"This is extraordinary," James Kirk marveled, holding his glass at eye level to consider its contents. "Bones, I didn't realize they made wine in Georgia. At least not anything but peach wine."

The Doctor shook his head as he swallowed his own mouthful of food. "This isn't from the United States, Jim. It's from the country of Georgia in the Russian Federation."

The Captain smirked, although the information didn't surprise him. "I had no idea that you had such an extensive knowledge of Earth geography and national export products."

"A ship's Chief Medical Officer has his sources," McCoy assured him. "I've grown quite fond of this wine." He picked up and eyed his own empty glass sorrowfully with a heavy sigh. "I don't imagine there's much of it left on the ship now."

"No," Kirk agreed, his eyes moving over the Enterprise's largest rec room, packed full of people enjoying the same wine and buffet of real Earth food.

"I can't help but feel guilty," Uhura commented as she laid her fork down on her filled plate. "Chekov must have completely emptied his Purser's stores to provide this dinner."

"And mine," Sulu added as he pushed a potato into his mouth. "He never has enough room in his own."

"He's welcome to store his wine in mine," McCoy offered helpfully. "Don't let it be said that I don't have compassion for a fellow officer's plight."

"Your generosity is humbling," the Helmsman grinned.

"Here, have some," the Doctor insisted, pushing a piece of meat at the man with a knowing smirk.

Sulu recoiled from the fork reflexively. "I know what that is!" he blurted.

"It's good, is what it is." McCoy offered the meat to Kirk when the Captain peered over to eye it curiously.

"It is good," the ship's commanding officer agreed after he accepted it. "I should have taken some of that stew. What is it?"

The Doctor laughed at Sulu's further shudder of disgust. "It's Rudolph. Reindeer meat," he clarified for the Captain's benefit. "Most of them live in Siberia, you know. Not the ones with red noses," he added with a wink at the Helmsman.

"And to think you claimed Chekov was spending too much time with Spock," Kirk observed with a glint in his hazel eyes.

"They're beautiful, affectionate animals," Sulu insisted. "I've ridden them. You wouldn't eat horse meat, would you, Captain?"

"No."

"I don't think," Uhura interrupted. "That we should philosophize about which ugly animals it should be okay to eat with an unheard of banquet in front of us, or with Mr. Spock in our midst," she added with nod to the man.

"Point taken," Kirk agreed. The Communication's Officer was right about a lot of things, he thought as he speared a bright orange piece of carrot: his mouth already watering from the sight of it. As was traditional in the service, every officer had their own storage section for personal items in the Purser's stores. Higher ranking officers had larger areas. It hardly seemed fair at the moment. It went beyond no one's notice that Chekov had an unimaginable number of people from back home sending him real food in long-term storage containers. Not one delivery for the Quartermaster to distribute failed to contain at least one package of edibles for the Security Chief since the day he'd arrived on the Enterprise as an Ensign. It was not even unusual for the ship to be flagged down only for the transfer of a special delivery item for him.

No one complained. Special delivery packages for Chekov always meant fresh citrus fruit for the entire crew at dinner. He shared his good fortune without hesitation or single note of regret. Low morale among the crew always caused an anonymous fresh food item among the cook's distribution of standard rations: whether is was meat, vegetables or real chocolate. Somehow it never failed to surprise and delight everyone although it was by no means unusual anymore.

It was also not like the Security Chief to single out guests and officers for special treatment. It was something else Uhura was right about. The wide variety the crew had to choose from for their dinner only proved that Chekov had to have used everything he owned on the ship to feed everyone this evening.

"To think I was looking forward to spam hash and red jell-O today," Chapel said wistfully.

"You should have asked," Uhura smiled at her. "I'm sure the cook would have accommodated."

The Nurse grimaced. "Perish the thought: I know what's for dinner tomorrow."

"Now," Montgomery Scott drew out, his eyes fixed beyond the large table they all sat at. "There's a sight to terrify any man."

Kirk choked on his food as the group's gaze unanimously followed the Chief Engineer's across the room and quiet laughter overtook them. Chekov stood with seeming ease as his wife and two of his former girlfriends chatted amiably before him.

"I don't care what anybody says," Chapel insisted, waving her fork for emphasis. "The open relationship concept simply doesn't work with humans. It's against our nature to...share."

"As a medical professional, I second that opinion," McCoy agreed. "Anyone who says otherwise is lying."

"Well, Landon told me Chekov talked about his 'sister' constantly," Uhura observed. "She did say it used to creep her out. She got the impression there was something weird about their relationship."

"Like they were actually married?" Chapel asked rhetorically.

Uhura hesitated, dark eyes staring at Chekov and his current companions. "I don't think that was it," she finally said cryptically.

