by Mylochka

Return to Valjiir Stories

Return to Valjiir Continum

“You should not have disturbed them,” Pavel Chekov said for the fifteen hundredth time since

Daffy Gollub had placed a call to Ruth Valley’s house.  “I think they were somewhat offended.”

“Me? Offend Ruth Valley?”  the chemist snorted.  “Stop. Please.  I may cry…”

The navigator shrugged diffidently as he took another sip of coffee.  “I was actually thinking of…”

“Spock?”  Gollub grinned unpleasantly. “Yeah, that’s what they say about you…”

The Russian sighed.  “Daphne…”

“Explain to me again,” his girlfriend interrupted.  “What the hell are we doing in San Francisco?”

At that moment, they were having a cup of coffee in the South Portal commissary of Star Fleet Headquarters.

“You were complaining about being in Moscow,” the navigator answered a little sullenly.

“I was complaining about being taken on a guided tour of every piece of pavement where you played stickball or scraped your knee,”  Gollub clarified acidly.  “And having to listen to a non-stop Russian history lecture that would have had even the Vulcan Science Academy bleeding from the ears.”

“You asked about the socio-political significance of the Kremlin,” Chekov replied sourly.

“I said ‘What’s up with the funny looking building?’” Gollub corrected.

“I was merely trying to …”

“Are we going to actually meet your parents or not?”  the chemist demanded.  “Or do you think it's privilege enough for me to watch you talk to them over a comm link?”

“I have been trying to make arrangements,”  Chekov replied defensively.  “You are simply being too impatient, Daphne.”

“Oh, am I?” she retorted dangerously

“Yes,” he replied brashly.  “And I think the thought of meeting them is making you entirely too nervous.”

“Nervous?”  she repeated, her eyes narrowing.  “Why should I be nervous?”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not.”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

After a moment of fierce glaring, the couple each took a very annoyed sip of coffee.  Each then turned away and gave an almost identical sigh that was more than enough to inform an unbiased observer of the scene that both were indeed very nervous about the prospect of meeting Chekov’s parents.

“Just be yourself,” the Russian advised, softening after a moment. “And what else am I going to be?” the chemist retorted indignantly.

“Of course,” her boyfriend soothed. “Of course…”

Gollub’s eyes narrowed again.  “But?”

“But…”  Chekov chewed his lip for a moment before bursting out with, “Perhaps you shouldn’t smoke.  My parents don’t smoke.”

“Good for them,”  Daffy replied ungraciously.

“Yes… well…”

“Anything else?”

“No, no,”  Chekov replied quickly.  He took another sip of coffee, avoiding her eyes as he engaged in a little more lip-biting.  “Well…”

“Well?”  she repeated unpleasantly.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t swear.”

“Your parents don’t swear?”

The Russian consulted his memory bank.  “I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s a fucking shame,”  Gollub replied unsympathetically.  “Anything else?”

“No, no..”

“Well?” the chemist prompted dangerously.

“Well…”  her boyfriend admitted, and then quickly added as he watched her hand raise preemptively, “And don’t strike me!”

“Oh, so your parents never gave your thick head a good smack?”

“No,” Chekov replied adamantly. “And I doubt they’d appreciate if you did.”

This, of course, earned him a good smack on the back of the head.

The navigator sighed in profound annoyance and brushed the splash of coffee this had caused him to spill off his uniform.  “Daphne…”

“I don’t believe it,” a feminine voice from the other side of the commissary exclaimed. “I see it but I don’t believe it!”

A pretty blonde woman came and put her arms around Chekov.

“Glenna?”  The Russian guessed, completely flustered.  “What… Uhm, this is Daphne…”

“Oh, Daffy and I know each other from way back,” she said, cheerfully taking a seat between them. “Way back,”  Gollub confirmed with cordial unpleasantness. “I remember now that I had heard that the two of you knew each other… very well…   So wery, wery vell.”

“Oh, we haven’t seen each other in years,”  Glenna replied, oblivious to the drama going on between the two lovers.

“Years,” Chekov confirmed emphatically. “Many, many years.”

“Oh, not that many.”  The blonde slapped his chest playfully.

“Don’t make his mother mad,” Gollub warned faux-nicely.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I had heard the two of you were together,” Glenna burbled, immediately engaging in what Chekov remembered as one of her worst habits as she unapologetically stole a bite of his croissant.  “But I

just couldn’t believe it.”

