It wasn't a date.
He would have liked it to be, but he also understood the reasoning behind Montgomery Scott's hesitancy, even if the man seemed intrigued enough to try. It was no good pushing for a goal and having everything splinter apart; patience was a virtue for a reason, after all.
[And virtues were all about suffering for the better. He could only hope it would get better.]
They met in the conservatory cafeteria – a rather extravagant place, full of gleaming white tiles and shining white tables, the domed ceiling of crystal clear glass windows covered in different creeping vines from the botany greenhouses outside, hidden bursts of vivid color splashing through the leaves. Beyond that was another dome, and further still the inky blackness of the sky, stars peeking out through the curtains of space.
Pavel had waited a full 24 hours before texting Scotty, and after several more hours of texting back and forth, they had found a free spot in their schedules after Scotty finished teaching his evening class. It meant Pavel would have to stay on campus later, but he had managed to fill his time helping Hikaru in the botany labs, sorting through greenhouse seeds as Hikaru counted them into the university database.
And now, hours later, he was waiting as patiently as he possibly could, scrawling an outline for the second chapter of his dissertation in messy Russian. But his thoughts distracted him from doing anything truly useful, instead trailing through potential ways he could get the best outcome from this meeting.
After all, at the very least, Scotty found him intriguing. A good start. He just had to somehow convince the man that he was worth breaking through the hesitancy of their age-gap.
This was not a first date.
But he hoped at some point their meeting could be.
It had been two weeks.
Two weeks of texting, attempting to figure out where their schedules lined up. As a student in the doctorate program, Pavel was required to teach two undergraduate classes for two semesters, on top of having a class himself, as well as researching for his dissertation. Scotty had a slightly less hectic schedule – the only problem being that his was opposite hours of Pavel's.
So they had settled into a habit of texting in between hours: Pavel would text pictures of his day, to which Scotty would attempt to imitate by commenting back; in turn, Scotty would shoot off infuriating hypothetical questions about his own research, while Pavel would answer back with mathematical equations that would surprisingly solve everything. And when all else failed, they would play a simple "prime or not prime" game, which had prompted several discussions of exasperation due to the sometimes sheer ridiculousness of the numbers they would chose.
It was, in some ways, a bit awkward – far different methods of communication, given their generational gap. Yet they managed to meet each other in the middle, working together to balance each other out. It was an oddly beautiful reciprocity that somehow worked, and worked well.
Then finally, they found a Saturday free of any other commitments, and decided the day a First Date.
They had decided it would be something simple, fun, and holiday related – hopefully something that would further solidify bridging the social disparity between them. Scotty was to pick Pavel up and take them to a small pumpkin patch, just outside of the city; after enjoying some of the festivities (similar to the Haunted House where they had met, no doubt), then return to Pavel's flat for a nice pumpkin carving competition (which seemed like a nice reference to their number games, to be sure). Their idea had been the perfect progression built from their relatively limited interaction.
It would be the perfect First Date.
" – just doesn't make any sense how he's goin about it, given that he's clearly ignorin almost everything about quantum mechanics!"
"He seems like a – hm – 'quack', is that right?" Pavel asked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "He forgets that this has already been discussed, with Krasnikov – you have read Krasnikov, yes?"
"As in Krasnikov and Alcubierre?"
"Yes!" Pavel clarified excitedly, snapping his fingers. "Only Krasnikov was much better."
"How so?" Scotty challenged with a grin.
"Well he is Russian, of course," Pavel shot back with his own equally mischievous grin.
"That type of thinkin'll get you in trouble someday, you know." Scotty pulled off of the highway, taking a left turn. They drove a bit longer, listening quietly to the radio playing softly in the background. Scotty had been rather nervous about playing anything specific, and had settled on an easy classical music station. Pavel had not made any comment over it, and in fact – during some intervals – would tap his fingers along to the music. A winning scenario, which allowed Scotty to breathe an inward sigh of relief.
So far, so good.
"Ah, here we are!"
That was where his luck ended.
It was a sprawling lot of bright orange against bright green, a snap of color against the dull gray sky. The ground was washed with mud, wet and slick from the rain that drizzled down in a misty coat. As they stepped out of the car, their feet sunk into the gooey dirt, sucking up at their shoes as they walked from the parking area to the farm itself. There was a sharp breeze, flinging speckles of water from the rain into their face.
