The arrest report reads: Pavel Chekov, Age: 21.

Chris does a double-take at the waif-like person shuffling into the interrogation room next to one of Archer’s deputies. Chekov stays quiet, shoulders hunched, while his escort clicks open the pair of handcuffs, guides Chekov to a chair, and handcuffs him again, this time to a steel bar built next to the table’s edge. The metal table itself is bolted to the floor. Chekov won’t be going anywhere unless he has superhuman strength or a key.

Behind his stony mask, Pike’s first thoughts are Oh hell, he’s just a kid and Why aren’t this boy’s parents here? Legally 21 or not, Pavel has the face of a fifteen year-old. And that young face sports an even younger, trapped look in the eyes. Like Pavel thinks he is facing his death and Pike is the executioner.

The fragile persona is only made worse by Chekov’s ridiculously adorable elf costume.

Chris has dealt with his share of troubled teens in the throes of budding criminal careers. It’s easier to play the tough cop in such situations because if the boys are young enough and innocent enough, they can eventually be scared into straightening out their lives. But there are always the exceptions, the horrors: those kids, despite their young bodies, with the eyes of hardened adults. No threat Pike can make is nearly as terrifying as the hardships they’ve already lived through—and they know it. They choose the hard path not out of ignorance or rebellion but with a keen awareness of what a life of crime means and what it will garner them. Turning them back from that path is difficult once that kind of conscious choice has been made.

To Pike’s experienced eye, Pavel seems innocent of such a choice. He hopes so.

Chris approaches the table but doesn’t sit in the chair opposite of Chekov. Sitting is often viewed as a concession, and it’s one of the oldest psychological tricks in the book. At the same eye level they might be considered equals, and the interrogator might give the impression he is willing to play nice. Chris is not willing, not yet. He lets his voice crack like a whip through the silence.

“Your name.”

The kid tries to make himself smaller in his chair. “Pavel C-Chekov.” His accent, Russian if Pike had to guess, is thick with fear.

Pike makes a slow half-circle around his side of the table. “Mr. Chekov, do you understand why you are here?”

“I-I am under a-arrest, sir.”

“I meant do you understand the charges against you?” He drops a case file on the table and leans over it, hands braced on the table’s edge. “Breaking-and-entering, theft, resisting arrest,” he gives Chekov a hard look, “and obstruction of justice.”

The pallor of Pavel’s skin, his large eyes, and somewhat pointed face in conjunction with the festive costume (especially the hat with the bell) makes him look more elfish than ever. Pike allows for a pause, in which Pavel’s breath hitches noisily, before slowly straightening his stance. “We can make a deal, of course, to minimize the charges if you have something of interest to say.”

Half of the interrogation technique is bluffing but Pavel won’t guess that. He’s too wound up.

The kid mumbles something, his accent mangling words.

Without thinking, Pike tucks his hands in his pants pockets and leans forward. “Who took the star, Pavel?”

Pavel looks frightened even as he shakes his head. “I do not know!”

“Tell me why I should believe you.”

“Because I vas not there!“

“At the party?”

Chekov’s head stops mid-shake. “No, no. The party, it vas for us.” He plucks at his sleeve. “I am an elf.”

Chris suppresses a smile and prowls from one end of the mirrored wall to the other. “Start at the beginning. How long have you worked in Santa’s Village, Mr. Chekov?”

“T-This is my first season. I start one month ago. I help ze small children onto Santa’s lap.”

“What else do you do?”

Pavel makes a face. “I clean ze bathrooms. Sometimes I gift-wrap with Nyota when there are many customers.”

“I see. When did you learn there was to be an employee party on Christmas Eve?”

Pavel wrinkles his nose slightly as he thinks. “There vas an annoucement by ze manager… on last Saturday. I remember this because someone had—mm, how do you say?—” He indicates his lower abdomen. “—bad stomach? Zhey pooped everywhere. Big mess. I stay until nine o’clock that night cleaning.”

Pike puts a fist against his mouth, and it is some seconds before he can successfully swallow his laugh. He pretends to read something in the file while he clears his throat. “Santa’s Village employs over fifty people, some to operate the gift store, the rides, the candy cane hut… and, of course, at the center of it all is Santa himself—where you work.”

Chekov nods. “We are ze best group. Everyone says so. Children want most to talk to Santa.”

“Is it normal then for the supervisors, like yours, to host separate parties at the end of the season? I would think hosting a main event to include for all employees would be more fair.”

“Maybe? I-I do not know.” Pavel’s anxiety is returning.

Chris decides to switch track in his questioning, to give Chekov back some illusion of safe ground. “You have a work visa. And you attend university here in town?”

Pavel nods.

“What is your area of study?”

Pavel’s shaking lessens as he answers Pike’s seemingly innocuous questions about the study abroad program that brought the young man to America. Chris doesn’t stop Chekov when he starts to speak of his host family. The topic lends the perfect opening.

“So you like living with the Sulu’s.”

A shy smile spreads across Pavel’s face as he nods.

