Kirk watched the information scroll by on the computer screen again with a sense of satisfaction. Perhaps the glorious stories of a starship captain's exploits in deep space brought crowds to their feet in rousing cheers, but he doubted anyone understood the feeling of complete victory a commander felt when he freed himself of the mundane drudgery that also made up his life.
Switching off the computer, he stood and took a moment to knock the feeling back into his feet.
"Come," he said absently as the door chimed. The sense of satisfaction sank away when the Admiral, not one of his own officers, came through the door.
"Admiral Leonov," he acknowledged, straightening.
"Good afternoon, Captain," the man smiled pleasantly. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."
Kirk didn't suspect for a moment that he cared one way or the other. "No," he answered honestly. "I was just finishing up, Sir."
"I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone," the Admiral said. "I thought I should meet the young man who was kind enough to volunteer to spend time with my grandson, and I haven't had an opportunity to tour navigation yet."
"That can be easily arranged," the Captain replied, but Leonov cut off anything further he intended to say.
"Did you say your Chief Navigator was an Ensign? Haven't you any Lieutenants in Navigation? How old is he?"
"Twenty-two," Kirk said stiffly, straightening his back as he saw the Admiral blink several times in surprise. The issue had been debated with people that actually mattered and the Captain was in no mood to rehash it now with Leonov. "He earned it," was his only clarification to the man.
It was one day in his career Kirk would have happily lost the memory of. Chekov had stayed with the former Chief Navigator: talking and praying with the former atheist as he lay dying, comforting the man who had spent his days trying to make the young Russian's life a living hell, holding onto a body that made seasoned medical personnel wretch when they finally arrived. While he had knelt with the Chief, the young man had used the star charts etched into his brain to navigate the ship through the storm and into safety—a necessity since the ship's entire navigation system had gone dead from damage.
"He's skilled: and he has character," Kirk added to the senior officer.
"Well," the man replied easily, " Then I look forward to meeting him. I realize he's not in navigation currently since he's working with my grandson. Will it be difficult to find him, do you think?"
A wry smile tugged at the Captain's lips, his hazel eyes sparkling. "Oh, I imagine not," he said. Just then a peal of laughter from a child drifted into the Captain's office.
The Admiral's forehead creased with confused lines.
Kirk indicated the door to the man's left. "The Chief Navigator's office is next to the Captain's. I believe they've been in there for some time now. I needed to talk to Chekov anyway," he continued as he moved out from behind his desk. "Perhaps you can touch base with your grandson while I meet briefly with the Ensign."
He ignored how taken aback the man looked at the proposal, and merely prompted him through the door. The Admiral hesitated once through and Kirk smiled knowingly. "Chart room," he explained, not having felt the need to detail the ship's blueprints entirely. He indicated a door directly across from the one they had just come through and Leonov continued on through the second door as directed.
Kirk froze as he entered Chekov's office, his heart stopping. Ice cold, hard hazel eyes glared at the Ensign as he quickly slipped a bottle off his desk and into his lap behind the child who sat there.
"Admiral," the Captain bit out without any attempt to control the anger in his voice. "This will be dealt with, I assure you."
The Senior Officer had paled to the shade of new paper—whiter than any ghost, whiter than Kirk thought any human being could be. He stood mouthing words without success, and then finally glanced back and forth from the Captain to the Ensign. "What?" he asked, pointing to Chekov. "The beer? Don't do anything about that, Captain. Dimitri's been drinking vodka since he could hold his own baby bottle. He could probably drink everyone on the ship under the table."
As could Chekov, thought Kirk ruefully. But that didn't make it right.
"You can't have pizza without beer," the child quipped helpfully.
True, thought the Captain, but despite the evidence that was what they had been eating, he was still was none too happy to have seen the beer in the child's hands.
Chekov at this point was obviously facing his own dilemma. With two senior officers having just entered the room, he was expected to stand: only he had a cold bottle of beer crushed between his legs and a child weighing them down. He decided to replace the poorly concealed bottle on the desk and stood quickly, slipping his hand around Dimitri's waist so the boy hung suspended in mid-air, his back crushed against the Navigator's chest.
The boy giggled at his dangling position.
"Is this your Chief Navigator?" the Admiral asked hoarsely.
"Yes," Kirk began replying, but a glance told him that Leonov was still white. Eyes riveted to Chekov, the Fleet Admiral was also still mouthing many words that never found sound.
"Dimitri," he growled suddenly in a burst of sound. "Get over here!"
Leonov shot a glance over at Kirk. "Captain, this man…this man…" He stopped, taking a forceful breath. His color started coming back. "Dimitri," he asked. "What's your family name? What's your name, Dimitri!"
Kirk straightened, his mouth opening slightly in curiosity. "Admiral," he asked. "You don't know your grandson's name?"
The man shook his head repeatedly. "We don't use surnames all the time in Russia: and in the Historic Districts...almost never. Dimitri, come over here!"
While Chekov had lowered the boy to the floor, his hands lingered protectively on the child's chest. Dimitri made no effort to either move or respond to his grandfather.
"Dimitri!"
"I don't want to!" the boy suddenly spat back.
Kirk's head snapped around, staring at the boy even as he saw the Admiral's mouth drop open. In Chekov's time on the ship the Captain had learned that traditional Russian children were simply never disrespectful or disobedient—and no traditional Russian was ever rude. Dimitri Ivanovich had just damned himself to hell: both on Earth and in the afterlife.
The Admiral closed his mouth carefully and shifted his eyes to Kirk. "Captain," he intoned apologetically. "Dimitri's family name is obviously Chekov. This man looks exactly like his father."
