Oy With The Old

"Rostov," Maxwell said, almost to himself. "So, you're Jewish."

"My mother's family is," Chekov replied warily. He seemed to be the exclusive recipient of Maxwell's conversational openers, and though he wasn't certain why, he was certain he didn't like it.

"And your mother?"

"My mother is Jewish."

"Okay, then here's a news flash from around the sixth century b.c.e.," Maxwell replied. "You're Jewish."

"Thank you," both Ruth and Daffy said, happy to have support for this position.

"I'm not religious," Chekov said.

"It's not just about religion," Ruth said.

"To a Nazi, you'd be a Jew," Maxwell pointed out.

"Part of living in an enlightened society should mean that we do not have to identify ourselves by the labels put on us by other people."

"We're not other people," Maxwell said. "We're your people."

"And I do appreciate the feeling of cultural solidarity." Chekov raised his glass. "L'chaim."

Both Maxwell and Daffy clinked glasses with him. "L'chaim."

"Laytyaesh," Jilla put in softly. Sulu and Jeremy both smiled at her, and Maxwell gave a puzzled frown.

"It's Indiian," Sulu explained. "It means the same thing."

"Jilla and I used to be roommates," Ruth further clarified.

"Oh," Maxwell said, though he was clearly still confused.

Chekov cleared his throat. "But since I am not a religious person," he continued, "I do not use a religious affiliation as a primary identifier."

Daffy sighed. "Translated - He still doesn't think he's a Jew."

"What is this?" Maxwell asked her, gesturing to the navigator. "Stubborn?"

"Like a mule, he is," the chemist confirmed.

"And not jus' in bed," Del added helpfully.

Jilla flushed.

Sulu scowled at DelMonde, and Paget punched him solidly on the arm. "There're ladies present, jackass," he snapped.

"Maybe one," was Del's sour comment.

Ignoring this, Daffy turned to Chekov. "When I died on Dreamland..."

"You died?" Maxwell asked, and there was genuine alarm in his tone.

"I got better," she assured him, actually flushing in pleasure before turning back to the navigator. "You said Kaddish for me."

"Actually Ruth did," Chekov corrected.

"You asked me to," Valley pointed out.

"Well, she'd have to," Maxwell put in, "Unless, Chekov, your parents are also..."

"Shut up, David," Ruth said between clenched teeth.

"Because Yonaton and Ramy are dead..."

"Mr. Maxwell," Spock began.

"Everybody knows that, David..." Ruth snarled.

"And the Kaddish is only to be said by..."

"I said we know!" the Antari blazed.

"Hey, Dave, leave it," Sulu put in.

"It is a painful subject, Mr. Maxwell," Jilla added.

"And you know that, so..." Jeremy continued.

"...shut th' fuck up," Del growled in unexpected support.

After a moment's pause, in which Daffy patted Ruth's arm sympathetically, Chekov returned to the point of the conversation with a shrug. "It was appropriate."

"Because you're a Jew," Daffy finished.

"No," Chekov said. "Because you are." Daffy smiled.

"The Kaddish is actually for the survivors, you know," Ruth said. "Not the dead."

"It was a highly emotional moment," Chekov said. "Under the circumstances and in the state of mind I was in, that particular ritual seemed most appropriate."

"Because you're a Jew," Maxwell concluded.

Chekov sighed and shook his head. "If this soup were to spill in my lap and I shouted, "Jesus Christ!" would that make me a Christian?"

Daffy's smile turned evil. "Let's try it and see."

Sulu and Jeremy had decided to give up on engaging the rest of the table in conversation; Ruth and Daffy were alternately sniping and scowling at David, Del putting in the occasional pithy and/or hurtful observation. Spock bore it all stoically, as did Chekov himself. And between the Captain and Chief of Security of the D'Artagnan, Jilla was buffeted by the emotional climate around her, and tried simply to hang on. Her distress only manifested itself in the inevitable and uncontrollable shimmering of her skin, sometimes only a diffuse glow, sometimes a flare as bright as a nova.

After yet another particularly acute expression, Maxwell suddenly asked, "Why does she keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" Sulu replied.

"The Beta Niobe bit," Maxwell clarified.

"Nice one, ya moron," Del commented.

Jilla felt her skin again brightening, and Ruth said, "She's Indiian."

"So?" Maxwell had leaned back in his chair, his grin challenging.

