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Doors on starships do not slam. However, when someone steps over the threshold of one’s cabin and stands there glaring at the occupant, the gesture has much the same psychological effect.
“Tamara Sloan showed me a ring you gave her,” Daphne Gollub announced grimly.
Pavel Chekov looked down at his now-certainly-to-be-late quarterly report. “That was quite a long time ago," he replied, wishing there was the slightest hope that that could be the end of the discussion.
"You've never given me a ring," the chemist countered, quickly cutting to the heart of her objection.
The navigator shrugged an apology. "I do not have any more of those rings."
"Well, why don't you get more?" his girlfriend requested unsmilingly. "For me?"
"Why are you so..." the navigator began before thinking better of the question.
"What?"
The Russian shook his head and turned back to his quarterly report. "Nothing."
"No, go ahead. Why am I so...?"
Chekov took in a deep breath and put down his stylus. Daffy was already angry with him. He might as well speak his mind. "Greedy."
Gollub's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"You are obsessed with obtaining material goods... to a degree that is almost comic considering that we are citizens of the 23rd century and Star Fleet officers."
"And what does that have to do with it?"
The navigator gestured around at his quarters. "All our material needs are taken care of."
The chemist crossed her arms. "All your material needs are taken care of."
"Yes," the navigator confirmed readily.
"You have things," Gollub accused pointing to some of the non-regulation decorations on Chekov's walls and shelves. "You want things. You buy things."
"Yes, I know," the Russian agreed emphatically. "I do. I do not worry about it."
The chemist's eyes narrowed. "Not like me."
"Not like you."
"Because I'm greedy."
Chekov turned back to his monitor in what he knew was an entirely futile gesture. "I am sorry I brought it up."
Gollub took a moment to consider before striking back with, "I think you're being anti-Semitic."
The navigator turned and blinked. "Because I said you were greedy?"
"Money-grubbing is implied," she confirmed.
"Anti-Semitic?"
"Are you saying that nothing you can say can be anti-Semitic because you're half-Jewish?" she challenged, putting satirical air-quotes around the “half” qualifier.
"No, I am saying that what I said was not being anti-Semitic because I am not saying that all Jewish people are obsessively materialistic. I am saying that you, Daphne Gollub, a specific individual, are -- for reasons quite divorced from your religious beliefs -- overly concerned with accumulating things and..." Chekov came very close to literally biting his tongue to keep himself from finishing his sentence.
The chemist’s upper lip curled into a challenging snarl. "And what?"
Realizing that what began as a frivolous argument was turning into a serious discussion, the Russian sighed, closed the open files on his computer, and deactivated his monitor. He stood and faced his girlfriend.
"And even," he began, placing a gentle hand on her waist. "...expressions of affection. It is as if there is an unquenchable, endless need inside you."
Gollub's lips trembled a little at this assertion. "And that makes you hate me?"
"No. Not at all," Chekov replied, putting his arms around her reassuringly -- despite the fact she was still frowning at him. "To be perfectly honest, I think I even find it strangely compelling."
She allowed him to kiss her neck. "You've certainly never complained about my 'unquenchable endless need' as it applies to our sex life."
The Russian smiled as he pulled her closer. "And I never, never will."
"But I'm greedy," she said, not pulling away, but not allowing herself to respond either.
"Yes, doushka." The navigator murmured against her cheek. "You are very greedy."
She permitted him one long, lingering, ravenous kiss before saying, "I can tell you one thing I don't want more of."
"Which is?"
"Comments like that."
"Very well," he relented with a sigh.
"Do you have a theory?" she asked, still frowning as he stepped back.
"On what?"
"What makes me so greedy?"
Chekov cast about for a way to avoid answering. Finding none, he replied slowly, "If pressed..."
"You are."
"Standard psychological theory would dictate that the characteristic is the result of being deprived of the emotional or material support you needed at an early point in your development," he replied, apologetically regurgitating the textbook formula his orderly, mini-Spock brain supplied.
