Go to Part Four
Chekov was careful to make sure his expression was mild and disarming before stepping from the turbolift onto the Bridge. He also reminded himself not to salute the captain as he moved down to the navigator's station. He was a little startled to see Ordona's bitch rising from the seat, but quickly recovered, nodding a good afternoon to her. To his surprise, she got up on her toes, kissing his cheek.
"Felicitations, cher," she murmured to him. "Daffy must be so pleased."
"As am I, Miss DuBois," he returned. He settled into his seat, watching the pretty French girl as she walked to the lift. Beside him, Dawson Walking Bear snorted.
"Careful, Chekov, or Daf will scratch those roaming eyes right out of your head," the helmsman said.
"Daphne would do no such thing," the navigator replied. At the look of frank disbelief on the other man's face, he quickly added, "She knows where my heart lies."
Walking Bear shook his head. "If you say so."
She was right, Chekov thought, others here will give me some problems.
He focused on the navigation board, familiarizing himself with its minor differences compared to the one he was used to. There were no security leads, and, with a quick glance at the board next to his, no security controls at the Helm. Such a trusting people, came the derisive reflection.
"Course, Mr. Chekov?" came Kirk's voice from behind him.
"Plotted as one five point two seven, mark one one," he replied, noting that it was the same heading his Enterprise had been on. "Proceeding at Warp Two."
"And how is the move coming?" the captain continued.
"Nicely, sir," Chekov answered, a little taken aback at the question. Trusting and inquisitive, he amended his observation.
He felt a hand coming to his shoulder, and started. "We wish you both well, Lieutenant," Kirk said with what could have been considered a paternal pat if Chekov had ever had any interaction with his father that hadn't been both brutal and coercive.
"Ah - thank you, Captain," he responded uneasily, his body shying away from the contact. He was aware of Kirk's hesitation in removing his hand and wondered if his counterpart usually allowed such familiarity. But it is too late to correct it now, he told himself. Just remember not to react in the future.
Over the next hour, Chekov was stymied at the lack of military decorum evident in the interaction on this ship's Bridge. Kirk joked with his officers. Dr. Leonard McCoy came onto the Bridge for no apparent reason and stood next to the con, talking casually with the captain about completely inconsequential matters. McCoy even engaged in conversation with the First Officer in what could only be called disrespectful and insulting tones - which the Vulcan not only returned, but seemed to actually enjoy. Chekov's disconcerted irritation grew and he found himself answering any statements directed to him with curt, overly formal replies, as if he could make up for the appalling deficiency all by himself.
When Ruth Valley came onto the Bridge and actually began arguing with Spock over some detail of procedure in Sciences, he couldn't keep the frown from his features.
Does the whore actually have some duty she is expected to perform? he found himself wondering. He had thought himself prepared for the glaring differences in crew structure which were a part of Sulu's security report on this universe, but the idea that a woman - particularly Kirk's Antari slut - could think herself qualified to argue with the ship's Vulcan Science Officer was not something he could easily accept. Her insubordinate manner and familiar tone grew more and more grating, until he was gritting his teeth to control the urge to rise and demand the woman show the appropriate respect - or, better, get herself to the captain's bed where she belonged.
"Lieutenant Chekov."
Spock's voice interrupted his frustrated musings and he turned with a much too crisp, "At ready, Commander."
He saw the Vulcan's eyebrow rise, and the Antari folded her arms belligerently. "Miss Valley has suggested an alteration in certain calibration of the sensors," the First Officer continued. "If you will test them...?"
Was that a request? Chekov asked himself incredulously. No, he must simply be being polite. But why?
He rose from his seat. "Of course, Mr. Spock," he said, and stepped carefully to the Science Station. The Vulcan moved easily aside. The Antari did not. Chekov began to growl 'move, woman,' but caught himself. "If you will excuse me, Miss Valley," he managed icily.
