A/N: Sorry for my canon!fail. Just pretend all the hyposprays on the ship got lost and McCoy had to go old school for a day. Also, internet cookies for anyone who gets my Zortez reference.
x
The sick bay's main computer is housed in a small room off the CMO's office, inaccessable to all but a few specially authorized personnel. Pavel flashes his identification to the doctor on duty and is let in. McCoy isn't in his office when Pavel walks through, and he's glad of this, glad and disappointed both, relieved that he can set about his job without distraction, let down that he has carefully prepared himself for an encounter that will not occur.
The last officer to update the databases has made a fine mess of them and soon all Pavel's thinking about is untangling the knots in the system as carefully as he can. He doesn't want to make any mistakes. But if he's nervous at first to do everything just so, the feeling falls away quickly; his mind slips with ease into his task and he loses himself in it.
It takes almost four hours and by then he's exhausted, barely aware where he's going, and not surprised that he runs into someone not halfway through the Doctor's office. He's a bit more surprised to see that the person he's run into is the Doctor himself. McCoy stops him with two hands to his arms. "Easy, Ensign," he says, not unkindly, the sound of a smile in his voice.
Pavel looks up. McCoy is staring down at him, and the expression on his face is still amused. "Vat are you doing here?" Pavel asks, before he can stop himself, and a blush rises to his cheeks.
"It's my office," McCoy answers. He's not smiling anymore, not really, his face relaxing again into a neutral expression. And he's still holding on to Pavel's arms. This touch is totally unnecessary, and it's keeping their bodies much too close. "What are you doing here?"
"I vas assigned to vork on ze sick bay computer," he answers, trying to keep his voice neutral and his gaze somewhere safe, though even the skin of McCoy's neck makes his thoughts wander inappropriately when they're this close. "I have just finished."
McCoy makes a low, quiet noise of assent, an "okay" rumble deep in his throat, and then he moves his left hand from Pavel's arm to place two fingers beneath his chin and tilt his head up. Nowhere to look but McCoy's eyes now, and there's a familiar look in them that thumps deep in Pavel's chest. "Can't say I'm not glad to see you," McCoy says. His right hand slips down Pavel's arm and then hooks around his waist. Pavel takes the tiniest of steps forward. He takes a great breath, chest pressing now against McCoy's.
He turns his face away so Leonard can't try to kiss him, and presses his cheek against Leonard's chest. He moves his own arms to wrap tight around the other's body, and gives him one long hug. He hopes his gesture is a surprise, can't help but think it is; the Doctor doesn't say a word for several long moments.
Finally he tries to whisper, "Chekov," but Pavel cuts him off.
"Dr. McCoy," he says, trying for his best note of finality, uncurling his arms as he speaks and stepping away again. He puts his hands at the Doctor's elbows, then slips them down to cover the Doctor's hands and pull them from his body. "It is too late. I have a boyfriend. Understand…"
What he wants to say is that this game he had, the Doctor ruined it, and now there's no playing, no easy the end and everything back to normal, fine. But it's a not a lesson the Doctor needs. McCoy looks like he's about to apolgize, but he just nods, and Pavel lets his hands go.
x
That night Brenin cancels their dinner plans, apologizing repeatedly as he does. Pavel doesn't tell him that he'd rather be alone, anyway. He sneaks his dinner back to his room to eat and with each bite he changes his mind, trying to decide if the meeting in McCoy's office was planned or accidental, if even the Doctor knew what he was doing when he held Pavel so close.
He was trying to tell you he misses you, he tells himself.
He was trying to seduce you because he thinks you are that easy.
The more he thinks the more tangled it seems, and eventually he becomes sick of his own winding arguments and decides to go to sleep early.
x
"All crewmembers assigned to the Zortex II landing party report to sickbay immediately. You know who you are. If you don't know who you are, I repeat: Zortex II landing party members Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Johansaan, Ensign Michaels, and Ensign Chekov are to report to sickbay immediately. Kirk out."