"Perhaps we should have come another time," Scotty mumbled apologetically, pulling the sleeves of his sweater back down his arms.
"It is no big deal," Pavel assured him with a bright smile. "Come! I must find the best pumpkin to beat you with."
"You're all talk, laddie!" Pavel merely laughed, grabbing Scotty's hand and dragging him along with a bounce to his step.
"And you are no better. Pumpkin carving was inwented in Russia; I will show you how we mastered the art. You will see," he insisted, weaving through the first few clusters of half mushed pumpkins.
"Now you hold on just a minute," Scotty insisted, rather appalled at the young man's claim, jumping over a crushed pumpkin and attempting to ignore the squishy innards spilled around it. "I'll have you know that the craft started from the folklore of my people! Tales of the little spunkie fae go back centuries – spirits of lost linkboys carryin torches back and forth, leadin travelers to their doom. We would carve faces into pumpkins on Samhain to ward them off, since Samhain is when spirits of the dead wander about."
Pavel shook his head, smirking.
"Of course. If that is what you wish to think."
Scotty simply threw up his hands, commentating about snide passive-aggressive Russians and their endless enjoyment of heavy-handed sarcasm.
"Careful, Mr. Scott. That type of thinking will get you in trouble someday," Pavel teased mercilessly. He finally stopped walking, kneeling down to inspect one of the pumpkins before him. He brushed his hand against it, tapping his fingers along the curve of its shell.
"Alright, I give," Scotty said with a sigh. His smile gave him away, though. "So what've we got here?"
"The perfect pumpkin!" he declared, lifting it off the ground triumphantly. "Now we only need to find yours, so that you may have a fighting chance."
"Aye, a fighting chance."
They spent an hour trying to look for a decent sized pumpkin that hadn't been rotted in, one that was tall enough to hold a design and smooth enough to carve in to. Once they had found one, they headed back to the parking lot, weighing and buying the pumpkins before loading them up to be taken back to Pavel's flat.
The car ride back was much the same as before, though they did attempt to talk of things outside the science world. Pavel admitted that he hadn't much celebrated Halloween as a child, as it wasn't a major holiday in Russia. His friend Hikaru had been adamant about ensuring he experienced the holiday 'properly', which had sparked their annual horror movie marathons that led to their inevitable meeting at the Tenere Plantation. Scotty in turn mentioned that most of his Halloween experience was also from the American traditions that Kirk had piled upon him; his family was more into Bonfire Night. Pavel made a flirtatious dig at the contradiction Scotty presented, in how he had been so obstinate about Halloween deriving from Scottish folklore, only to be dismissed in the modern era – to which Scotty somehow turned them back to their previous roundabouts on physics, and the flaws of certain Russian researchers.
It was then that they arrived back at Pavel's flat, continuing their banter into the building.
Pavel led them up the stairs of his apartment, chattering excitedly about a small part of his research project that he had broken through on a few days before. He had held off from texting about it, hoping it would be a springboard for an intensive discussion over dinner. His eagerness, however, led him to bring it up earlier than planned anyway.
Scotty didn't mind much – in fact, he was quite impressed with the leaps of logic the young man had made.
"So c2 x dt2 is still larger than dx2 + dy2 + dz2, which continues to disprove the possibility of going backwards in time, because time still progresses forward in separate interwals."
"Aye, your math is sound," Scotty agreed whole heartedly. "Now you just need to narrow yourself to one hypothesis – otherwise you leave yourself wide open for holes where your work contradicts itself, and it can all unravel at the drop of an electron. Much like – "
"Trelbot, yes." Pavel heaved a dramatic sigh, hefting his pumpkin onto his hip as he dug into his pocket for his keys. "It is just so difficult to choose one when they are all so intertwined!"
"I'm sure you can come up with something." They shuffled inside, moving to the left through the kitchen and setting their pumpkins on the small table in the dining area.
"That is true. But what is more true is that I will win this carving competition," Pavel claimed boldly, a bright grin lighting his face.
Pumpkins were disgustingly messy.