"So when the emotions around her get - intense - she reacts.

"Intense like how?"

Ruth made a face. "Well... like... anything that embarrasses her, or..."

"What could possibly embarrass her?" David snorted. "I mean, come on, she's K - Sulu's wife, she can't be a virgin - or inexperienced - in anything."

"You can just shut the hell up right now," Jeremy snapped.

"What? She's Indiian so it's not like she doesn't know all about..."

"Keep your personal opinions about my life to yourself, David," Sulu warned.

Maxwell tried to smile. "No offense, K - Sulu, I..."

"WILL you stop that?" Ruth shrieked. "Of all the annoying, adolescent, thoughtless, inconsiderate..."

"Mrs. Majiir has little control over her reactions to emotional stimuli," Spock put in, in an attempt to calm the situation.

"Stimuli, huh, Cousin?" Maxwell grinned. "Is that what's going on?" He gave a creditable leer and Jilla again went nova.

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sulu demanded sharply.

"Come on, K - Sulu, it's just that with you as a partner..."

"STOP THAT!" Ruth screeched.

"... and sitting between you and Paget..."

"One more comment like that..." Sulu began.

"An' me an' Cobra both gonna pop you one," Del promised.

"Oy geveult!" Maxwell complained. "It's kind of hard to ignore, with her glowing in the dark over there."

"I am sorry to be an annoyance to you, Mr. Maxwell," Jilla said softly.

"It's not you, hon, it's his intolerance," Sulu told her, glaring at the lawyer.

Maxwell turned helplessly to Daffy, who shrugged.

"Get used to it, bubee, she said. "They never blame her for anything."

Ruth, Jeremy and Sulu glared at her. Spock frowned pointedly. And Jilla flushed again.

"So," Maxwell asked turning to Ruth and Spock, "when's the wedding?"

Del groaned and Jeremy placed a quick hand on his shoulder.

"We signed a contract a long time ago, David," Ruth sighed.

Maxwell nodded. "So when's the wedding?"

"And we recently had the Vulcan ... Ceremony," she informed him through her teeth.

"Lovely." Maxwell commented dryly. "So when's the wedding?"

"Believe me, Jade's ceremony convinced me that a wedding is the very last thing I want."

"Not even something small for the family?"

"I think that's how Jade's started before it grew into an intergalactic press feeding frenzy."

"Not even if I buy your dress?"

Ruth's mouth opened for an automatic rejoinder, but nothing came out.

"Oh, he's good," Daffy said, impressed.

"My wife and I..." Spock began.

"I can handle this," Ruth assured him, then turned to her cousin. "What kind of dress?"

Maxwell shrugged. "White. Puffy. With lace. I don't know. Whatever you want. Any designer."

"David, you're the devil," Daffy said, respectfully.

The lawyer turned to Chekov. "And when will your Uncle Max be whipping up a nice, big engagement ring for our Daffy?"

The Russian choked. "What?"

"I almost glad I here now," Del said to no one in particular.

"And you're going to buy my dress too?" Daffy asked

"And pay for the reception," Maxwell offered.

"Damn." Daffy turned to Chekov. "Let's do it."

"Daphne, marriage is a serious institution, not to be entered into lightly."

"Who's talking light? I'm looking at a Rostov ring and a designer dress. We can get a Martian divorce in a week."

"No Martian divorce," Chekov and Maxwell said together.

"Damn. Is there an expiration date on this offer?"

"No. Not until my wife manages to spend all my money."

"Damn. We've got to hurry."

"And how have you been, Del?" Maxwell asked, finally turning his attention to someone other than his cousin or Daffy or Pavel Chekov.

"On th' Drake," Del answered, signaling the waitress for another drink.

"Watch it," Paget warned with a pointed frown.

"Serving back on the Enterprise didn't go so well, huh?" David was grinning again.

Across the table, Spock stiffened and Ruth glared at her cousin before staring at something on the table that was suddenly unbearably interesting.

"There were understandable difficulties," the Vulcan began.

"Difficulties!" DelMonde gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, I s'pose you could call it that."

"You just have to pick at old wounds, don't you?" Daffy snarled at Maxwell.

"I can help it if I'd like more information than your snide, gossip-filled accounts give me?" the lawyer retorted.

"What did Daffodil tell you?" Jeremy put in, with a disapproving glance at Gollub.

