Dr. Fraiser's daughter wished to visit him. Chekov hadn't agreed at first, because well, he didn't remember her.

However his assistant, Lt. Alekseyeva, had guilted him into permitting a quick ten minute visit by quietly commenting that he had been rather fond of the teenager and had spoken quite highly of her. (Really, he was the Colonel, supposedly, and she was the lieutenant. So who ordered who about? She did). Since he was Russian, and Cassandra…. Cassie… was a visitor, an underage visitor at that, it behooved him to keep decorum maintained. So yes, he managed to get out of his hospital scrubs and into his uniform, though Volkov had been roped into assisting him. He couldn't ask his aide-de-camp to help him with his trousers, after all.

Volkov decided he needed to wear sunglasses to hide the worst of the damage to his face. Then because Chekov was hosting and once again, standards must be maintained among the American Cowboys (and Cowgirls), Chekov requested Alekseyeva procure tea for him and Cassie.

"I will acquire something sweet for the American. However, the Colonel gets water," his aide explained to a grinning Volkov after Chekov was dressed and shaved. "He had one cup of tea already today. That is all he is permitted."

"Water?" Chekov sputtered. "Water?"

"Or milk," Alekseyeva primly stated. "It's good for healing bones."

"Vodka! It's clear, they're Americans, they're never know," he protested.

"NYET," she shouted over Volkov's laughter.

He winced, as her yell had made his head hurt.

"Colonel Chekov, my father would want me to take of you," she said, as she pulled out the guilt card as he and her father had been brothers-in-arms. "So sit in your bed until she comes. Then when she knocks, you can stand to greet her. Please don't overexert yourself. Do this for me. Please, Colonel?"

Really, she'd make General before she was forty.

Cassie knocked on Chekov's door so he told her to 'Enter'. He was standing by his bed, and he gave her a warm smile when she entered. Hopefully, she would jar a memory or two loose because he knew there was much that Volkov and Alekseyeva weren't telling him. They hadn't given him a straight answer on Zukov or Marchenko, which wasn't a good sign.

Naturally, he didn't recognize her. Nothing, nothing at all, but the hopeful look on her face made him realize that for whatever reason, this young American had cared, deeply, for the Russian Bear. Ah, he and Irishka had never been blessed with children, but they had seemingly been adopted by a few strays over the years. It was just that Cassie was an…

American.

His wife was merrily laughing, Misha knew. However, he smiled again, and focused on appearing, healthy.

"Hello, Cassandra. It is kind of you to come see your tutor who, as you can, see is not at his best. We will be having tea as you are visiting. Well, you will be having tea. I will be relegated to having water as your mother is quite fierce. However, there will be… cake."

Cassie's composure broke and she impulsively hugged him. Her embrace startled him, but he soon returned it.

"Oh, Misha, it's all my fault. All my fault, I'm so sorry," she wept.

Cassie's tear soaked his shirt, so he carefully pushed her away. He smiled again at her and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Little pisicuţă, do not worry. It is not your fault. Your Misha bear will be fine. I assure you."

That earned him another embrace. She painfully tightened it for just a moment and then she pulled away from him.

"You called me pisicuţă," she happily exclaimed. "You used to call me that when I did well on your quizzes."

"It's Romanian," he explained. Needlessly, it turned out.

"Yes, your babushka was Romanian. Do you remember calling me pisicuţă?" Cassie hopefully asked.

Damn him for a fool, having only known her for a few minutes, (this time), he found himself instinctively liking her. He hated disappointing her but yet he couldn't lie to her.

"No, I don't," he admitted. "Though it suits you."

Because the child was honest and open.

"May I still call you Misha? Or should I call you Colonel, as you don't remember me?" Cassie softly questioned. "I was so hoping that you'd remember me."

"Pisicuţă, no matter what happens, I will always be your Misha," he assured her which earned him another hug. He tried not to wince but he was pretty banged up.

"Promise me when you remember everything you won't be angry with me," she requested. "It's my fault that you were out in the bad weather."

