She smiled with affection and took his hand in hers again. "You wanted to show me something?"
"Yes, it's right up here."
Chekov led her up the corridor and into the darkened room that was their destination. He quickly caught her hand, preventing her from reaching the light switch. "No lights," he coaxed.
"Oh, my word," she breathed as her eyes swept over the room. "This is your lounge, Malyenki!" Dropping his hand, she strolled curiously into the midst of the spacious room.
Chekov smiled sheepishly. "I hardly think it could be considered my own personal lounge."
Tatiana cast a winsome glance over her shoulder, eyes sparkling as she looked back at him. "Well, Captain Kirk refers to it as 'Pavel's Lounge,'" she informed him brightly.
The Security Chief blinked, straightening. Very few people came to this viewing lounge that Chekov loved, but the fact that the Captain had given it his name came as a surprise.
He watched Tatiana wander about the room. On the right, padded benches ran the length of the room. The lowest bench sat in the middle of the room and row after row followed behind it, raising bleacher-style until they met the back wall. Some five feet in front of the first bench ran a waist-high railing on the left of the room. Just a foot in front of the rail, the floor ended abruptly.
Therein lay the unique configuration of this observation lounge. The floor ended some six feet before the outside bulkhead: a window that swept the entire expanse of the room. The view dropped down beneath the floor, giving occupants of the room the giddy feeling of being suspended in space.
Chekov moved to the middle of the dim room and folded himself down onto the floor, leaning his back against the first bench. This was, in fact, the only actual window on the entire ship. Chekov preferred it to the abundant adjustable view screens that the rest of the crew favored. Kirk apparently knew that.
The Security Chief bent his knees up and patted the floor between them. "Come sit down," he encouraged.
Turning, she regarded him with the amusement due any errant child. "You're in uniform, Pavel Andrievich."
"Come have a seat," he repeated.
"It's my understanding that officers in uniform don't belong sprawled on the floor."
"I'm not sprawled. Besides, I have it on good authority the security monitors are turned off in here at the moment," the Security Chief divulged. "No one will ever know."
A wicked smile flashed over Tatiana's face as she moved over and seated herself between his thighs. "You're diabolical," she insisted, wrapping her arms around his muscular, upturned legs and settling back against him.
Clearing his throat quietly, Chekov subtly edged his hips backwards, away from the warm pressure of her body. It didn't change anything.
The firm touch of her back nestled against his chest sent an overpowering rush of heat through his entire being and gripped him with a physical response that was intense. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling for a long moment. Moving hadn't changed his body's eager reaction: he only hoped it hid it from her.
Chekov sighed happily and, opening his eyes, ran his hands down her firm arms. When their hands met on his shins, he pushed his fingers into hers, entwining them in a contented and warm union. A subtle shudder echoed back into his body and Chekov wondered which of them was trembling.
Reaching forward to clasp her hands had brought his chest up tight against her back and his face atop her shoulder. With a devilish glint in his dark eyes, he pushed his face deep into the thick waves of her free-flowing, soft amber hair. Unmarried women in the traditional parts of Russia usually twisted their hair into a single braid to prevent men from doing such things. Tatiana often wore a braid across her crown, but Chekov rarely saw her long hair tied up unless she was working or sleeping.
"Sir, you take liberties," she commented, glancing back to eye him darkly.
Color flushed into his cheeks and he pushed his face deeper into her hair with an outright giggle. He often took such liberties with his 'sister', he realized, and she'd never even commented on it before. His grin turned wild. Sulu was right, he thought.
Chekov turned his head then, brushing his cheek down the length of her hair as he breathed in deeply. "Tiana," he ventured aloud. "Why do you always smell like cherry blossoms?"
She scowled at him and looked away.
There was no doubt in his mind that's what she smelled like. Pavel Chekov loved the smell of cherry blossoms. Beneath the cherry trees his father and he had cuddled at night, the man teaching him the constellations and folk tales of his wild Motherland. They had laid in the cherry orchards and chatted so long that many times they woke up the next morning still curled beneath the trees. Together, his father and he had searched the cherry orchards in search of the elusive Firebird, and it was to the cherry orchards that Pavel had snuck away with his first girlfriends.
Probably because of that, Pavel Chekov more than loved the smell of cherry blossoms and Tatiana was the only person that knew that.
"Tiana," he whispered thickly, kissing her neck through her hair. "You know the smell of cherry blossoms…" he still hesitated when it came to confessing it out loud to her again. "You know it turns me on. So why is it," he persisted hoarsely, "that you always smell like cherry blossoms?"
