Чай
The mother of Pavel Andreivich has sent him tea.
He thinks he can't explain it to anyone on the ship – although he has seen the others carrying packages, too.
When his mother tells him this idea of hers, he tries to explain that she need not do this thing. There is tea, all the time, from the galley, and it is considered a comfort of home.
He tells her that Kyle, who is English, and could be counted an expert on such matters, drinks it all the time.
But that tea, his very Russian Mамa says, can not be proper tea. She loves her son, she says, and a Russian son must have proper Russian чай.
So she bundles tea in with her other offerings, and sends it on its long, slow journey across the Orion Spur, to wait and wait at a Starbase for the Enterprise to call.
The arriving box is not very large, but as he sifts down through the layers, it is a bit like going back in time: He holds each object as he lifts it out, and in each he sees his mother's reaction to a story he has told her. And in these objects he sees his journey unravel backward to the day he left. He sees, too, the things that struck his mother in what he has said; and perhaps he understands, now, her need to send him chai.
At the very bottom of the box is an awkward bundle. It is wrapped together, in grey cloth, and tied with a string; it is clear that his mother has put a little extra thought, and a little extra care, in to packaging its contents.
And when Pavel Andreivich opens that bundle, the past strikes him – and unforeseen glimpses of the present. He finds himself weeping, weeping without restraint - and so very glad the package came.
Oh, he is glad to be the son of a Mama who delights in sending proper tea.
Later that evening, Pavel goes to the Officers' Mess, to eat with some of the Bridge Crew. Some of them received packages today, also, and he sees it in their faces: Some subdued, some reminiscent, some a little more cheerful yet. He is glad he is not the only one to receive a package – and he suspects that he is not the only one who has felt all three things, this one day.
The Captain arrives, just the same as always - Lieutenant Uhura, too. They come in talking about bureaucracy and regulations and red tape; and listening to Miss Uhura, Chekov knows she's had a busy day. She must be tired, he thinks, but she hopes you cannot tell that is the case. The Captain says something about cargo and manifests – and when he says 'organize' and 'most efficiently,' Chekov knows Mr. Spock has remained on the Bridge, and may be there some time.
Chekov doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but he appreciates that the Captain doesn't mind their interest in all things concerning the ship: If something is confidential, it is kept that way - and they have all learned to look away and not listen, when the Captain and the First Officer are conversing like that.
This evening, Lieutenant Uhura does not linger in the Officers' Mess, to wait.
After he finishes his meal, Pavel returns to his quarters. He is a little unsure, but eventually decides what to do: He takes his padd, and the grey bundle, and goes back to the Officers' Mess. The room is clearing out, and soon it is deserted.
He reads for a long time, and wonders whether he has made a mistake.
Then Commander Spock arrives. He stands at the doorway a moment, as he often does, then goes to get a tray. He sits in his usual spot and slowly eats his dinner, in his mindful, deliberate way. Watching him, Chekov wonders what he's thinking. He wonders whether the Commander minds being so much alone.
And when the Commander finishes, and rises to clear his tray, Chekov stands and goes toward him.
Mr. Spock stops, then, and waits for Chekov to approach. He does not say anything, but Chekov has learned to talk with this Vulcan, and does not feel his silence is forbidding.
"Sir," Chekov asks, "I wonder – do you have a minute?"
And Commander Spock nods. He makes a small gesture, and Chekov knows it is an invitation to sit, and converse.
So Chekov sits, looking at this man that he has learned to call a friend. And though he is not sure what he should say – his Standard seems so faulty, all of a sudden – he tries to tell Spock anyway.
"Commander, uh, - "
And Spock just waits patiently for Chekov to gather himself, and his thoughts.
"I received a package, today, and… Sir, my mother sent some things." And Chekov feels embarrassed to be saying this, and overwhelmingly awkward at his words, but he presses on because he knows it can't really get any better. "I know it must seem peculiar," Chekov says, "but…"
And Chekov trails off: Mr. Spock is nodding, and Chekov wonders whether he really understands.
But Spock is speaking now, and that calm level voice says, "Human mothers enjoy expressing affection for their off-spring, and have an innate need to do so. It is fitting, then, that they should indulge this need. Providing for their children's comfort - particularly in times of distress or separation, when their well-being can not be more directly assured - is one such outward expression."
And Chekov is no longer so embarrassed, though he still does feel awkward, so he quietly answers, "Yes, Commander. Thank you."
But Spock has not finished, and when he speaks again, his voice is a little softer, and Chekov has a hard time meeting his eyes. "Yours, Ensign, has much to be proud of. It is only right and natural that she should choose to do so, as well."
The awkwardness is crushing: Chekov can only clear his throat and mumble, "Thank you, sir," before he rises and goes to collect the bundle.
When he returns with it, he feels Mr. Spock's eyes on him, and he hopes he does not look as clumsy as he feels. When he gets within an arm's length, he holds the package out, and as the Commander's hands slowly come up to take it, Chekov can feel the heat rising from them. Cautiously, so that he does not touch the Vulcan's skin, he places the bundle in careful hands.
He steps back a little, to give the Commander some space. He feels those brilliant eyes flick up, and he meets them as best he can. Then he looks down again, although he knows Commander Spock is still scrutinizing his face.
He moves to his chair and sits. After a moment, those long pale Vulcan fingers reach to pull the string, and, when they start to fold back the fabric, Chekov has to look away.
There is a long silence; and when it grows too long, Chekov finds breath and says, "She found it in a shop in Moscow."
He looks up to see the Commander nodding, not the tiny Vulcan nod Chekov has seen a thousand times, but a long one - almost a Human one.
Chekov suspects that, once again, his actions have brought sorrow to one who has seen enough of it – but he hopes he has brought comfort, too.
And Commander Spock's eyes close; and he is silent and still for one second more, before he says, quietly, evenly, in a language that Chekov did not know he could understand, "Я высоко ценю Ваше внимание, Павел Андреевич. И, пожалуйста, сообщите об этом матери, что я благодарю ее за Вулканский чай."
Wordlessly, speechlessly, Pavel nods; and gathering his padd, takes his leave. At the door, he turns, thinking to speak – But the Commander has not moved: He still holds the awkward grey bundle in careful Vulcan hands, and his dark head is bowed.
As he walks back to his quarters, Pavel Andreivich wonders whether he should tell his mother that the ship's First Officer has called him by name, and expressed appreciation to him for his thoughtfulness - or whether this is something he can keep, just for himself.
But he knows he will write, tonight, to say "Commander Spock says to tell you 'thank you for the Vulcan tea.'"