Scotty had hoped to impress with an intricate cat carving; he had tacked it down neatly, cutting as carefully as if he were diagraming circuits for his students. Though his hands were steady, he still managed to nick one of the ears off – and in turn, had to even the carving out by cutting off the other as well. It was lopsided, but salvageable.
Though their cheerful conversation had spanned through gutting their pumpkins, it quieted as they carved, eventually puttering off into a companionable silence. It was – surprisingly nice, a comfort that neither had quite expected, though they enjoyed it none the less.
At last, they were both finished, and agreed to put them outside on the narrow apartment porch.
And as he glanced at Pavel's design, he was suddenly very relieved: though his cat's ears may have fallen inward, at least it still looked decent and relatively planned. Pavel's poor pumpkin carving looked like someone had hacked away at it: a roughly sculpted half-moon that was less curved than it probably should have been, uneven stars that looked as though someone had mangled their pointed arms, and several holes that were attempts at constellations, but really looked more like frustrated stabs to assassinate the ill-fated pumpkin.
"Well…"
"It is suprematist art," Pavel claimed, practically dropping it on his porch. "Also inwented in Russia, by a young man named Malevich."
"Aye, now that I'd believe," Scotty said with a grin, revealing his own. "Lucky for you, mine fell apart a bit. Forgot some of the connecting bits here and there, but I suppose it's decent enough."
Pavel placed it next to his own, reverently, gazing at it as if he were rather impressed.
"It is wery good," he finally stated with a decisive nod. "And wery practical. So you will be the winner by default."
"Oh? And what's my prize then?" Scotty asked fondly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He was curious to know what the young man had planned, especially since he hadn't even considered the possibility of 'winning' their contest.
Pavel hopped up, leaning forward to press his lips against Scotty's. It was nothing more than a brief peck, though it turned his face a tinted pink as he blushed at his assertiveness.
"Ach, come here now," Scotty insisted, pulling him back for a proper kiss.
After a moment of flustered blushing, they returned inside – Scotty volunteering to finish cleaning up the squishy mess of soppy pumpkin innards, while Pavel promised to whip up his mother's recipe of homemade apple cider.
"I will let you in on the secret," he whispered conspiratorially. "It is only wodka, apple juice, apple slices, and cinnamon. And whip cream."
"Cannae forget the whip cream," Scotty agreed, taking the glass Pavel offered him.
"It is still early – perhaps a film and then dinner?" The young man led them into the living room, gesturing for Scotty to sit at the couch. As he attempted to pull up a movie, the power cut out, zapping the screen from existence.
"Well, I suppose that idea's out then," Scotty noted. Pavel sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I did not come up with a backup plan," he admitted. "This does not usually happen."
"I'm sure we can find something to keep us occupied for a while longer," Scotty encouraged, looking around the room. Pavel walked around the table, digging up a lighter from the desk against the wall and lighting several candles, including the three on the table. "What's this then?"
Pavel glanced up as Scotty picked up a thin book, a leather bookmark sticking up from the top.
"Ah, it is a book my father sent me," Pavel explained, taking it from Scotty's hands. "White Nights, by Dostoyevsky. It has been short reading, for breaks in research. Rather sad, but a hopeful ending."
They both moved to sit on the couch, Pavel throwing a blanket over them before not-so-sneakily leaning up onto Scotty's side. Scotty threw an arm around the young man, rubbing his hand down his back.
"D'ya think you can read through it for me?"
Pavel beamed, resting his head on Scotty's shoulder as he opened the text.
"And was it his destined part / only one moment in his life / to be close to your heart? Or was he fated from the start / to live for just one fleeting instant / within the purlieus of your heart?"
As Pavel curled up against Scotty, finishing up his translation of the text – throwing in some gesticulations here and there to imply that not all concepts were rendered perfectly – he delighted in just how lucky he was to be in this moment right now. Pavel hadn't really cared much about the what came next bits of their day. Scotty had said yes, and that was all he needed to let himself fall. He had jumped with the hope that it would be a worthwhile journey, no matter where they landed.
Worrying over the details of their date hadn't mattered too much. As long as Scotty was at his side, without regret [had, in fact, encouraged staying longer], well – the rain and the wet and the cold didn't matter much, in the grand scheme of things.
"May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be forever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"