He watched carefully the silent play of emotion across her flower-petal soft cheek. Knowing it was the only response he was going to get, Chekov bit back a smirk and pulled his hands back along her arms. He slipped them between his legs and wrapped them around her. The hug caused such a physical ache in him there was no way that she was not aware of if. Tatiana made no acknowledgment of it, so after a moment he shifted his hands, edging them upward impolitely.
Tatiana lurched up to her feet and plunged toward the rail. Jaw set and knuckles brazenly white, she stood gripping the rail and staring fiercely out at the stars. He followed her and grinned when he caught sight of her face. "Tatiana Demidova, I've never seen you blush before!"
"You blush enough for both of us," she replied tightly.
True, he thought, his grin turning shy. The thought of apologizing briefly crossed his mind, but he didn't regret his actions. After having thought over their relationship the entire day, he was relatively certain that she didn't either.
Chekov edged closer to her and let his thigh brush against hers.
Crimson faced, she jerked away from him and glared back at the stars pointedly.
While he appreciated the entire package, she knew that he got a particular thrill out of a great set of legs. He grinned broadly, charmed by the deeper blush he had caused.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked in a soft whisper as he let one finger brush her hair away from her face and back over her shoulder. Truth be told, he hadn't realized it himself until he saw her on the planetoid. The awkward teenager he had known was downright uncomfortable in her own skin and petrified of strangers that showed any interest in her. She had blossomed into a self-assured young woman who handled the press and public with an amazing gentleness and sensibility. Her natural, regal grace and charm made her appearance at formal balls a showplace for the Russian Federation.
Chekov had admired how she had grown as a person, but he had never noticed that the radiance of her pure character now shown in an adults face. How he had remained so blissfully ignorant for so long was a mystery to him.
"My parent's influence had been good for you," he commented affectionately. It was not only true for their three children–Pavel, Tatiana and Hikaru–but of everyone they touched.
She twisted around to face him then, staring at him incredulously. "Your parents?"
He stilled immediately, but could not find the horror he had obviously committed when he searched his mind. "Yes," he repeated more carefully. "My parents."
She smiled tolerantly. "They're wonderful, Pavel, but it was someone else who first let me know there was a whole person inside of me that mattered regardless of any talent. Someone so devoted to me that he gave up his dreams to save my life."
Chekov blinked, shifting in discomfort. "I didn't give up anything and it wasn't devotion, Tiana. You needed a medical doctor and someone to look out for you," he insisted.
Tatiana shook her head with a wry smile. "Yes, and I apparently needed lessons to ballroom and folk dance, to ride a horse and bike, to drive an auto and troika, and to play and sing fold songs. Let us not forget the culture, literature, history and language lessons…or the bodyguards."
"They're not bodyguards!" the Security Chief blurted out in protest, but it did nothing to hide the deep crimson color in his face. The embarrassing list of his glaringly obvious behavior caught his breath in his chest, and she hadn't even mentioned his steady stream of lavish gifts. How could anyone not have known how he really felt about her all this time?
"They're not body guards, they're just escorts," he alleged thickly, resting his hand on the rail and kneading it into a fist. "I don't think you should be…" wandering about alone, driving yourself, carting your own baggage..., was what he thought, but the mere words in his mind horrified him. It couldn't be worse: it couldn't possibly be worse. He waited for her to slap him in self-righteous indignation. She always knew his thoughts even before he did.
When she didn't, he said: "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't able to take care of yourself. I just thought you…"
"Shouldn't have to," she finished sedately, her eyes warm with toying affection. "You treat me like a princess, Malyenki." She paused and tapped her fingers absently on the rail. "Women like that feeling—even the ones who don't admit it." It was a daring thing to confess to a man, but there had never been any boundaries between them.
Chekov studied her delicate features a moment in silence. He edged closer slowly and then leaned down: but as the warmth of her face brushed his cheek, she turned back to stare at the stars.
His chest tightened with a flush of heat and he swallowed his disappointment with difficulty. He immediately moved closer again until his chest was touching her arm. Slipping his hand across her back, Chekov leaned around the front of her.
She turned away, looking down demurely at the deck to her left.
"Tiana," he said in frustration. "I'm trying to kiss you."
"Yes," she acknowledged flatly. "I'm inexperienced: not stupid."
"You didn't object on the planet." When she didn't reply, he continued huskily. "I need to be close to you, Tiana."
