The lullaby Pavel sings to his daughter is the Russian lyrics to Once Upon a December.
Pavel peeked his head into the bassinet. His daughter looked at him with her tear stained blue green eyes. Just like her mother's before her eyes turned all gray. Still beautiful, reminded Pavel of the snow the swirled around in the winters of Moscow. How he'd love to show them his homeland.
He watched as her small pink hands balled up and her face screwed. "Het, het, why are we crying, huh?" Pavel cooed to his fussy daughter. "What's wrong, doch'ka."
He remembered what his wife had told him. That sometimes she wanted to be up high. He chuckled, just like her mother, again. "Oh, iz zat what you want?" asked Pavel, not expecting an answer. "You want to go up up?"
Pavel stuck his head in the bassinet so that their noses touched. She fussed and grabbed a chunk of his curly hair. "Het, het, het! My ne natyagi...v...atʹ papa's...v...olosy!" cried Pavel, moving his face away from his daughter. He watched as his little girl raised both arms into the air. Her cries were a mix between whines and light cries. He picked her up and nuzzled her. "Papa's het mad."
She continued to cry and Pavel sighed. He grabbed her stuffed bear. It began to twinkle the tune of the song that Pavel and his wife danced to at their wedding, the song that Pavel sang to his wife to hush the labor pains. If it soothed her, maybe it sooth her? She nuzzled into his neck as he patted her back. "Kak uzor na okne, snova proshloe rjadom," sang Pavel. "Kto-to pel pesnju mne, w zimniy wecher kogda-to, Slowno w proshlom ozhilo."
Pavel wiped her eyes. "Ch'ikh-to bereznhykh ruk teplo, wals izyskannykh gostey I beg lihikh konei," he continued as she cooed into his ear. He began to sway with her as she grabbed at his yellow uniform shirt. "Wal's kruzhil I njos menja. Slowno v skazku swoju manja. Perwyj bal I perwyj wal's, Swuchat wo mne sejchas."
He placed her in her crib and kissed her. "Zerkala w jantare, moj wostorg otrazhajut," he cooed. "Kto-to pel na zAre, dom rodnoj pokidaja."
Pavel was spun around and pink, sugary smelling lips were pressed to his. Chelsea Chekov. His wife. "Budesh' ty w dekabre," said Pavel against her lips. "Again with me, darling."
"You're a wonderful daddy," she said, touching his chest and casting her eyes downward. She looked up at her young husband. "I hope you're ready to do it again."
He held her out at arm's length. His eyes were twinkling and a smile crossed his face. "You're beremennaya?" he asked Chelsea who nodded, he ran out of the room. "She's beremennaya! Beremennaya! I'm going to be a papa again! A papa!"