Pavel is in the engineering room, arguing the finer points of trans-warp beaming theory, when he hears the message. He shoots a confused look at Mr. Scott but he only shrugs his shoulders. Messages like that and it's hard not to be nervous, his stomach twisting a bit as he hurries through the halls to sick bay. He's the first of the landing party to arrive and as he scans his eyes across the room the first person they meet is Dr. McCoy. He's standing off to the side frowning down at something on his PADD but he seems to sense Pavel's gaze on him because he looks up almost immediately, and before Nurse Chapel, just behind him, can motion Pavel over, he tells her, "I got this one, Nurse." He nods once at Pavel before turning back to whatever he was studying. Pavel takes that as the only signal he'll get to come over. When he reaches the bio bed the Doctor nods again, once, in its direction, and Pavel lifts himself up onto its edge.
"Vat is going on, Doctor?" he asks, trying to sound as calm as he can; McCoy is turned more away from him than toward, and he's set down the datapad now to mess around with something that Pavel can only half see. "Ve have not even beamed down yet—"
"And you're not going to, until you're vaccinated against the flu strain that's been taking out whole villages planetside," McCoy finishes grimly. When Pavel doesn't answer he glances over his shoulder, and his expression softens a little at the worry and confusion in Pavel's face. "We've been getting new reports—apparently there's an epidemic out in the countryside that the city officials have been reluctant to tell us about. We have a vaccine—not very much but at least enough for the landing party, for now—but it's considered so rare nowadays that it's not part of the standard set of innoculations given to starship crews before takeoff." He sounds not a little bitter about this, so Pavel is silent, unquestioning, watching McCoy's back as he finishes preparing the syringe.
When he turns around again Pavel is staring at him blankly. McCoy frowns, heavy lines creasing between his eyes, and asks, "There a problem, Ensign?"
"Um—no." Pavel shakes his head quickly as if to wake himself up and repeats himself, more emphatically this time, "No." He starts to roll up his shirtsleeves, first the yellow overshirt and then the black sleeve underneath. "It is just zat I," he hesitates for a moment, carefully looking down at his arm and not at McCoy's face. "It is just zat I have alvays been somevat afraid of needles." He looks up for a moment, then tries to smile. "I know zat is kind of stupid."
"It's a common fear," McCoy answers, his voice less reassuring than matter of fact. "The best thing to do," he tells Pavel seriously, glancing up at him for just a moment from where he is preparing his arm, "is to think of something else. For example, you could think about me."
"About you, Doctor?"
"Yes."
Pavel can't see McCoy's face, not from his current angle and with the way McCoy is focused down on Pavel's arm. So he stares instead at the part in his hair, focuses on the surprisingly gentle touch on his skin, and listens as the Doctor continues.
"I miss you, Chekov. I…" he pauses for a moment, and Pavel, sure that this is where the needle part comes in, averts his face completely and stares off at the other side of the room, where Nurse Chapel is talking to Hikaru, newly arrived and pushing up his own shirtsleeve. But Pavel doesn't feel a thing. Still waiting, he hears McCoy's voice pick up again, a steady and professional voice speaking nervous and private words. "I don't really know what I'm doing here," he's saying. "I'm not good at the grand winning back gesture or anything."
maybe you'll dream up some sort of great winning-your-boy-back plan
Pavel swallows heavily.
"And I don't know what you want," McCoy continues.
"Yes you do," Pavel answers, turning back in the Doctor's direction again. His voice is hard now, low but in control. "I told you, zat day in your office. Now are you going to vaccinate me or not?"
McCoy straightens and sets the empty syringe aside. When he looks at Pavel it is like he is looking at a stranger. "Already did," he answers, voice familiar and professional again. "Now out of my sickbay so I can get back to my work."
x
Brenin stretches his toes all the way to the end of the bed and sighs to fill his lungs as wide as they'll go. Pavel wraps his arm across his man's stomach and then moves his body close against his and rests his head on his chest. The lights are still on full so he dims them to fifty percent, then closes his eyes. He can hear Brenin's heart beating.
The moment is quiet and still, tender even, that would be a good word, the kind of moment he can curl into and in which he can truly, finally rest. He feels the frantic pace of his thoughts slow and a langor comes over him that makes his mouth curl up into a smile. He can feel Brenin's fingers running absently through his hair. It's not the kind of moment for words but somehow, this time, he feels like he needs words, needs to say something, needs to express something that Brenin probably thinks he already knows.
"I love zat I can trust you," he says finally, quietly. His voice is rough from overuse but still well suited to the shadowy evening feel of the room. "I love zat…zat you are still here." At the last word, he kisses the inner curve of one rib softly.
