Chapter 15

The fingers of Sulu's right hand were easily grasping the straps of the bag he carried. The fingers of his left hand, he assumed, were broken into a thousand pieces. He couldn't actually feel them in the vice grip of the woman's hand that walked with him. While he was vaguely aware that her body was solid muscle, it hadn't occurred to him that her hands had the strength to crush a starship: until now.

Considering the state of his left hand, he thought he was doing a convincing job of appearing pleasantly empty-headed as they walked. The performance of the woman walking with him put him to shame, however. Tatiana's "I'm so happy to see you" smile, gentle nods of acknowledgement, little happy waves…were in stark contrast to the brutal grip of anxiety she had on his hand. She even winked at several young girls that uttered a delighted whelp of recognition as they passed. She was a consummate actress.

God, he forgot how tiring this was. He started calculating the distance in his mind. 200 feet up those stairs. Down one hallway. Down another. And another. Is this entire building public access? he wondered bitterly.

It wouldn't matter if it wasn't, his thoughts continued as they strode the path. The people in the government seemed to feel mor of an ownership of the young woman than the 'public' did.

A tighter squeeze of his hand – which he thought impossible – alerted him to a politician up ahead making a beeline towards them. A politician that Tatiana signaled she was not prepared to deal with at the moment. Turning sideways, he pulled her behind him and scooted between a group of people and the wall. It turned out to be fortuitous as he was able to turn right and head down the next intersecting hallway.

This hallway looked no different from the last 3: except for the small table set up against the wall in the middle of it. It was just so….Russian…for two men to be playing chess randomly in the middle of the hallway of a government building. It was certainly an odd choice of place to play chess.

Only Sulu knew it wasn't random. As they approached, the man facing them glanced up briefly: then did a double-take as he realized Sulu wasn't alone this time. The double-take alerted the other man, who looked up and turned to peer around the Helmsman. He smiled instantly.

As though she could feel the gaze she could not see, she stepped around Sulu: emerging like a butterfly from a cocoon. It was as if her spine unfolded: her shoulders, long neck, and head rising until her perfect posture gave the illusion that she was floating.

The sight of her brought both men to their feet. The closest nodded to her – more of a bow.

Sulu watched as she exchanged inane pleasantries with the guards. Her bright smile and warm eyes communicated an ease that was at direct odds with the grip she had on his hand.

He had picked her up from work and she looked the part. She wore an unremarkable grey sweatshirt cut short at the neck, sleeves and waist, with matching sweatpants whose bottoms were rolled into cuffs, and grey canvas shoes. Her copper-brown hair that was pulled into a messy, high ponytail was still streaked with sweat.

She was the only person he knew who's grace and refinement so permeated her every move that she could be dressed in sweats and still come off as absolutely, undoubtably regal. She was a fairytale princess.

And, like the rest of Russia, these men thought she belonged to them.

What a ridiculous game this is, thought Sulu with growing irritation. The total command she had of every muscle in her body permeated her every move with an elegance that reflected none of the damage she carried in her soul.

She's not a magical prize you've all won, he thought: the irritation having grown into anger. She's a Human being.

Neither the guards she spoke to nor the growing collection of people who had stopped to watch them would have believed it though. She was royalty to them.

Finally, she released his hand and reached out to take the outstretched hands of the men with floating, swan-like movements. It was bizarre to him to see the handshakes. This wasn't a woman who's hand you shook…it was an elegant fairy princess who's hand you kissed when it was offered.

The release of his hand caused a whole new level of pain as the blood surged back into it. Sulu balled it into a fist, then spread his fingers: then repeated several times in an attempt to work it into a usable appendage again.

He forced himself to stop doing it – as he suddenly realized it would have looked like he was threatening to punch someone if anyone saw the action. He waited more politely than he was feeling as the fawning conversation dissipated. Finally, one of the guards opened the door and held it for them to enter.

He nodded a thank you to the guard as he stepped through the door, Tatiana trailing behind him. The room had been some sort of executive office with grand furniture – a desk, a couch, chairs. A bed had been added against the windows to accommodate the current occupant.

Sulu turned as the door closed behind him – and froze.

"Oh, C'mon!"

Chekov looked up from where he sat on the couch. He was wearing a baby blue peasant top his mother had made him with black peasant pants, and had a balalaika slung across his lap and the legs folded under him. He understood Sulu's reaction immediately.

"I was told today they are taking pictures for the 'Famous Peasants in Jail' calendar," he said: accent so thick it was barely understandable. "I am scheduled right after Pugachev!"