She rolled her eyes with great drama. "Pavel Andrievich, what you need is a girlfriend. You haven't had one since Sara a year ago."
"I didn't want a new girlfriend," he admitted. His last breakup had been a particularly sound wake-up call, he thought. "I have never made a more sensible decision: it gave me time to think about my life."
"Yes, well we know how difficult it is for you to think, after all."
Chekov sighed heavily. "Having a girlfriend here is too difficult. I'm tired of the effort it takes."
Turning back to look at him, Tatiana's bright blue eyes were sympathetic, not judgmental. "Romantic relationships are too much work?" she repeated, intrigued.
He nodded slowly, his dark eyes somber. He'd never admitted his decision to anyone else. To anyone else it would have made him sound...spoiled. "Either I have to pretend I'm from the same Earth culture as most Terrans are, or I have to try to teach them about my culture."
"Learning about each other is part of the charm of any relationship, Malyenki," she reminded him kindly.
"It's a waste of effort," he explained miserably, a sour look on his face. "Even when they seem interested, it always turns out that they think I'm joking: making it all up."
"You've taught them well," Tatiana replied evenly, her eyes steady on him. "You've perfected that funny person to keep the real you hidden. Now, you can't spend your life hiding who you are behind your sense of humor and then complain when they don't take you seriously."
Nodding somberly again, he gave a weak shrug. "I've done it to myself," he admitted. "But it's too late now to do anything about it. What's the point of getting involved–investing all that time and energy–when they don't have any real interest in me at all?"
"So," Tatiana drew out, blue eyes warm with humor. "You've just given up on dating entirely?"
He chewed on his lip a moment, staring at his thumb as he rubbed an invisible spot on the railing. "Now entirely," Chekov answered quietly after a moment. "I just need to be with someone who understands: someone who's like me.
"God help the universe if there's someone else like you around."
"That's not what I meant," he said sullenly. She knew perfectly well what he meant: she always did. "I've reached the point in my life where short-term relationships don't appeal to me any longer. If I'm going to make that kind of effort, I want it to be for something long-term. Girlfriends are a dime a dozen."
"My word, that plentiful?" she asked with a smirk.
Chekov just nodded again. He had the irresistible urge to grab Tatiana and kiss her forcefully. It had been obvious she had enjoyed kissing him before. Why did she always have to be such a pain in the ass? he wondered.
He carefully caressed her elegant back slowly, the silky feel of her thick hair sending a hot thrill through him as it brushed against the back of his hand and tangled in his fingers. "Kiss me, Tiana," he said huskily.
"You want to kiss me?"
"Yes," he replied emphatically.
She screwed up her face, unimpressed. "Get in line."
"Line?" he repeated indignantly. "But I'm your husband!"
"Husband?" she asked incredulously. "Now you have lost your mind!"
Stubbornly, Chekov leaned toward her again. "Kiss me," he insisted.
She recoiled instantly, bright eyes incredulous. "Are you going to try to shove your tongue down my throat again?"
"I never..." he retorted indignantly, but stopped suddenly at her amazed look.
"Not stupid," she reminded him lightly.
He bit his lip as his face colored again. "It wasn't intentional," he mumbled. "Besides, most people like it."
"Hmph," she growled, turning back to lean her arms on the rail as she gazed at the stars again. "You aren't most people: you don't french kiss until you're ready to make the relationship physical." Tatiana glanced back at him, her eyes shining with amusement.
Chekov shifted uncomfortably. Heavens, does she know everything about me? he thought horridly.
"So, are we supposed to mark this reunion with a passionate fling?" she asked dryly without turning to him.
"What happens when you come home next–we go back to sharing a bed as brother and sister?"
That situation now seemed as bizarre as Chekov supposed it always should have.
"Or am I going to be the girl in your home port until you get bored with me?"
"I would never treat you like that!" he retorted indignantly.
"No. You wouldn't treat anyone like that," she observed, subdued.
Chekov stared at Tatiana as she gazed out at the stars, mesmerized by the fiery shine in her bright eyes. I need someone who understands me... his own words came filtering back through his mind and he was disappointed at how pitifully they captured what he had only come to understand himself.
He wondered how he could possibly make Tatiana understand something he had no words for. His gaze shifted to the stars. As was often the case, he found his answers there. Gently, he turned her to face him. "Let me show you why I come here, Tiana."
"I thought this was why you come to this lounge," she said, indicating the starfield filling the window beside them.
