Chapter Eighteen: In which Spock returns, Christmas comes and goes, we meet another Chekov, and both Camille and Jim make...interesting propositions to Bones.
Three things: One, keep in mind that I probably paint Spock in a very bad light in this chapter. That is Karina's POV, therefore he's going to come across as a much more illogical, pompous twat than I actually believe he is. Disclaimer. I love you, Mr. Spock.
Two, I hope you like Chekov's sister... Because she's fabulous, and though this is the only time she comes in in this installment, she'll be back later. :)
Three, some of you have been requesting more Bones and Camille. I apologize for the lack of them in the past few chapters, but just because I've been focusing on Chekov and Karina (whom, by the way, I'm officially giving you all permission to openly ship, because who am I kidding?) does not mean I've forgotten them! You get a bit of them in this one - but mostly Jim and Bones about Camille, which gets pretty epic in the long run. However, as of Tuesday night, I will be on Thanksgiving break, so I'll have a bit more time to write for... you guessed it! Companion One-Shots! (I really must rename that...) At this point, my plan is to rewrite "How Long?" from Bones' point of view, and I have a bit more adorable fluff planned, as well. Feel free to prompt me, though. (And for those of you loving the idea of Chekov and Karina, I will take some prompting there, if you wish, but for the sake of your longings for McBourne, those are the only ones I'll write on my own.)
Over to James T. Kirk...
Jim: She owns nothing. Well, she owns Cam and Kari, which quite frankly makes us all a bit uncomfortable, but Bones, Chekov, and I, along with anyone else you may see, are not hers! Meanwhile, enjoy my brilliant matchmaking skills.
Cam: It wasn't nearly as smooth as you thought it was...
Jim: Well, Bones fell for it.
browneyedgirl29: Oy. Just enjoy the chapter.
"Cadet Bartowski," came Spock's voice from the front of the room. "May I see you for a moment?"
Taking a deep breath and curbing her temper, she obeyed his request, which, let's be honest, was all but a command from Spock as far as she was concerned. As soon as she reached him, making sure her tone was perfectly even, she said, "Yes, Commander?"
"I wish to inquire as to how your attempt at teaching Cadet Chekov the Standard language is progressing."
Karina bit back her automatic response, which was to call him out on his obvious favoritism, accuse him of only asking her this because he wanted to see her fail and Uhura succeed, rail him out and speak of how, for being a Vulcan, he was rather emotional when it came to his girlfriend, now wasn't he?
Instead, she cleared her throat, and said, "It's coming along very well, sir. We've progressed past where most normal people are by their second year."
"Are you sure that will be satisfactory?" the commander asked, and Karina stilled her hands, which were aching to throttle the man for his façade of complete logic. However, she'd already been cited for sassing an instructor once, and she did not care to get written up for the same offense twice. Another offense, perhaps, but the same one twice? Never. If there was one thing Karina Bartowski prided herself on, it was learning from her mistakes.
"I'm confident in myself, and in Cadet Chekov, as well, sir," she said. "Was there anything else you wished to ask?"
He frowned. "Are you attempting to dismiss me, your superior officer, Cadet?"
"Not at all, sir. I was merely inquiring as to your intent in calling me up here. Surely that couldn't be all it was." Dang! She was getting good at imitating his cool, logical tone. Even Spock looked mildly impressed for a moment. How was it that one single expression, the raised brow, could indicate so many emotions?
"That will be all, Cadet. You may return to your task."
Karina couldn't help but feel a sense of victory. For some odd reason, it seemed that she'd scored a verbal victory on Spock, though she didn't regard anything she'd said as particularly witty. Merry Christmas to her!
For it was the last day of class before winter hiatus. And as always, she was going to Camille's for the first week, for Christmas itself, then they'd go to Jim's mom's house for a week. They'd be back in time for New Year's, at which point Cam said she had a surprise in mind for her. Karina was big on surprises, of course, but anytime Cam and Jim got together for something, it was sure to be terrifying – albeit awesome.
She vaguely wondered what would happen to Bones if the three of them ever sprung something on him. They were, after all, the "fun" ones.
"You're completely sure that you're okay staying here?" she asked for the umpteenth time. "I mean, it's Christmas, Pavel! And you don't have anyone you'd be spending it with…besides me. And I'll be in New York."