"Have ye spent much time with them back home?" Scott asked the silent Director of the ballet company.

The man shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," he replied after a long moment. "I experience difficulty in gossiping about someone who is so rigorously opposed to the habit. Pavel Andrieivich wouldn't be happy."

Kirk chuckled. "On this ship Chekov..."

"Leaves the table when gossip begins," Spock observed flatly.

The Captain began to disagree, but stopped. Chekov's occasional, sudden memories of other pressing business that caused him to leave off-duty gatherings never seemed connected before.

"Mr. Spock," Uhura reflected. "There's a difference between friends expressing concern and people gossiping."

"Yes," Sulu maintained quietly without taking his eyes from his food. "Chekov would say it's the difference between talking TO a person or ABOUT a person." He glanced up and shrugged weakly when no one spoke. "I've known him too long."

Kirk drained his glass and cleared his throat. "Anatolya," he commented. "We're still scheduled to drop you at Starbase 12. Starfleet and 'the powers that be' are trying, as we speak, to arrange transportation that's better than their last suggestion."

The Director straightened, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't understand."

"I'm confident they'll be able to find a ship that will meet with your approval before we arrive," Kirk reassured him with a smile. "Frankly, I'm embarrassed. You were absolutely right about the Liberty Line. Starfleet should have known better than to just take the first ship available at the Base."

The man shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The Liberty Line," the Captain insisted. "You were right to reject them as your ride home. Their maintenance history is frightening, and there have been several fines levied against pilots flying in unfit conditions."

Laughing, the Director shook his head. "Captain Kirk, I'm simply an artist. I wouldn't know the difference between a Class-A weld by top Starfleet engineers and duct tape. I certainly wouldn't have the first notion of how to check a commercial ship's repair records."

This time it was Kirk who frowned in curiosity. "I was told by Starfleet you refused to transport the ballet company aboard the Liberty Line's ship."

Anatolya shook his head again. "The only Starfleet personnel I've had any dealings with recently are aboard this ship. It wasn't me, Captain."

"Well, then who..."

"Good evening," Chekov said cheerfully as he took one of the empty seats across from Kirk. "How's the food tonight?"

The Director pointedly eyed the Security Chief and cleared his throat before returning his attention to his food.

"I was looking forward to the spam," Chapel complained again.

"Oh, I'm sure the cook always has spam available," Chekov assured her. "Just ask."

"Not worth the effort," she sighed, poorly attempting to hide a smile.

"Aren't you eating, lad?" Scotty asked.

"Of course he's eating," McCoy rasped. "Chekov's always eating."

"High metabolism," the man commented as he leaned back so that Tatiana could rest a plateful of food on the table before him. "You told me so, Doctor."

"Age catches up to us all eventually. I'm looking forward to it, son."

"I'll try not to disappoint you."

"What's the matter, Chekov?" Uhura questioned dryly as the man's wife set down her own plate and sat down next to him. "Did you sprain your arm, or was your plate just too heavy to lift yourself?"

The man scowled at her, but said nothing.

Blue eyes sparkling, Tatiana gave the Communication's Officer a bemused look as she ladled horseradish onto Chekov's plate.

"Too much," he complained, swatting her hand away.

"You like horseradish," she responded, spooning black current preserves into his glass of tea.

"I like breathing too," he rasped as he pushed the condiment off his food. "Stop that!" Chekov insisted as she only pushed it back on.

"It's good for you," she observed as she poured gravy over his food.

Growling, the Security Chief poked dismally at his food then. "Russians don't use gravy," he reminded her.

"You are not so Russian as you used to be, I think."

Chekov jabbed at her with his fork. Batting him away with as little thought as given to an insect, she slathered a roll with butter and placed it on his plate. He sliced off a piece of his meat and transferred it to her plate while she was preoccupied.

She noticed it anyway. "Stop that. I have all the food I want."

"You're too thin," he insisted. "You need protein to put weight on."

"Hey!" A male dancer paused by the table as he passed. "Watch that!" he ordered, pounding his fist into the Security Chief's shoulder. "I'm the one who has to hold her over my head fifteen hours a day!"

"Boris," Chekov snarled thickly. "If you're having trouble performing your job duties, I'm sure Viktor will be happy to take your place."

The man grinned, shaking his head as he strolled away. "Pasha," he drawled, "you're just too predictable."

"Too true," Uhura agreed, smiling at the Security Chief even as his wife furtively pushed the meat back onto his own plate. "Thank-you for the dinner, Chekov," she added quickly as she stood, keeping his attention as the woman hurriedly cut up the meat on his plate to hide the addition. "It was a treat."

"Thank the cook," the Security Chief professed as he began to eat. "It's his dinner."

