"Oh, look how cute he is," a rather tipsy girl giggled to her friend behind her hand. Her drunken attempt to maintain the privacy of her conversation was not particularly effective, of course, and what she had said had been clearly audible to Pavel, but he shook off the feeling of having been condescended to, and strode past the silly creatures. He was well used to these degradations. It had been made clear to Pavel, over the past several years, that most of Star Fleet thought of him as a child. And, when they'd had a few drinks in them, they weren't afraid to say it. That was why Pavel did not like to go to after-work parties. If he ever neared a bar, he would most certainly be humiliated. Still, it was Nyota's birthday today, and he wanted to make an appearance for her sake.
"Hey there, honey lamb," simpered a bleach-blonde woman of around 35 as Pavel made his way to the bar, wending through the crowd. He ignored her as he ignored all of the others. The young navigator absolutely refused to let the constant slough of insults affect him.
As Pavel neared the bar, a man in his late 20s sauntered up to him and smiled condescendingly, placing an unwelcome hand on the 17-year-old's shoulder. "Hiya, kid. You old enough to drink?" he slurred with a sleazy wink.
Pavel favored him with a cool glare and a "Yes" before he brushed the bothersome fellow off, and plopped down with relief onto a barstool. God. Since when had crossing a room become such an ordeal? Briefly, Pavel scanned the crowd for someone he knew. If he had someone to talk to, perhaps people would perceive him as too busy to be bothered with patronizing remarks.
To his utter relief, Chekov spied Mr. Scott sitting a few stools away. Pavel loved to talk to the Chief Engineer. He always proved an exemplary partner for an enlightening conversation. If one wished to discuss one's latest thoughts on advanced warp theory, black holes, or quantum leaps, all one needed to do was to find Mr. Scott. Pavel admired this genius of a man more than anyone else on the Enterprise. Most importantly, however, was that Mr. Scott never treated Pavel as a child. His colloquial "laddie"s or "boy-o"s never felt ill-meant to Pavel. In fact, when they came from Mr. Scott, they seemed like nothing less than terms of endearment. Eagerly, Pavel rose and sat in the stool next to his idol.
"May I join you, sir?" he asked tentatively, with a timid smile.
Scotty looked up from his drink, and glanced around for the source of the voice addressing him. When he saw young Pavel, he positively beamed.
"Why, hello there, laddie! Of course you may join me! Nyota is quite a popular lass. Nearly the entire crew turned out to celebrate! I do hope you are having a pleasant evening, Mr. Chekov."
Pavel grinned, all cares suddenly washed away by Mr. Scott's friendly greeting. "Of course, sir, I could not be better." Then again… Pavel was suddenly seized with the feeling that he had been false, remembering his present state of distress. If there was anyone he trusted to confide in, it was Mr. Scott. And perhaps this man, intelligent as he was, would be able to give some helpful advice.
He hesitated a moment before he voiced his concerns, and Mr. Scott noticed. Something was wrong with Pavel. His focus sharpened, and he trained all his attention on Chekov. The ensign had something to say.
"Ectually, sir, vould it be alright if I asked your adwice?"
"Of course, lad, what's bothering ya?" replied Scotty, genuinely concerned. For Pavel, who was never seen as less than his bubbly self, this must be something of great concern.
"Vell, sir, I have been feeling… unappreciated, lately." Scotty nodded slowly, bidding Chekov to continue without interruption.
The young navigator squared his shoulders and took a steadying breath. "You see, zhe crew treats me as if I vere a child. I know zat I am only sewenteen, but I am a perfectly competent nawigator, and a professional, and I do not like zhe debasing remarks constantly flung my way!" Pavel checked himself, realizing he had raised his voice in his emotional fervor. "I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to shout."
"It's quite alright, lad." Scotty was extremely surprised to hear this news from Chekov. From what he had seen, most of the crew admired their youngest member. The worst sentiments present might only be jealousy of Pavel's precocity and genius status. He had never observed anyone intentionally debase the lad, a lad though he may be. The fact that Chekov felt this way, therefore, was something to be investigated.
"I am sorry to hear you've been having trouble, Mr. Chekov. Who, in particular, has been botherin' ya?"
"Oh, eweryone, sir. Mostly crew members I barely know! I cannot understand vhy zey vould judge me if zey do not know me!"
People he doesn't know? That's odd. "Well, what sorts a things do they say to ya? Are they openly cruel?"
Chekov thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No, sir. Zey are wery subtle. Zey do not come out right and say I do not belong here, but zey make me feel… unvelcome… all zhe same."
Scotty was astounded. He had never heard of such a thing in all his years in Star Fleet. Could it be that there was a concerted plot to bully the young ensign out of commission? Was it envy? What could possibly be the root of this problem? "Can ya give me an example, Chekov?"
"Vell, sir, just tonight, three people have said such things to me. Vhen zey are drunk, zey have more courage to say these things. Zat is vhy I do not ewer come to zhe bar after my shift. But I had to come to Nyota's party, you see, so…"
Chekov's story was becoming exceedingly strange. People he didn't know affronting him when they were drunk? It sounded almost as if… "Lad, what exactly do they say to you, word for word?"