He smiled. It was kind of nice having someone worry about him for once. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. It wasn't as though he hadn't had people he'd cared about back in Russia. There was Dimitri, and his sister, but he'd always been the one taking care of them – as much as Dimitri denied he needed to be taken care of.
So having Karina worry about him made him feel good, if a little bit guilty that he was causing her concern.
"I'll be fine," he reassured her, pushing her toward the door. She'd come to his room thirty minutes before she was supposed to leave to catch the shuttle to New York City, claiming that she wasn't going anywhere unless she was absolutely certain he was okay for the two weeks.
In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was. Last time, it had only been a weekend. This time, it was two weeks. And even though he'd only been interacting with one person, technically, he also was getting used to it. But he wasn't about to let her give up the holidays with her other friends, the ones she'd had first and therefore probably had more seniority than him when it came to her time.
No, he'd let her go this time.
But, of course, he'd be really glad when she got back. It would be a long wait without his best friend there.
He frowned slightly as the thought entered his head. Had she really earned that title already, dethroning Dimitri so quickly? Who was he kidding, of course she had! He and Dimitri had been friends, they were very much alike and so got along incredibly well, but while he and Karina certainly had their differences, those just enhanced the friendship.
It was kind of like puzzle pieces, he guessed. If they were identical, they didn't have the capacity to fit together. But the differences were what made them click.
Unfortunately, Karina saw the tiny frown, because she got that determined look on her face and planted herself firmly in the doorway. "Oh, crap. You're not actually fine. You're just saying that so I'll go, aren't you? Nope. Not going anywhere."
Chekov groaned. "Karina, I'm fine. Seriously. New Year's is the bigger holiday for us Russians. And you'll be back by then, so I'll actually have someone to spend it with, right?"
Karina bit her lip. "Not if my roommate has anything say about it. She has some hideous thing planned, I'm sure. Ah, who am I kidding? It's probably going to be fun. But either way, if I'm not going to be available on New Year's…"
He resumed the task of pushing her out the door. "I'll track Sulu down, then. I'm not above crashing someone's party, Karina."
She laughed slightly at how the distinctly American phrase sounded when translated into Russian. Holding her hands up in surrender, she said, "Okay, okay, fine. If you're sure."
He gave her one last, light shove and slid the door shut halfway. "Of course I'm sure. Go. Have fun. Come back soon." He didn't trust himself to say anything more. If he did he was liable to admit that he was, in fact, going to miss her.
She started to walk away, then turned around as though remembering something. "Merry Christmas, Pavel," she said in English.
He grinned at her. "Merry Christmas, Karina," he replied. The door slid shut all the way.
Outside, Karina walked away, shaking her head and smiling. Was she worried? Yes, yes she was. She hoped he'd make good on his statement that he'd track down Sulu on Christmas. But one thing she'd noted, in spite of her lack of ability to read people, was that he tended to isolate himself, lie low, and she was unsure of why that was.
One thing she did like, though, was how her name sounded when said with a Russian accent. Everyone else said it wrong, like Corinna. But Pavel managed to pronounce it correctly, of all things. Huh. Maybe that was how she'd start saying it, too.
December 30th
The last thing Andrei expected was for his daughter to come bursting into the room, blue eyes on fire and a look of consternation on her face.
"You found him, and you didn't tell me?" she demanded.
Andrei had never necessarily been fond of children. And even after he'd had two, he wasn't the warmest of fathers, he knew. But Anastasia had always been able to get away with more than Pavel had. Even Andrei didn't understand why that was. But he assumed it had something to do with the fact that Pteechka looked so much like her late mother. The hair the color of honey, her clear blue eyes, even her slight stature. Indeed, the girl did resemble a bird, as her nickname implied.
But he thought perhaps the most likely reason beside that was that she was more ruthless than her brother. Or at least had the potential to be, with the proper amount of training. The boy had an influence on his sister that Andrei didn't exactly fear, just looked upon it as an irritation. For some reason, his children had decided that the noble profession of illegal arms dealing was morally wrong. And it was too bad, because they both would have made excellent dealers.