"Cassie, you need to understand something. You call me Misha, you don't call me Colonel or Mikhail Kirillovich. Misha. I called you Cassie, and sometimes I called you Kitten. It means that we are good friends, just right now I do not have the pleasure of remembering our friendship. How is school? Doing well in physics, I hope?" When she didn't say anything, he gestured. "Please sit, I cannot sit until you do.

Thank God, she sat as he was feeling very dizzy and headachy. With prompting, she chatted like a magpie while he nodded as appropriate. He had interrogated prisoners once in his career, so he carefully guided her with certain questions. Nothing about the American military, but more about her, his relationship with her and a few questions about her mother. Janet Fraiser, Enigma.

Occasionally, he took a sip of water and wished for tea.

Desperately.

Or Vodka.

Sam had brought Cassie to the mountain for a quick ten minute visit with Chekov. Naturally, because it was the SGC, Janet lost track of time. She looked at her watch and realized that Cassie was overdue in returning to her office.

Well, it wasn't a major concern. Hopefully. Probably Cassie had gotten sidetracked (Jack O'Neill) and waylaid (Jack O'Neill) but she had a sneaking suspicion there was Trouble – that began with T and rhymed with C and that stood for CHEKOV.

She left her office and guided by instinct, she found herself in the cafeteria. A sunglass wearing Chekov… In UNIFORM…. CHEKOV…. DRINKING TEA…. Violating every single instruction she had given him.

Oh, he was a dead man.

"Dr. Fraiser," he jovially greeted her. "Would you care for a cup of tea? I am quite enjoying this cup."

She drew herself to all five feet two inches of her and glared up at the Russian Colonel. The two formidable foes engaged, and the battle began.

Naturally, he didn't take her seriously, because he was male, because he was Russian.

At one point, she was so unbelievably angry that she couldn't say a single word. Instead, she looked up at him and if she had the power to mentally murder him where he stood, he would have been dead. Didn't he realize that he was risking his HEALTH?

He looked down at her, and his amused expression faded. Quickly. Instead, he appeared… uncertain and he put down his barely sipped tea.

"I have angered you again," he quietly stated in a far cry from his normal Chekov Volume. No, it was almost as soft as when he gently refused her drunken advances. "Doctor, I just wished for a cup of tea. One cup only. No more. I will return back to medical with all due haste. I will follow your instructions to letter, Doctor."

Leaving Janet happy yet uneasy about her victory. What the hell had just happened?

Chekov's little excursion to the cafeteria had somehow caused additional paperwork to appear on her desk, and so she sent Cassie home with Samantha.

"I'll be home soon," she assured her daughter. "Promise."

Janet had just filed her next to final report when the door to her office opened. It was CHEKOV. The only thing that saved his life from immediate extinction was the fact that he was tea-less.

"Hello, Doctor," was all Chekov said after she finally acknowledged that he was standing in her office. She had to count to one hundred twice before she permitted herself to acknowledge him.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Janet snapped. "You're supposed to be in bed, resting, Colonel Chekov. I thought you had promised to behave."

Chekov ignored her as he carefully sat down in the chair opposite her desk. He was cautious in how he sat as he didn't wish to jar his elbow.

"I….needed…. to talk to you. You… haven't stopped in…. to see me…" he slowly offered.

"I see you multiple times a day," was her quick retort.

"Always with someone… l need to apologize…." He explained. "I'm …. Exceedingly sorry about what happened."

"Well, you were a difficult patient in the beginning, now go back to bed, so it's all forgiven. However final warning, based on how you continue to hop out of bed, I will restrain you the next time I see you out of bed. And you will have no more tea today or tomorrow. No Caffeine. None. No trips to the cafeteria. You will go to your bed and remain there."

"Not that…" he protested.

"Then what then?" Janet asked, as she truly had no idea.

Why the hell was he wearing the sunglasses, so she couldn't see his eyes? This conversation was making no sense …. Except…. If … dear God … no… his memory was coming back. Yes, she wanted his memory to return, but could God maybe erase that little part of her attempting to seduce him?