Gollub took a long moment to chew on this thought. In the end though, instead of truly digesting it, she spat it out, "Okay, this has now turned into a Why-is-my-father-a-cold-and-stingy-bastard conversation – which is indeed a mystery, but is as boring as shit -- and we've completely lost sight of the why-you've-never-given-me-a-killer-ring-like-you-gave-Tamara question -- which to me is as fascinating as all hell."
Chekov sighed in defeat as he sat back down in front of his computer. "I do not have another of those rings."
"You're making it sound like you had a box full that you were doling out."
"I did."
"Why?"
"A long, long time ago..." the Russian began. Then realizing he was making it sound like the beginning of a fairy tale with himself as the starring character, he hastily revised, "It was years ago. It was when I was still at the Academy. My uncle -- who is a jeweler – invited me to have lunch at his shop. He told me he had accepted a commission to create a ring for an Admiral who was stationed in Starfleet Headquarters."
"An Admiral?" Gollub's eyes lit with interest. "Which one?"
"Rhonda Brezhnova," Chekov answered. "I do not remember exactly, but there was a Haven involved… Perhaps a Haven merchant had offended her in some way and decided to give her a gift as an apology..."
"Or a bribe," the chemist speculated eagerly. "Or they were secret lovers..."
The navigator shrugged. "At any rate, the Haven trader commissioned a ring. My uncle was inspired by the imagery that was requested and created seven different variations for the client to choose from."
"What was the imagery?"
"A snow goose."
Gollub made a face. "Oh, that's romantic."
"You have seen one of the rings," Chekov reminded her. "Wild geese in flight. Very beautiful."
"I thought they were little swans."
"I usually told people they were swans," the Russian admitted.
"Why?"
"Sounds more romantic than snow goose."
"So," the chemist concluded, her eyes narrowing again, "these were supposed to be romantic gifts?"
"Something went wrong with the final meeting with this client," Chekov said, continuing his story instead of answering, "The next time I saw him, my uncle gave me the box of rejected samples. He was trying to be nice to me. He's very...." The Russian paused, unable to accurately capture his relative's ebulliently effusive personality in mere words. "He wanted me to succeed -- to be popular. So he says, 'Give these to your girlfriends, Pasha. They will make beautiful presents.' And they did."
"But they're all gone now?"
"Yes."
"Grrrr..." Gollub growled in frustration. "I want one."
"The rings were not at all valuable," he assured her. "They were just cut glass and synthesized metal."
"They have a story, though," the chemist protested. "With admirals and Havens and intrigue. And they were really pretty."
"They were," Chekov agreed. "However there are not any more of them."
"I know. That makes me want one more." Gollub bit her lip as she considered her options. "Can you take Tamara's back?"
"I do not think so." The Russian gave a rueful laugh at the thought of making such a request of his formidable ex-lover. "You could ask her for it if you think she wants to give it away..."
"No, the stuck-up cow was waving it under my nose like she thought she was the Queen of the Monolems. You gave her the last one?"
"No, I gave the last one to..." Chekov halted awkwardly over the name.
"Martha Landon," Daffy concluded, giving the special evil look she reserved for all mentions of that particular ex-paramour.
"It was a long time ago," he reminded her apologetically.
"It does mean the ex-girlfriend trail is still fresh, though," the chemist decided. "If I trace it back far enough, I should be able to find someone who hates you enough to give me their ring..."
Chekov sighed and shook his head. "Daphne..."
"What?"
"This is..."
"Greedy?" she finished accusingly. "No, this is entirely different. This is... collecting."
"Collecting?"
"Scientists do this all the time," she asserted. "It's scientific. You don't call Spock greedy, do you?"
A new thought hit the Russian. "I still have plenty of the rings I made on Kelincar."
"No," the chemist replied unhesitatingly
"But I designed those," the navigator protested. "Surely they would have more sentimental value. And there was quite an interesting story..."
"I know," she replied dismissively, her mind busily running through her mental file of ex-girlfriend dossiers. "I was there."
"Would it not be more meaningful to have a ring that I made for you myself?"
"Meaningful, yes."
