I have no explanation whatsoever for this, except that I was watching "The Trouble with Tribbles" the other day (at about one in the morning, if that explains anything), and I thought the relationship dynamic between Chekov and Uhura was really quite... fascinating (for lack of a better word). I'd never really thought of them as being good friends before. And thus, I wrote this. A little more angsty than tribbles, sadly, but I hope you enjoy regardless.
1
If anything, he's kind of like the little brother she never had. And he's so smart, but sometimes it's like he doesn't know what to do with it. She can see it in the line of his shoulders, the way he shifts a little when he's making a suggestion. And don't even get her started on the look he gets when he's talking to Spock. It breaks her heart, every time.
So, he's a genius, but he's seventeen, and she swears she's going to knock McCoy upside the head for that snide comment on the bridge during their first mission, because the kid had just lost Spock's mother; he didn't need to feel any worse about himself.
That's why she goes up to him at first, when they're both off-duty on the same shift and he's pouring over star charts in the officer's mess. Because she's a communications specialist, and she can tell he's a little lost.
"Privet," she says in Russian, sitting down across from him.
He smiles, shy and sweet, staring at the table like he doesn't know what to do. He toys with the hem of his sleeve, exuding self-consciousness. It sends up a flare of protectiveness in Uhura; she's never really forgotten how to be a big sister.
"Your accent is wery good," he mumbles, biting the corner of his lip.
"Thank you, Chekov," she says, smiling and taking a bite of her dinner.
"Call me Pavel," he says, like it's automatic. Uhura repeats it, trying for a reassuring tone. She isn't quite sure if it gets across, but from the way his hands relax and his face loses tension she thinks it does.
2
She speaks Russian to him. Not always, just when she can see the frustration built up in his eyebrows, in the way his gestures go taut, less easygoing. She grabs his arm after shift and takes him to the mess or to sickbay to talk to Chris or to the rec room, where they listen to music or play cards.
He's the one who finds her in the gym after her first fight with Chris, the one who goes for a long, punishing run around the track with her, the one who wraps his skinny arms around her after, even when she's panting and sweaty, and tells her it will be okay. She believes him. He's right.
He's like her little brother, and they comfort each other, like family.
3
When the Iceni grab for him, Uhura's brain shuts off. She's on autopilot, fighting through the crowd surrounding him like they aren't even there. She barely feels the hands clutching at her, dragging her along with them. She reaches for him, almost… Almost touches.
And then she feels a blunt sort of ache in the back of her head, and she blacks out.
Pavel wakes up like he has a hangover, in the dank, dirty prison cell. She holds him, strokes his curly hair while he breathes against her shoulder. Breathes deep and heavy and ragged, but never cries.
She tells him it will be okay, but she has no way of being sure of that.
4
"A kid, Pavel. A goddamned kid. Oh shit. Oh shit. Why did I let Chris talk me into this? Why the hell did I ever think this was a good idea? I am so not ready for this."
Pavel sighs, sitting down next to her and resting his head on her shoulder. "I sink you vill be a vondervul mother," he says unhelpfully. Uhura rolls her eyes, smacking him playfully on the shoulder.
"Easy for you to say, mdogo," she says. She's been teaching him Swahili, a little. It's fascinating, the way she can almost see the gears shifting in his head, translating from Swahili to Standard to Russian. She sympathizes with the long pauses, remembers how, when she was first learning Standard, she'd had to think so hard for each word.
He still slips, sometimes, substituting a word in Russian when he can't remember the Standard. It's a credit, Uhura thinks, to his brilliance that he's still willing to learn this new language too, when linguistics is clearly not his forte.
Perhaps it should make their friendship difficult, and certainly there are times when Pavel seems frustrated, but they make do. Uhura has started calling him mdogo, little brother. It isn't a conscious decision so much as an involuntary expression of sentiment. Pavel doesn't seem to mind.
Anyway, Pavel nods, wild curls brushing her chin. "Da, probably it is. But is also true."
Uhura wraps an arm around his shoulder, squeezing his upper arm gently. "Spasibo, Pavel. Thank you."
"This is asante in Svahili, nyet?"
