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Title: A Shore Thing (1/2)

Summary: Pavel Chekov has a memorable shore leave. Pavel/Joanna.

A/N: Written for actressen, the lovely thing that she is. Hope this cures what ails you, doll!

Stardate 2272.304

Halloween

Whoever came up with the idea of a masquerade ball should have been drawn and quartered, Pavel Chekov thought to himself as he adjusted the high collar of his costume. Behind him, he could hear his best friend puttering around, picking up various PADDs and articles of clothing that had been strewn through the room.

"And I thought you were bad on the ship," Sulu muttered and Chekov scoffed, smoothing down the tidy sweep of his hair one last time.

"I told you, Hikaru, I have no desire to attend this function," the navigator huffed, plucking his mask off the desktop. "I would much rather-"

"You can't always just stay home and calculate supernovas, Pavel," Sulu said with no small hint of affection. "I thought you were used to this whole social thing by now."

"Perhaps you were wrong to think that," Chekov said, fingering the delicate beadwork of his ivory mask. "Or, rather… hmm." He looked up as Sulu laughed, tying an ornamental saber to his waist and wrapping the sash tightly.

"I think you mean, 'You thought wrong,'" Sulu offered helpfully, straightening his collar. He stepped forward and patted the shoulders of Chekov's costume, smoothing the wrinkles caused by his friend's frustration. "Relax, Pavel," Sulu said comfortingly. "This is just another stuffy Starfleet event put on so that we all can prove that we don't have space madness. Next week, leave will be over and we'll be back on the Enterprise, guiding her through the stars. Tonight, however, we need to put on our warrior faces and pretend like we're grateful for this forced socialization."

Chekov sulked, but said nothing more as the two made their way out of the hotel room and down to the lobby, where cabs waited to take them to Starfleet Academy. He tried not to shift too much as the cab wound through the streets of San Francisco; Captain Kirk had requested that all attending crew members – senior officers with a handful of enlisted men and women – wear some version of uniform from their native country. Chekov had, with Nyota Uhura's assistance, chosen the uniform of the last Emperor of Russia. Uhura said it made him look distinguished; Chekov thought the material of the uniform was terribly itchy. At least Hikaru's traditional Japanese robes looked comfortable.

Any officer not attending were stationed aboard the Enterprise, preparing her for a safe return to vast, deep, quiet space. Not for the first time, Chekov wished he were with them. Even after 14 years in Starfleet, he wasn't accustomed to masses of strangers forced to make small talk for the majority of the evening. He liked the familiarity of the Enterprise crew – Nyota's fierce attitude, the Captain's cheery smile and bawdy jokes, Commander Spock's silent, steady presence. He even mourned the lack of Doctor McCoy's snide criticisms. Idly, Chekov considered what he would be doing were he aboard the Enterprise at that moment, rather than on his way to the annual Starfleet "All Hallow's Eve Gala." It was Thursday; he and Scotty would be testing the last few specifics to warp theory, while debating the merits of their homelands. Sulu would be reading quietly, shaking his head at each barb thrown by the navigator and the engineer. Chekov smirked, simulating an argument in his head between Russian and Scotland summers.

He was winning, of course, when he was jostled out of his head as Sulu tapped his knee. Their cab had stopped. "C'mon, grumpy, we're here."

"I am not grumpy, Hikaru," Chekov protested, following Sulu out of the car and into the throng of Starfleet guests. Taking a moment to straighten his costume, Chekov caught his breath as he took in the hundreds of people milling about, trying to make their way up the Academy steps and into the ball. Sometimes, even on a massive starship, he forgot that the members of Enterprise crew were not the only life forms in the universe. As he and Sulu made their way up the steps, Chekov wondered how anyone could ever forget, with all the finery he saw about them.

Pausing briefly at the door to confirm their identities, the two men soon stood in the large entry hall of Starfleet Academy's Grand Hall. Used for banquets and presentations, a dance floor had been set up in the middle of the expansive floor, with small tables surrounding. Groups of people milled about, seemingly finding endless supplies of conversation. For his part, Chekov searched hungrily for anyone that he could recognize as a member of the Enterprise crew; the sooner he made an appearance, the sooner he could be forgotten about and escape.

"There you two are," a jovial voice behind them had Sulu and Chekov turning and saluting their captain. Jim Kirk cut a dashing figure in the uniform of a Union captain, a look hailing from the United States' Civil War. Chekov noted, with some envy, that the captain didn't have to wear nearly as many medals in order for his costume to look authentic. Further back, Chekov caught sight of a flash of tartan – Scotty, of course – and off to their left, Commander Spock conversed quietly with Nyota, their heads bent close together.