"Putz," she muttered and he glared at her before turning his attention to the scanners. After a few moments of working with the new calibrations, the navigator turned to Spock.
"I see no advantage, sir," he reported, trying his best to ignore Valley's presence.
"You're not looking closely enough," she broke in, and leaned forward. "See, there's a one point seven increase in the..."
"I am aware of the usual parameters of the sensors," Chekov snapped. "And I see no significant increase in data nor in the quality of the information being gathered."
"That's because you're an idiot," Valley snarled.
"Lieutenant," Spock chided calmly, "there is no need to resort to insults."
"There is if he can't see the improvement," the Antari argued.
"If, Miss Valley, such improvement is not detectable to a trained, though admittedly less experienced officer, recalibrating the sensors gives us no advantage," Spock returned.
"But you'll see it," Valley maintained," and so will I. And how often is the Tsar of all the Russias here gonna be at this station anyway?"
"I will not be spoken to in such a manner," Chekov spat. "Certainly not by one..." He caught the Vulcan's sharp look and quickly calmed himself. "Forgive me, sir," he said to Spock. "It has been a trying day."
"This from the man who throws dishes across the mess because his girlfriend wanted to have a decent breakfast," Valley mumbled.
"I would ask that you keep my private life private," Chekov growled at her, adding as a clear insult, "Lieutenant."
"When you don't make public displays, I will!" Valley shot back.
"Lieutenant Chekov, Lieutenant Valley," Spock stated, "I will not tolerate such bickering." The tone was so stern, Chekov found himself responding automatically.
"No, sir. I will report for whatever discipline you feel is necessary, sir."
Again the Vulcan eyebrow took flight. "Simply see that it is not repeated, Mr. Chekov," he answered. "Return to your station."
Chekov again resisted the urge to salute, "Aye, sir," he said, and pivoted, stepping back down to Navigation. He was still fuming as he took his seat, and completely missed the speculation that came into the First Officer's following gaze.
At the end of the Watch, Spock went immediately to Ruth Valley's cabin. Chekov's sudden change in demeanor was more than disturbing, and the reference to dishware in the Mess was not something the First Officer could ignore. When Ruth answered the door signal, Spock asked to speak with her privately.
As the door closed behind him, he glanced around the now half-empty cabin. "Miss Valley," he began, "you made some references on the Bridge concerning Mr. Chekov that need clarification."
Ruth frowned. "I'm sorry about that, Boss," she said. "This thing with Daffy moving in with him is so sudden..."
"Tell me about the incident in the Mess," Spock interrupted.
With a deep sigh, Ruth related the details of the scene in the Mess. She added that she had had a conversation with Daffy Gollub. "...and she was scared, Mr. Spock, and she reacted almost like she was afraid that I was going to hit her."
"That is most unlike her," Spock mused.
"Yeah, no shit. She said it was only the normal adjusting that any couple has to make - but usually those kind of adjustments are happy ones. They certainly were with Sulu and Jilla."
"Indeed," the Vulcan returned. "Do you have any opinion as to the cause of this change in Miss Gollub's normal behavior?"
"Chekov's a putz?" Ruth suggested.
"Any constructive opinion, Miss Valley," Spock amended.
The Antari sighed. "I don't know. He certainly doesn't seem to be acting like himself."
"A fact I noticed as well." He fell silent, then straightened. "Perhaps I will ask Dr. McCoy to conduct an examination."
Ruth frowned again. "I think if Chekov was sick, Daffy'd tell me."
"If she realized it," Spock countered. "And if he has lost his temper on more than the one occasion, and if he did resort to physical violence, she may, indeed, be afraid to bring the matter to his attention. Or to anyone else's."
"If he's hitting her..." the Antari warned.
"He will be given anger management therapy, and they will be required to undergo couple's counseling," Spock assured.
"And I'll give him an old Antari remedy for schmuck-like behavior," Ruth promised.
"There is never a need to resort to violence, Miss Valley," Spock admonished, "particularly to counter previous acts of violence."