Brenin's hand slides down to Pavel's neck and starts to carefully massage his skin. "Don't worry," he says, "I'm not going anywhere."
"No," Pavel corrects, closing his eyes again to the feel of Brenin's touch. "I mean zat you are still here, in zis room wit me, in zis moment."
"Yeah of course." A hint of confusion bleeds into his voice. "Where else would I be?"
Pavel wants to ask, Do you miss him? That ex boyfriend? The first great love of your life? The one you left to come to San Fransciso, to find your way to me? But he doesn't. He can't. Such questions are not meant for such times. He closes his eyes tighter against his own wandering thoughts.
x
"Morning, Ensign," Dr. McCoy greets him, as cheerfully as he greets anyone, and Pavel turns, startled. It's too early for him to bother to hide his surprise. McCoy is standing behind him with his arms crossed, tilting slightly to the side to count the number of people between him and the replicators. He doesn't seem too interested in Pavel, even though he's still not returned the greeting.
"Dr. McCoy," he says finally, "I did not know you ate breakfast."
Only after he says it does the comment start to sound stupid, and he curses this man who can still twist his tongue after all that has happened.
"I mean," he tries again, "I never see you here in ze morning."
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," the Doctor answers, which is really no answer at all, so Pavel just turns to face forward again. Lines are short at this hour and already, he's next.
He doesn't ask McCoy to sit with him but the Doctor follows him anyway to his usual morning table on the far left of the room. Pavel doesn't object but he doesn't make any effort to start conversation either. It feels like for every five minutes he spends around McCoy he spends at least twelve hours thinking about him, and it's become a frustration he doesn't know what to do with. He's settled for a subtle avoidance, even now trying his best to look nowhere but down at his food.
"I was talking to Scotty," McCoy says now, lightly, poking at his food as if, Pavel thinks quietly to himself, he wasn't used to eating at this hour of the morning. "Yesterday. And he was telling me about that transporter upgrade you were supposed to help him with. He said you all but did it yourself before he even got there. That's, uh…"
Pavel flicks his eyes, just for a moment, to McCoy's face. The Doctor is looking down at his plate, and when he looks up, Pavel looks just as quickly down again, and grips his fork tightly. "That's impressive work," McCoy is saying. "You do really good work on this ship, Chekov."
The words are professional, the praise of a superior officer to a younger crewmember, and even though Pavel knows already what McCoy has told him, knows his own worth and talent and his value to the Enterprise, if it had been anyone else paying him such a compliment he would have glowed inwardly with pride. But all he can focus on in this moment is the sound of McCoy's voice and how nervous he seems. He might as well be saying, You're looking very handsome today, Ensign. He might as well be blushing like a teenager. Pavel determines to keep his eyes down and not test his theory.
A long moment passes and then, across from him, McCoy lets out a long sigh. "Not talking to me, Ensign?" he asks gruffly.
Pavel shrugs a little, and bites his lip down at his pancakes. But he doesn't say anything, thinking about McCoy watching him. He can hear his fingers tapping absently on the tabletop.
When the Doctor starts to speak again—"I'm trying you kn—"—Pavel interrupts him.
"Tell me about your ex-wife."
He tilts his head up again just to see the expression on McCoy's face, a strange mix of confused and surprised. He shakes his head, twice, as if to clear it and test his hearing, and for a moment he looks like he'll say something else, but all he comes up with is, "What?"
Pavel shrugs and tries his best to look innocent and mildly inquiring. "She agreed to marry you," he explains, as if this were quite obvious. "You found a vay to convince her to be wit you."
McCoy's still looking at Pavel like he thinks he might be slipping a bit into insanity, but Pavel keeps his expression set: nonthreatening, and seemingly unaware of the reason for the Doctor's confusion. "I am serious," he insists.
McCoy makes a show of sighing, grumbling, looking off to the side, but Pavel knows he'll answer, and he gives him his time.
"It was different with her," he says finally. He sounds, surprisingly, and now Pavel can't look at him again, melancholy. Nostalgic, in his own bitter way. Pavel doesn't want to press but McCoy continues anyway. "She was an oldfashioned Southern girl. I courted her like an oldfashioned Southern gentleman would."
"And," Pavel asks carefully, "vat does zat mean, exactly?"
