Chapter Five

When Pavel had mentioned that his friend would drive them both home from the bus stop, Olenka had imagined a fifteen-year-old boy in a compact car. What she had not expected was a nineteen-year-old girl in a minivan.

Pavel reached the door first, and she checked his face for any sort of telltale mischief—surely he realized that bringing a fully-developed teenage girl home when he still couldn't shave was entirely inappropriate. But he was grinning broadly without a trace of hesitation. In fact, he bounded up to her and announced, "Ma, this is my good friend and lab partner, Anechka."

Before Olenka could regain her wits, the big-haired brunette had walked up beside Pavel, extending her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Chekov."

Olenka opened her mouth, and for a moment no sound came out. "Anechka, is it?" she managed after a moment. She meant to flash her a warm smile, but she could tell by the sudden wariness in the girl's eyes that she had been less than successful.

Anechka nodded. "Your house is charming," she said politely.

It occurred to Olenka that she should step aside and let them in. As he passed Pavel raised his eyebrows curiously at her, sensing her unease. Did he really not understand?

"Are either of you hungry?" Olenka asked helplessly. "I could . . . I could fix some tea."

Pavel nodded enthusiastically.

"If it's not too much trouble," Anechka said, the picture of a good house guest. "We could lend a hand—"

"No, really! It's alright, I can get it, just . . . you two can just . . ." Olenka shook her head a bit, unsure of what to say. She needed to get into the kitchen and be alone to regroup. She waved them off in a vague gesture. "I'll call you when it's ready."

"Thanks," said Pavel, and then he jerked his head up to the stairs, motioning for Anechka to follow. "We'll be upstairs in my room."

Olenka could not help but notice as Anechka followed Pavel up the stairs just how much more . . . advanced she was. She swallowed and willed herself not to say anything stupid. Instead she croaked, "Uh, leave the door open."

"Okay!"

"Pavel, could I see you for a moment?" Olenka asked when the tea was ready. As she listened to him enthusiastically bound down the stairs, she suddenly wondered if he'd even had any—oh, what had the girls called that class at school?—"sex education." He had been shuffled through so many schools and skipped so many grades that he might have missed it every year, and certainly neither of them had ever brought it up at home.

"The tea is ready?" Pavel asked, and suddenly she saw how childish he looked for a thirteen-year-old, with his unruly curls and his conservatory sweater zipped up all the way over his shirt collar.

Olenka nodded, and tried to ask casually, "So what are you and your . . . friend doing upstairs?"

"Finishing some star charts for our project," he said. "She is very smart. We'll make quick work of it."

"So she's just your lab partner, then."

Pavel looked at her curiously. "Well, we are friendly."

Olenka's throat was dry when she asked, "What sort of 'friendly'?"

After a moment comprehension dawned on Pavel's face, and he burst out laughing so hard that Olenka felt herself blushing at her inability to be subtle. "You think . . . mother, believe me, I am not interested in Anechka in a romantic way."

"You're a teenage boy!" Olenka shot back, embarrassed. "And you bring home that—well, she's quite curvy, if you have not noticed—"

"Have not cared," Pavel tittered.

"Oh, please!" Exasperated, she slapped her hand to her forehead and said, "Of course you—well, I don't even know if you understand, Pavel, but there are certain . . . you can't just . . ." she trailed off, desperate for some way of saying "all teenage boys want is sex, and now that you've become one of them I am obligated to inform you of the consequences" a little less bluntly.

Pavel raised an eyebrow at her. "I know what sex is, if that is what you are so concerned about," he said, almost tauntingly. "You think I don't know where my niece and nephew came from?"

Olenka winced. "That's enough of that."

He laughed again. "Honestly, though, Anechka is just my friend." He grabbed the two mugs of tea and said in amusement, "Are we finished here?"

She nodded wearily. "Go ahead."

"Pavel, where'd you go?" called Anechka from upstairs. "There's a gap in my star chart I need your help filling!"

As her son flew back up the stairs Olenka sighed and hoped she could trust that "gap in my star chart" was not a euphemism for anything that would result in extra grandchildren.

A few days after he turned fourteen Pavel began his all too familiar twitching.

"Just last week you were saying how happy you were at the conservatory," Olenka said, not even bothering to hide her irritation as she glared at him from across the chess board.

Pavel wrapped his slim fingers around a pawn and moved it forward. "Last week Starfleet wasn't letting minors enroll."

Olenka's eyebrows raised perilously close to her hairline. "What's this I hear?"

He sighed and enunciated slowly, "Starfleet . . . is letting . . . minors—"

"I heard you the first time," Olenka cut him off, biting one of her nails.

For a moment neither of them spoke. "It's your move," Pavel finally said.

"Of course it is. Whether or not you can enroll, I'm still your mother, and I decide whether you—"

"I meant chess."

She considered the game hopelessly. "Oh, forget it, you know you always win anyway."

"So I can apply to the academy?" he asked cheekily.

"Pavel!" Olenka tried to be stern about his trickery couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped. She collected herself and said, "Look, I'm not saying yes or no. Let me have some time to think."