"You say tomato," Ruth shrugged. Then, under his continued disapproval, she said, demurely, "Yes, Mr. Spock."
"I would appreciate being kept informed of any other discrepancies in Mr. Chekov or Miss Gollub's behavior," the Vulcan requested.
"Of course, Boss," Ruth replied.
As Spock left the cabin, he found himself wondering who would next be assigned to room with the Antari. Then he dismissed a very illogical suggestion, and continued on to his own cabin.
Pavel was sitting in the over-stuffed chair on which he had just made love to Daphne, trying not to squirm in a mixture of delight and discomfort as the chemist knelt at his feet, sensually bathing his fading erection with her tongue. He had realized sometime in the middle of the act, that her nipples and nostril were not the only parts of her body that were pierced. He couldn't imagine that the friction hadn't caused her pain, but she seemed to revel in it. It was seductively disturbing. As was the realization that her tongue, too, was pierced.
She glanced up at him, giving his member a particularly luxurious sweep, chuckling as his body reacted. He closed his eyes, shuddering, then heard the hiss of the cabin door.
"Well, well, what have we here?" came Sulu's dark, silky voice.
Pavel's eyes flew open as Daphne sat back on her heels. "Don't you ever knock, Sulu?" she said, her tone attempting - and failing - to cover her annoyance.
"Why?" the Security Chief returned jauntily. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Obviously," the chemist pouted, then licked her lips. "Unless you'd care to join us."
"You look so pretty serving him," Sulu said, walking casually across the room. "Maybe I'll just watch for a while." He went to the decanter of vodka, pouring himself a glass. "You don't mind, do you Pavel?" he asked, his eyes grinning at the Russian.
"Actually, I do," Pavel returned as steadily as he could, though he was trembling inside.
"Not into exhibitionism today, hmm?" was Sulu's reply. "Is that all right with you, Daphne?"
"Whatever you say, Lieutenant," Daphne purred.
"That's what I like to hear," the Asian murmured. He drained the alcohol in one gulp, then, before Pavel could react, stripped off his uniform, getting down on his knees behind the chemist. "Get him hard again, baby," he crooned at her, his hands grasping her hips "and he can get into your sweet pussy right along side me."
"Ooh," Daphne shivered, "I can hardly wait. And Pavel gasped helplessly as she returned her mouth to his cock, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to avoid the sight of his tormentor mounting her.
The sound of the rich, taunting voice, though, was impossible to ignore. The Security Chief's words were crude, though his tone was the same, teasingly sensual murmur that had instructed Pavel the night before. The Russian could feel the strong hands working Daphne's breasts against his thighs, the steady rocking motion pushing her head into his abdomen. He fought the rising arousal with every fiber of his being - to no avail. The eroticism was overwhelming his senses, filling him with hungers he had never known existed within him. His erection grew, becoming harder and thicker, yet the woman at his feet seemed to have no trouble accommodating him. The muscles of her throat worked him as had her more intimate muscles only a short time before, the hedonistic pictures painted by Sulu's words making him groan in ardent anticipation. He briefly considered actually doing what the Security Chief had suggested, then rejected the thought violently. Grabbing the chemist's head, he prepared to explode in her mouth, when she was abruptly pulled away from him. He swore in guttural Russian, leaning forward to reclaim her mouth, then heard her gasp. He opened his eyes. Sulu had pulled her to her feet, pushing her roughly toward the bed, his hand firmly grasping the chain between her breasts.
"Come on, Pasha," he ordered, his voice both velvet and steel. "Let's give your little bitch what she craves." The dark eyes held an eager threat, daring him to balk. The memory of what this alternate version of his friend had done to him seared into him, fear threatening to take his arousal. Yet he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his bones, what would happen if he refused. Sulu's eyes said it all; he would be unmasked, revealed for the Federation officer he was, and given over to God only knew what tortures and perversions.