"Daffodil? That's cute," Maxwell said, and again patted Daffy on the cheek. She bared her teeth at him. "Not much coherent," David continued. "Something about the ghost of my dear cousin here creating a nuisance." He wagged his finger at Ruth. "You can cause trouble even when you're parsecs away," he chided her.

"You leave her outta this," Del growled, on top of Spock's, "My wife had nothing whatsoever to do with..."

"That was the basic problem, wasn't it?" the lawyer asked. "Your wife?"

Abruptly, Sulu rose, taking Jilla's hand, urging her to stand with him. "Thanks for a lovely evening, Dave," he said. "But we have a lot to do to get ready for the launch." He turned to DelMonde. "And we've got final reports to make about the Drake, Del." He waited expectantly, his mind sending out frantic signals to both Jeremy and his former assistant engineer.

"Yeah, and bein' Chief of Security, I got herd to ride," Paget added, as he, too rose from his seat. "Come on, N.C. I'll take you home."

"You hopin' fo' a li'l nightcap, babe?" Del returned, but his gaze was fixed on Spock's.

"I think, Mr. Maxwell," Spock was saying, "that this line of conversation needs to be dropped."

"Yeah, he not wanna spill nothin' that might upset his wife," Del snarled pleasantly.

"And what makes you think I don't already know all about it?" Ruth asked quietly.

"Oh hell, yeah, I forgot. He not never keep not'ing from you no more," the engineer spat.

"Mr. DelMonde, please..." Jilla put in softly.

"Noel, I think you should simply leave..." Chekov added.

"Cause that what I always do," the Cajun snapped, getting to his feet. "I leave. I make it easy on her, easy on him, easy on ever'one an' evert'ing but me! When it get easy fo' me, T-Paul?" He turned, facing Paget. "When I get a home t'go to, Cobra?" Again he swiveled, this time facing his recent commander. "When I get the release from the demons you got, Kam? Hell," and he turned yet again, glaring at Maxwell, "I not even get a shiksa trophy wife!"

"Del..." Sulu began gently, reaching past Jeremy for the Cajun's arm, and to his surprise, Jilla moved instead, her small hand taking Del's large one. She was glowing, but her gaze was serene and she stared up into her fellow engineer's anguished eyes.

"Noel, it is past," she murmured. "There is nothing to be done but accept it. I know how difficult such a thing is, but I also know that you are much stronger than you think."

"Get away from me, ya damned ..." Del began viciously.

"Ice Queen," Jilla completed. Sulu and Jeremy both snarled, but she shook her head. "I understand. I was cold and I am damned, but as an empath, you cannot tell me you do not understand."

DelMonde stared down at her, his breathing ragged, misery etched on his face. "Lemme go," he whispered.

"I cannot approve of what you did, but I cannot condemn you," Jilla continued. "I never did."

It's true, Del. Ruth's voice was soft in his mind. She blamed me. You weren't married, in her eyes, you committed no sin.

Get outta my head! Del screamed. I not want you here no more!

"Ruth, stop it," Spock's command was quiet, but no less a command.

"Leave him," Jilla murmured, though her eyes didn't leave DelMonde's. "You cannot help him."

"An' you can," the Cajun snorted.

"Do I not?" the Indiian asked.

The rest of the dinner guests watched in amazement as DelMonde blinked, took a deep breath, blinked again, then let out a long, shaky sigh. "Damn, girl, how you do that?" he finally asked.

Jilla shimmered. "I am Indiian," she said, "although I would appreciate it if you refrained from using that particular epithet."

His eyes were still anguished, but there was a touch of wry amusement in them. "Je comprends, un petite," he said, then lifted his eyes to Sulu. "You one lucky bastard, non?"

"Hai," Sulu said, smiling lovingly at his wife.

"What was that all about?" Jeremy asked as he and Del made their way from the Cochrane Hotel to the nearest transport station.

"You not know?" the Cajun answered in gruff surprise.

"I'm mind-blind, remember?"

"That got not'ing to do wit' it. You tellin' me you not feel all kinds o' bad shit drainin' outta you when she touch you?"

Jeremy stopped walking. "Well," he mused, "she does have a way of makin' a man feel comfortable about the most uncomfortable things."

"That what I mean."

"So at the table, when she took your hand..."

The engineer sighed. "She make it bearable, mon ami. No more'n that, but..."

"Bearable."

Del nodded and the two men began walking again. At last, DelMonde said, "Damn shame Kam got to her first."