"Just tonight, sir, one girl whispered to her friend zhat I vas "cute"! Anozer woman called me "honey lamb" – vhat even is a "honey lamb"?! – and a man asked me if I vas old enough to drink! You see, zhey think I am a child, sir! I usually simply ignore zhem, sir, but it vas wery silly to ask if I could drink, so I replied to the man. "Yes," I said to him, because of course I am old enough! And zhen I walked away. Honestly, eweryone knows a member of Starfleet can drink! If you are old enough to nawigate a starship, zhey say, you are definitely old enough to drink alcohol! I passed zhe A.E. vhen I vas 12 years old! Eweryone knows you can't be assigned to a Starfleet wessel as a minor! I – "
"Lad, lad! You're rambling! I know you're upset, but calm down." Yes. The situation was exactly as Scotty had thought. "And you passed the Adulthood Exam when you were twelve, lad? Mercy…" Scotty shook his head in amazement. "But, in any case, it sounds to me as if you're overreacting to this situation."
Chekov' heart sank at the chastisement by Mr. Scott. To have his issues trivialized by someone he thought he could trust was unbearable. Perhaps Mr. Scott was right, though. Maybe he was overreacting…
Scotty gave young Chekov a wide, knowing smile. "Lad, I know you're not going to want to hear this, but I think you've interpreted your dilemma incorrectly." Scotty gave an amused little chuckle, still reeling with disbelief at Chekov's blunder.
"Sir! Do not laugh at me!" cried the young chief navigator, distraught.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Scotty amended hurriedly. "It's just that – they don't think of ya as a child, Mr. Chekov. Far from it. When they call ya cutesy names it isn't because you're young… it's because they think you're… erm… desirable."
Chekov blinked blankly, brow furrowed in confusion. Scotty clarified.
"They're flirting with ya, lad. They don't think you're "cute" like "tribble cute", they think you're "cute", if ya know what I mean."
Pavel's eyes widened in understanding, and he flushed scarlet, all the way to the tips of his ears. "No, sir – zhat – zhat is not possible! I – zhat is – "
"Look, lad, no one on the Enterprise would ever want to get rid of ya. That's why I was so shocked when I heard you'd been bullied. You're a wonderful navigator and a huge asset to the crew. I would be amazed if anyone ever insinuated you were childlike – you're a perfectly mature adult. I'm not at all surprised, however, to hear you've been flirted with. To be perfectly honest, you're a very handsome young lad. None o' the lasses or lads could possibly resist ya. You could take your pick."
Chekov reeled with this news. He had been flirted with? He was handsome? He was desirable? And Mr. Scott… did Mr. Scott think he was handsome, too?
It was not exactly surprising to Pavel that he had misinterpreted his situation. He knew himself well enough to know that, although he was extremely intelligent, he wasn't the best at picking up on social cues. Taking all of this into consideration, however, he decided he didn't much like being flirted with. These people did not know him. They looked only at the surface, never so much as bothering to ask his name before deciding that they wanted him. Pavel wasn't interested in a transient sexual relationship. He wanted to be loved and appreciated for who he was.
But Mr. Scott… Mr. Scott had said he was handsome, too. He had said he could take his pick of the lasses or lads. Did that include… Mr. Scott himself? If Mr. Scott, the man he admired and trusted above everyone else, decided that Pavel was desirable… Pavel did not think he would refuse him. No, he would accept any advances from Mr. Scott wholeheartedly.
Deep down, Pavel had known for a long time that he was falling in love with the Chief Engineer. There was no one with whom he would rather be, so he spent nearly all of his free time down on the engineering deck. He would lend a hand with whatever needed to be done, and would inevitably embroil himself in a deeply intellectual discussion over… how the warp core would react to various hazardous materials, or whatever else they might think of. Mr. Scott stimulated his mind. He was kind, and smart, and bright-souled, and his little mannerisms always melted Pavel's heart. And, though Pavel admittedly had a bit of an immaturity complex, he loved being called a "lad" by Mr. Scott. From him, it meant something special. Pavel absolutely adored the Chief Engineer's Scottish brogue, as well. Their accents were a barrier in communication that the two held in common. They had so much in common, really. If Mr. Scott could love him, thought Pavel, he would be the happiest man in the world.
"Lad, are you alright? You've been quiet for some time. I didn't mean to embarrass ya."
Pavel jumped, startled out of his introspection. He flushed even more deeply as the object of his thoughts smiled at him.
"Let me buy ya a drink. You deserve it after your emotional turmoil."
Pavel stood up, flustered. "Nyet, erm, no sir, thank you. I think I'll be going now." He practically sprinted out of the room towards his own quarters. He couldn't be around Mr. Scott just then. It was too much. All he could think of was his kindess, and his intelligence, and his handsome smile. He was handsome, wasn't he? Yes... And just then, as he gazed, startled, into Mr. Scott's smile, all Pavel had wanted was to kiss him senseless.
As the ensign entered his quarters, he instructed the computer to lock the door and to route the intercom to the bathroom if anyone rang. Then, he stripped hurriedly and stumbled into the shower. The pounding of the hot water over his head calmed him. Exhausted at the revelations of the day, he leaned his forehead on the still-cool tiles. His mind was spinning. He couldn't get Mr. Scott out of his head. He kept imagining that, instead of saying "they think you're desirable", he had said "I desire you."
Guiltily, Pavel took himself in hand. As he stroked, he imagined the Chief Engineer whispering dirty things in his ear, calling him his "lad", and telling him he loved him. He imagined it was his hand stroking him, squeezing him. "Meester Scott," Pavel breathed as he felt himself nearing the edge. "Da, da, Meester Scott…Scotty… Scotty. Da!" He came with a strangled cry and sank to his knees, watching the cascading water wash away the evidence of his pleasure.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Pavel heard the very voice he had been fantasizing about over the intercom. "Lad, are ya there? It's me, Scotty. Can I come in?"
Startled out of his afterglow, Chekov jumped up, turned off the shower, pressed the intercom button, and called, "Coming!" He scrambled get ready to answer the door.