McCoy looks up at him like he's trying to gauge something in his face, but whatever he sees or doesn't see, he answers the question. "Sappy romantic things," he says. "I'd kiss her hand when I greeted her. We'd take long walks in the evening and stay outside watching the sunset." He shrugs, for a moment so terribly shy all Pavel wants is to wrap his arms around him, sappy and unwanted as such a gesture would be. Then McCoy catches his eyes again, so fast Pavel doesn't have the chance to look away, and smiles. "Nothing I think would help much now. Unless you want me to show up at your door holding a bouquet of roses?"
"No," Pavel answers grimly, and turns his attention back resolutely to his food. Only at the last moment he flicks his eyes back up and allows himself a small grin. "I much prefer orchids."
x
He spends a long morning in Brenin's quarters and doesn't have much time to stop by his own rooms before his bridge shift starts. Even in a hurry, though, it's hard to miss them, the bunch of orchids set down outside his door. He can't help it; as he stoops to pick them up he's grinning.
On closer inspection, he realizes they're not orchids at all, but a type of strange, orange, alien flower that he's seen growing in Hikaru's room. He tries to picture Leonard, asking for them for some vague reason, being evasive and nervous and hiding it, tries to picture him tying the flowers up later by their stems, debating whether or not to include a card. There isn't one, Pavel notices. He scrambles around his quarters looking for some sort of suitable container and is almost late for his shift.
x
Pavel stands as close as he dares to the edge of the lake and wishes he could take off his boots and feel the small edges of the waves against his bare skin. He knows there'll be plenty of time for that later. And it would probably be worse to be still stuck on the ship, waiting and waiting and counting the seconds left before leave officially starts. Still it's hard to feel too grateful that he's being asked to work while all around him are shady trees and soft grasses and towering mountain ranges and while right in front of him is this lake, quite possibly the largest lake he has ever seen, glittering blue water beneath the sun like something out of a fairy tale.
Dr. McCoy is much more professional. He is steadfastly scanning the area, seemingly immune to its charm, all but silent this last half hour as they've wandered the terrain together. Pavel can't help but be grateful for him, for his silence, for how easily he turns the other way as Pavel wanders absently and lazily through the grass. He knows he's being somewhat unprofessional. He's too tired, too overworked, too caught up in the excitement of a long overdue break to care.
He's staring out at the far edge of the lake, wondering just how far it stretches and what's on the other side, when he hears footsteps crunching behind him on the rocky slope down to the lake's edge. He glances over at the Doctor as he comes to stand next to him, a suitable and professional distance apart. He keeps his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze to the horizon. "Enjoying the view, Ensign?" he asks casually, after a few moments.
"Very much, Dr. McCoy," he answers. He pauses a moment, then opens his mouth to give his thanks—he's sure McCoy's done at least half of his work—but the Doctor cuts him off.
"Do you have any big plans for leave?" he asks.
Pavel doesn't miss his wording, every stomach twisting meeting in the turbolift flashing through his mind again, and he turns to the Doctor and frowns. McCoy meets his eyes and for a moment he looks confused, then the memory comes back to him too and his features fall with embarrassment. He hides his face for a moment. Then he passes his hand from his forehead to his chin and tries again. "I didn't mean it that way, Chekov. I just—I meant you're probably looking forward to being able to spend time with Lieutenant Emerson."
Pavel turns forward again and mimics, without realizing it, the Doctor's own professional stance. "Not zat it is any of your business, Doctor," he says finally, stiffly, "but no. Ve have been assigned to different leave parties. I vill not see him again until ve return to ze ship."
He waits several moments for McCoy to answer and then all he has to say is, "Oh."
There's no reason for them to still be there, just staring out at the lake and the mountains beyond it; the sooner they return to the ship the sooner the Captain will start authorizing parties to beam down. But somehow Pavel's in no hurry to leave. He glances over at the Doctor. His expression, what Pavel can make of it from just his profile, is unreadable. Suddenly he clears his throat. "This is also none of my business," he says (Pavel swallows, reflexively, his own throat rather dry), "but," he pauses again, like he might still back out from his own question. He doesn't, as Pavel knew he wouldn't really. "Are you happy with him, Chekov?"
Pavel turns forward again in a snap. "Vat do you mean?" he asks back, his voice steady, careful.
"Do you really like all of that…I don't know, sappy romantic stuff? I see you two together sometimes. The handholding, the nicknames, the…cuddling in public—do you like all of that?"