Paget shook his head. "Maybe for you," and me, he added privately, "but tell me - who do you think needs it more, your foul-tempered skinlessness or the Divine Wind?"

The Cajun shuddered. "Yeah," he admitted. "I not likely to blow the whole fuckin' galaxy away." He showed is teeth. "'Less I on them li'l blue happy pills."

"And even then, the only thing you're likely to blow away is..."

"You mean the only one," Del corrected grimly.

Jeremy put a comforting hand on the engineer's shoulder. "It's still that bad, N.C.?"

"Wasn't. Not 'til this li'l surprise party."

"I thought after Jim and Jade's wedding..."

"Like I told Ruth - " Del's voice choked on the name. " - I was more'n a li'l drunk then."

"Sulu tells me you've been more than a little drunk on too regular a basis, even on the Drake."

Del grinned. "Not like I was on the Enterprise."

"That good, huh?"

It was DelMonde's turn to stop walking. "What you 'spect o' me, Cobra?"

Jeremy turned to face him, hands on his hips. "I expect, like Lady Jilla said, that you're stronger than you think."

"Maybe you both wrong."

"Uhura'll kick your ass from here to Sunday, boy," Paget warned.

"Yeah, but I got Tara charmed," Del responded.

The TerAfrican's snort told him what he thought of that idea. Tara Ryan had accepted the Chief of Security post for the Lincoln.

"'Sides," the engineer continued, "it almos' tradition fo' Jim Kirk's Chief Engineer to like th' bottle, non?"

Jeremy tried to scowl, but the chuckle broke through. "Just don't you do anything that's gonna make me come over and kick your ass," he warned with a smile.

"I be a good boy, Papa," Del promised solemnly. Again they started walking.

Finally Jeremy said, "It's gonna be all right, N.C.."

"Never," came the quiet reply.

"Okay, it's gonna be survivable."

The Cajun humphed a 'we'll see.'

And Jeremy had nothing more to say to that.

"Hon, are you all right?" Sulu asked as he and Jilla walked back to the base transporters.

The Indiian nodded, but said nothing.

"Barak was just trying to get my goat, like he always does..." the captain of the D'Artagnan went on.

"Get your...?" Jilla began, bewildered.

"It means rattle me, make me angry or annoyed," Sulu explained with a hint of a smile. "Comes from the reputation Terran goats have of being ornery, I think, and rambunctious when they're pissed off. So when someone 'gets your goat,' it means..."

"They intend for you to become ill-tempered and incautious, as if you had such a creature within you waiting to be invoked," Jilla finished.

Sulu beamed at her. "Exactly."

"Why?"

"Terrans seem to want to anthropomorphize everything..."

"No, I meant, why would David Maxwell habitually attempt such a thing?"

"Because he's a jackass," Sulu replied. "He likes to run the world - or at least as much of it as he can reach at any given time. He's sure he a) knows everything and b) is better at judging what's proper for everyone around him than they are."

The Indiian nodded in concurrence, confirming that that was, indeed, Maxwell's basic emotional signature. "Daphne was hurt very badly by him, was she not?" she said softly.

Sulu didn't have to ask how she knew. "Yeah, hon, she was," he answered. "She was in love with him and he played with her heart for years."

"And perhaps he regrets his hasty judgment?"

Sulu blinked. "What?"

"Perhaps it is why Mr. Maxwell feels the need to pry into the lives of others. Perhaps he is dissatisfied with his own."

"And he needles everyone around him to cover up his own pain?" Sulu suggested. "Like Del?"

Jilla lowered her head. "I am not a psychologist," was her only response.

"But is that what he feels?" Sulu wanted to know.

Jilla considered for a moment, then finally shook her head. "No," she said. "What he feels is - dissatisfaction that others have disregarded his - opinions."

"Well, when his opinions are so low to begin with..." Sulu muttered.

"He did seem to assume you had not changed over the years," Jilla put in tentatively.

Sulu scowled. "Yeah, I noticed." He took a breath. "Which is why I asked you if you were all right. He was taking particular joy in making you emotional then deriding you for it."

"I believe he was attempting to warn me," was her quiet response.

Sulu stopped walking and drew her into his arms. "Too bad for him you've already seen the worst of me - and still love me," he murmured into her hair.

"He also seemed to believe that I did not know of your - affection - for Jeremy," she went on.

Sulu snorted. "Not much chance of that."