Stay alive! he screamed at himself. Live long enough to use the information from the transporter logs and get back home.
It was against his nature, he knew. Under any circumstances he could imagine, he would rather die than be so humiliated. But these were not circumstances he had ever - could ever imagine. And then a new and terrible thought struck him. If he were to die here, what would become of his Daphne? What would his counterpart do - what was his counterpart doing to her?
No. I will survive this. I will find a way to return home, to bring that - thing - back here where he belongs.
He strengthened everything within him and rose from the chair, approaching the malevolence before him with true Russian determination.
Daphne was supremely satisfied and supremely exhausted. Pavel lay beneath her, his heart pounding in his chest, desperate to dismiss from his memory the events of the last hour. She was heavy on top of him, but he knew that was due solely to the fact that Sulu was lying in top of her. He tried to push them both away, succeeding only in making Sulu chuckle. With a languid stretch, the Security Chief pushed himself up onto his arms, leaning over Daphne's head to capture Pavel's mouth in a lingering, sensual kiss. Then he rolled off of Daphne's body, rising from the bed. His hand came to her buttocks in a resounding smack.
"Get up and get out," he told the chemist pleasantly. "Pavel and I have some business to discuss."
"These are my quarters, Sulu," she replied with a pout, "And I'm tired. I need to get some rest. You two exhausted me."
"I said," Sulu returned, "get up and get out." Pavel shuddered at the menace in the dark voice and felt Daphne reacting in the same way.
She got up onto her knees over the Russian's body. "Can I at least shower first?" she asked petulantly.
Sulu's hand came again to the chain between her breasts, pulling sharply, and she gasped. "Five minutes, Dafshka," he said, and his eyes met Pavel's with some kind of allegedly shared amusement.
To hear the endearment he used for his lover coming from the monster's lips burned in Pavel's soul. He almost growled 'don't call her that,' but was wise enough to remain silent. She bent to give him a swift kiss before climbing off the bed - on the side away from Sulu, he noted - then undulated into the bathroom.
Immediately Sulu was beside him. "What a nice performance, pet," he whispered in the navigator's ear. "I don't think she suspected a thing." The Security Chief's tongue moved along his ear in what was becoming a standard interplay.
"How much of this must I do before you will consider returning me home?" Pavel murmured tightly.
Sulu laughed. "Pasha, Pasha," he tsked. "Why be in such a hurry? You're not going to tell me you didn't enjoy our little threesome, are you?"
Yes, that is precisely what I wish to tell you, the Russian thought, but aloud he remained obstinately silent. The Security Chief sighed. "I certainly can't let you leave thinking me an improper or ungracious host," he said. "I'll just have to be more - inventive." He nipped at Pavel's ear again, then pulled away.
Daphne returned and dressed quickly but still maintained her air of sensual promise. She kissed the navigator again before leaving the cabin, and turned at the door, asking Sulu to please let her know when she could come home and get some sleep. Sulu kissed her harshly, replying with words to the effect that while he'd certainly tell her when the two officers were done with their talk, he doubted she'd be getting much sleep. After she had gone, the Security Chief returned to the bed, straddling Pavel's still-naked body.
"Now," he crooned, "let's see if I can think of something my darling little Pasha will enjoy."
Despite Sulu's statement to Daphne, there was very little discussion, and none of it was about 'business.'
"I just gave Chekov a complete physical," Leonard McCoy stated to the First Officer's request. "Other than a little stress in the Dermal-Optics, he checked out fine."
"What kind of stress, Doctor?" Spock asked.
McCoy pulled at his ear. "That's hard to qualify. There was a glitch in the transporter, and I figured that was certainly enough to explain it." He paused thoughtfully, then glanced again at the Vulcan. "You think there's something more?"
The transporter. A cold chill made its way down Spock's spine. "I do not know," he replied carefully. "I will order a complete check of the transporter logs. Please re-examine Mr. Chekov's test results. Any additional information you can provide will be appreciated."