Pavel considers lying, considers giving McCoy an unequivocal yes, saying he loves every second of it, but he can't quite bring himself to. He knows the Doctor is waiting for his answer. When he replies he forms each word carefully, speaking more to the tallest mountain peak than to the man standing next to him. "I love knowing zat he cares for me," he says. "He is alvays reminding me. It is reassuring."
McCoy doesn't answer. Again, nothing but silence between them. And it is like somone flipped a switch inside him and for a moment, just a moment, their professional distance, their eyes set carefully ahead, their steady voices, their avoidance—even his own answer, almost like saying nothing at all, and the way that McCoy will just take it, accept it like all the answer he'll ever get—all of this is so infuriating that Pavel just wants to scream. But the feeling passes just as quickly as it came. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and he feels better. McCoy is still not looking at him, still not answering. "Hmmm," he says finally, but that is all.
Then he reaches for his communicator. "The Captain's probably wondering where we are," he says.
"Yes," Pavel answers, and hides his disappointment even from himself.
x
While on leave they are each assigned rooms in the only hotel in a small town not far from the giant lake where they first beamed down. Hikaru tells him that this town, all square brick buildings and narrow streets and crooked alleys, its people quiet and nervous and soft, is the biggest city on the planet. Hikaru also tells him that, at night and underground, life gets a little more exciting. Pavel doesn't even know exactly what this means. Their first night off, he's too tired to try and find out. He promises Hikaru he'll go out with him another time, before they have to return to the ship, and sneaks away to his own room. The bed is much more comfortable than the one in his quarters on the Enterprise. It's early evening yet and he doesn't plan on going to sleep but when he opens his eyes again his room is all but dark, just the light from the planet's two moons streaming in through his open window.
He stands up, stretches, and commands the lights to turn on, glad that for all the town's quaint old village appearance it is well equipped with the familiar emenities of a modern society. For a few minutes he wanders the room, examining the spare pieces of furniture, taking in the view out the window, wondering what he should do now—take out some reading? try to find Hikaru? call Brenin on the Enterprise?—and then, almost by chance, he notices it. A note has been slipped under his door. An old fashioned pen and paper note. He stoops to pick it up.
Have dinner with me tomorrow, it says. On the two lines beneath this message are written a time, 19h00 Enterprise time, and a place, the hotel's dining room on the ground floor. The note isn't signed but Pavel knows exactly who it's from.
x
He considers not going. He convinces himself no fewer than eight separate times during the night and over the course of the next day that he should find some polite and tactful way out of it. But in the end he shows. The dining room, a small rectangular room whose right wall is a giant pane of glass through which one can see the beginning of a forest, is empty when he arrives. One of the tables by the window is set for two.
"Mr. Chekov?" the hotel's manager greets him. Pavel jumps, and puts his hand up to his heart before he can help it. He didn't even hear the man approach. He is a short, thin humanoid with faintly purple skin and impossibly long hair; like the others of the planet, he wears no shoes, and seems more to glide than to walk as he moves.
"I apologize if I startled you," he says politely, staring at Pavel with intense round eyes. "You are Mr. Chekov?"
"Ye—yes," Pavel answers, and waits for whatever will happen next to happen. He is more nervous than he thought he would be. The manager leads him to the one set table, then abandons him there. By the side of his empty plate is a tall glass of water, and he takes several long gulps of it, hoping it will help the dry and scratchy feeling in his throat.
He's early, but not by very many minutes, and when Dr. McCoy appears it is already three minutes past 19h00 and Pavel doesn't know what to say to him. So he lets the Doctor speak first and all he says, after a few strained moments of silence, is, "You're here."
Pavel wants to say something about the Doctor's own late arrival but all he replies is, "Yes." Then they're silent again. Neither of them is in uniform; the Doctor is wearing a suit jacket, no tie, and Pavel just stares at him in the half light of the empty room and tries to remember if he has ever seen this man in civilian clothes before.
"I guess you knew it was me, then," McCoy says, a bit hesitantly. "The note—"
"Yes," Pavel answers. "Did you vant it to be a surprise?"
"No. I didn't think you'd come if you thought it was just some stranger asking."