He twitched again in his chair. Sometimes Olenka wondered why he even bothered sitting down, the way he fidgeted. "If I turn in the application within the week, I can be in San Francisco by next semester—"

"What is the rush, Pavel? Why do you want so badly to leave?" Olenka burst.

He looked down at the board guiltily and offered a little shrug of his shoulders. "I have mastered nearly all of the courses the available at the conservatory. There is nothing left for me to learn here."

"That's all you think the world has to offer you? Learning?"

When he didn't reply she buried her face in the palm of her hand, determined to bite back the emotion that threatened to creep into her voice. The statement wasn't so much an accusation as it was an acknowledgement of the boy Pavel had become, but she couldn't help the insecurity that fluttered in her chest when she heard him talk so avidly of his plans and the future. She feared that she was part of the reason he was so eager to leave—that somehow she wasn't enough. That she wasn't intelligent enough to keep up with him, that she wasn't good enough company, that for any reason she couldn't fathom she had made him feel compelled to leave.

It was moments like these that she couldn't help but think, If Andrei were alive . . .

She lifted her head up again. Pavel had stopped fidgeting, and his doleful eyes were watching her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

"I understand. Learning makes you happy." Olenka stiffened, but she said, "I want you to be happy."

"I am happy," he said quickly, reassuringly. "I'm happy here."

"But you want to get away from me."

"Don't be silly. You know I will miss you when I leave."

"When," she repeated. Not 'if.' It was like he was already gone.

He just nodded bleakly, turning his attention back to the board. She watched his eyes widen incredulously. "You had me in check."

She blinked, and realized he was talking about the game. "I always have you in check," she reminded him, standing up from the table. "Now come on, help me with dinner."

It was Christmas when the phone rang. Dostya and Alek (who had, as Dostya promised, returned home safely) were huddled around the tree, and Irina and her fiancé were commenting on a rerun of a sports game on the television. Pavel was on the couch holding his niece, Dostya's infant daughter, and singing an off-pitch rendition of a lullaby Olenka certainly had not taught him.

The ringing of the phone tore Olenka away from the tranquil scene. She wasn't going to answer it until she saw the ID flash on the front: "STARFLEET ACAD".

She crossed her arms against her chest. Pavel was relentless.

"Hello," she said harshly.

After a pause of surprise, a voice answered, "Is this Olenka Chekov?"

"Did my son tell you to call?"

"Excuse me?"

She tapped her foot against the linoleum of the kitchen floor and said, "Who is this?"

"Admiral Swanson, ma'am," came the smart reply, clipped and rehearsed. "I teach advanced warp theory at Starfleet Academy."

"Has my son contacted you?"

He cleared his throat. "If you are referencing the Pavel Chekov who wrote the same paper on warp drive that I intend to base my next seminar on, then no, he has not contacted me. On the contrary, I was wondering if I could speak with him."

So it was worse than she'd thought.

"Well, he isn't at home right now."

"Could you relay a message for me?" Swanson asked, persistent.

"I don't have time to take down a message right now. If you know so much about Pavel then you can send text through my personal PADD. Good day, admiral," she said quickly, and broke the connection.

She stood there with the phone in her hand, feeling slightly winded by the encounter, when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Dostya," Olenka exclaimed, jumping a little and trying not to look ashamed of herself.

Her eldest daughter's expression was grave. "I saw the caller ID. They want Pavel, don't they?"

"Nobody said that," Olenka said defensively, setting the phone back in its cradle.

Dostya knew her better than that. She set a hand on her hip, her stance reflecting her disbelief. "Because you hung up before they could."

Olenka stiffened at the accusation, and said simply, "He's fourteen years old. San Francisco is an ocean away." She stared past Dostya. "And space . . . it's forever away."

"He'd come back home. You know he would."

"You're so naïve," said Olenka wistfully, shaking her head.

Dostya smiled a little. "Maybe." She glanced toward the living room, toward her little brother and her baby daughter. "But what you have to understand is that it's not about you." She held up a hand to stop Olenka from protesting, and quickly added, "And it's not about him." She shifted, looking confident in her resolve. "Pavel was marked from the beginning, Ma, and you know that. He's the sort of different that can't be ignored. I have to think that whatever time we get to have with him is just a gift, and that the rest of him . . ."

"You talk like he is some sort of sacrifice. Like I should just give him away knowing that terrible things might happen to him."

"You can't keep him here forever," Dostya said, keeping her voice light. Then she pursed her lips and turned back to the living room to join the rest of the family, knowing that Olenka hated when people witnessed her tears.

I give anyone on this site full permission to murder me for the delay in updates.

I BLAME THE KINK MEME FOR SUCKING UP ALL MY LIFE. Plus there was like this two day period in which I had no computer access, it was like getting sucked into an abyss. I was so desperate I started writing fanfiction by HAND (so that's what a pencil feels like wedged between my fingers--hmmmm, I must examine this peculiar phenomenon).

Thanks for the birthday wishes :D :D. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. No worries, he will EWENTUALLY (see what I did there with the 'v'? HAR HAR) get into Starfleet Academy. Not to, like, post spoilers to my own fic or anything. Sorry 'bout it.