“Really?”  Gollub’s eyes were as sharp as a tiger’s would be as it prepared to strike.  “And why’s that?”

“Oh, Daffy,” the blonde scolded playfully. “You were never the jealous type.  She must be crazy about you, Paul…”

Her inability to correctly remember or pronounce his name had been what Chekov rated as her second most annoying habit. The Russian silently wondered how long it was going to take his ex-lover to demonstrate all of his pet peeves.

“He makes me crazy, yes,” the chemist was confirming.

“No need to worry about me,” Glenna laughed, then proudly put her hand forward to display a hunk of dilithium big enough to power a small cruiser that had somehow been cleverly shaped into a ring.

“I’m off the market.”

“Oh, my,” Chekov breathed, as impressed as he was relieved.

“Damn.”  Gollub breathed.  “You must be able to hit warp 4 with that thing.”

Glenna laughed nicely.  “Blake’s so sentimental.”

“Blake?”

“McDaniels,” the blonde confirmed.

“Admiral Blake McDaniels?” Chekov clarified.

Her smile was as bright as the dilithium.  “Uh-huh.”

“Nice score,” Gollub had to admit.

“Uh-huh,” she agreed without a hint of embarrassment.  Her pleasure was suddenly dampened when she caught sight of the wall chronometer.  “Oh, damn. I’ve got to get back…  Hey, come with me.”

“Where are we going?”  Chekov asked as he was tugged to his feet.

“That’s what I keep asking myself…” Gollub muttered unpleasantly as she followed behind Mrs. Admiral McDaniels and her abducted boyfriend.

“Come see the kids!”  Mrs. Admiral McDaniels enthused as she dragged him down a nearby corridor.

“You have children?”  Chekov asked, his expression unfortunately reflecting the amount of damage he felt this might wreck on the gene pool.

“Yeah.”  She giggled devilishly.  “About twelve of them.”

Before he could calculate how far this was going to set back the human race, Mrs. Harris-McDaniels pulled him in to what was obviously part of a daycare center for the children of Star Fleet personnel.

“Gullible, much?” his girlfriend asked sarcastically as she stepped in ahead of him.

“I’m back, Cassie,” Glenna informed her aide before turning brightly to her young charges.  “Good morning again, everybody!  I’ve brought a couple of officers from the Enterprise to see you.  Does anyone know which ship the Enterprise is?”

“They’re in my daddy’s division!” one bright-eyed pre-schooler proclaimed.

“My daddy commands that whole sector!” another scoffed.

“Well,” a third was quick to announce.  “My mommy oversees the supply routes to that entire…”

“Mostly the Top Brass’s kids,” Glenna turned to explain.  “They’re really enthusiastic.  A little competitive sometimes, but…”  She turned back to the children. “Okay, it’s storytime.  Lieutenant Commander Chekov is going to tell you a special story from Russia.  Do any of you know anything about Russia?”

“My mommy has an office there!” A child bragged, while Chekov reflected on how much he always despised the way her teacher had always loved to volunteer him for things that he would have never offered to do in a thousand years.

“How did you ever end up sleeping with her?”  Gollub asked while Mrs. McDaniels nee Harris patiently listened to a half-dozen of the rugrats trying to tell her things like, “My daddy built a big transport station near there!”

Chekov shook his head mournfully.  “It is long story.”

“Del dumped her,” Daffy guessed.  “You let her cry on your shoulder.  She took her clothes off.”

“Perhaps it’s a very short story,” her boyfriend conceded.

“Okay, Paul.”  Glenna took him by the arm.  “We’ve got a special storytelling chair right over here.”

Bright primary colors dominated the space—cheerful yellow walls adorned with educational posters featuring the rocky spires of Vulcan, the floating cities of Stratos, and the crystalline cordilleras of Deneb IV. A reading nook in the corner overflowed with plush tribbles, stuffed sehlats, and a particularly well-loved Andorian ice bear missing one antenna.

“Glenna,” Chekov said, making what he knew was doomed to be only a token show of resistance.  “Really, I cannot…”

“Oh, come on,” she replied cheerfully ignoring anything contrary to her own desires – as she always had. “Tell one of those funny Russian stories you used to spin all the time.”