However, Andrei didn't intend to pass his partnership off to his daughter. It was his son that he wanted to see take over. Anastasia might have been his favorite child, though he was almost loathe to admit it, but there was something about seeing your son prepare to follow in your footsteps that every man hoped for.
When your son despised everything about your profession that became slightly more difficult, but not impossible to overcome. It appeared Vladimir had successfully broken Dimitri and was now training him to take over his end of the deal. What was stopping Andrei from doing the exact same thing with Pavel?
Now, however, he had a daughter to deal with. "I wasn't aware you were looking for news of your brother, my child."
Her anger was apparent. She, unlike her brother, had not inherited the ability to keep her voice completely even while her face showed she was quite irate. No, it was the exact opposite. Curbing her initial countenance disruption, she became an unreadable mask but for that catch in her tone.
"Father, you didn't think I wanted to know where he was?" she demanded. "What part of my making myself literally sick with worry when he left was not clear?"
He shrugged. "It escaped my notice, I suppose."
"I see. Pavel escaping your notice isn't exactly a new thing, Father."
Andrei, who had turned to the door, whirled and nailed his daughter with the glaring face but even voice. "You forget the proper respect a daughter must show to her father, Anastasia!"
If she was quelled by the fierce expression, she didn't show it. Not even in her voice. Andrei frowned. This child was getting more difficult to frighten as the years went by. She hadn't held the same fear for him her brother had, not by a long shot. Perhaps that was because he'd tempered the fear with a proper amount of love toward her. But he'd still been able to use the little fear she did have to bend her normally stubborn temperament to his will.
In the past few years, however, he'd noticed a slight change in her. She was more defiant, more rebellious. Though it did irritate him to a point, considering one of the things she rebelled against was the tried and true family business, he couldn't help but feel a small thrill of pride. In looks, she may have resembled her mother, but when it came to personality, she was a Chekov through and through. In resignation, he supposed Pavel was, as well. The boy had just enough of his mother in him, however, to counteract it.
Andrei had yet to see the fierce side come out of his son, as he so frequently saw with his daughter. He was beginning to doubt it was even there. But in the last few months before Pavel had disappeared, he'd felt the slight resistance there, the stubbornness that the Chekovs prided themselves on. Resilient, this family was. That was why they hadn't been taken down long ago, when they first got into the arms business, in the twenty-first century. And they'd had to get even tougher as the years went on, considering that now they had a wider range of trade partners. Nausicaans, for example, were a bit of a harder negotiation than Somalians.
"Well, don't worry, child," he finally said, after she refused to back down and show him the fear he so desired to see from her. Fear meant respect, and he didn't want to lose hers. "You'll be seeing your brother soon enough."
Her face still a mask, Pteechka's tone once again belied her true feelings on the matter. "What do you mean, Father?"
He raised his hands in surrender. "Really, what must I do to satisfy you, Anastasia? I thought you would be happy at that prospect."
"Not if it means what I think it means," she said. "Father, you can't bring him back! Not now. It's been too long."
"Explain to me exactly how that is so," he growled, losing the façade in his voice. He was satisfied to see a tiny glimmer of fear behind her eyes. Not much, but it was definitely there. "You're right. He has been away too long. Too long chasing this fantasy that he created a year ago. Running away from his responsibilities here."
"Responsibilities?" Pteechka choked out. "You call what you want for his future responsibility?"
"Generally, yes," Andrei replied, back to the perfectly even tone. "You must know, Pteechka, that any father wishes to see his son take over the profession, yes? I'm not going to be around forever, you know, as much as I would like to be. And when I'm not, it would be best for everyone involved if the Chekov name was not smeared with – with…"
"An actually decent profession?" she quipped sarcastically when his voice trailed off. It infuriated Andrei to no end that the girl had actually gotten the better of him, for he had no reply. Finally he turned back toward the door, about to leave her to her own fury, when she asked, "When will you go to America, then?"
He turned back, and when he spoke, she sensed the finality in his tone and began to despair for her brother.
"Tomorrow."
December 31st
"Congratulations, Cam," Bones said. "You're completely cast free. Looks like your wrist has healed remarkably well, even in the past few weeks.