"I wept…. For a woman who has been dead for five years…. I apologize I did not mean to be…cruel ….I pray that I did not upset you, but I believe I must have. You were so angry about the tea, so I fear it was not just the tea that caused your anger." He paused and then slowly exhaled.

"You didn't remember what your wife died, Colonel. I'm sure it was very traumatic to be informed that it had happened, along with losing five years of your life. Temporarily. I fully anticipate that you will make a full recovery. Now, please go back to bed."

Silence, and she returned back to her paperwork.

"How long were we lovers? Will you not tell me? Or will you keep it from me as though you are ashamed?" Chekov softly questioned after a long silence. "I think maybe… less than a year. I haven't been assigned here as the liaison for very long. It would have taken time and a great deal of effort for Mishka the Russian Bear to woo you. I have never been… charming…"

"I'm afraid that you are mistaken. We weren't," Janet easily stated. "You tutored Cassie in physics."

"We were. You slipped, Zhannochka. You called a man uncontrollably weeping for his long dead wife by a pet name that only his lover would use. You called me Mishka."

"I slipped. I heard Colonel Volkov call you Misha, and I mispronounced it," she lied.

"Ah, that does make sense, and it even explains your kind note with the samovar. An antique TULA samovar, with Keeum Mao Fang Hao Ya A tea leaves and sugar cubes. The samovar and the tea leaves of the highest quality, and you know my preference for sugar cubes. Your note meant something to me as I kept it as a bookmark in my journal. You addressed the note to Mishka. If we were not physical lovers, we were dancing very close to it."

Janet shook her head. "You're wrong."

"Ah," was all he said. After a long pause, he softly continued, "I believe I mentioned that I journal? When I'm on these assignments, I journal in that country's language. It helps me converse in all times in a foreign language. It might surprise you that I am quite verbose in my writings."

Long pause. Then there a glimmer of the Chekov that formerly conversed with her when he added a very dry, "Or maybe not."

Janet placed her pen on the desk and looked up at him. He was holding a small brown leather journal, its cover distressed and worn smooth by age. "Zhanna, I had time to read it, and it confirmed many things for me. I never liked O'Neill, and the feeling was mutual. So glad that I gave away his fruit basket."

Brief smile.

"And that I appreciated your forthrightness."

He slid the book into his sling and then smiled once again. It was more of a hint of a smile as he struggled to stand.

"Zhanna, I am exhausted. Physically, I hurt. Mentally, I know my wife has been dead for over five years, emotionally the wound has ripped open anew. I lack the energy to explore why you are lying to me, Zhanna. Perhaps not. However, I felt that you should know… if you hadn't been drunk, I would have agreed to your kind offer as I am… lonely… during my holidays. Though that was not the only reason."

Chekov chuckled, a soft laugh directed towards himself. "I do fear that I would have embarrassed myself with a young man's desire in old man's body, so for my self-esteem, it is very good that it did not happen between us. I was surprised… because I wanted it so much. I had convinced myself… that… those particular urges were long buried. I would have been… mortified…to be that close… and…to disappoint you. As I told you, I have not been close to anyone since my wife's death."

"You're writing fiction, Colonel," protested Janet.

"No, I didn't write any of this in my journal. Veshat lapshu na ushi," he stated.

"I beg your pardon?" Janet asked. "I'm not sure what you just said. Did you mention noodles?"

He extended his left hand. "Zhanna, I thank you for your kindness and the tea. I don't remember… everything… but please accept my invitation to have tea if you are ever in Russia. I owe you hospitality for your cordiality in opening your home and your heart to a very lonely soul."

Janet extended her hand, and he held it for just a moment. To her deep surprise, he kissed it and then released it.

"Be well. One day I hope you will understand and forgive me for mentioning her so often to you. Her death… it… destroyed… me," he slowly admitted. He waited for a minute in silence, and then left.