"But?"
"But also ugly, yes. So no."
Chekov folded his arms. "I see."
"Sorry, bubbee," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead before heading for the door. "It's nothing personal. It's science."
Gollub was not entirely surprised when, a few hours later, Lieutenant Commander Uhura showed up in the Chem Lab with two fresh cups of coffee in hand.
“So,” she asked, turning from the samples she’d been examining. “You’re running a delivery service now?
“A little birdie told me you might want to talk,” the Communications Officer replied mildly, setting one cup on the chemist’s workstation. “Actually Ensign Rodriquez told me you almost bowled him over on your way here.”
“That nudnik needs to watch where he’s going,” Gollub replied, loading the next set of samples into the desiccators with more force than was necessary.
“He was standing at this post.”
“Then he needs to watch where I’m going,” the chemist retorted aggressively adjusting the settings on the hygrometric stabilizer.
The Communications Officer lifted the cup. “Have some coffee and tell me about it before you twist that thing into scrap metal.”
Daffy accepted the coffee and took a long sip. Instead of having a calming effect, though, the pause seemed to open the floodgates of tears and anger. "Uhura, he gave rings to SEVEN women. Seven! And you know what he said? That I'm 'strangely obsessed' with material goods. Me! As if wanting a token of affection from my boyfriend makes me some kind of... of... meshuggeneh klepto!"
“Mmmm…” Uhura tapped her bottom lip. “So this is about those swan rings…?”
“Goose rings,” Gollub corrected bitterly. She then shook her head in admiring wonder. “And how the hell is it that you always know everything about everyone?”
The Communications Officer only smiled and sipped her coffee.
“I know. I know.” The chemist spread her hands in grateful acknowledgement of Uhura’s awesome and mighty gifts. “Stupid question…” She then narrowed her eyes as an unpleasant thought hit her. “He didn’t give you a ring, did he?”
The other woman held up a bare ring finger. “Not one of his girlfriends,” she reminded her.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “You know who did get one? Martha Landon.”
Uhura winced. “Ouch.”
“Gorgeous, perfect, Martha freaking Landon.” Gollub took in a deep bitter breath. “And now I have to live with that. Knowing he gave her something beautiful and meaningful, and she wears it probably every day, and it reminds her of—" The chemist stopped and blew out a bitter breath. "And what do I get? Nothing. Because apparently I'm just the current girlfriend. The temporary stop on the Pavel Chekov romance tour."
"Daf—"
"And to top it all off…" The chemist frowned as she indignantly put her hands on her hips. "He acted like I was being ridiculous! Like I was some materialistic harpy demanding jewels. Can you believe that? As if! Nervy little bastard… I mean, it's obviously not about just the ring itself so much as it's about..." She trailed off, her fury abruptly deflating. “Well, you know…”
“Do I?” The Communications Officer prompted gently. “What is it really about, honey?”
“Well, you know… Things like…” Gollub turned back to her workstation, fiddling with her gauges uncomfortably. "…Things like knowing I matter... That I'm not just... interchangeable."
Uhura set down her coffee and looked at her friend with gentle directness. "Is that really what you think? That you're interchangeable to Chekov?"
The chemist’s her hands slowly stilled as she gave up pretending to work.
"My mother died when I was six,” she confessed quietly. “My dad... he…uhm… He’s the type of person who… He’s not… It was all very…” Gollub finally took a deep breath and summarized bluntly, “He replaced her.”
Uhura took a moment to honor the amount of deep pain encapsulated in these words. “I’m sorry, sugar,” she said quietly.
“Not right away. Not in any lasting sort of way… but…” The chemist scrubbed at her eyes, as if the moisture there was only the result of dust in the air. “Uhm… he dated. A lot. And every woman who came through, he'd introduce her as if she was going to be the new permanent fixture. And then she'd be gone. And there'd be another. And another..."
The Communications officer handed her a wipe from a container near the end of the counter. Gollub quickly used it to give her face a quick swipe then began to polish a flask with the cloth as if that was the real purpose her friend had intended.