Chekov shot a desperate look at his girlfriend, who had positioned herself on a high stool against the back wall like a judge preparing to render verdict. Her dark hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows.

“Yeah.” The chemist smiled mercilessly.  “All the time with the funny storytelling.”

“I…I… really could not…” the Russian protested as he was dragged to the appointed seat.

“No, go ahead.”  His girlfriend waved him on encouragingly.  “This, I’m going to enjoy…”

“Well…. Very well…”  A small burst of stage fright hit the navigator as he faced his tiny audience whose parents almost certainly controlled every aspect of his life.  “Well… Uhm… Although I don’t think this is a very humorous story, it is a very old story called “The Bears’ Son”…”

Gollub crossed her arms.  “Now, that explains a lot…”

One little girl with pigtails seated to Chekov’s left raised her hand immediately.  “Do you fight on a starship?”

The navigator shifted in his seat nervously.  “I am in active service, yes...”

“Are you on the Lexington?” a freckle-faced boy who looked disturbingly like a miniature admiral demanded as he squinted at him with professional skepticism.

“No.”

“Good.” The tyke crossed his chubby arms with grim satisfaction.  “’Cause my daddy says that’s a stinky old tub that shoulda been decommissioned ‘bout a decade ago and…”

“No, no, no!” Glenna's bright smile developed hairline cracks as she intervened. “We’re not going to talk about things like that today, Anthony.  Do you remember the last time when Admiral McDaniels came in for story-time and we started talking about which starships our mommies and daddies thought were best and which were stinky old tubs…?”

From her perch, Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Bet that went over like a lead balloon in a gravity well."

“And Ms. Glenna got lots of calls that night,” their teacher continued, her smile becoming progressively more brittle, “and then got one of her migraines and you little sweeties had to have Mrs. Perkins come in for a whole week. Now was that fun?”

“Noooo!” her pupils chorused, shaking their little heads adamantly to underscore the point.

“All right.”  She gave them a pointed look. “So let’s hear a funny story about a bear instead, okay?”

A little boy in front missing a few teeth asked, “Do you kill Klingons?”

“Yes.” Chekov replied readily, feeling this had to be an absolutely non-controversial topic that was completely child-appropriate in the modern day and age.

He blinked in momentary surprise at the frantic signal he received from the back of the room that this was not the correct response. After puzzling for a second, he remembered to add, “Only in the line of duty, of course.”

From the general nods this caveat received, it was apparent that this reply was in keeping with these representatives of the Federation’s private thinking on the matter of Klingon mortality at the hands of Starfleet personnel.

The children’s teacher opened her mouth to offer further elaboration somewhat ameliorating the response as she pulled up a high stool and joined Gollub in a place along the back wall of the classroom. However, then  reflecting that nothing had been said thus far that would garner her any heated calls from irate parents, she decided it was probably best to leave well enough alone.

“Will there be a Klingon in this story?”

“Traditional Russian folktales do not normally include Klingons,” the navigator replied, then sensing his listeners’ disappointment, quickly amended, “but… uhm… we shall see. I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility… Russian tales are full of surprises.”

“Particularly his kind of Russian folk tale,” Glenna confided to Daffy. “…The kind you make up as you go…”

“He’s that kind of traditional Russian,” Gollub granted. “Lots of possibilities not ruled out.”

“In a faraway land, long, long ago,” Chekov began formally. “There was a young bear….”

“I thought this was in Russia,” the freckle-faced boy, Anthony, objected.

“It is.”

"That's only two transport stations away. My cousin went there for her wedding."

“That can be pretty freaking far, believe you me, lil’ buckaroo…” Daphne Gollub muttered cynically to no one in particular.

“What was the little bear’s name?” Glenna prompted helpfully from the back of the room.

“Uhm…” Chekov consulted the ceiling as he considered. “Sebastian.”

“That’s not a Russian name,” the little girl with pigtails pointed out.

“No, but it’s a very good name for a bear. Better than Dmitri.. or Boris,” Chekov exaggerated his accent as he pronounced the names – as if he didn’t have an accent to begin with. “That would sound silly wouldn’t it? Boris the bear?”

The girl giggled. “That would be boring!”

“How about Pasha the bear?” his girlfriend suggested with an evil, toothy grin.