"Spock," McCoy said, "what do you think's wrong with the boy?"
"Perhaps nothing, Doctor," Spock returned. Perhaps a great deal more than 'nothing.' "I will keep you informed as to my results."
He turned and left Sickbay, refusing to jump to any as yet unwarranted conclusion.
It was the longest Watch Chekov could ever remember standing. All that was unfamiliar squirmed beneath his skin, warring with all that was far too recognizable. The women were just as lovely, as tempting - but their utilitarian uniforms and adornments kept reminding him of how much they undoubtedly did not know about pleasing a man. He knew nearly all of the officers, yet their demeanors were all wrong; too companionable, too easy-going. And those he did not know... He still scowled at the aliens who were allowed to serve in some capacity other than slaves. Aliens other than Vulcans, of course, he added automatically. He would miss Spock. He allowed the unexpectedly wistful longing to sweep over his senses, then banished it to useless memory.
He sighed with the release from his necessary rigid control as he got on the turbolift alone, only to reinstate it, swearing silently, when the lift stopped before reaching his destination. To his infinite surprise and even greater delight, a lovely, voluptuous Indiian female stepped into the lift. She wore a red lieutenant's uniform, a fact which disgusted him, but was quickly put aside with renewed interest when she spoke.
"Deck Five," she said in a soft, demure voice, then nodded to him. "Good evening, Pavel."
"Good evening, Lieutenant," he returned, hoping she wouldn't notice that he didn't respond with the same informal address she had used, since he had no idea what her name was.
"Sulu tells me you and Daphne are to share quarters," she continued. Chekov found himself staring at the full dark lips. Sulu tells you. You are his, then.
"Yes," he affirmed.
"My congratulations. I hope you and she will be very happy together." The Indiian had been looking at him, but her silvery skin began to shimmer and she glanced away.
What does that signify? Chekov wondered, and he smiled at her, stepping closer. "I am certain we will be," he said. She turned, backing away, and the way her breasts rose and fell as she breathed captivated him. The thought of toying with something Sulu had claimed was deliciously pleasing and completely compelling. "As happy as you are with Sulu," he added, and moved even closer. The sheen of her skin increased. "Do I frighten you, malyen'koye odno?" he murmured. "Surely there is no need for that." He reached out, letting a strand of her oddly wine-colored hair slip through his thumb and forefinger.
"Pavel..." she stammered. "Lieutenant, I..."
He placed one careful finger to her lips. "Sshhh," he hissed softly. "We don't need to talk, do we." His hand slid behind her head, his fingers caressing her neck. "There is a - chemistry - between us," he went on, inwardly amused at his own choice of words. "I can feel it. Surely you can too, little one." This time he used the Anglo translation of the words. Her grey eyes were fixed on his, both terror and desire evident in their wide gaze. Chekov wanted to heighten both. He again stepped in, his body close enough to feel the slight press of her breasts against his chest. He let his other hand grasp her hip, his fingers tightening in a warning for her not to attempt to move away. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "Does your Sulu appreciate that?" The hand at her neck began pulling her closer. "What do you taste like, I wonder. Show me, won't you?" And he brought her mouth to his in a harsh, brutal kiss.
She struggled, but the Russian could feel her mouth opening, responding to his hunger. He chuckled, pushing her back against the bulkhead, sliding his hand under her skirt to cup her rounded buttock. Her hands came up to his chest, her fingers bent into claws and he got the distinct impression that she didn't know herself whether it was to push him away or to clutch at him with erotic need. He pressed harder, deepening the kiss, kneading the flesh beneath his hand. She was panicking now and he couldn't stop his silent laughter. Yes, sukashka, he thought at her. If I were Sulu's whore I'd be frightened too. He moved his hand from behind her neck, intending to grasp her by the throat and she suddenly ducked under his arm, giving him a push with strength far greater than he would've guessed from her diminutive frame. She rasped at him in some alien language, then hit the emergency stop, fleeing from the lift car as soon as the door hissed open.
