The Bear left for Russia after his meeting with Hammond, without so much as a verbal goodbye to Janet. However, he had managed to sneak into her office, opened her drawer that held her secret stash of necessary supplies (chocolate, coffee) that she knew was locked, and he had left behind a dozen bars of Alyonka Chocolate along with an assortment of other European branded chocolates. She picked up the piece of chocolate, inspected the picture of the rosy-cheeked blue-eyed little girl in a colorful scarf and noticed that there was a folded piece of paper underneath her stash.

She opened the note. It was in Chekov's distinctive left handed scrawl.

Dr. Fraiser,

Small token for taking such good care of my people. As always, I am indebted to you.

Sincerest and warmest regards,

Mishka

And at the bottom, there was a cartoon of a growling, claw pointing bear who wore the dress shirt of a Russian Air Force Colonel. Janet peered at the cartoon for a moment, before she realized that Chekov had actually drawn a rather fearsome looking teddy bear.

"You certainly know a way to a girl's heart, tovarisch. Chocolate and teddy bears," murmured Janet. "I hope this chocolate is better than the little Russian cuisine that I've endured. Not much of a beet girl, I'm afraid."

Gingerly, she opened the candy bar and broke off a piece. She closed her eyes, and popped the piece into her mouth. So intent on savoring the experience, Janet Fraiser nearly choked when Sam asked her, "I'm afraid to ask what caused that expression on your face."

"It's just chocolate," Janet admitted when she was able to speak once more. "Surprisingly decent chocolate."

"I don't recognize the wrapper," prompted Sam.

"Colonel Chekov left me an assortment of European chocolate. I think he might have thrown in some Japanese chocolate also. I better ask our favorite translator to confirm what is in it. They look like chocolate covered wasabi peas."

Sam Carter leaned towards Janet Fraiser, as intent as a scent hound on the track of prey, and Janet put back the remainder of her chocolate bar into her drawer and relocked it. While Janet had planned on sharing part of her loot with Sam, well, that moment had passed.

"Don't look at me like that," protested Janet. "If you have something to say, just spit it out, Sam."

"Colonel Chekov seems to be in your orbit recently," Sam stated.

"Quite possibly as I'm apparently the only one here that actually talks to him," was Janet's retort. "O'Neill's dislike is quite obvious, and the other teams have noticed it. It really doesn't hurt to be polite to him. He's in a foreign country, trying to take care of his nation's interest, and he's quite aware of the betting pool Siler has on him. He's always been polite to me, and he did help Cassie with her physics."

Sam held out her hands in the universal don't shoot gesture. (Well, recent events has proven it was actually an Earth gesture, as Sg-12 had ended bonded into a group marriage after utilizing it on PX-1933B).

Janet nodded her head, accepting Sam's unspoken apology.

"Maybe we could be… less obvious," admitted Samantha.

"I know the perfect way to start. I need to locate a samovar."

Chekov arrived back at the Mountain in late December. From the moment he arrived to some forty eight hours later, he had managed to avert another international crisis from escalating into an intergalactic crisis, acquire some badly needed US Currency for the Motherland, and hadn't a chance to change out of the clothes in which he arrived. Don't even mention that he didn't get a chance to shave, so hopefully he wouldn't meet Dr. Fraiser looking like the proverbial shaggy Russian Bear.

However, he had been given a hearty handshake from General Hammond and an appreciative, "Good job, Colonel."

Simple words from a man Chekov respected. It was enough.

By the time he made it to his VIP quarters, he was barely able to keep to his feet. Really, could he talk to someone about removing the blasted American Flag from his bedchambers? Must he endure reoccurring nightmares involving John Wayne crossing the Delaware whenever he slept under the mountain? He was so beyond exhausted that he was mixing up his idioms and his history.

After a proper nap, he'd have to review whatever he just agreed to – just to confirm that he hadn't given away Siberia for some beaded necklaces. Not that Hammond would deliberately take advantage of Chekov's exhaustion, but Hammond had to take care of his interests. He was honest about it which Chekov respected.

It took Chekov some time for him to realize that there was a new addition to his quarters. There, on his desk was an antique samovar that had been converted to electricity. There was a container of tea leaves, Keemun, no less, proper drinking glasses that matched the samovar and a note left on top of the container of sugar cubes.