Chekov shook his head. "No. Close your eyes."
She eyed him dubiously.
"Go ahead, close them," he insisted. "I won't bite."
"It's not your bite I'm worried about."
He scowled at her: as if anyone who made unwanted advances wouldn't come away far worse for the wear.
She made a great show of sighing in resignation before she closed her eyes.
Chekov slipped his hand on top of hers resting on the rail, delighted with the tremor it sent rushing through him. He leaned close to her ear and whispered: "Listen."
Tatiana was silent a long moment. "I hear the ship's engines," she said eventually. "I can feel them through the deck, too."
"No," he instructed quietly. "Ignore the engines. Block them out and listen only to this room. Concentrate."
"That would be easier if you weren't breathing in my ear," she observed curtly.
With a chastised grin, he straightened and watched her soft features as she tuned out the sounds of the ship.
She stretched her neck elegantly and opened her eyes slowly, wonder shining in them. "What is that sound?"
Chekov smiled shyly, his dark eyes brilliant. "That's the sound of stardust," he explained quietly.
Tatiana scowled incredulously at him. "Stardust has a sound?" she demanded. "How naive do you think I am?"
The Security Chief's grin flashed across his features, becoming outright wild. "No, it's true," he insisted. "There are billions of particles of stars floating everywhere in space and, as the ship speeds along, they stream along the hull." He had long since learned to hear the steady hissing sound so apparent in this room without concentrating. "That's the sound of stardust."
"So the hiss…is the sound of the stardust flowing over the ship as it moves?"
"Yes," he agreed, and paused long enough to kiss the top of her head. Lord, she smelled good.
"When you travel in space, the sound of stardust is always there. It becomes so much a part of your life that you stop hearing it, though. You forget how important stardust is."
"It's what we're made of," Tatiana observed, her eyes sweeping over the starfield they stood next to. "At the most basic level, we and the stars are the same."
"That's why I like this lounge. It reminds me of my place in the universe: and of the basic things in my life." He grasped the hand his still rested on. "Tatiana, I don't want a girlfriend. I want a wife," he said, seeming to change the subject so quickly that she glanced sharply at him.
"Another?" she asked lightheartedly, a trace of a smile playing on her lips. "Is that legal?"
He eyed her with a sheepish smile, but didn't answer directly. "Sulu told me I should spend less time sulking and figure out what I actually want."
"Oh," she drawled with a disappointed pout. "And you're so good at sulking."
Chekov's gaze remained steady on her as he considered that she always knew how to handle him: when to engage in mind-boggling philosophical discussions and when to just knock him upside the head so he'd stop taking himself so seriously. She could manipulate his moods as easily as she hid treats in their Easter bread. She always understood…and that thought made his self-doubt fade completely. She was toying with him.
"What I want is a family to go home to in Russia when I get leave," he explained.
"You have a family: a very close family. You've even dragged Hikaru and I into your family."
He shrugged amiably in agreement. He couldn't deny it after all. In fact, the first thing Andrie had said to Sulu when they met was that he wouldn't have told Pavel he couldn't have a cat had he known his son would start dragging stray people home instead.
Sulu was still known as 'Kitten' by all their Russian friends. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to mind it.
"I mean I want a family of my own: a wife, hordes of children."
She turned away from him again, sighing gently and brushing her hands absently along the rail. "Any wife of yours on Earth would have to be able to put up with being alone most of the time. That puts a crimp in your 'hordes of children' plans."
"Women have waited at home for men who follow the stars for as long as boats have been put into Earth's oceans. Some journeys back then were up to eight years long. We get leave at home more often than that," he maintained.
"Yes," she agreed. "But they got scrimshaw occasionally. What will you be carving pictures in?"
He withheld the smile that her taunt inspired. "That's not the only problem," he observed. "I'm not going to change who I am. I want my children raised back home. My wife has to live with my parents and let them help raise the children. She has to become a part of my family and community."
She laughed without looking at him. "You forgot the most important thing, Pavel Andrieivich." Tatiana cast him a wry, sidelong look. "This ideal mate of yours is going to have to be able to put up with you."
"I'm not a man who's always easy to live with," he agreed with a sheepish look. "I'm moody, I'm spoiled, I'm..."
"Pig-headed. You sulk, are given to fits of guilt-ridden recrimination..."
"I didn't need your help!" he interrupted indignantly.
"You are also loyal, devoted, kind, intelligent," she observed soothingly.