"Or of your past."

"Well, that's because I never talk about it," he said. He gazed down into her eyes. "And with you, I don't have to. It's only one of about a billion reasons why I love you. You can know it all and I never have to say one painful word."

He kissed her and she felt the intensity of his gratitude - and the purity of his devotion - and all the fear, shame, anger, passion and denial that was his unique tia. And enfolded in his arms, nothing David Maxwell had intimated - and nothing she had felt between Sulu and Jeremy - could ever matter.

The dinner broke up quickly after Sulu, Jilla, Jeremy and Del departed. Maxwell didn't look pleased, and Daffy said, "Some of us have real work to do, David," and took Chekov's arm with an irritatingly lovely smile.

David tried to convince Ruth and Spock to stay, claiming he really should get to know the new family member better. Ruth countered it with a blithe, "I'll send a tape to savta and abba as soon as we're launched. I'll tell them you were a good little spy." She showed her teeth at David's growl, then took Spock's arm just as Daffy had taken Pavel's. "And don't forget to leave a nice big tip," she added airily.

"Your cousin is every bit as - interesting - as you have always claimed, my wife," Spock murmured as they headed out of the hotel.

"There's Vulcan spin if I ever heard it," Ruth replied. "Interesting as a euphemism for arrogant, condescending, tactless and trouble-making."

"I had always assumed those were Antari traits," Spock commented. Ruth visibly restrained herself from smacking him, but had to smile at the gentle, teasing light in his eyes.

"I am glad Mr. DelMonde's presence was not too disruptive," the Vulcan went on.

"For Del," Ruth agreed.

Spock nodded.

"It really could've been a whole lot worse," she continued. "I just wish..."

Spock's eyebrow rose in clear indication that she should complete her thought.

I wish he'd find someone he could love, someone who could love him, she finished silently.

Someone other than you, Spock replied gently.

Ruth flushed. There was no need for her to attempt to disagree - not after the Vulcan Bonding.

Perhaps there will be someone on the Lincoln, Spock suggested.

Ruth sighed. I hope so. God, Zehara, whoever it is that Vulcan wives pray to, I hope so.

There is no such deity, Spock informed her.

God, Zehara, Silmarils, then, she corrected with a grin.

Spock gave a small sigh, but his lips twitched in a smile when she leaned against him for a brief blissful moment.

Noel DelMonde sat at his desk in his office, nursing a headache and a cup of coffee, not really reading the last updates on the one-of-many 'final' checks of the engineering section of the U.S.S. Lincoln. His mind stubbornly refused to stop dwelling on the previous evening's dinner and how his life had gone to shit. He found himself wishing, and not for the first time, that Ruth had let him go home after the Battle with the Beast on Dreamland.

Leas' then, I die knowin' she care 'bout me, he muttered miserably to himself.

So why you not take the way home yourself?

I not that pathetic.

Then stop actin' like it.

He sighed, calling up the image of his mother to bolster his imperfect shielding, then raised his head at the sound of footfalls in the corridor outside. He was frowning before Jeremy Paget's head poked through the doorway.

"Hey, N.C., I got the last coordinated security check for ya," the D'Artagnan's Chief of Security said cheerfully.

"Shut th' fuck up," Del growled.

"Testy," the TerAfrican commented, stepping fully into the office. "How about a little not exactly hair of the dog?"

The Cajun glared up at him. "What you talkin' 'bout, boy?"

"I know you won't take sapphire on duty - you better not be takin' sapphire on duty - so I got you a little nice, clean, legal pain medication."

"You not my doctor," the engineer grumbled.

"It'll do you good," Paget assured.

"You know what do me good?" Del stated. "Long golden hair all over my pillow, that what do me good!" He paused, then added with ineffable sorrow, "Or strawberry."

"Let it go, Cajun," Jeremy returned softly.

"Easy fo' you," was the returned snarl. "You at leas' get to see Kam and joke wit' him and be friends wit him - an' not pain your eyes none by lookin' at his pretty l'il lady. What I get? Hell, Cobra, you not even be here t' help."

Paget's face was concerned. "I don't think you really want to hang around Captain and Mrs. Spock," he countered. "And Dr. Han will..."

"Hell!" Del exploded into sudden, bitter mirth. "She prescribe performances in musicals, non? I jus' hear her tellin' me how damned therapeutic it gonna be."