He couldn't keep a straight face, however, and was laughing with Sulu before he finished speaking. He pushed the balalaika aside to the couch, unfolded his legs, and stood up. Turning, he bent over and began straightening the sheet music he had been working on.

"I brought you things."

In hindsight, Sulu thought he probably should have said that first.

Without a word, Tatiana ran and leaped on Chekov's back: wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

He straightened, turned, and walked over to where Sulu stood. Chekov gestured at the bag: behaving like there wasn't a Human-sized parasite attached to his back.

While Chekov just had a wicked glint in his eyes, Sulu had to duck his head to hide the grin at Tatiana's failed attempt to bring the Navigator to his knees. She weighed less than 100 pounds so it was sheer folly for her to think throwing herself on him was going to cause more than a blink of acknowledgement.

"Mama sent you some clothes," Sulu explained when he'd recovered enough to speak without laughing. "For court tomorrow."

Peering into the outstretched bag, Chekov pulled a hat out of it. Sulu watched as a grey shadow swept across his face. He handled the officer's peaked hat gingerly: eyeing it like it was a foreign animal. It wasn't the flat topped bezkazyrka he'd worn his entire life.

He shifted the hat to his right hand then and raised his left arm above his shoulder. In response, Tatiana dropped her feet to the floor and, ducking under his arm, moved around him: stopping when she was pressed against his chest, hugging him tightly. He hugged her in return, then bent his head down and kissed her cheek before he continued speaking.

"New hat for a new day," he quipped. He went to seat the hat on his head but ended up slanting it back in a rakish tilt when it wouldn't sit properly.

Sulu grinned. "Well there's proof you have a fat head."

Chekov wrapped his arms around Tatiana again, bent down and whispered something to her. "Go on," he said out loud as she pulled away. "I'll be right there."

Tatiana untangled herself from him and, after a nod of thanks to Sulu, disappeared into the back of the room.

Sulu reached for the hat.

While he took it off, Chekov pulled the hat from his friend's reach.

"It doesn't fit. I'm sure your father's Logistics Officer knows how big your head is."

"I never have to wear it," Chekov insisted. "It's fine."

Sulu eyed him dubiously.

"I'll be inside the whole time. You don't wear covers inside," he insisted again. "And I'm not having someone stay up all night to make me a new hat."

It was times like these that Sulu tried to absorb into his being for future use. The true sign of a good leader, he contemplated. A good leader considered what an order would translate to for the people carrying it out before he gave it. Having spent 17 years as a working sailor, Chekov was light-years ahead of most people in remembering that. In this case, 'get me a hat that fits' didn't mean grabbing a different one off a shelf. There was no stockpile of Admiral's hats in different sizes anywhere. After all, there was only one Admiral.

Or so everyone thought.

Sulu gestured for the hat again. "I'll put it away," he explained at Chekov's continued resistance. "Everything will wrinkle if it stays in this bag."

Relinquishing the hat finally, Chekov then pushed his hand into his pant's pocket and fished out an object. He threw it at Sulu. "I owe you," he explained.

The Helmsman caught it reflexively, then twisted his hand to find a set of metal keys on a leather fob. A wild, happy grin raced over his face. "You bought me a Shelby Cobra?!"

Chekov winced and shook his head. "No, I couldn't find one…yet. But I thought of you immediately when I saw this."

The grin remained on the Helmsman's face as he waited: but Chekov said nothing else. "So…what?" he asked. "Am I just supposed to go in the garage and try the keys on anything I don't recognize?"

"It is not in the garage," the younger man said apologetically. "It's in the hangar."

Sulu's eyes widened happily. "The…hangar?"

"It's the only way I could think of getting it home: without Mama knowing immediately."

"Get what home?" he demanded urgently.

"The M1A1."

The grin fell off the Helmsman's face. He stared at his friend, stunned. "You bought me a…"

"A ranged incendiary device," Chekov concluded.

Sulu burst out laughing, his eyes shining. "You bought me a World War 2 flamethrower?!" His grin hesitated then. "But what are the keys for? Why's it in the hangar?"

"I told you: it's the only way I could think of getting it home without Mama knowing immediately."

His hand closing tightly around the keys, the Helmsman considered that Mama "not knowing immediately" wasn't for the issue most people would think it was. While she was terrified by primitive vehicles that went at speeds no Human was able to actually control, he knew for a fact that they were going to have to battle the woman in taking turns using the flamethrower.