“It says here—” He taps the case file. “—that your host brother has worked several seasons at the Village. Is he the one who got you the job?”

“I want to make extra money. My scholarship, it is not for personal things. My mother and my sister—they like the little trinkets I send them but I thought something better… Hikaru said the Village is nice. Easy work. So I work there.”

Not only is the poor child adorable but he’s sweet too. Pike feels bad about what he is going to do to Pavel. “Do you like Hikaru?”

Pavel’s cheeks redden. “Da.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Da—excuse me, yes.”

“So he treats you well, lands you a good job and in return… for what?”

The boy blinks, watching Pike’s face. “I… Vhat do you mean?”

“What’s in it for him? He doesn’t really know you, does he, Pavel? You’re the exchange student living in his house for a semester. You’re invading his life because of a decision his parents made. So not only does he have to babysit you around campus, but be responsible for you outside of school and home too? My question, Mr. Chekov, concerns the motive for such an act of kindness. What do you do for him in return?”

The color, which had slowly drained from Pavel’s face, returns in a sudden rush. The handcuffs pull taunt against the bar on the table as Chekov’s arm jerks upward, like he would grab for Pike. In his ire, Chekov’s English becomes remarkably intelligible. “You—you have no right to say these things! Hikaru is nice here—” He points at his ribcage, indicating what lies beneath it, with his free hand. “—and that is why he helps me. You judge falsely. You do not know him!”

Pike drags the chair back and sits down, leaning his elbows on the table. He drops his voice. “Then where was he tonight, Pavel?”

“He was with me.”

“And where were you?”

“I told you, I was at the party. He was talking to people. A girl, Nyota. I made us drinks because he did not want beer.”

“So you weren’t with him all night.”

“No—yes! You are trying to confuse me!”

Pike sits back. “Do you know how I know you’re lying to me, kid? I have a statement from each of you, and they couldn’t paint a clear picture on a sunny day. Hikaru never talked to Nyota Uhura because he never stepped a foot inside that party. I don’t need to prove it. You’ve done that for me.”

Pavel looks stricken.

“Without a solid alibi, he could have been at the scene of the crime. When the fingerprints come back from the lab, it’s simply a matter of confession. But we don’t always need one of those to indict.”

“You can’t!”

He laughs like Chekov made a joke.

“But Hikaru did not do anything!” Pavel says hurriedly. “He only went to the office—” The boy’s mouth snaps shut.

“Whose office?”

“I do not know.”

“We can play at twenty questions until dawn, Pavel, but I guarantee you, by then somebody will have to take the fall for the crime. If you really believe Mr. Sulu is innocent, then you shouldn’t be afraid to tell me the truth.” Chris sighs softly. “His parents will be devastated.”

It’s the final blow. Pavel crumples. “He said he had to go to the office. He said I should not ask why so I did not.”

“Whose office?”

“The manager’s.”

“Can you guess at who he was meeting or what he was looking for there?”

The young man shakes his head.

“Did Sulu go alone?”

Pavel looks like he is going burst into tears if Pike keeps at him any longer. “With Scotty’s friend.”

Lowering his hands to grip his knees, Chris knows the table will hide his reaction. “You mean Jim Kirk.”

“Da.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr. Chekov,” Christopher says gently.

But Pavel does not reply. He does not even raise his head as Pike nods to the mirror to signal the deputy can be let back in and the interrogation is over. Chris waits until Chekov has dejectedly shuffled from the room before he says aloud, “Bring in the manager next. Let’s find out what was kept in that office.” He turns to the last page in the file, drags his finger down to a name and memorizes it.

There is a necessary delay between interviews so Pike can gather his thoughts, makes notes in an official report, and discuss what has been revealed so far with Archer. Chris slips from the room with the intention of finding the bathroom; he never feels right afterward when the person he is interrogating is someone like Pavel. His gut says that Chekov may be involved through Hikaru Sulu but that involvement is limited mainly to an outsider’s perspective. If the boy did anything illegal, he may not have been aware of it at the time.

Pike is washing his face and hands with tepid water from the bathroom sink when the phone in his pocket vibrates. Without thinking, he pulls it out and checks his messages.

A new text sits in his inbox, sender unknown. Chris momentarily forgets to breathe when he reads it.

u scared pavel

His fingers tremble as he types out in capital letters STOP, because this is dangerous, too dangerous. He hits Send. Immediately the text bounces back into his inbox with a delivery failure.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

There’s no doubt in his mind the text is from Jim. It doesn’t seem feasible (no electronics are allowed in the jail ward) but it is. Somehow Jim has managed to find a way to communicate with him—and of course he fixed it so Pike can’t communicate back.

He curses again. Jim is smart enough to know the consequences if he is caught, not simply in regards to whatever evidence might be gleaned to free him but for his father too. This could go badly in so many ways… and yet Chris is close to getting on his knees and thanking any and every deity for Jim’s ingenuity. He pockets the cell phone, feeling more at ease than he has since he left the bar some hours ago.

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