Let's imagine for a moment that you and Chekov have gotten married, and you guys just made love for the first time. This is what happens after that.

She never really thought about marriage. Her parents certainly had, but she knew better. It wasn't a good idea to get her hopes up, not when she was blind. Who in their right mind would want a blind wife?

His name was Pavel Andreievich Chekov, former Ensign of the Starship Enterprise.

He'd asked her a year ago, nervously muttering in Russian. It had been a simple wedding, family and close friends in attendance. She didn't know that her bouquet was made up of beautiful red and orange roses, or that her dress had faint rainbow beading around the waist, or that her fiance had started crying. All she knew was that he kept his eyes on her the entire time, and she knew that this was the one moment she wished she could see. She wanted to be able to view that beautiful smile, the one she'd heard in his voice so many times before.

The reception had gone by in a blur. She didn't remember much of it, just dancing and eating and spending most of it in his arms, hearing his heart beat wildly against his chest. She liked the sound, it was reassuring and strong, something that he'd given her. Something she didn't need to see to know it was there.

She didn't hear it for a while that night, but rather felt it, faster, stronger, when they were in the hotel later. His bare chest was against hers, both of them breathing quickly, trembling as they moved together. He grasped her hand tightly, his ring smooth against her shaking fingers.

Now she lay on his chest, listening to that beautiful sound, his hands playing with her hair. He gives her a brief kiss on the top of her head, his breathing still uneven.

"You are okay, yes?" he asks for the fifth time.

She nods. "Of course I am."

"My father spoke to me about our wedding night. He warned me that I might hurt you." She can tell he's frowning, displeased by the idea. "I would never want to hurt you in any way."

She can't bring yourself to tell him that it had been painful at first. She knows that it will kill him, so she says instead, "It was beautiful."

"Like you," he whispers. "Вы красивы. You are beautiful."

She giggles, snuggling her head into his shoulder. "I must be the only bride to never see what she looked like."

He sighs, tilting her chin upward, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and you looked stunning today. совершенно потрясающий."

"You'll have to teach me Russian," she jokes, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. "You could be saying something dirty and I wouldn't even know it."

"Nyet. I would never do that." He kisses her nose, the crease between her eyebrows, her forehead. "Russian men are always gentlemen when it comes to the women they love and adore."

"Of course. They also invented the wheel, right?"

"Mmmhmm." He leans forward, planting light, playful kisses on her neck and across her collarbone. "We've accomplished many things." His lips linger on her shoulder, her fingers twining in his thick hair. "And I believe I've done the most important."

She giggles again. "I'll allow you to be cheesy just this once." Her fingers trace his lips. "I still wish I could see you."

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "What amazes me is that…you chose to be with me for the rest of our lives, and you'll never see me with your eyes. I find that very…romantic."

"How could I say no? As much as I would love to have my sight…I could never choose anyone else to share my life with."

His hands take her face and he presses his lips to hers, humming in contentment and pulling her closer.

"I love you, Pasha," she says quietly, drifting off to sleep in his arms.

"Я люблю тебя. I love you, so very much."