"No, I don't," Chekov blurted out, more disrespectful than Kirk had ever heard him: but he looked embarrassed by his outburst immediately.
"Not now," the Admiral growled. "The only reason he grew the beard was to look older. You look like he did without the beard. He must be an uncle," the man said to the Captain.
Leonov turned his attention back to the child then. "Dimitri, come over here now. I'm responsible for you and you know your parents don't associate with the Chekovs: they'll skin me alive if they find out I put you in their hands."
"My parents don't associate with the Leonovs either," the child said darkly. "And yet, I'm here with you."
The Admiral straightened at that and simply stared at the boy, nonplused.
"I am not Dimitri's uncle," Chekov said then, pulling the child tighter against his legs. "Viktor Chekov is thirty four.
"Captain," he continued, shifting wide, soulful eyes to his commander. Kirk recognized lingering shame in their dark depths. "I told you I had something important to tell you."
Jim Kirk stumbled forward then, scrambling to regain his footing in the most undignified fashion after having been ploughed into by his Chief Surgeon's explosive entrance from the chart room. At least he didn't fall face-first into the Admiral. He glowered at McCoy anyway.
"Good," the Doctor declared, his steel blue eyes indignant. "You're both here. You're all here." Striding toward Chekov, he waved a computer tape at him across the desk: thrusting it both at the boy and the Navigator.
"Ensign," he demanded. "Did you know about this?"
"Of course I knew," Chekov answered stiffly. "I'm not an idiot."
"Did you think the medical computers wouldn't pick it up?"
"As a matter of fact, that consideration had not occurred to me," he replied, sounding more like Spock than was comfortable.
"Look," Dimitri said suddenly, flashing a brilliant smile and thrusting up his hands--fingers splayed--toward Kirk. "Look, Captain, the Doctor fixed my hands. They weren't even this soft when I was born!"
Eyes narrowing slightly, Kirk took a tentative step toward the child. Was it all rural Russians, or just all Chekovs, he wondered? The boy had just clearly and deliberately tried to break the tension and divert their attention away from what had caused it. Chekov's bad jokes were more effective, the Captain decided.
"Dr. McCoy is quite skilled," he agreed, refusing to acknowledge what the boy had attempted. He saw in Dimitri's brown eyes however that the boy knew the Captain wasn't ignorant of his ineffective ploy.
Spock's entrance into the office from the main corridor shouldn't have surprised him at this point, but it did nonetheless. Kirk's eyes swept over the number of inhabitants in the small room. "We'll adjourn to the briefing room down the corridor, gentlemen."
Sweeping out of the room first, the Captain held back in the corridor while the Chief Navigator's office emptied of it's other inhabitants. He rubbed the back of his neck thoroughly. He didn't know what all these various people wanted with him, but intuition told him his life was about to become seriously more complicated.
"Bones," he said when the Doctor took up a place settled into a place beside him. "I've got a headache: a massive headache."
"Just wait," his friend commented dryly. "It only promises to get worse."
Chekov came out of the office last, his hand resting gently on the boy's back as he led him along. The Navigator immediately summoned a passing Yeoman. "Yeoman," he instructed. "Please escort Dimitri, here, to my cabin. Locate Lieutenant Sulu and ask him to stay with the boy until I get back: wait until he arrives."
"Yes, Sir."
Since the Ensign had so far shown a knack for handling the child, Kirk gave no thought to protesting. Not so the child.
"But I want…"
A glance from the Navigator silenced Dimitri and caused him to lower his eyes.
"Go take a nap: you've got decks to clean later."
"Come along," the Yeoman was coaxing cheerfully. "I was at lunch today when you were performing. You're a very talented young man."
"Thank-you," the child replied happily. Kirk watched as he turned melted chocolate brown eyes up at the woman and smiled charmingly.
"What an adorable little sailor suit," she continued as she led him down the corridor. "You're just cute as a button: I could hug the stuffing out of you."
"Thank-you," he responded cheerfully again. As they approached the end of the corridor, however, the Captain saw as Dimitri twisted his head around to look back at Chekov. His eyes were not warm, they were not brown. The Ensign was fixed with a dark, demonic and menacing glare that was clearly a threat as the child disappeared around the corner.
It startled Kirk with its intensity.
"That boy is dangerous," the Captain intoned with an assurance he felt down to the soles of his feet.
McCoy eyed him. "It's probably just your headache."
"An eight year old with that much charm and charisma who's already an expert at using them? Bones, I guarantee you: Dimitri is another Hitler in the making."
"I don't know," a subdued McCoy observed, eyeing Chekov as they followed him and the others down the corridor. "I wouldn't go about designating Dimitri as Hitler's heir just yet, Jim." He gestured thoughtfully as he continued. "The boy's eight: did it ever occur to you that he's just been raised to be polite, respectful and well-mannered?"
"I've seen that boy's eyes," the Captain argued in low growl as they approached the briefing room. "That's not respect hidden under the friendly little child we're seeing. That's a demon," he pronounced.
"Maybe respect is the wrong word," the Doctor agreed a little too quickly. "All humans have to learn to use discretion in revealing their thoughts and feelings to others. When children show discretion, we call it respect: when adults use the skill, it's called diplomacy. Captain, can you honestly tell me you haven't hidden any of your thoughts or feelings from Admiral Leonov since he arrived? We do it all the time, Jim," he said in gentle reminder. "I don't see how you can rightly blame Dimitri just for being proficient in the art early."
Kirk froze in his tracks and turned cold, hard hazel eyes on his friend at the briefing room's closed door. It was indecent for any man to be right so often. "Bones," he finally bit out, "When I want your opinion...I'll ask for it."