“Oh, Sebastian is much better..” Chekov waved off this unwelcome aid with a grimace. “Pasha might be a bit too exciting… At any rate…” The storyteller cleared his throat.  “Sebastian lived in the heart of a beautiful forest with his mother and father. It was the most beautiful forest in all of the world.  The mother bear and the father bear were very clever and kind and very diligent.  They helped design the part of the forest where the bears lived and helped to make it so lovely, well-planned, and efficient…”

A child lying on a mat near Chekov’s feet looked up at him quizzically. “Are forests efficient and well-planned?”

Daphne snorted and muttered, “Don’t argue the nature of the mystical modern beauty of Mother Russia with this one, kid…”

“This forest was,” Chekov assured the girl with a beatific smile. “And very, very, very beautiful.  The mother bear and father bear taught Sebastian a great love of the forest…”

“A great, great, great love of the forest.”  Daffy rolled her eyes. “Oy, such a love!  A person could plotz from this love…”

“Sebastian was devoted to his parents…”

“Oh, sooooo devoted,” Gollub echoed sarcastically under her breath.

“He learned much from them, but he also had a great love of adventure…”

“He wanted to fight Klingons!” the little boy sprawled on the mat next to Anthony exclaimed, elbowing his friend in the side excitedly.

“Yes,” Chekov agreed readily, “And trolls and dragons and other creatures that were thematically appropriate…. Sebastian’s parents loved him very much.”

“Oh, soooooo much,” Gollub echoed.

“And were very proud of him…”

“Oh, sooooo proud.”

“But they could see that he was restless. Sebastian’s parents would often see him look up at the night sky and say, “Why do you want to leave?  Everything is here in the forest. Safety. Tradition.”

Anthony held up an adamant finger.  “But Sebastian wanted to be an explorer!”

“Yes!” Chekov reached down and patted the head of his young auditor. “Exactly!

“Give that kid a promotion…” Gollub congratulated the child sotto voce. “As if he’s not going to be getting a lot of those anyway…”

“His parents had worked very hard to make their place in the forest. They were among the most successful bears in their sector of the woods,” Chekov paused and sighed. “They had very high expectations of Sebastian…”

“My mom wants me to live up to her expectations too,” one of the little boys on the front row confessed.

Another child leaned against Chekov’s boot.  “My daddy is a rear admiral.  I have to be the very best at everything.”

“Da…”  The navigator reached down and ruffled the child’s hair sympathetically.  “Sebastian understood that feeling very much.”  He paused and took in a long, steadying breath.  “He studied very hard and with the support of his parents, he entered a Special Bear Academy. He graduated with honors and began to march around the forest protecting their sector of the forest from any threats.”

“Like Klingons?” Anthony’s friend asked hopefully.

“Yes!” Chekov replied, feeling there was no harm in indulging his young audience with a small plot twist or two. “…and trolls and dragons and other thematically appropriate creatures.”

“Hooray! Hooray!” This shameless pandering greatly pleased many of the occupants of the front row of auditors.

“One day,” the navigator continued, buoyed by this narrative success, “while Sebastian was on routine patrol … that is to say, while he was traversing the forest, he encountered a clever fox.”

“Did he fight the fox?” a representative from the front row asked hopefully.

“Oh, no, this was a friendly fox…”  Chekov snuck a look at the occupants of the back of the classroom. “Well, usually quite friendly.  It had the most beautiful green eyes in all of the world.  It was highly intelligent and had a certain affinity for all kinds of tricks and jokes.”

“I have heard that foxes like to steal things,” the little girl with pigtails contributed with scholarly confidence.

“Yes,” Chekov granted with a judicious nod.  “This is entirely in keeping with Russian tradition. Foxes are cunning creatures who are known for their devious ways.”

This erudition earned him a quiet growl from a certain green-eyed occupant of the back of the classroom.

“Did the fox steal something from Sebastian?” a member of the pro-adventure set asked, eager to advocate for another violent plot twist.

“Yes.”

“What?”

The navigator clutched his chest dramatically.  “His heart.”

This sentimentality brought loud expressions of disgust from all his juvenile auditors. “Eeeew!!!”

Even Daffy Gollub stuck her tongue out at him.  Only Glenna Harris rewarded him with an exclamation of “Awww! Sweet!”

