phisik!'
'Sure. Silly me.'
He eyed the car. I was afraid we’d be run over by some truck if we continue sitting there. However, there was nobody else.
'Seems to me, you're stuck.'
'I'll walk back to the city.'
'It's a long walk.'
That, at least, was true. I stood up. 'At least I can trust my own feet. Long walks were made in Russia.'
He froze. I waited for the inevitable 'it's an American thing, really.' These people don’t acknowledge other nations' achievements.
'Invented. That's the word.'
'Invented.' I nodded. How could I forget? I've read it often in the articles.
'No-no-no! That's not how you say it! In-wen-ted.'
He was so serious about it. Usually when I make mistakes when I speak, they just smile and we continue talking. Perhaps he was a teacher.
'In-wen-ted,' I repeated. I will never get used to this language. It's too unpredictable.
'Good. Very good. Now, kid, what would you say if we call maintenance - wait! I know it's not yours,' I jumped away, 'and while they are coming, we shall resume our journey.'
'How?'
I was desperate, because it was either I get arrested for, well, multiple reasons, and it's so terrible if you're vacationing in another country. Or I could agree and go with a stranger to whatever place he was travelling to on his suicidal bike.
My hands were trembling. I've read stories about kidnappings. This Grunt could be one of those crazies that raped and killed and mugged and...
He grinned and patted the rear seat of his suicidal bike.
'Can't promise it's totally safe, but I'll do my best to take you wherever you want.'
I sighed. It was all crazy. If I take my backpack, with my books, then I'll have to leave all my other things behind. Better even to throw them away, or the police will find me and throw me in jail.
'I'm going to San-Francisco.' From there, in two months, I was flying home.
He'd have to be completely mad to take me there. It was several more hours by car. Probably days by bike. Or weeks. And anyway, I didn't have money to pay him back.
Mister Grunt smiled, a bit vacantly.
'Pavel Checkov, a phisik, in Frisco? Oh, you’ll love it there.'