When Janet Fraiser arrived at the base later that morning, she found the base to be rather…hung over and subdued. Plus there was a run on Tylenol and any other pain relievers known to mankind (and Jaffa, oh, and the Tok'Ra also). Fortunately, Colonel Chekov had gone to ground and was hiding in his quarters, or was smart enough to stay away from her.
"Dr. Fraiser," General Hammond interrupted her dark mood. "Can we talk in your office?"
"Absolutely, General. I'm glad to see that you are not one of the ones affected," she gently teased as she escorted him to her office.
"No, I have learned many things in my life, including to never play drinking games with the Russians." Hammond let her enter her office first, and then he followed her. Then he quietly closed the door, and sat in the chair opposite her desk. "This conversation is off the record," he explained. "Colonel Chekov…"
Janet sat up in her chair and Hammond silenced her protests with one raised finger.
"While it's not against regs, I do not need to tell you to be discreet. For that I thank you. And from the little I have managed to learn about Chekov the man, he holds his cards close to his vest. However, I must congratulate you as I had no inkling until last night. I know some believe that I don't know what happens on this base, but that is far from the truth. I know 98% of what happens, and can guess pretty damn well about the other two percent. This… understanding… it didn't even register."
"General Hammond, I can assure you that nothing has occurred between Colonel Chekov and myself. You can go to his quarters and ask the good Colonel yourself," Janet offered.
"Not necessary. Also, I'm surprised you didn't know that he's on his way back to Russia. He was recalled an hour or so after he left the party." Hammond's eyes narrowed as he watched for her reaction.
"General, there's really nothing happening between the two of us."
Hammond blinked once, twice, three times and then he nodded his head. "Of course there isn't."
Chekov, being the resident fixer up and sweeping after the horses in the parade type person, was sent hither and yon for his country. It was good, as it kept him busy, but it was also very much not a good thing because sooner or later, the fickle fates would find him back at Cheyenne.
So they did.
3 AM Moscow time, or roughly 7 PM at the mountain, found him inside the mountain, in the MEDICAL AREA. He listened in tired disbelief to Major Stepanchikov's explanation on the latest intergalactic incident which had landed the Major in the hospital.
"Fertility festival." Chekov stated that out loud once more. Just to see if saying it out loud in English made it sound more reputable than in Russia.
Nyet.
Stephanhickov, a strapping male of almost two hundred centimeters, agreed.
"So, that's how you managed to injure both hip flexors. What is the estimate to get you back in the field?" Chekov asked.
"Two months," Colonel Volkov stated.
That meant, he'd have to request a temporary replacement for the good Major of the intransigent hips. He'd back in Cheyenne within the week, replacement in tow, and he'd have to stay at Cheyenne for the replacement's first two weeks.
"Fertility festival," Chekov repeated.
"Maslenitsa is perhaps a more favorable comparison," offered Volkov.
"It is most assuredly, NOT," growled Chekov. "Maslenitsa is not a bacchanalian orgy. While this incident was caused by a…."
No one said a word, not even Lt. Belinova, who had fortunately managed to escape, unscathed and virtue intact (Or at least they had decided not to inform him of such indignities as then he would have been quite angry. He was old, and raised properly, unlike Stephanhickov).
"Fertility festival," repeated Chekov. Perhaps if he said it sufficient times, he would be able to say it with a straight face to his supervisors.
As his babushka would say, it was happening - a goat was eating up a wolf. Or if you were American, pigs were flying.
No doubt the flying pig brigade would have a SG squad before Russia got their second team. Perhaps he'd start wearing his hat while at the Mountain – to prevent pig shit from falling into his rapidly greying hair.
There was someone hovering by Stephanhickov's bedside.
"Major, we need to send you for more tests. If you don't mind, Colonel
Volkov, you and your team can wait outside." Fraiser's voice was warm, caring and compassionate. Then she addressed him in a flat tone. "Colonel Chekov, I'm sure you wish to discuss the incident regarding the Major."
"That is correct, Doctor Fraiser," he agreed in his best Colonel Chekov voice.
"I'll meet you in my office."
Their meeting was polite, but the tension between the two of them was the third person in the room. After Chekov had finished reviewing the incident he had nicknamed Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, due to both the subject matter and the near riot it would cause among his supervisors, he decided to face the issue head on.
"Doctor Fraiser, you seem… displeased… with Misha. Please…speak freely," he requested.
She just shook her head.
"Ah. I wonder what has caused this Siberian wind here in the mountain. Will you not say?" Chekov asked.
Not a word, and he felt… tired. And foolish, to permit himself to become… intrigued… by Janet Fraiser.
He accepted his defeat.
"Are you angry at me because I refused your advances? You were drunk, Zhanna. Agreeing to your offer, would have been a mistake. Вино́ вину́ твори́т. Wine causes guilt. If it was to be done between us, it would be done clear-headed. I would not dishonor you by taking advantage." He inhaled and then exhaled. "Ah, foolish, foolish Misha. His wife spoke truly, she said that he was smart man given to foolishness. To think… he thought… he had hoped... Ah Mishka… you… stupid, stupid bear."
Chekov nodded his head, and smiled. "Good evening, Dr. Fraiser. Give my regards to Cassandra, please."
Colonel Chekov had made his escape from Dr. Fraiser when he was accosted by Colonel O'Neill. He kept his face expressionless, but inwardly, he was utilizing the four pillars of mat with great fervor. He was busy conjugating his favorite curse word, yebát, when O'Neill spoke.
"Colonel," O'Neill greeted him.
Chekov looked around them before answering, just to confirm that O'Neill was speaking to him. Then he looked upwards, to confirm that the pigs had arrived at the mountain, and were even now, flying overhead, clad in SGC regalia. Ah, the piglets must be in orientation, as they were not overhead.
"Colonel," was his curt response. He attempted to sidestep O'Neill, was blocked, sidestepped again, and again found O'Neill in what Americans cutely called 'Personal Space.' "Are we dancing, Colonel?"
"I thought we should have a chance to talk. I know we really haven't gotten along in the past," O'Neill admitted.
"Your insolent attitude towards me has been permitted by your rather lenient General so I must confess that I no desire… to be…. friendly… with you," was Chekov's response. He feigned stepping towards his right, instead went for the left and stepped past O'Neill's blockade.
O'Neill did a jig and Chekov found him, once more, blocked by O'Neill.
"I really want to talk to you," O'Neill stated. Chekov shook his head and sidestepped O'Neill once more. "It's about Doctor Fraiser."
Chekov stopped and then pivoted towards O'Neill. "I have nothing to say about the doctor. Voice your concerns to her, not me."
"It's pretty obvious there's something going on between you two," O'Neill stated. "Treat her well, or you'll deal with me."
His threat was rewarded with a snort of laughter from the Russian and a spat of evil sounding Russian. "There is nothing going on between us. I also would advise you that you are not in the position to cast aspersions on her character. The rumors about fraternization and fornication between your team runs rampant through these halls. Learn discretion, Colonel."
O'Neill stepped closer to the slightly shorter man. "I'll be watching. One wrong step and you will regret it."
Chekov then stepped closer to O'Neill and quietly stated, "Then I will use that quaint American expression that you taught me. Bite me, Colonel."