“I hope there’s not going to be kissing!” Anthony growled, hiding his face preemptively.

“I do not know.”  The navigator shrugged a warning.  “Russian stories are full of surprises.  We did not know that there were going to be Klingons, did we?

Anthony’s friend held up a hand, seconding his companion’s protest. “I don’t like mushy stories!”

“This was not a mushy fox,” Chekov assured him.  He then pitched his voice into a strange approximation of a Brooklyn accent. “She would say, “Sebastian, why do you do this?” Why do you do that? Don’t be so serious! Don’t be so silly! Pop!”

Although not linguists, the children enjoyed the resultantly unique and sassy fox voice.  They particularly delighted in the miming of the fox smacking the bear in the back of its stubborn Russian head with a paw.

“I like the fox!” The little girl with pigtails giggled.  “She sounds like fun.”

“That kid has taste,” Gollub congratulated the young auditor.

The child at Chekov’s feet pulled at his pants’ leg. “What did Sebastian’s parents think of the fox?”

“Uhm…” The navigator froze with sudden discomfort. “Sebastian has not yet discussed his friend the fox with his parents.”

“Why not?” his inquisitor asked with innocent simplicity.

“Uhm…” Chekov found himself at a loss for appropriately simple answers.  “Sebastian’s parents are not accustomed to being around foxes. They are very proper bears. This fox is from… a different forest with different customs… different ways…”

He squirmed awkwardly in his seat, feeling himself under a searing green gaze.

“Doesn’t Sebastian love the fox?”

Again, the question, unlike life, was heartbreakingly simple.

Chekov decided the best approach was to give the simple, plain honest answer.

“Very much,” he replied.  “More, in fact, than he thought possible.  She makes him laugh. She challenges his perceptions... She loves him for who he is, not what he is supposed to become.” It felt unreasonably good to speak the truth about this matter…. It made him wonder why he didn’t do so more often.

“So, why is he scared to tell his parents?”

Ah, now he remembered… It was because life was painful and complicated…It is so easy to say the wrong thing… even when you are speaking the truth…

“That is difficult to say…” he replied slowly. “Sebastian’s parents are very important to him… sometimes more important than his own happiness.  They have given him everything.  He is their only child.  He is all they have.  He does not want to do anything that might… disappoint them.”

“If they love him, don’t they want him to be happy?”

“Perhaps…” he said, wishing he had more faith that this could be true.

“What happens next?” Anthony demanded impatiently.  “Is he going to tell them?”

“He would like to… but uhm… It is difficult….”  Chekov gave a nervous laugh.  “Sebastian even thought of disguising the fox in a bear costume…”

The joke fell as flat with the kids as it did with the fox herself.

The little girl with pigtails gave him an accusing glance.  “The fox would never do that.”

Daffy crossed her arms. “Damned straight.”

Anthony’s friend shook his head.”Sebastian isn’t being fair to the fox.”

“No,” Chekov agreed glumly. “He isn’t.”

“This is dumb.” Anthony discontentedly began to roll on his mat from side to side.  “If you love someone, you shouldn’t hide it.”

A child – doubtlessly offspring of a respected psychologist -- chimed in. “My mommy says that keeping secrets makes you feel sick.”

Another opined, “I don’t think this is a real Russian story.  It has too many Klingons in it.”

“He’s a real Russian,” the child at Chekov’s knee defended him, wrapping its arm around his leg.

“Why is he so sad?” another queried. “Stories are supposed to have happy endings…”

“Not all stories have happy endings,” the navigator informed the children.  “Life is often very complicated.  Russian stories are frequently quite sad.”

“I don’t wanna a sad Russian story,” Anthony complained, rolling on his mat.  “I wanna troll!”

“Make the bear tell his parents!” the pigtailed girl demanded. “Make them like the fox!”

“Or make the fox talk to the parents herself!”

“I want more trolls!” Anthony and his friend began rolling faster and faster.

“Trolls! Trolls! Trolls! Trolls! Trolls!”

“Okay, sweeties! Okay!” Glenna stepped in. "It’s juice and cracker time! We’re going to take a quick break for a snack while Mr. Paul and Ms. Daffy have a quick chat? Okay?"

“Okay! Okay!” her charges chorus enthusiastically, the narrative shortcomings of teller and tale momentarily forgotten in favor of the delights of snack time.