The note was from Dr. Fraiser and he couldn't help but smile when he read it.

Mishka,

Enjoy the samovar which is now permanently assigned to your regular quarters. General Hammond has ensured that there will be one in the cafeteria for SG4.

Janet

For a wonder, he didn't dream of John Wayne that night.

Janet Fraiser was in her office when she heard Chekov asking her staff if she was in her office.

"Colonel, I'm in my office," she announced. He stormed into her office, and Janet caught one of her staff members giving her a sympathetic look. Then he closed the door behind them with a solid motion.

He took the chair opposite her desk and he quietly exhaled.

"They won't talk because the door is closed, will they?" His voice was quite soft. Janet nodded her head, and he sighed. "Then I'll open the door."

"No, no. They'll think you're yelling at me. I'll get lots of sympathy from them later on, which is good as I want to leave work a little early today. The holiday party is tonight and I'd like to wear something besides this."

She pointed at her uniform.

The Russian Bear snorted a laugh. "Thank you for the samovar. It is a very old soul with a lovely voice. I had a wonderful cup of tea before I came here."

"Soul?" Janet questioned.

"Yes, souls. I know it would surprise you, but we Russians, very poetic. Anyway, I must go, as no doubt your people are eavesdropping to hear what I saying." Chekov stood and then nodded his head.

"You look tired," Janet protested.

"I am," he admitted. "Quite tired. I am not as young as your Colonel O'Neill."

Definite snort then as O'Neill was two years older than Chekov.

"Will I see you at the party?" Janet asked.

Another bark of laughter combined with a pointed index finger that bobbed in time to his words. "They do not wish to have Colonel Chekov at the festivities as he is a grouchy, grouchy bear with very fierce eyebrows. Chekov is a Colonel killjoy."

For added benefit, he did something to his eyebrows so they looked particularly angry.

"Mishka, you're not fooling me even with the scary eyebrows," Janet softly protested. At her use of 'Mishka', Janet was rewarded with a very warm smile. "Get some sleep, I'll look for you tonight."

Again, a head bob and a warm smile.

"Your General Hammond insisted that I attend in the spirit of international cooperation. Therefore, I will be found in any corner opposite of your O'Neill." He then stood and turned to the door. In a loud voice, he enunciated, "In the future, Dr. Fraiser, in the spirit of international cooperation, I would appreciate being notified whenever one of SG-4 is injured. I will review Lt. Beliova's file later."

There was a scuffle of noise as her staff realized that the Bear was About to Egress and Chekov bit his lip so not to laugh. He stormed out of her office, terrifying her staff and when they finally ventured into her office, they found her covering her face with her hands.

Janet Fraiser was struggling not to laugh, but her staff was so sympathetic after her supposed altercation with the Bear that they insisted she leave then and there. She didn't complain as it gave her time for a manicure and a pedicure.

"These Americans really know how to party," snarked Colonel Dmitri Volkov, the lead of the Russian SG4. "I'm so delighted that you brought vodka for my team for the holidays, Misha. A few drinks after this may make these dreary memories bearable."

"Dima," Chekov softly warned his old friend as they stood in line for the open bar. "We cannot insult our hosts who had provided us with this rather boring function. However, we can be good guests by assisting the overwhelmed bartender."

Dima pursed his lips and then agreed that it was the proper thing to do.

"They are in dire need of assistance," Dima agreed.

The two Russian colonels took off their suit jackets and rolled up their sleeves.

Looking back the next morning at the physical wreckage of his base personnel, George Hammond could safely say that this was the moment when the party went off the railroad tracks and began barreling down the mountainside.

"Jake?" George Hammond hissed.

"George?" was the immediate smartass response.

"Are the Russians acting as the bartenders?" George asked. "Including Colonel Chekov?'

The former Air Force General now Tok'Ra resistance freedom fighter watched the scene unfurl. For a moment, a brief moment, Selmak began singing 'Nearer My God to Thee' as she thought of a large iceberg (made of frozen vodka) bearing down on the unsuspecting Cheyenne mountain.

"Near-er My God to Theeeeeeeee!"

STOP IT, SELMAK!