"Fine qualities in a dog," he muttered unhappily.
Tatiana turned toward him then, a toying glint in her blue eyes. "So, are you planning a life-long futile search for this perfect mate, or are you just going to skip right to contacting genetic engineers?"
Chekov fell silent then, studying the woman that had been an integral part of his life for nine years. Pale, soft skin betrayed her gentle nature and inner wisdom. They knew where they fit in each other's lives, had every movement of their dance together woven into their very souls. He listened to the sound of stardust beside them as he stared at her, reminded that people are so rarely aware of what they have. Tatiana Demidova was the sound of stardust in his soul. She'd been there, a constant, for as long as he recalled: and he needed her there.
"Tatiana, I love you."
"I know."
"No," he said quietly and swallowed with difficultly. "I mean I am in love with you."
"Yes," she replied simply, blue eyes warm. "I know."
He pulled himself up to his full height and eyed her incredulously. "And exactly how do you know this?"
"Oh, please," Tatiana drawled. "Everybody knows it. You've been in love with me for years, Pavel. Your father says you're the densest man in the universe."
"Dense? My father wouldn't say such a thing about me."
"He does," she insisted. "Malyenki, for such a brilliant person, you are wholly, utterly, completely, plumb dense."
"So why hasn't anyone told me about how dense I am?" he demanded.
"Oh, they wanted to," she shrugged light-heartedly. "Especially Sulu: but I wouldn't let them."
"And why not?" he asked indignantly, fighting to keep the self-righteous sulk off his face.
She sighed heavily. "Pavel, you're a man that has to figure things out for yourself."
Damn it, Chekov thought, clenching his teeth. Did she always have to be right?
He forced himself not to be indignant then. "I want you to marry me."
She straightened at that, brilliant blue eyes widening. "We are married, Pavel."
"No, I mean really marry me."
"Now why would I want to put up with you really, for God knows how long?"
He stared at her in silence. "It might not be that long," he observed after a moment. "I work in space: I could die tomorrow."
"There's a perk to hope for," she commented easily.
A myriad of thoughts drifted through his mind, unbidden. "Tiana," he asked curiously. "Are you even interested in men?"
"I'm not gay," she stated stiffly, pulling her eyes away to stare meaninglessly at the benches in the dim.
"Than why don't you date?"
Jamming her arms across her chest, Tatiana eyed him dubiously. "And who would I date, Pavel? Thanks to you I am never alone, except with members of the family. On these dates I would be accompanied by your father or by your bodyguards?" she asked.
Chekov felt his insides go cold. "My...? They're not bodyguards!"
She rolled her eyes melodramatically.
"I'm sorry," he said with desperation in his voice. "I never meant for it to be like that."
Her gaze grew hard, accusatory. "Oh, please: yes, you did."
"I didn't!" he exclaimed in horror.
"Pavel," she drew out tolerantly, "The men you assigned me were not there to carry my luggage. They were a moat designed to keep all other men away until you were ready."
"They most certainly were not! You're insane!" he blurted out, dark eyes wild.
"Fine. Then who would you have had me date?" Tatiana asked patiently. "Volya? He's your good friend: would it have been alright if I slept with Volya?"
He blinked. Hard. "Volya is gay."
"Okay, how about Grigori?" she continued on. "He's cute and his butt is almost as nice as yours. He doesn't have a hairy chest, though," she mused.
"Grigori is old enough to be your father," Chekov observed dismally. She was right, he realized. There was no one that he would have ever thought good enough for her. Had he unknowingly plotted to keep them away?
"I'm sorry," he conceded, chagrined. "Why didn't you say something?" Oh, hell, he was glad she had not. He was glad they had left her alone.
Tatiana let her arms fall by her side and sighed softly. "You are dense, Malyenki. It doesn't matter that I'm theoretically available. Everyone knows how you feel about me and I am treated like an untouchable member of royalty. You're not the kind of man another man wants to muscle in on, you know."
Chekov shifted uncomfortably, trying not to remember the not so veiled threat he'd made to Kirk.
"Frankly, it was a relief," she added, sly grin dancing on her lips. "I didn't want them."
He studied her, calculating. "You like my chest better than Grigori's?" he ventured finally.
"I didn't say I liked it better," Tatiana replied carefully. "I said it was hairier."
"You...like...hairy men?"
"I didn't say that," she repeated. "Besides, it's not like you have a hairy back."