As they speak, a bit stilted and unsure, McCoy keeps his eyes carefully on Pavel's face. Pavel wants to say something, he doesn't even know what, just something, to break the silence that is falling a bit too comfortably now between them, to upset that steady and knowing gaze, but before he can find his voice, the manager reappears with their food. He appears from behind Pavel on his feet as silent as ever, and again he jumps, and frowns at McCoy when he laughs a bit under his breath at the reaction.
He's about to ask if the Doctor only invited him here to mock him when he's distracted by the sight of their food. Before him are several Russian dishes like he has not seen all in one place since before he left for the Academy. The first course is pieroshki that are, even in appearance, much closer to his mama's than anything that's ever come out of a ship's replicator. "Dr. McCoy," he starts, his voice low and quiet, more a whisper than anything, but McCoy interrupts. His own voice is nervous, more nervous than Pavel has ever heard it.
"I spent yesterday doing research. I hope it's all right. I've heard the people of this planet are supposed to be really great cooks, but I don't know if they've ever made these sorts of things before so they probably got it a little off—"
"Dr. McCoy."
He looks up from where he's been marveling at each of the dishes, and catches McCoy's eye. A dark blush rises to the Doctor's cheeks. "I have never heard you ramble like zis before," Pavel tells him. "It is," he lowers his voice, and leans in as close as he can over the table, "endearing."
"Endearing?" McCoy asks, and Pavel wishes he could tell him not to be so suspicious.
"Attractive," he clarifies. "A new side of you. I vould not vant to see it everyday but…sometimes…" He reaches out with his left hand and covers McCoy's right. McCoy moves his fingers, entangling them with Pavel's awkwardly, and then for several long moments he just looks down, silent, at their hands lying together against the tablecloth.
It's only when Pavel pulls his hand away to start eating that the Doctor speaks again. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to interfere with you and Emerson," he says. He sounds, Pavel notices only vaguely as he takes those first perfect bites (not quite like mama's but so close he just wants to close his eyes and savor it)—he sounds almost angry, his tone bitter and ashamed.
Pavel glances up at him. "I know vat you are doing, Doctor," he says. "Now eat. Russian cooking is ze best in the universe, you know. Zis is a fact."
x
For days after he gets back to the ship he's sick with his own guilt, a new nauseous wave of it each time Brenin smiles at him, wraps his arms around him, kisses him. He makes excuses to break dates and spends each night alone in his own quarters. He's sure he knows why he feels this way (a date with another man—you held his hand, Pavel, you lead him on) but when the real reason comes to him, straight shock in the middle of the night like waking from a bad dream, he realizes he's had it wrong the whole time.
He invites Brenin to his quarters and they sit together on his bed, a decent, carefully kept space between them. Pavel does most of the talking. He's not sure what he expected but somehow he thought Brenin would have more to say. He thought the conversation would take longer than it does. It's not surprising, though, he realizes later, after Brenin leaves and he's alone again. When it's over, it's over, and it's pointless to dissect the reasons why.
x
Dr. McCoy stands to the far right of the turbo lift and Brenin to the far left, and Pavel's in the middle, staring down at the toes of his boots. Brenin steps off at level four. Pavel and the Doctor continue up. Pavel lets out his breath in a long, careful, quiet sigh, even as he wills the lift to move faster.
"Well," McCoy says to the closed lift door, "that was uncomfortable." His eyes flick over and back. "Any particular reason he was glaring at me that entire time?"
Pavel clasps his hands behind his back and answers, as professionally as he can, "He is under ze impression zat I broke up wit him because of you."
"Oh?" the Doctor asks, and Pavel watches as his eyebrows rise and he starts to smile. When Pavel doesn't smile back he looks away, coughs, and rearranges his face into a more neutral expression.
"He is wrong, of course," Pavel continues neutrally. "Zere is not'ing between us. Zere cannot be." He looks over at McCoy, standing in the corner of the lift, arms crossed against his chest, staring at Pavel steadily. "It is like you said, in your office," Pavel says. "Isn't it?"
x
For a moment, his body nothing but particles, he's deaf. Then he rematerializes, safe on his own two feet again, on the transporter pad on the Enterprise, and the first thing he hears is a long, drawn out sigh, almost a groan, at his left. "Well that was brutal," the Captain says, and clomps down off the platform tiredly. Pavel's in no hurry to disagree. No one's injured but he's a bit more bruised than he was this morning and even a simple conversation with that particular High Council was more difficult than pulling teeth, more painful than having one's own teeth pulled.