The two Colonels were producing drinks at an astronomical rate, assisted by the remaining team members of SG4 and Jake tilted his head, "I hope you have enough designated drinkers for an entire base, George. Because the good colonels are not measuring how much vodka they're putting in the drinks. In fact, I believe they're doubling it."

George Hammond exhaled, counted to ten, then downwards to zero, then back up to ten.

"He's really vindictive. He's getting even for our most recent negotiations," George complained to the uncaring world. "He's ensuring me a base full of hungover people tomorrow. Come on Jake, I need to close the bar."

"And there…. A Ninotchka for the good Major," Dima proudly announced as he presented the drink to Major Carter.

"That's not what I ordered," protested Sam who stared dubiously at the pale drink that was nicely garnished with a lemon slice.

"It's what I can make," Dima explained. "Take a sip, you'll like it. Promise. It's vodka, creme de cacao and a little bit of lemon."

Carter took a hesitant sip and then she beamed. "This is really good."

"Excellent. Don't forget to tip the bartender," Dima reminded her as he pointed to the real bartenders.

Meanwhile, Janet Fraiser was standing in front of Colonel Chekov.

"You are a man of many talents, Colonel," she teased. "I'd like a Cosmo."

"I just know a few drinks," he demurred as Dima had in fact, been whispering the ingredients to him and then arbitrarily assigning the results Russian sounding names. "Don't know that one. Can I offer you an Anouchka? A bit of vodka, some blackberry liqueur?"

He began pouring anyway, even as Janet shook her head. "You don't take no for an answer, do you, Colonel?"

"I understand that is part of my lack of charm," he admitted. "Why don't I make you two as General Hammond is heading this way to shut down the bar? He looks almost Russian in his annoyance."

Meanwhile, the SG4 Colonel was intently watching the interaction between Fraiser and Chekov, and he wore the slightest smile.

General Hammond stepped in front of the line and the look on his face was one of annoyed respect because his staff was pretty hammered thanks to the Colonels' bartending. "Colonels, it is far too kind of you to assist the bartenders."

"Just another example of… international cooperation," dryly offered Chekov.

And ZING! He got Hammond well and truly with that quip and Hammond acknowledged Chekov's win in return.

"I'm not sure if that's the words I would use to describe your assistance," Hammond offered. He put his hands together and then smiled. "I want Colonel Chekov and SG4 to please enjoy the festivities, and I'm pretty sure that bartending won't permit you to do so. Your time for bartending is at an end."

The Russian Colonels grabbed four bottles of iced vodka and made their escape, much to the annoyance of the waiting personnel.

"Line your stomach?" Chekov asked his longtime friend.

"Naturally, however we will pace ourselves, unlike the Americans. They will be so feeling it tomorrow," Dima answered as he began to pour the vodka. "So, Misha. Tell me the truth. You and the little doctor?"

Chekov said not a word so Dima prompted his friend.

"Your wife has been dead for five years and she will not haunt you if you decide to date again. My understanding is that the doctor is not married, and she seems… fond of you. You are permitted to be human, Misha."

"No, I'm not. Not with my position. Not here, not ever," Chekov reminded Dima. He held out his glass and raised it. "Поехали!"

Let's get started.

He had paced his drinks, ate appropriately to balance his alcoholic intake, taken a turn or two out on the dance floor with a terrified Lt. Beliova and then he decided it was time to leave. He was then accosted by Janet Fraiser, who insisted on a dance.

"I think you had enough to drink," Chekov gently informed a tipsy Janet Fraiser. The diminutive doctor pouted and shook her head. "Do you need a ride home?"

"Probably, I only…had two… of those drinks you suggested, plus the ones that Colonel Volkov brought me," admitted Janet. "Besides, do I get a dance at least? You danced with Lt. Beliova twice. Let me kick off my heels as my feet are killing me."

She removed her high heels and rubbed her feet.

"Better," she gushed. "So much better."

"I don't think dancing with me would be a good idea," was Chekov's response. "Your coworkers will wonder, they will gossip. It will do your reputation no good."

"Dancing with me would improve your reputation around the base," was her lighting fast retort. "Or else everyone will gain a new respect for me for taming the Mishka bear."

With a determined expression on her face, she pulled at Chekov's arm until he stood next to her on the dance floor.

"Arms around me, Airman," Janet snapped.