Camille rubbed her wrist as though she'd just been rid of handcuffs. As far as she was concerned, she had been. Hopping down off the table, she regretted that she couldn't stay longer, but she did have a class coming up. Another thing that skydiving venture had taught her: She'd be getting enough adventure when she was a full-fledged officer, and while that would take a while and she hated waiting, she was smart enough to know that being responsible for the moment and accepting the lack of adventure in her life was her best option here.
"Thanks, Bones," she said. "Hey, you are going to come later tonight, right? We're taking Kari out for her first drink. It's going to be a complete surprise. She knows I'm planning something, but doesn't know what that is, exactly."
Bones paused. He did want to go. He really did. But, remembering the last time he went out with Jim and Cam and not wanting to put himself into such a compromising position with her again, he decided against it.
"No," he said. "Not really a 'party' person."
She leveled him with a look. "Okay, first of all, there will be responsible drinking. This is Karina's first time. I don't want to completely freak her out – or get myself into a position where I can't look after her. I would count on Jim it that situation, but I don't know if I can count on him to not get completely hammered. The man drinks like a fish."
"I heard that, Cam," Jim said, sauntering in. "And he'll be there, don't worry. If I have to tie him to the back of a car and drag him. And that's not going to be pleasant, trust me, Bones."
She turned to him and said, "I would recommend giving in."
Caught between liking it and not liking it, Bones continued to dig his heels in for a full minute, in which the pair of them stared at him, waiting for him to give in. It was when they actually tried making puppy eyes at him that he finally gave in.
"Jim, that's hideous," he groaned. "Cam, that definitely does not suit you, at all."
Her eyes burned with fire for a moment before he threw his hands up in surrender. "I only meant that the look you're giving me now is actually less disconcerting. Okay, okay! I'll go."
Camille gave a little hop of triumph. "Great!" she said. "That's what I like to hear. See you boys later, then!"
She walked out, and Jim watched her go. He then turned back to Bones, who was seemingly immersed in the paperwork on his clipboard. Jim grinned, a plan formulating in his mind. Bones may have absolutely no foundation when it came to being jealous of him and Camille, but that didn't mean that Jim would not use that fact to its fullest advantage. How to begin? He cleared his throat, hoping to catch Bones off guard.
"So, Bones, Camille was looking particularly beautiful today," he said.
"She looks beautiful every day, Jim," Bones muttered, then stopped dead in his tracks, mid-mark with the pencil, realizing he'd been caught. Jim's eyes widened, and a grin broke out on his face.
"What was that?" he asked, the glee evident in his voice.
Bones quickly tried to recover by saying, "Nothing. Nothing." But the damage was done. His face turned completely red with frustration at himself. So now Jim knew.
However, the man continued, seemingly oblivious, "So, you wouldn't mind if I asked her out, then?"
Bones practically dropped the clipboard. That one had taken a left turn, one he certainly did not welcome!
"What – wait – what – why would you do a thing like that?" Bones asked, lamely attempting to conceal his shock.
Jim shrugged. "Why not? You said it yourself, she's beautiful. What do I have to lose here, right?"
Bones snorted. "You and Camille would be awful together."
Jim laughed it off. "Who said I'm looking for anything long term here?"
"You're – you're not?" There was the faintest glimmer of hope in Bones' eyes, accompanied by something very defensive.
"No, not really. I mean, I'm not a 'commitment' sort of guy. I'm thinking get in, get out, literally, if you know what I mean. Sure, things'll be awkward in the group for a while, but then it'll eventually get back to normal. You only live once, you know what I'm saying?"
Bones grew steadily more and more uncomfortable as Jim kept talking, as though Camille were a target, a trophy to place on his wall. Jim, seeing he was succeeding, bulldozed on.
"I mean, Camille is one fine – "
"Dammit, man, she's not a piece of meat!" Bones finally exploded.
Jim grinned at him, his delight evident. "What was that, Bones?"
Bones, the paperwork in front of him forgotten, laid it aside, trying to cover his tracks, but once again, the damage was done. His face was red with more than just frustration this time.
"Well, I mean – women…in general…"
He trailed off, unable to come up with anything else to defend himself with. Jim was practically bouncing up and down in his victory, his grin spreading further than just ear to ear. That thing was practically going around the man's head.
"Oh, shut up," Bones growled, storming out of the clinic, as his shift was officially over.
Jim followed, mimicking Bones' gesture and holding his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say anything!"