"I think that in honor of that bit of diplomatic success—and also in honor of an overworked and overtired crew not accidentally destroying my ship—everyone should take the rest of the day off," the Captain announces.
Pavel could hug him. He doesn't, but it's close. "Really, Captain?" he asks, almost unable to believe it.
"Really, Ensign," the Captain smiles back at him.
"I am sure that in my case such rest will be unnecessary, Ca—" Mr. Spock starts to protest, but the Captain holds up a hand and shushes him.
"No arguments from you today, Spock, I'm too beat." He sighs again, heavily, and claps Spock on the shoulder. From the look on his face, he doesn't appreciate the gesture. But he also doesn't argue, and Pavel takes the opportunity to slip out of the transporter room and toward the turbo lift before he can think too much about the Captain and the First Officer and what they do in their off hours.
The turbo lift doors open and he steps in, but before he can close the doors behind him he hears a set of footsteps hurrying around the corner and Dr. McCoy, still bleeding from a scratch above his right eye, appears. "Hold the lift," he calls, even though Pavel already is. McCoy steps in next to him and the lift starts up with a jump.
"How's your arm?" he asks. It's an unexpected question, if only because Pavel's not much in the mood for conversation, especially with Dr. McCoy of all people.
"Um," he answers, "It is, um, fine. Just some bruises. I am okay."
McCoy's looking at him like he's not sure he believes him, but he doesn't press, and Pavel is grateful. Then he asks, to be polite more than anything, though partially out of genuine concern, about the Doctor's well being.
"I'm fine," he answers, then, following Pavel's gaze to his forehead, swipes a hand at the red line above his eye and adds, "It's just a scratch."
Pavel does his best to hide his surprise when the doors open on his level and McCoy follows him out. "I vas…I vas just going to my quarters," he explains, as if the Doctor had been wondering.
"I guessed," McCoy answers, but makes no explanation of his own, and when he's still by Pavel's side a minute later, as Pavel keys in the code to his rooms, Pavel feels like there's no choice but to invite him in.
Only then does McCoy hesitate, holding back in the hallway and asking, "Are you sure?" Pavel could hit him. But all he does is sigh his best frustrated sigh and motion the Doctor in behind him.
"Did you vant something, Doctor?" he asks once the door whooshes shut. He's already walking past his desk and toward his bed, and before McCoy has a chance to answer he sits down, starts to shove off his boots, and adds, "Because I vant to go to sleep."
He pulls off both boots, then his socks, and strips off his yellow overshirt too. McCoy is still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyes wandering everywhere but avoiding looking at Pavel himself. "I probably should have picked a better time," he admits.
"No," Pavel answers, surprised to realize that he means this, that he doesn't mind the Doctor's presence, is almost glad of it in this moment. He motions him over to the bed. "Sit. Say vat you wanted to say. I am very good at listening wit my eyes closed." As he speaks he lies down on his back on his bed, waiting for the feel of the bed depressing under the Doctor's weight and not surprised when, after a few more moments, it does. Still McCoy doesn't speak, but Pavel is in no hurry. He feels quiet and calm and ready, ready for the Doctor to tell him anything, to do anything, even just sit there at the edge of his bed as the ship's afternoon slides slowly into the ship's night.
Faintly, he hears McCoy ask him, "Are you awake?"
"Mmmhmmm," he answers, and opens his eyes in the hope this will be more convincing than a sleepy murmur of assent. McCoy is watching him carefully. Pavel sighs, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and then back down, and slowly, a bit reluctantly, pulls himself up. "You must be very nervous," he observes. Deep in his stomach, a warm burst of affection is surging up. He feels forgiving, ready to put the past in its place, and on top of this feeling he notices in himself a hint of curiosity. He waits again for the Doctor to speak, telling himself to be patient this time. He notes silently that McCoy didn't argue with him, about being nervous.
He says, "I'm sorry," and even though it is a long time coming Pavel is still surprised.
"Sorry, Doctor?"
"Yeah, for—" He coughs and turns his face away. He's sitting near the bottom edge of the bed and Pavel is by the head, legs pulled up to cross underneath him. There's a space between them and he wants to reach across it but he knows it wouldn't do any good, not yet. "For—taking advantage of you," McCoy is saying. "You were right, when you said that. I'm thirty-three but sometimes I think I'm the one who's acting like the real teenager here. I haven't been in a real relationship since my wife left me—not that that's important." He sighs, frustrated, face still turned away, and Pavel knows his words aren't coming out the way that he wanted.