With a shrug, and with a fleeting revelry in the certainty that there would be no retribution from this Sulu, Chekov put his anger aside. After all, he would very shortly have plenty of opportunity to vent it.
Jilla raced to her cabin, shame burning in her veins like liquid fire. Pavel Chekov's hunger still filled her, her uncontrollable reaction to the strength of his desire heating her blood with damnation's terror. She was nearly unmindful of her surroundings until the door to her quarters opened and she crashed into Sulu's body. Then she collapsed, sobbing, into his arms, her confession a string of incoherent Indiian. He knelt with her on the deck, his embrace a protective shield around her. She felt his confusion, his fear for her, his possessive anger rising at the words she knew he could understand.
"Jesus, honey, what the hell happened?" he managed.
"Pavel... Chekov... he..." She shuddered, tears of horror and humiliation streaking her face. Sulu's tia hardened.
"What did the little son of a bitch do?" he growled.
"I am sorry, Sulu... so sorry..." She wept, unable to say anymore.
"You're sorry?" he snapped.
"I... I respond... I responded..." Her guilt swallowed her and she covered her face with her hands.
"Responded to what?!" Rage was filling him and Jilla shuddered. When she was finally able to make herself answer him, her voice was small and halting.
"He kissed... and touched... pressed against me... and..."
"Where?!" The word was the blast of a phaser.
"The turbolift," she whispered.
"Goddamned mother-fucking..." Sulu snarled and started to rise. Jilla grasped at him.
"No, please!" she cried. "Please, Sulu, do not leave me!"
"Leave you?" He dropped back beside her. "Leave you? No, honey, I wasn't - I wouldn't..." He again took her in his arms, holding onto her with all his strength. "No, god, no, Jilla. I want to make that bastard pay. I didn't mean you!"
She started weeping again and Sulu rocked her, soothing and reassuring her. The fire Chekov had started in her flared. She clung to Sulu, soon writhing against him in helpless need. He reacted as she knew he would, giving to her his own hungers, cleansing her degradation with his passion.
Sulu gently put Jilla to bed, telling her to get some rest. She clutched at his hand, pleading with him to let it be. She couldn't face the shame of a confrontation, could not bear to have to confess her ugly hedonism before anyone else. Reluctantly Sulu promised he wouldn't confront the Russian, but told her he was going to report the assault to the First Officer. Again she begged him not to, and again he gave in. He didn't tell her that he had every intention of telling somebody.
When she was finally asleep, he dressed and left the cabin, heading straight for Ruth Valley's quarters.
Ruth was reading Sciences reports when her door chime sounded. "Come," she called absently, then glanced up, smiling when she saw it was Sulu. "Hi, Roy," she said. "What's up?"
"That Russian son-of-a-bitch's number," the helmsman replied darkly.
The Antari rose, crossing the room to her visitor. "What did he do now?" she asked with a worried frown.
"He assaulted Jilla," was the grim response.
"Oy god," Ruth breathed, and reached out a comforting hand. "Did he hit her?"
"It wasn't that kind of assault," Sulu growled.
The huge purple eyes got larger. "What?" she gasped.
"In the turbolift." The Asian's voice was terse, his being radiating anger. "He kissed her, touched her, played a little grab-ass..."
"So why aren't you reporting him?" Ruth demanded, folding her arms.
Sulu's lips twisted into a grimace. "She asked me not to." He paused, taking a breath. "She responded, Ruth."
"She did what?!"
"She can't help it. Somebody aims lust at her and..."
"Sensitive," Ruth muttered. "Damn that little bastard!"
"So she asked me not to confront the fucker, and not to tell Spock..."
"But she didn't ask me not to," Ruth returned shrewdly. "You're a sneak, Roy."
"I'm glad you're so perceptive, Spike," the helmsman said with no small satisfaction.
"Sulu..." Ruth began again, then paused. "Chekov's really not acting like himself."