Jeremy clamped a sympathetic hand to the engineer's shoulder. "She's a good shrink, N.C. Give her a chance."

"She not you," the Cajun scowled. "Shee-it, I not even get T-Paul to bully."

"You're Chief Engineer, you don't have to share a cabin - which is fortunate for the rest of the Lincoln's crew," Paget pointed out with a teasing grin. Del glared at him. He shrugged and placed a small vial of pills on the desk. "Here. One of these every day for the next week. It's not sapphire, it won't stop the pain, but it'll dull it a little." He paused. "Take one, N.C. Now."

Del swore under his breath, but he reached for the vial, flipping it open. He took out one of the innocuous-looking white capsules, frowned at Paget, then popped it into his mouth, drowning it with a large swallow of coffee. Then he opened a desk drawer and swept the vial into it. "You leave me be now?" he asked tightly.

Jeremy leaned down. "You know I'm only a comm-link away, babe," he said. "If things get bad..."

"Get bad?" Del interrupted.

The TerAfrican gave a lop-sided grin. "Okay, if things get worse." He straightened. "I gotta check in with the Enterprise. See you at the launch - at least on a viewscreen."

Del muttered something which could have been a farewell, then went back to nursing his grief, only to jerk his head up as the emotions radiating from his friend turned suddenly delighted.

"Excuse me, Ensign," Paget was saying.

"Yeoman," a soft voice answered him. It was warm and sweet... and Indiian. "Calaya Wheal."

"Miss Wheal," Jeremy acknowledged, and introduced himself.

Del listened as brief pleasantries were exchanged, feeling almost drawn in by the normalcy. He was staring at the doorway when the yeoman stepped into his office.

She was beautiful. Her face was younger than Jilla Majiir's, more open and vivacious though no less sensual. Her burgundy hair was cut in a short bob, her grey eyes alive and sparking, so unlike the depth of sorrow that always haunted those of the Indiian engineer. But when she looked at him, those eyes became troubled.

"Mr. DelMonde?" she questioned.

He swallowed and nodded.

She quickly crossed the small space to stand at his desk. "What is it, what's wrong?" she asked.

As had happened so many years ago when he'd first met Jilla, as had happened the end of the previous night's disastrous dinner, Del could feel the Indiian sense of tia drinking him in, pulling his pain and sorrow into her, wrapping it in soft silvery gauze, draining its sting away from his being. He wasn't enveloped like with Ruth's golden power; his emotions remained his own, but they were eased, cooled, like thirst with a long drink of fresh water. All at once, he found himself open to her, not speaking, not sending thought, simply feeling all he was flowing to her receptive awareness. He felt her absorbing the knowledge, mirroring his loss and despair, sharing it. And while she did nothing else - there was no sense of deliberate aid or healing - he felt the pressure of it lessening.

Suddenly, it was much easier to breathe.

"I t'ink you know," he managed.

Her pretty face was full of sorrow. "Well, yes, but not why," she admitted with, he noticed, no sense of chagrin.

"I save that 'til we know one another a l'il better," he said.

She nodded. "Acceptable, Commander," she said, then a hint of a smile returned to her features. "We will get to know one another better, yes?"

You flirtin' wit' me, gal?

Yeoman Wheal blushed, and Noel DelMonde smiled.

After a very busy day, Pavel and Daffy were snuggling together on the bed in their temporary cabin. Word had come down that they could take up residence on the Enterprise the next day, and neither one could sleep for the excitement, though both were too tired to make love.

"Dafshka, I was thinking..." Pavel said at the same time as Daffy's, "Pav, I've been thinking..."

"Forgive me," the Russian deferred politely.

"No, go on," Daffy replied.

"You may go first..."

"You go first."

"I insist..."

"Pavel!!!" Chekov winced, and Daffy took a deep breath. "Now, you were saying?" she continued with a toothy smile.

"I didn't mean to anger you," he returned contritely.

"It wasn't anger, bubee, just a little frustration with the Alphonse/Gaston routine," Daffy explained, then to prove it, snuggled to his chest again, and sighed when his arm came around her shoulder.

After several moments of silence, the chemist heard the long, slow intake of air. "Living together is a commitment, yes?" the navigator ventured.

Resisting the urge to say something to the effect that they hadn't officially started that yet, Daffy said, "Yes. I think it is."

"And I do love you."

"And I love you, bubee."