As the children scattered toward their juice boxes and crackers, Daphne approached with two cups.

"So," she said, her voice carefully neutral, "a fox, huh?"  

“A very beautiful one,” he replied weakly.  

“One that the bear can’t take home to his parents because they are from a 'different part of the forest' with 'different customs'?" Her fingers placed the offending words inside quotes.  It made the phrases seem to hang in accusing red letters in the air between them.

“No, no.” He waved a hand as if to wipe them away and tried to laugh. “That was just part of the silly story…”

“Like hell it was…”  Gollub crossed her arms. “No wonder it’s taken us so long to actually get to Moscow.  This is how the place is in your mind.  It’s like your parent’s place is some freaking enchanted kingdom, not a stop on a transport terminal that’s about twelve minutes away.” “Daphne…” Chekov protested.

“My God, I feel like we’re the Prozorov family in “The Three Sisters.”  We’re just going to keep endlessly talking about going to Moscow for the rest of our lives and never actually arrive.”

“Ah!” the navigator exclaimed, despite the circumstances delighted by this rare reference to work by a Russian master. “Finally, a good literary joke!”

This levity only earned him a snarl. “Focus!”

“Sorry.”

“This is how you see me?”  Gollub gestured at the storytelling circle to draw him back to the metaphor of the bear and the fox. “An unsuitable… creature who latched on to you who you are ashamed to bring home to your oh-so-perfect parents?”

“No, I… It’s just… I…” Chekov stammered to a halt.  He dropped his hands to his lap in frustration. “I do not understand our relationship properly myself. I do not know that I would be able to articulate it in a satisfactory manner that my parents could comprehend.”

“You were able to get it across pretty well to a bunch of six year olds,” Gollub shot back.  “Maybe you should take finger puppets.  Or maybe you should stop lying to yourself.” 

“Daphne…”

“If you are this ashamed of me,” she said, “then don’t be with me.”

The navigator found he had no reply for this, not even to repeat her name as she turned her back on him and walked away.

As much as her words, it was the look in her eyes disturbed him. He’d seen that look many times before.  At the Academy, he’d been one of the star forwards for the championship hockey team. There was a certain point in the last quarter of the game when inevitably a member of the team of the opposing team would look up and check the scoreboard. 

Chekov would see them do the mental calculation of time remaining and points that had to be gained against the implacable iron wall of Slavs and Swedes the Academy had assembled from every corner of the Solar system.  That’s when they would get that look -- resignation mixed with exhaustion— as they knew they would have to play on with little to no chance of victory. 

For the first time in his life, seeing the expression brought the navigator no satisfaction, only a hollow ache.

The little boy who was now trudging back with his juice box in hand, had been very right.  The bear was not being at all fair to the fox….How had the two of them ever gotten into such a lop-sided game?

“Are you going to finish the story?” Anthony queried pessimistically as the children trooped back to their places.

Chekov nodded and drew in deep breath, steeling himself for the effort.

“Sebastian realized that he had been very foolish,” he confessed.  “He had been so afraid of what might happen, he forgot to trust the people he loved the most…”  He looked to the back of the room and waited until his eye contact was returned.  “… and who loved him the most.”

“Do you mean the fox?” the pigtailed girl clarified hopefully.

“Both the fox…”  Chekov confirmed, and then added realizing that this was a very significant part of the equation, “and his parents.”

This, he realized was the part of the puzzle that kept refusing to fall into place.  His arguments with Daphne were like thunderstorms – sudden and dramatic.  However, he had weathered so many of them that he wasn’t actually frightened of them anymore.  An argument with his parents was like… Here the metaphor broke down because he had never argued with his parents… He wasn’t sure what it would be like… A terrible blizzard perhaps? An ion storm?  Hard to say.. It seemed like something that might be very difficult to survive…

However, as with his arguments with Daphne, a difference of opinion – even a violent one – was something that they could all survive.  Ultimately their love for each other would guide them through despite the difficulties.

Chekov cleared his throat, bolstered by these conclusions.  “Sebastian decided that hiding from the truth was worse than facing the truth.  Even if the process of facing truth could be… somewhat frightening.”

This keyword perked the interest of Anthony’s friend, who immediately sat up straighter. “Scary like a troll?