"I don't have any good excuses, Chekov," he says, trying for the first time to meet Pavel's eye. His voice is one of finality; this is the last argument he has, the only thing he has left to offer. "I can only tell you that it would be different, this time."
Pavel meets his gaze, as strong and unflinching as he can. He's wide awake now, his fatigue nothing more than a persistant but dull background to his thoughts, and he's thinking that yes, yes, yes he would take this man back even now, if only he could believe it was different at all.
"I accept your apology, Doctor," he says, voice as steady as he can make it. "And I t'ank you for it. But—" He pauses for a moment, bites his lip hard between his teeth. "Vhy do you never use my name?"
McCoy's eyes narrow in a frown, and he asks, "What?" in a harsh tone. Pavel admits to himself that his own train of thought didn't come out well in his words. He tries to explain.
"Vhen ve talk, even in private, it is alvays 'Chekov' or 'Ensign.' Never 'Pavel.' Only—only once 'Pavel.'" The memory rushes to the surface of his mind before he can stop it and he averts his eyes, his face warming with embarrassment. McCoy doesn't say anything and doesn't say anything and when Pavel looks up again he's just staring, a small frown on his face.
"Maybe you do not remember?" he asks quietly.
"No," McCoy answers quickly, flicking his own eyes down toward the bedspread. "I remember."
Then he's quiet again and, in the silence, Pavel starts to count his own heartbeats.
He's startled when McCoy stands up, an unexpectantly energetic, almost violent action, and starts pacing, his hand to his mouth and his eyebrows close over his eyes, thinking. Pavel watches him nervously. Finally he stops at the head of the bed, close to Pavel again and stands tall over him. "Can't we say we both fucked up here?" he asks. "Because I've never heard you call me by my first name outside of this room, and before you showed up at my office that day, I didn't have any indication that we weren't on the same page."
At first Pavel thinks he might be able to stare him down, but he realizes before long that he can't, that it's the immature little boy in him who even wants to. He uncurls his legs from beneath him and stands; he's still the shorter of them but he feels a bit more on equal ground.
He hears himself say, "It vas my fault, too," and he's almost surprised at his own words, except that they're true. All he can say anymore.
He shakes his head and breaks the stare. On the floor he can see his bare feet next to McCoy's muddy black boots. "It must be different zis time," he insists. "If zere is a zis time."
Again he feels two familiar fingers touch gently beneath his chin, tilting his head up. Whatever Pavel was expecting to see in McCoy's expression it was not relief, but that's the expression, the only word for it, written all across the Doctor's face. "It will be different," he insists. "It will be dinners together and mornings together and—hand holding in the hallway if that's what you want. Let me prove it to you, Pavel."
Pavel's heart is beating painfully hard against his chest. His stomach is twisting with nerves. He looks down at the floor, letting the moment stretch and stretch, and he hopes Leonard will understand that he is not testing him, that if anything he's testing himself, his own resolve. Finally he looks up again. Gently, he places his hands on either side of Leonard's face, and gently he pulls him close, and gently he kisses him, careful and slow.
Leonard's grinning by the time they pull away, the same wide smile Pavel had felt against his lips.
"That a yes, then?" Leonard asks.
"Yes, yes, yes, it is a yes," he answers, and pulls him close again. He feels Leonard's arms wrap tight around him and he drops his own arms around Leonard's neck. This is a kiss to lose himself in, Leonard's mouth opening against him, drawing his tongue in, and all of him just focused on the red, wet, heat, of him, no hurry and no rush in each measured, thought out movement. He pulls away slowly and kisses Leonard on the nose before he can convince himself not to.
"Ze Captain gave us ze whole afternoon off," he whispers.
"He did," Leonard agrees.
"And I am very, very glad," Pavel says, voice still low, barely more than a breath ghosting over the skin of Leonard's cheek. He kisses him again, just a moment of their mouths pressed against each other, then mumbles against Leonard's lips, "I am very glad he did because I missed you very, very much. So much…"
He trails off the last words into Leonard's mouth, and talking slides back into kissing, and Pavel's eyes flutter closed again. His thoughts are all unraveling and there is nothing more in his mind but that one word over and over, his answer, that yes, yes, yes.