Scowling, he eyed her for another minute. That always seemed to matter to women. Women in rural Russia didn't allow men to take the kind of liberties with them that Chekov had been lately...that he'd always taken. At least not without a fight. In hindsight, Chekov knew that Sulu and his family had good reason to suspect what they did. A knowing smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Why didn't you want them?" he persisted.
"Because I wanted you, dammit!" she spat out fiercely, punching him soundly in the chest.
He grinned happily in triumph and nursed the bruise she'd given him. "Tatiana Demidova, how long have you been in love with me?"
She sulked noticeably, shaking her head as her eyes shifted back to the stars. "Since your first leave home from the Enterprise. When you come home in your uniform... you didn't look like my big brother anymore."
Chekov's smile faltered, the light in his eyes becoming alarmed. Memory after memory flashed through his mind in horrid, gruesome, detail. "Since...? Tiana, that was..."
"Years ago," she concluded dismally, turning back to eye him like he was an idiot. "Years ago."
"All those years and you never told me?" he demanded, suddenly feeling outraged and downright violated. "How could you not tell me?"
"Pavel," she marveled aloud. "You were twenty-one and had an adventurous new career in space. You were off...romancing your way through the galaxy," Tatiana concluded, amusement sparkling deep in her blue eyes as she tortured him with his own words again. "We've always been best friends and I didn't want to lose that."
"Bullshit," Chekov retorted immediately. Even as he said it, he shifted uncomfortably. It was the same thought that had terrified him all week. "What gives you the right to make that decision for me? Since when have you simply made decisions for us and held me to them?" he demanded hotly.
"Oh, please, Pavel," she drawled. "Since always."
"You weren't ready for more and we are so important to each other that if I told you...if something had happened... you would have been obliged by your own conscience to be loyal to me and... Idiot, don't you realize you would have left the Fleet to ensure your own good behavior?
"I couldn't let you do that," Tatiana added bluntly.
He didn't know why he even bothered to consider the larger questions in life. She always seemed at least several steps ahead of him in finding his answers. Tatiana just knew him too well, as if his soul was far clearer to her than it was to him.
"Marry me," Chekov repeated.
"No."
He froze, eyes narrowing slightly as he eyed her. "What?"
"Nyet," she retorted.
Chekov straightened indignantly. "No?" he asked breathlessly, his voice cracking. "No? Tiana, I thought you understood. We're close friends. We know each other. We understand each other. We love each other. We're in love with each other.
"Tiana, this is different than anything I've ever felt before. This is...real. You have been a part of my soul for as long as I can remember. We've never had to be physically living with each other for that to be true, but if you leave my life my soul will never recover and I will be alone forever. Forever," he emphasized huskily.
Liquid blue eyes stared up at him, unwavering as his brown ones held them, desperate for an answer. She let out a tremulous sigh and patted his chest softly, thoughtfully, with both hands. "Pavel Andrievich, you don't mean we should just start living as husband and wife. I know you: you want a traditional Russian wedding, all three days of it. What do you expect me to do: go home and wait around, hoping that you'll eventually make it back to Earth alive at least one more time?
"You've always said space was, is, and always will be, the most dangerous occupation available. I know clearly every time I see you walk away that it could be the last time I see you. If I went home to prepare for our wedding and our family then you never returned…" She raised swirling pools of cloudy sapphire to him then. "I would wilt away and die, Pavel. The wasting, rotting bloom of youth and love never realized," she observed. "I'm not about to consign myself to being the pitiful heroine os some old Russian novel."
Chekov numbly reached his hand out and grasped the rail as a chill swept through his body and gripped the deepest part of its cells. "You want me to resign?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Tatiana chuckled as she shook her head. "This is your dream. It is who you are. I am more than content to be an officer's wife waiting at home.
"Besides," she added. "What do you think the people back home would do to me if I saddled them with you full time again? I can't imagine how the ship's crew has put up with you this long," she commented drolly.
He tried to digest the myriad of confusion quickly. "What do you want?"
"I want a husband."
"Than marry me," Chekov insisted, becoming perplexed..
Her snicker was not even close to the response he'd hoped for. "I told you that I'm ready to start a family. I don't want to wait for you to wander home. I want children now."
He flashed her a wicked grin, eyes sparkling devilishly as they raked her form quickly. "I'm willing, but these lounge doors don't lock...Oww!"
With great melodrama, the Security Chief nursed the cheek the woman had slapped. "You give me no respect."
"Oh, go respect yourself," she muttered.