"And we have known one another - and have been in a relationship - for many years." He paused, then smiled down at her. "Minus Tuesdays."

She grinned back. "But Wednesdays count double."

"So they do," he agreed. There was another pause, and Daffy could feel Pavel's heart begin to beat faster. "And since we have made this commitment, and since we love one another, and since our relationship is a long-standing one, I have been thinking..." he paused again and Daffy's own heart started thumping wildly. "...I have been thinking that it might not be the worst thing in the universe if we were to become officially engaged to be..."

"Don't say it, don't say it!" Daffy cried, covering her ears. She felt Pavel sitting up in bed, bringing her up with him.

"Why not?" he asked.

The plaintive sorrow in those two words nearly broke Daffy's heart.

"Ohgodohgodohogdohgod," she moaned.

"Daphne?"

"You can't, I can't, we can't...!" she stammered.

"But why?"

Again the words were laden with mournful suffering and Daffy squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't explain, it's just... it's too..."

"Soon?" Pavel ventured. "Much? Ridiculous? Offensive?"

Daffy faced him, her eyes wide, her heart racing. "No, god, no, Pavel! Not... not any of those things!" She stared into his soft, deep brown eyes. "It's just that... I wouldn't want to... when I'm so..." Tears gathered and she tried to swallow them.

The hesitancy in Chekov's gaze turned bitter. "It is David Maxwell," he stated flatly.

"Oh god," Daffy moaned, defeated.

"You were in love with him," the Russian went on. "Perhaps you still are."

"No... I mean, yes, but..."

"Why did you agree to live with me?" he demanded. "Why are you still in Starfleet? Why..." He stopped, then continued, "Ah, but he is already married. The shiksa trophy."

"Pavel, that's not..."

"I am not like Sulu," the navigator continued as if Daffy hadn't reacted. "I cannot resign myself to a life with a woman who is in love with another man, and is not with him only because of circumstances beyond her control."

"I don't think Sulu thinks of it like that," Daffy put in, desperate to change the focus of the conversation.

"Whether or not he does, I would," Chekov returned, refusing to be diverted. "I do. And so, Daphne, if this is the case..."

"NO!" she screamed at him, and started slapping him on the chest and arms. "NO, NO, NO! I was in love with the schmuck once, a long time ago. He still gets to me because... oh god, because he used me and hurt me and never loved me back! And so I treat you like shit because of what he did and I don't want to do that and I can't do that and if I don't deal with all this fershlugginer shit I will do that and I don't want to hear you say it and have to say no, not now, not yet, because you might never ask me again and...!" She ran out of breath, the sobs overwhelming her, collapsing onto his body with convulsive coughs.

She was numb for several minutes, and only gradually became aware that Pavel was holding her, murmuring soothing words to her, stroking her hair and kissing her head. She wiped her face on the bedsheet, pulling herself together.

"I'm sorry, Pav..." she began.

"No, it is I who am sorry," he broke in gently. "I should have been more aware of your feelings."

"Says the psi-null," she tried to joke.

He smiled warmly at her. "So it takes me longer," he confessed, and Daffy had to grin. "I think we need to have a long talk, Dafshka, about Maxwell, and what you experienced with him - and at his hands." She opened her mouth, and he put his fingers to her lips. "We can talk about such things, pirozhne, even if they are hard, remember?"

She nodded.

"But first - and I think this is important so I am afraid I will have to insist - first, you must agree to marry me."

"Must agree to...?" Daffy repeated.

"So you will be certain that I have not used you, and I will not hurt you, and that I do, indeed love you."

She blinked uncertainly at him. "Pavel, I don't know - I'm not sure..."

He cupped her face in his hands. "Is what you have told me the only reason you would be afraid to say yes?" he asked.

She gulped. "Yes," she managed in a squeak.

He smiled. "Then I am certain enough for the both of us."

With another sob, Daffy kissed him, and when they finally pulled apart, Chekov asked. "What were you planning to say to me?"

"What?"

"Before we started talking, we both said 'I've been thinking'."

Daffy blushed. "Oh, that."

"Well?"

"I was gonna tease you about getting me a Rostov diamond," she admitted sheepishly.

"Ah," he said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed in satisfaction. "Then we were both actually considering the same thing."

They had a long talk, an all-nighter. And by the time Sol was rising in the eastern sky, Pavel had formally asked, "Dafshka, will you marry me?

And Daffy Gollub had said, "Yes."