"Da," Uhura says with a small smile. "Da, it is."
5
Bahari loves Pavel.
Actually, Bahari pretty much loves everyone. Uhura has no idea where she got this from—certainly not from her, and it isn't like Chris is that much of a mitigating personality either. Besides, she's worked with McCoy for ten years; she's a misanthrope now, if she wasn't before.
Bahari's six months old and the only kid on the Enterprise. And Chris and Uhura are senior staff, so it isn't like they have a whole lot of free time, and Uhura spends a lot of it bitching to Chris about how having a kid on a starship is the worst idea they have ever had.
"You know," she tells Pavel later, "This whole 'nurturing mother instinct' is deeply confusing to me."
"So I notice," he says.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Bahari more than anything, and I'm so, so grateful, but…" She doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Pavel nods anyway, like he gets it.
"My baby sister," he says, slowly, softly, "vas born in a refugee camp in Siberia. My father vas killed in ze riots in Leningrad, and my mother took me and my cousin Sashenka to ze camp to get avay from ze shooting. And my sister, she vas so small vhen she vas born, but I remember her voice vas so strong. My mother, she laugh and say it is roar like little bear. She say how strong my little sister is. So she name her Ursola."
"Little bear," Uhura murmurs, and Pavel nods solemnly. His accent goes thick with the memory. He's gotten much better at speaking Standard over the years, and while he's never completely lost the sound of a native Russian speaker he rarely sounds like this.
"When she lived through first winter, ve vere all so happy. Look how our little bear grows, mama says…" He pauses, gazing out the window at the stars as if he isn't seeing space at all but something far away. Uhura squeezes his hand. He doesn't seem to notice.
"She died our second vinter. So sick, just vhen first snow came. Sashenka and I, ve sat by her bed and gave her our blankets vhile Mama vent for ze doctor. She vas so pale, I remember her eyes vere light, not so brown like mine. She vas coughing blood vhen Mama came back, and ve could not stay."
They sit in silence, Uhura's hand resting over Pavel's, their only point of contact.
"I sink… I sink she vould have liked you," he says. "I sink she vould have been like you. But she is gone. Ve are here. And I am happy to have friends like you. I sink we have to be grateful, nyet?"
Uhura breathes deeply, sinking down off the bench to the floor. She feels more comfortable sitting there, like home.
"Da," she says. "I think we do. Asante, mdogo."
"Si kitu, dada wakubwa," Pavel replies in flawless Swahili, and Uhura cannot help a touch of pride at that. "It is nothing, sister."
So, it isn't quite so surprising that Bahari loves Pavel so much.
6
Bahari calls him mjomba, which means uncle in Swahili. Her first few years, she speaks a strange amalgamation of Swahili and Standard which drives Chris a little crazy until she straightens things out later and Uhura tells Chris she shouldn't worry about it because their daughter is five and bilingual. Chris just rolls her eyes.
So she calls Pavel mjomba while she calls Jim and Bones uncle, once she realizes that Pavel's the only one who understands any Swahili (Spock she calls toz'ot, because he's taught her a little Vulcan, so really it's anomalous).
They're all at Chris and Uhura's—Bones, Pavel, Hikaru, Jim, and Spock—and Pavel offers to tuck Bahari in because he's taking a shuttle out to Russia in the morning to see his family and he wants to say goodbye to his little milyi, darling, before he goes. Uhura wanders upstairs a few minutes later to find Bahari tucked in with Pavel pressing a soft goodnight kiss to her dark hair.
"You'll comm. me, won't you, Mjomba?" she pleads. Pavel smiles.
"Of course. Be good for your mother and mama and I'll bring you back some baklava, da?"
Bahari's face lights up. "Da! I mean—I'll be good!"
Pavel adjusts the blanket, smiling. "Spokoinoi nochi, then," he says. "Do you know what that means?"
Bahari shakes her head.
"It means good night, little bear."
When he leaves Bahari's room, Uhura puts her arm around his shoulders, walking him down the hallway, the soft sounds of laughter drifting up from the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, Uhura turns and hugs him.
"I am so proud of you, mdogo," she whispers into his curly hair.