“Oh yes,” the navigator confirmed with a sigh.  “Every bit as frightening as troll, dragon… or any other thematically appropriate creature.”

Anthony rose to his knees hopefully.  “Did Sebastian and the fox fight trolls and Klingons?”

“Yes.”  Chekov gave a rueful half-laugh at the memories this comment elicited. “Several.”

The adventure set beat their fists against the mat in delight.  “Hooray!”

“And did they all live happily ever after?” “They lived…” The navigator paused.  “… realistically ever after.”

The child at his feet made a face. “What does that mean?”

“It means that they faced their problems together…” Chekov summarized, looking to the back of the classroom hopefully for signs he was correct, “even when doing so proved difficult.”

Anthony made a noise of critique through his nose.  “That’s a weird ending.”

“I like it” the pigtailed girl pronounced.  “It’s not as corny as a happy ending.”

“Do they kiss?” the child at his feet asked, miming the “kiss-kiss” gesture with its tiny index fingers.

“That would probably be too mushy,” the navigator concluded, making a judgment call on both the current tenuous status of his relationship and the tastes of his audience.  “As I said, this is not a mushy fox.”

“Not at all,” came confirmation from the back of the classroom.

"Well, children,” Glenna said coming forward and leading the tiny audience in an enthusiastic round of applause, “let's thank our special guests for sharing that... very unique story with us today!"

Outside the classroom, as the sounds of organized chaos faded behind them, Chekov caught Daphne's arm gently.

“Daphne…” he began carefully, “about the conclusion of that story…”

She turned to him, her green eyes still in the last quarter of a game she did not believe she was going to win.  “Was there a conclusion to that story?”

“No,” he admitted.  “The stupid bear still has to muster the courage go home. But he now understands why he has been afraid to do it. “

“Because I’m that bad?” she blurted out, tears standing in her eyes.

“No, no.”  He put his arms around her.  “It is just that I have only ever done the things my parents wanted…”

She shrugged him off.  “Except when you went to the Academy.”

“Yes!” he gripped her by the shoulders.  “I think this is why I must have put the two incidents together in the story… The Academy was not precisely the career path they had chosen for me.  My parents and I did not argue, but I did face a good deal of initial resistance to my choice.  I had to carefully present my reasoning.  It was a daunting task for a little boy.”

“Oh, I can just see you…” Gollub laughed despite herself, swiping roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand.  “You must have been a little mini Spock all decked out with your charts and graphs and comparative benefit analyses.”

“I thoroughly prepared, yes…” the navigator confessed, a bit shame-faced.  “There may have been, yes, charts, graphs... Perhaps quite a few, in fact… My father is a geothermal engineer.  My mother, a respected designer – very precise.  I needed to speak their language…”

The ghost of smile began to quirk the corners of Gollub’s lips. “And you’re thinking you’re going to have to do the same to explain me?”

The navigator shrugged helplessly.  “As ridiculous as that seems… Perhaps, without fully realizing, this is the way my mind has been working…”

Despite herself, Gollub began to smile and then chuckle as a vision formed in her head of Chekov diligently researching, designing, and then presenting a fully-illustrated graphic presentation on the emotional and physical benefits of their sex life to his very proper Russian parents complete with pie charts and efficiency ratings.

Chekov closed his eyes.  “Please stop picturing what I know you are imagining right now.”

“Bubbeleh,” she said, dissolving into giggles. “You are such an idiot!” The navigator sighed. “I know.”

She rewarded him with a remarkably mushy kiss.

“So,” she said, giving his face a fond pat.  “On to Moscow?”

The navigator took her by the hand, took a deep fortifying breath, and then pointed towards the transport station.  “On to Moscow!” “Tara⁠ ⁠… ra-boom-dee-ay.⁠ ⁠… It is my washing-day!” Gollub sang-quoted happily, swinging their clasped hands as they strolled through the sidewalks of manicured grounds of Starfleet Headquarters together.   “If only we could know, if only we could know!”

“Another excellent literary reference!” the Russian exclaimed delightedly, rewarding her with another kiss.  “I really do love you, you know…”

“See, this fox has more tricks than you ever dreamed of, Moscow,” she assured him.  “Don’t be thinking I’ll ever be climbing into some meshuggeneh bear suit, though…”

The End