"Sure it is," she drawled sarcastically as she left, casting him a sidelong glance.

Kirk eyes were fixed on Chekov as he ate. The man not only took in stride, but seemed to not even notice that Tatiana had not only chose and served him his food, but even cut it up as well. The Captain stood abruptly.

"If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to take this opportunity to mingle with our talented guests."

"Captain," the Director remarked as he stood as well. "Allow me to make your introductions."

Kirk smiled, hazel eyes warm. "I'd be honored, Sir."

Some time later, the Captain gently swirled the drink in his glass as he watched his companion frozen, transfixed in front of him. He knew what was holding the man's attention but ignored it.

"Anatolya."

Startled, the Director finally realized the summons was simply the last in a series. "I'm sorry, Jim," he smiled weakly. "You were saying?"

Kirk's eyes swept over the throng of people still gathered in the rec room again. "I was saying that I'm surprised that people that earn their living as professional dancers spend their recreation time dancing so enthusiastically."

The man raised his glass in a toast and smiled warmly. "To the dancer's soul. They like the reminder that dancing was meant to be fun. I was a dancer myself, you know."

Returning the toast, the Captain nodded. "You're quite talented. I saw you in New York when I was much younger."

"We were both much younger," the man chuckled with a grimace.

Kirk glanced over at the two men in white uniforms that had joined a poker game with his crew. "I'm surprised to see members of the Russian Navy with the dance company," he commented.

"Oh, yes," Anatolya acknowledged. "We almost always have one of them with us. Since we're traveling there are two so they can change off watches."

"What on they on watch for?" the Captain asked curiously.

The man shrugged. "I'm not their boss. I have enough work with my dancers." Anatolya's eyes drifted back to what had held his attention earlier and Kirk followed his gaze reluctantly.

Chekov was dancing with his wife. That Chekov was dancing was by no means unusual. Indeed, if there was music available the Security Chief could be counted on to be the first to find the room to dance and a partner to share the floor with. He was a good dancer: had even taught Chapel to dance when McCoy gave up after she broke his foot. Modern, ballroom...he enjoyed them all the same. Except... "Does Chekov slow dance at home?" he asked curiously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Chekov," Kirk repeated. "He won't slow dance on the ship. I was wondering if he slow dances while he's at home." There wasn't a question whether he was slow dancing now; any slower and they'd be standing.

"Maybe it's not a matter of where, Jim," McCoy observed as he joined them. "Maybe it's a matter of WHO." He gestured with his glass at the couple. "Maybe he reserves his slow dances for his wife."

"Hmph," the Captain grunted. "Noble of him."

"He's singing to her too," the Doctor added. "Take it from an old southern gentlemen, I can tell."

"He doesn't sing either," Kirk commented.

The Director's eyes widened. "Pavel doesn't sing?"

"Our Security Chief says Lt. Riley inflicts more than enough on the crew by himself," the Doctor informed him with a grin. "Chekov can always be counted on to think of others."

Their guest shifted, lines creasing his brow as his gaze shifted briefly from Chekov to the Captain. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I'm afraid I tire more easily than my company at my age. If you don't mind, I'm going to turn in for the night now."

"Of course," Kirk replied. "Do you need a guide?"

"No, no," the man insisted. "I left a trail of breadcrumbs."

The Captain smiled easily. "Good. Than have a restful evening."

Kirk watched as the Director paused to exchange a few words with Chekov and his wife, who had finally drifted off the dance floor. They made sense together, is what the Captain thought. Both the Security Chief and Tatiana were blessed with a natural charm that immediately put people at ease and drew people to their affable charm. Together, they generated an energy one could physically feel when near them: like static electricity crackling on your skin.

People were drawn to the subtle radiance of the couple and seemed to feed off their relationship.

"Have you taken to spying, Jim?" McCoy's voice drawled in his ear.

"Captains have no need to spy," he replied with ill-humor.

"Oh," his friend reflected. "I hadn't realized your interest was official in nature."

Kirk glanced sharply at the Doctor, but found himself met by warm blue eyes. McCoy indicated the couple that had been occupying the Captain's attention.

"My grandparents," he remarked.

The Captain reflected on the man's words a moment. "My Aunt's neighbors," he divulged his own thoughts, knowing exactly what the Doctor meant. "My grandparents weren't married that long."

Chekov and Tatiana had a natural rhythm between them, as though they had been married a thousand years and had moved beyond the realm of human trappings: moved into a melding of souls that sometimes occurred in the rarest of cases to extremely lucky people. When together, they finished each other's sentences and reacted seamlessly to each other's actions they didn't even see.

Chekov was more grounded, more sane when he was around her. His bursts of outlandish behavior seemed held in check simply by her presence.