They were a comical sight, he knew. Him, all burly and bearish, topping one hundred eighty centimeters dwarfing her delicate stature, and with her shorter by almost thirty centimeters. Damn it, Dima was grinning, Hammond was speculating, and O'Neill appeared troubled. Or confused. The Colonel had only two facial expressions, after all. The 'I'm a Smart Ass and you can't do a damn thing as Hammond agrees with me' one and the 'I don't trust you as you're a red Commie Bastard' look.

It was a slow song. Naturally.

Ever so lonely
Ever so lonely without you
Ever so lonely

Sinking into your eyes
And all I see
Love is an ocean and you for me….

He kept a respectful distance from her, but he couldn't help but watch her eyes. Light brown eyes that sparkled and captured his attention. How he enjoyed making her smile and laugh, truly the only bright spot in this entire hellish assignment.

The song ended, but they continued to dance.

Closer.

When the music stopped, he nodded his head and stepped away. "Thank you for the dances. I'm leaving now if you'd like me to drive you home."

Janet nodded.

It was a very quiet drive home. Janet was content to close her eyes, to pretend to doze as she was a bit tipsy. Plus she was debating the almost physical reaction she had when she was dancing with Mishka. Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov was not her physical type. He was a big man, in stature, build and attitude; and a tad caustic and Janet had never been particularly kind to him. No, she had rolled her eyes and growled Chekovisms with the best of them.

However, he had recognized that Cassie was in dire need of assistance and had offered to help.

He had nearly missed his wife's anniversary funeral mass to defend Cassie from the unfounded accusations of cheating.

And his rare smile.

Oh God, that smile. Rare as diamonds, crooked yet balanced by the amusement in his brown eyes. If Chekov was American, she'd say that he was interested.

In.

Her.

But he was Russian. So… maybe not.

And yet, she should not dare forget his hands. Carefully placed just so when they danced.

But the way he had looked at her when they danced.

Oh, yes, he was interested.

"We're here," Mishka informed her as he turned off the car.

She was still struggling with car door after she had claimed her victory against her seat belt when he opened the door for her. He held out his hand and she grabbed it for support. It wasn't deliberate, but she did lose her balance and Chekov caught her before she did a face plant.

"I'll walk you to your door," he offered. "I think you had a bit too much to drink."

"You might be right," Janet admitted.

They entered Janet's house and Chekov wondered where Cassie was, as she wasn't there to greet them.

"She's at a friend's house," Janet explained as she gently pulled him down the hallway. Towards her bedroom, he realized.

"J-j-j-janet…." He sputtered as he refused to move one more step. One part of him wanted nothing more than to merrily race her to her bedroom, but the sane, rational part of him warned him of the consequences.

Even with her Herculean effort, Janet Fraiser was unable to budge him. So instead, she turned to face him and she stood on her toes. Still not at a sufficient height to do what she wanted, Janet pulled his face down towards hers.

Their brief kiss was… unexpected… and… sweet. He was woefully out of practice, so Janet was the bolder, the more audacious of the two of them. When they broke apart, she relaxed until she was once more flat footed on the floor.

"Mishka, you're too tall to kiss easily," she murmured. Janet then deliberately placed her hands on his broad chest, and smiled up at him. "However, if we were both in bed, we'd be the same height. I'd like that."

"Zhanna… I'm incredibly flattered… but you're drunk," he softly protested.

"I'm not."

"You are. Go to bed, Zhannushka." His voice was quite soft and affectionate. "I cannot and will not take advantage of you when you're unable to consent to this. I am sober, you are not. Go to bed, Zhannushka. Alone."

Mishak leaned down to her height, kissed her once on her forehead, while she stood, stunned, in her hallway. She was horrified, embarrassed… ashamed…

"Janet, you just really fucked up," she whispered as she heard the front door close.

Chekov sat in his car and cursed. Repeatedly. Over and over and over again. He cursed in Russian, he cursed in Mandarin, he even cursed in Romanian (Quasi fluent thanks to his Romanian granny) and then running out of words, he cursed in English until he had nothing left to voice.

He had turned down Janet Fraiser for the noblest of reasons, and she had been pissed.

By the time he returned to his quarters, there was a message from his superiors. He was being recalled to Moscow and needed to leave immediately.

Thank God.