"Yeah, I noticed," was the Asian's response.
"So what do you suppose is wrong with him?"
"Damned if I know," Sulu answered. "But if he ever so much as looks wrong at Jilla again..."
"Mr. Spock asked me to report any other uncharacteristic behavior," the Antari mused.
"Any other uncharacteristic behavior? You mean besides bullying Daffy?"
Ruth carefully related the navigator's performance on the Bridge and saw Sulu's eyes flicker with sudden dread.
"Spike, there was a transporter glitch yesterday - and Chekov was the last one through it."
"Yeah, so?" Ruth asked, remembering her earlier conversation with Daffy. "You're saying his molecules did get all farblondzhet?"
"I'm saying, Sulu returned carefully, "that this may not be Chekov."
Daffy had spent the evening wandering around her new quarters, arranging things, then putting them back the way they were, then arranging them again. He said he would prefer we do this together, she reminded herself.
But they're my things, she argued back.
Bets on how he'll react if you mention that little fact to him?
I don't take sucker bets.
Yeah? And just why have you become Suzy Homemaker all of a sudden? Pavel says he loves you, asks you to live with him and bam! You lose your klop? Not to mention he didn't exactly ask you to live with him.
No, I don't think I'll mention that.
A shiver of fear ran through her, followed by an equally strong rush of annoyance. You're afraid of Pavel Chekov, she sneered at herself. What the hell has happened to you?
Let's see, rape, forced fellatio, bruises, smacks across the face, hair-pulling, veiled and not so very veiled threats...
And this you put up with? This you want to live with the rest of your life? Wouldn't Mama be proud of the cheykuck she raised?
Enough! she spat at herself. Compromise is one thing. What Pavel's asking me to do is entirely something else. Ruth was right. Love this ain't.
She finished putting her belongings in places she thought were accessible without regard to how they might displace Pavel's things. She checked her duty schedule for the next day, got herself a good, strong drink, lit up a pipe of Rigellian and settled down in front of the reader to indulge herself in a good, steamy bodice-ripper. As the time for Pavel's expected arrival neared, she deliberately ignored the replicator. When the cabin door hissed open, she didn't even look up.
There were a few moments of silence, then Pavel's voice said, "Daphne."
"Right here, boychik," she replied as nonchalantly as she could.
"I asked that dinner be prepared," he said.
"The replicator is over there." She pointed with her pipe.
"I asked that dinner be prepared," he repeated. Daffy glanced at him, seeing that his arms were folded.
"I'm not hungry, bubee," she returned with feigned casualness. "But don't let that stop you. You go on ahead." He scowled and she made herself ignore the sudden increase in her heart rate.
"I see our previous discussions have not made quite the proper impression, Dafshka." The Russian spoke quietly, but there was unmistakable menace in his tone.
"No, they have," Daffy retorted defiantly. She put down her pipe, finished her drink then stood. "You say you love me, then push me around. That's not how it works, bubee."
"Indeed," he stated with soft malevolence. "Then perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me how it does work."
Daffy shuddered, but took a fortifying breath and stepped toward him. "We should be a team, Pasha. A couple. We should each do things to please the other because we want to, not because we're scared of what might happen if we don't."
"And you are frightened of me, my little pirozhne?" Chekov asked. He hadn't moved, but he seemed to be looming over her.
"I..." Daffy had to take another breath. "I don't like it when you hit me. I don't like it when you're cruel. Aggressiveness can be nice, but I don't like it when..."
Before she could react, Pavel had taken a step forward, his hand striking her face with brutal force. He grabbed her hair, forcing her to the deck, moving over her, one knee on her chest.
"And I dislike sarcastic remarks," he growled. "I dislike defiance. I dislike a woman who doesn't know her place." He smiled, a malicious, evil leer. "But I am well prepared to teach you yours, my Dafshka."
It was all Daffy could do to cover her face as he began beating her.