He just stood gripping the keys and staring at Chekov: refusing to play the game any longer.

"I had them hide it in a Hiller OH-23 Raven," he finally confessed.

Sulu instantly lurched forward and grabbed Chekov in an intense bear hug: lifting his feet off the floor.

"The things I'll do to get a hug."

"You bought me a 1950s American helicopter!"

"I did," Chekov agreed with a sigh as the man put him down. "A very small helicopter."

"You can get me a Huey next time," Sulu said as he pushed the keys into his own pocket.

Chekov shook his head and, muttering under his breath, turned and moved to go find Tatiana.

Sulu quickly hung up the uniform pieces in the closet and lined up the accessories on the desk: hat, awards, antique wristwatch, belt, socks, shoes…dance belt.

Chekov always wore a dance belt with his navy uniform in public. He claimed it was to eliminate the glaring 'panty lines' in the white pants and was 'just more comfortable' since he'd worn them on and off since he was a toddler: but Sulu knew it also maintained the "living Ken doll" appearance of Andriech. While he hadn't made an in-depth study of the issue, Sulu knew just by casual observation that the sailors did not, generally, wear dance belts as part of their uniforms: only Chekov and his father did.

Sulu lingered long enough to wipe a scuff off one of the shoes with the sleeve of his shirt.

He turned and moved towards the back of the room to ask Chekov if the helicopter was a E, F, or G model (God, I hope it's a G) and, more importantly, if it had fuel in it: but then stopped in his tracks.

And this was why Sulu knew there'd never be snakes in Pavel's bed.

No matter the torments of the day, no matter how the night began – it always ended like this.

Tatiana was curled up in the bed beside Chekov: head resting on his shoulder, arm on his chest, and his arm was draped protectively around her. Sulu could tell from his breathing that Chekov was already sound asleep. The Navigator had the annoying ability to fall asleep instantly he wanted to.

Chekov had rescued Tatiana and brought her home for his parents to take care of. When it came down to it, in the end, that's what he always was: her protective big brother. Sulu may have claimed 'Andriech' looked like a 12-year-old but, here, curled up against him under his protective arm – Tatiana looked much younger than that.

This child curled up under her big brother's protective arm was a lost Norman Rockwell painting to most that witnessed it. It was something else to Sulu, however. This was proof to him that "soulmates" had absolutely nothing to do with romance. For these two were connected on some basic, molecular level.

They'd wake up at some point and start talking. The kind of conversations philosophers dreamt of: deep, soul searching, purpose-of-the-universe and for-what-reason-the-sun-rose-again examinations. While "I broke up with Landon" would have brought from his friend Sulu "I know how hard that was: but she was a bitch. Do you want to get dinner before or after the movie?", with Tatiana the same declaration would have involved hours long examinations of the emotions that made it so difficult and, yet, correct. Often, the conversations only ended because they'd both lost their voices.

Tonight, the conversation would surround the flash of grey that had crossed over Chekov's face when he saw his new hat. The emotions, the grief of everything lost in never wearing the uniform again that made him look like the kid on the box of cracker jacks. The grief – of not being a 12-year-old boy to everyone.

Even when they were tormenting each other…when they were in the same room you could physically feel the connection they had. They were a comfortable whole together: jigsaw pieces that snapped together. It was startling and odd and took your breath away. But together they were – complete.

People that didn't know them – who didn't understand – had the expected whispered discussions, but it was bizarre to those who did. Because while the current situation – a 23-year-old with a still-18-year-old – would have garnered 'is this appropriate' debates about maturity and activity, the conversation around the 15-year-old and 11-year-old when they met was entirely different. And, despite 8 years passing and Tatiana growing a foot, she was still an 11-year-old child to Chekov. Sulu knew that she'd still be that 11-year-old when Chekov was 30 and she was 27. It would take him getting hit by an actual bolt of lightning for Chekov to ever see her as anything but a child, Sulu was sure.

It was a conversation with Tatiana that had led Chekov to confess. Sulu had no proof of that, but it was clear to him. Only when they'd gotten close enough to Earth for personal calls to go through the individual computer terminals and not through the communication officer had the torment in Chekov settled.

If only they'd been able to talk a week ago, sighed Sulu as he closed the door behind him. She didn't tell Chekov what to do, but talking to her made things become clear. He now wished he'd thought of putting the two of them in touch through the Platinum Channels. This probably all could have been avoided, he suspected.