"And that’s the way the universe works,” the chemist concluded briskly. “People are replaceable. 'Special' just means 'special for now.' …And Pavel's had a lot of girlfriends. A LOT. More than most people would guess. And each one probably thought she was different, that she mattered… and now they're just... names on a list. Recipients of rejected ring designs."
"And you're afraid you'll be next," Uhura deduced softly.
"I'm not afraid," Gollub scoffed, despite the fact that her voice cracked a bit on the trailing end of the denial. "I mean if I am, so what? This thing between us is what it is. If it ends, it ends… And then I’ll be just another entry in his damned log.” The chemist affected a Russian accent and summoned an imaginary keyboard in the air before her. “'Stardate vhatewer point zero zero vhatewre one: Successfully concluded dating activities vith Miss Daphne Gollub. Sex vas most satisfactory. Have run out of rings from uncle, so…” Gollub paused in her miming of typing to make a most Chekovian expression of consternation before blithely continuing, “Oh, vell! ….In de end, gave her nothing. Must restock! Mofing on vith my life…'"
Letting this scathingly satircal performance pass with nothing more than a shake of her head, Uhura looked Gollub squarely in the eye. "So now you're going to collect these rings to prove... what? That you can own pieces of Chekov’s past? That you can control him in some way by possessing these artifacts?"
Daffy's eyes flashed green fire. "I’m not trying to prove anything. I want to know what they MEAN. I have the feeling that they're not just cheap trinkets he handed out like party favors -- That there's a REASON behind them, a story, maybe even a mystery. And when I solve it, when I show him that these rings are actually significant and valuable and important—"
"Then you'll have been right and he'll have been wrong, and that will make you feel secure?" Uhura responded, her tone not judgmental, just gently probing.
Gollub opened her mouth, closed it, then scowled. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be my best friend, you can be remarkably unsupportive sometimes."
"Am I?” The Communications Officer gestured towards her workstation. “Or am I'm being supportive of the real you, not the defensive, hurt version who wants hole up in here to lick her wounds and beat up unarmed lab equipment?"
The chemist gave her stabilizer an apologetic pat. “This little guy has been taking a pounding today,” she admitted. Taking in a deep breath, Gollub paused a moment to consider, then shook her head. “I guess all this has made me feel vulnerable,” she confessed. “And that’s a problem. I don't DO vulnerable. Vulnerable gets you hurt. Vulnerable gets you left behind."
"Sometimes," Uhura corrected gently, "vulnerable can lead to being truly known by others and yourself."
The chemist blinked at her. "Well, that's just terrifying."
Her friend smiled. "I know."
They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the lab equipment filling the space between them.
"Chekov called the rings computer replications of cheap silver," Gollub said, finally breaking the silence, her voice thoughtful now rather than angry. "But his uncle doesn't make cheap anything. I've heard of him — his work is renowned. And these weren't sold in a shop; they were commissioned. By a Haven. For a Starfleet Admiral. That's not nothing, Uhura."
"No," Uhura agreed slowly. "That's definitely not nothing."
The chemist straightened. "And why seven mock-ups? That's excessive for a simple commission. And why did the Haven cancel the order? And why give them to Pavel?"
"Now you're thinking like a detective instead of a jealous girlfriend," Uhura commented approvingly.
"Don’t underestimate me. I can be both," Gollub retorted. She pulled up a datapad and began making notes. "Okay. Seven rings. Chekov gave them to his girlfriends...."
"Not necessarily," Uhura interrupted, settling back with her coffee, "I happen to know that one of the rings was given to someone Pavel never actually dated." Daffy's eyebrows rose with interest. "Who?"
"Ensign Ciobanu."
"That little Slavic ice queen from Navigation?" The chemist made a face. "Chekov would never date someone under his command. He's too rigid about protocol. So why would he give HER a ring?"
"That," Uhura replied, "is an intriguing question."
“Well, my dear Watson,” Gollub proclaimed, raising a finger in the air dramatically. “Time to get this investigation off the ground. The snow geese are afoot!”