The toying grin never left his face. She was so able to wrap him around her little finger…and he was now able to appreciate the fact that he loved letting her do it. "I want you to marry me," he repeated yet again. "There's no one in the universe that knows me like you do. There's no one who can keep me in line like you can." He added a sheepish look for good measure.
"And because of this you want me to be stuck with you forever?"
"Well, who else would put up with me?" he spat out defensively.
"No one sane," Tatiana replied. "I don't want to wait to get married."
Chekov stood holding her gaze in silence a long moment. He felt...dense. "Captain Kirk can marry us," he said, knowing full well that's what she was suggesting. If she wasn't such a pain in the ass she would have just said so. "People who would not be comfortable at a traditional Russian ceremony could attend."
"Spock?" she mused curiously. Of course she knew that he was specifically referring to Spock. The man would have wanted to attend the wedding out of principal, but the Security Chief could not picture a Vulcan at a ceremony in which the Best Man was thought to have completely failed in his duties if anyone made it to the church sober.
A withheld smile played across her lips, but her brilliant blue eyes gave away her thoughts. "Or are you talking about Sulu? The poor man has been praying for years that you won't get married in Russia."
"Don't worry, we'll do the traditional Russian ceremony afterward–the next leave I get at home."
Scowling at him, she asked: "Exactly how many times are we going to get married?"
He shrugged simplistically. "Is there a limit? It would be cruel not to let Sulu live up to his responsibilities. A ceremony here, now: with this you're satisfied?"
Tatiana eyed him suspiciously. "He does know the Godfather can fill in and do anything the best man doesn't want to do, doesn't he?"
Chekov coughed reflexively and shifted his gaze to the stars.
"Pavel Andrievich!"
"Oh, it won't kill him.
She cast her eyes down then with a gentle sigh, letting her fingers trail down until she pushed them into the top of his belt. "Malyenki, I told you: it's not just a husband I want."
Chekov could feel the tremor go through her body as she turned her eyes back up to him. "Pavel..." She hesitated, pressing her lips together as her fingers gripped his belt fiercely. "Pavel, I want children now. I'm ready now."
He shook his head slowly then, chocolate brown eyes narrowing as he studied her. "Now?"
"Now."
Chekov mulled her words over in his mind as he watched her eyes for some betrayal of what she was actually saying. "Right now?
Tatiana smiled softly, her fingers tracing the Starfleet belt buckle as she gazed at his face. "I'm not willing to chance being a widow without any piece of you to hold onto."
"You want me to send you home pregnant?" he asked incredulously.
She smiled at him triumphantly in answer. "What, you're not up to the task?
Chekov tried to speak. Several times. He shook his head as though to sort out his thoughts. The truth was, he could not move beyond the embarrassingly primordial thrill of her outright demand to bear his child.
Tatiana didn't say anything until it was obvious he wasn't going to. "Besides, Malyenki, if you want a horde of children we're going to have to plan our time together accordingly."
Eyes sparkling devilishly, he grinned. "Tiana, I love you and want children with you...more than anything. You know, however, that I can't promise you anything. Basic biology has the final say in the matter. It's not up to me if the timing isn't right." Not that he wasn't willing to make a valiant effort, he thought. He felt the heat in his cheeks betray the thought and she gave him a toying, condescending smile.
"Malyenki, you're thinking with a nineteenth century mind in a twenty-third century world. Dr. McCoy can arrange for the timing to be right."
He blinked, staring at her in surprise. "Dr. McCoy could…" he stopped. "When could the Doctor do this?"
Releasing his belt, she folded her hands calmly in front of her and regarded him with wide, sedate eyes. Blue eyes met brown ones in a steady stare. "It's already done."
Something clutched fiercely at his heart as the impact of what she had been saying hit him with sudden, full force. It was not that she wanted to bear his children, not even that she wanted to give him children immediately. What struck him was that for years she had patiently been waiting for him to be ready for this moment, planning each precise detail and probably every word.
Tentatively, he reached up a hand and brushed stray hairs off her face. He did not answer her directly, but knew she'd understand. "Tatiana Demidova," he confessed, "I've been keeping a secret from you."
For the first time, Chekov saw uncertainty in her blue eyes. He chewed on his lip as he fished in his pocket, but couldn't hide the sheepish look in his eyes. When he extended his hand out to her, two small round circles lay in his upturned palm.
Tatiana stepped back reflexively. "Pavel Andrieivich," she exclaimed in shock. "The shopkeeper said he sold those rings!"