"I always feel like they're plotting against me," Kirk said amicably, and Chekov realized that the captain had followed his line of sight. Shooting his best navigator a winning smile, Kirk clapped Sulu on the back, pulling him away from Chekov. "Mr. Sulu, the pilot of the Reliant keeps saying something about his defense tactics being first-class, and I'd be obliged if you'd prove him wrong. As for you," Kirk's voice dropped as Sulu disappeared into the crowd, muttering good-naturedly about healthy competition, "someone will meet you, Mr. Chekov, by the west windows." With a wink and a broad grin, Kirk also vanished, leaving Chekov suddenly feeling very warm underneath his high collar.

As discreetly as possible, he made his way to the far corner of the room, slipping past gossiping nurses and competing engineers until he could go no further. Leaning against the cool window, he surveyed the crowd quietly, not really searching for anyone in particular; their rendezvous would occur when she found him.

She always found him.

True to form, after ten minutes of calm waiting, Pavel noticed a form at his elbow and smiled. "Meelaya," he said softly, and felt a small, warm hand slip into his.

"Your hand's cold," Jo said quietly, her Georgian drawl even more pronounced due to the low timbre of her voice and the approach of night. "Don't you Russian boys ever wear gloves?"

"Only when it is truly winter," Pavel said, turning. He didn't speak for a moment, letting his eyes communicate his joy. It had been a long time since he had seen Joanna in person; almost eight months since she had finished nursing school and enlisted. Video communication was a beautiful invention, but nothing compared to the joy of having his loved one there to hold. Taking advantage of their proximity, Pavel drank in the sight of her: the apple-green, nineteenth-century, Southern-style ball gown that complemented her father's costume; the long, dark hair that twisted up the back of her head and fell down across her shoulders, and the way her hazel eyes sparkled at him as she smiled, making note of him as he was of her.

"You clean up nice," Jo said admiringly, fingering one of Pavel's many medals. "Are these all real?"

"Nyet," Pavel said, noting the delicate flush that creeped over Jo's cheeks at the sound of Russian. "Lieutenant Uhura assisted me in replicating enough to maintain authenticity. I matched a few to the heirlooms my papa has kept over the years."

"They look perfect," Jo said, beaming. Pavel caught himself smiling back. He couldn't help it; there was something about Joanna McCoy that made him want to start smiling and never stop. He could drive away an army of Klingons with his smile. Catching the eye of a passing waiter, Pavel snagged two glasses of champagne and handed one to Jo. She sipped, trying (and failing) not to make a face. Pavel tasted his drink and understood – he preferred vodka to any other alcohol; Jo preferred rum, unlike her father.

Who, if Pavel's calculations were correct, should have already made an appearance.

Craving physical contact, he placed one hand onto Jo's waist, drawing her to him. She smiled and pressed against him willingly, so closely that he could feel her body heat, smell the hint of perfume she wore. As nonchalantly as possible, Pavel sipped his champagne and asked, "Where is the rest of the senior staff this evening?"

Jo made a pensive sound and pursed her lips, well and truly distracting Pavel from his train of thought. "I thought I saw Commander Spock and Nyota speaking to Captain Kirk. Mr. Scott is trying not to end up going home with another nurse, but I don't think he's succeeding. And my father," she said slowly, shooting Pavel a look that clearly stated she knew exactly what he had meant by his seemingly innocent question, "is talking to Nurse Chapel about supplies for the Enterprise." Cocking an eyebrow, Jo studied Pavel's guilty face. "Would you rather be talking to him?"

"Of course not," Pavel's protests began, before Sulu appeared and kissed Jo soundly on the cheek.

"Good to see you, kiddo," he said, smiling at the young woman. "I hear you're well on your way to beating some of your dad's records in anatomy lab."

"He'd best be bragging about me; I'm the one carrying on the family name," Jo joked. "And I'm twenty-three, Mr. Sulu. Isn't it high time y'all start calling me by my name instead of 'kiddo'?"

"I could always call you Jojo, like the captain," Sulu started, his words fading into a chuckle as Jo shook her head at him. She pushed him away, still laughing as she leaned into Pavel. He pressed his lips into her hair, breathing in the comforting scent of her; as long as he lived, he would never forget how she always smelled of lilacs and clean linen.

"Wanna get out of here?" Jo whispered in his ear and his stomach tightened in anticipation. Pulling back to look at her, he saw the same hunger and heat reflected in her eyes.

"Da," Pavel said, fighting the urge to kiss her right then and there. "Let us get out of here."

Part 2 coming soon!