"The concept that your perfect match is created at the same time you are exists in many cultures. They're like two jigsaw puzzle pieces," Kirk continued.

"There's a Russian word for it," Sulu interjected as he joined them. "I can never remember how to pronounce it, but it means 'two people who share the same soul'."

" 'Soulmates', in English," Kirk agreed.

"No," Sulu corrected. "Soulmates refers more to people who... 'get' each other. The Russian concept refers to one soul that literally inhabits two separate bodies: two people who are cojoined in their very essence."

Kirk continued to watch Chekov and his wife with pinched lips. What he didn't tell his companions, what he didn't admit to the Doctor, was that he had been spying on the couple. It had begun inadvertently. While in the gym early that morning, he had stormed into the pool room to stop the dangerous horseplay he'd clearly heard. The screams and laughter that filled the room were not coming from his crew, however. It was the Security Chief and his wife that were chasing each other around the wet tiled floors, pushing each other into the pool and dunking each other under the water.

The Captain had said nothing, nor had he revealed his presence to them. He had found them throughout the day and it was always the same. When alone, Chekov and Tatiana taunted and tormented each other, playing with the abandon only children usually knew. They seemed to thrive on each other's company, crave each other's presence.

"The way he enjoys her company," is what Kirk finally said aloud. "I'm surprised he's never talked about her. I'm surprised he treats his marriage so casually." He tried to control it, but even he heard the sour tone in his voice.

Sulu eyed the ship's commanding officer in thought a long moment. He shifted. "You know, they were married in St. Petersburg, Russia, on May 11th, Chekov's first year at the Academy. I was a third level cadet at the time, so I wasn't able to attend their wedding," he stated, his tone emphasizing the significance of the statement. Neither of Sulu's companions showed any understanding of what he was trying to say.

"They seem utterly devoted to each other," McCoy mused.

"Yes," Kirk agreed with ill-humor. "Now that she's here." Honestly, the situation enraged the Captain and he was having trouble hiding his feelings. "I thought, maybe, that our impetuous friend had married Tatiana on a childish whim and gotten over it as quickly as he usually does."

"You'd feel less betrayed if it was an embarrassing mistake Chekov simply hadn't corrected," McCoy commented, elaborating the Captain's thoughts out loud.

"Yes," Kirk admitted.

Sulu exchanged an uncomfortable glance with the Doctor. He shifted again. "Captain," he said tentatively. "He was only 17 when they got married and she's three years younger," he added.

This time, the significance of the Helmsmen's words were not lost on Kirk. His eyes narrowed instantly. "He married a fourteen year old?" he demanded irately.

"Well, they had known each other for two years."

"Two..." Kirk began, but forcefully clamped his mouth shut to gain control of his raging emotions. "Well, that explains a lot," he said tightly. "He had no choice: he had to marry her."

"Jim..."

"Bones!" the Captain snapped. "You have a daughter. You know exactly how you'd have reacted if you found out some boy had been molesting her since she was twelve!

"I know exactly the circumstances of Chekov's marriage," Kirk growled through clenched teeth, hazel eyes wild. "He got married with a shotgun to the back of his head and then ran away: hightailing it back to Starfleet to hide!"

Kirk spun away from them, unable to linger any longer in the casual camaraderie of the room while such base outrage consumed him.

"Doctor!" Sulu protested after the Captain's form disappeared into the corridor.

"What?" McCoy demanded irately. His mouth twitched, however, betraying that he understood the Helmsman's meaning.

"You're the ship's Chief Medical Officer, and Jim Kirk's friend," the Helmsman insisted. "You examined Tatiana: surely you know the truth! You have to tell the Captain!"

"Doctor-patient privilege!" McCoy blurted out in response. "Or is the notion of medical confidentiality entirely new to you? I can't violate a patient's privacy unless it directly affects ship's business."

"And you don't think this qualifies?" Sulu demanded.

"I don't see how it does."

Sulu straightened then, fixing his jaw solidly. "You know James Kirk considers his command team a family as much as co-workers. He feels Chekov betrayed his trust on a fundamental level and is not the man he thought he was. The Captain believes the Security Chief isn't even the kind of man Kirk wants around him, never mind the kind of man he'd entrust the lives of his friends and crew to.

"Go ahead and don't say anything to the Captain," he charged, dark eyes intense. "As long as you can believe that he's not going to transfer Chekov out of here at the first opportunity!

"That is ship's business, Doctor. You have to make Captain Kirk understand or the Security Chief will be of this ship so fast your head will spin."

McCoy's mouth twitched again, his only sign of agreement.

"Doctor," Sulu stopped him as he went to leave. "Remind the Captain that Chekov got married May 11th his freshmen year at the Academy."

"What difference does that make?"

"He'll know."