"He did." He shrugged apologetically, trying to look his most boyishly innocent. "He did sell them. To me."
"But why?" she asked, perplexed. "Why would you... You never told me."
No, he hadn't. He had secreted the wedding set away despite the sorrow it had caused her. It wasn't his intention to hide them when he bought them. They had found them tucked away in the shop and time and again they had returned to admire them. It had become one of their favorite games to weave stories of the couple the antique rings had been made for. Sometimes blissfully happy, romantic tales; sometimes melodramatic and tragic: the stories were always rich and colorful in past lives. As time went on, their visits to the shop became frightening tentative as they faced the increased probability every time he went home that the rings would be gone
In a moment of sheer panic, he had snuck back and bought them on one trip. He couldn't bear for rings that held the stories to go to someone else, to be taken from them. Fully intending to share the victory with her, for some reason he'd brought them back to the Enterprise and hid them away instead. Knowing they were in his safe always gave him great pleasure without him even needing to take the four rings out to gaze at them.
He knew the reason now. Somewhere deep inside he had always felt the unique, beautiful rings were destined to be used by he and Tatiana for the purpose they were originally made.
Chekov picked up the smaller of the rings, his throat tightening as he did so. It was exquisite Russian blackened neillo with a scattering of diamond chips surrounding a piece of Baltic amber. He gently slipped it onto her right ring finger.
She flattened her hand and stared at the engagement ring. "Does this mean you're going to do what I want?"
"When haven't I?" he asked with mock resignation.
Even before his answer, she was guiding the matching ring onto his own right hand. "Most Terran men don't wear engagement rings," she observed, fingering the black and gold band where it came to lay on his right hand.
"I'm not most Terran men, I'm a Russian man and we do wear engagement rings. They also wear their wedding rings on their left hand and make the sign of the cross backwards. Just because they're wrong, doesn't me I should be."
"What about the other rings?" Tatiana asked, referring to the two wedding rings that completed the set.
He knew why she asked. "Let's wait for the church ceremony before we use them. The Captain's quite used to ceremonies without rings."
"Will you be able to locate Captain Kirk to arrange this?"
"The Security Chief can always find the Captain," Chekov commented absently. Smouldering brown eyes studied the woman's flawless face, delicate lips and brilliant eyes. He swallowed carefully and let the warmth flow through his body, nursing it until it grew in intensity and swelled out to his very fingertips.
Moving closer to her, he slipped his arm around her back and pulled her against him. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. "If we have a son, I want to name him Andrie."
He could feel her body trembling but she only said: "Even spoiled people don't get everything they want. If we name our son Andrie, your father's head will explode."
"Fine then," he agreed, a guttural laugh filling his throat that told her she had played into his hands. "We'll call our daughter Andrea."
"You're a wicked, spoiled brat, Pavel Andrievich!"
"You knew that. At least tell him that's what we intend," Chekov laughed demonically again. Using his hand against her back, he pressed the length of his body hard against her. It sent a wild, delicious rush through his very cells. When she glanced away demurely he only took advantage of it to nuzzle his lips into the warm flesh behind her ear. He was too distracted to notice the glint in her sparkling eyes.
"I want to name our daughter Ninel," she commented softly.
He jerked his head up, snapping his neck as he did so. Wide-eyed and stunned, he repeated: "Ninel!"
Tatiana shrugged. "It was a very popular name for girls at one time in Russia."
"At one time," he stammered incredulously and stepped backward. "I am NOT naming any of my daughters after Vladimir Lenin!"
She giggled merrily and he instantly glared at her. "You did that on purpose."
Deliberately stepping forward, Chekov went to reach for her again, but she stopped him with a hand against his chest. She gently took his right hand, placed it against the back of her left shoulder blade and laid her left hand on his right shoulder.. She then clasped his left hand with her right and raised it to shoulder height.
Subtle lines furrowing across his forehead, Chekov eyed the position of their bodies. She had placed them in a perfect dance frame. "You want to waltz...now!" he asked in disbelief.
Tatiana smiled dreamily, blue eyes shining as she caressed his shoulder affectionately. "You know what Fred Astaire said: 'The best romantic scenes don't end in a kiss."
"I'm a good dancer," he admitted. Leaning down, he caught her soft, moist lips with his in a brief, tentative touch. "But Fred Astaire," he declared as he wrapped her arms around her and pulled their bodies tight against each other again. "Was an idiot."
His lips found hers finally in a touch that was not in the least tentative.