[ST] Telenovela :: PG :: Gen :: 1/1
Title: Telenovela
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Further to the whole damn “village!verse”, as I am humorously calling it, Chekov expects a little more melodrama than even Enterprise can provide.
Author’s Note: OK. Yes. This is basically in homage to my own love for ridiculous teen dramas (ah, Dawson’s Creek… The OC… Gossip Girl… my own personal hilarious favourite, One Tree Hill…).
It’s not that Chekov is a drama queen. It’s just that he expects drama around him. His mother teaches Russian literature, his sisters have been obsessed with generation after generation of teen dramas, and the Chekov household has always best been described as ‘turbulent’. Thus it is that he expects life on Enterprise to be perhaps more dramatic than it really is.
Which, given how crazy Enterprise can get, is saying something.
oOo
Chekov passes Rodriguez and Miya in the corridor outside the observation deck.
“Hey, Pavel,” says Miya.
“Yo,” says Rodriguez.
Chekov sneers, and Miya’s face falls, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. She reaches out a hand. “Pavel… please!”
Rodriguez’s face contorts with jealousy, and he grabs her arm. “Come on,” he says, glaring at Chekov. Miya resists, and he pulls harder, until Chekov punches him on the jaw, and he staggers into the wall.
“Leave her alone!” Chekov says, his eyes dark and brooding. “You’re not good enough for her!” Rodriguez runs off, the coward that he is, and Miya catches Chekov’s hand in her own.
“Pavel… your hand…”
Chekov shrugs. “Is nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “He is a jerk. He had it coming.”
“You’re my hero,” breathes Miya, coming closer. “Oh, Pavel, I’m so sorry for turning you down before! It’s just… I was so afraid. Afraid of letting you in. Afraid of being hurt. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Da,” says Chekov, and he pulls her close and kisses her, and she melts against him.
“Hello,” says Chekov stiffly, and they pass with no further conversation.
oOo
“Your theories are a load of horse manure!” Archer’s voice is staticky over the communal station in the mess, but it’s clear that Scotty has no intention of moving.
“Didn’t the Admiral’s dog reappear?” asks Uhura.
“Yeah,” says Sulu. “I think he and Scotty just got used to yelling at each other.”
“Aye, well, if you weren’t fifty years out of date, Admiral…”
Admiral Archer sighs, his lined face looking careworn. “I’m getting old, I know,” he says. “And Scott, I know we fight, but I want you to know how much our relationship has meant to me. I-I’m afraid I don’t have much time left now.”
Scott’s face softens. “It’s meant the world to me too, Admiral.”
“Scott - Montgomery… I don’t know how to tell you this.” Archer hesitated. “I… am your… father -
Nyet. That is not right.
- I… am your… grandfather.”
“That cannae be possible!”
“I’m afraid so. Did your parents never tell you you were adopted?”
“Chekov! Hey, kid!” Sulu is snapping his fingers as Chekov stares at him, the sound of Scotty’s conversation still coming over loud and strong.
“…and if you set foot in San Francisco, I’ll have you up on charges, you damn scoundrel!”
”This is the happiest day of ma life,” weeps Scotty.
“Mine too, son,” says Archer, reaching out trembling fingers to touch his screen.
oOo
Kirk, Chekov, Uhura and Dawson emerge mostly unscathed from a more-hazardous-than-usual away mission. In the transporter room, Spock is waiting for them.
“I am pleased to see the indigenous people forebore from their usual practice regarding unwelcome visitors, Captain,” he says. Kirk grins, and shrugs, and Spock turns to Uhura.
“Lieutenant.”
“Commander.”
”Lieutenant… you know how reluctant I am to discuss these matters, but the fear for your likely fate dread in my heart on hearing your distress call has made all such concerns seem foolish.”
“Commander… Spock… I don’t understand!”
“It is simple, Uhura,” says Spock, eyes filled with emotion, hands outstretched, a tentative smile on his lips as the woman he loves stretches her hands out likewise, “I can no longer deny my feelings for you. I love you, Uhura. Love you with the passion of a burning supernova. Curse my Vulcan nature for hiding it from you for so long! When I think of the hurt and uncertainty I’ve caused you…” He turns away, one hand pressed to his forehead, and Uhura surges forward.
“Spock… darling! Don’t talk like that! I’ve understood. I’ve always understood!”
Spock turns back to her, hope a fragile flicker in his heart. “Do you… do you think we can start again? Make our love work?”
Uhura makes no answer, simply presses herself against him, showering kisses, which Spock returns amorously -
Amorously? Lovingly? Fervently? Hmm. Is difficult to know.
- and the two of them stay entwined together until the room is empty and night has grown around them, while they whisper sweet nothings to each other.
“I believe Lt Hawkins was seeking your assistance with a translation.”
“Aye, Commander.”
oOo
“I can’t believe you bet twenty credits on Kirk losing to Scotty,” says Sulu, his face of a picture of disgust. “Were you high?”
“Whatever,” says McKinley, scowling. Sulu shrugs.
“Hey, man, they’re your credits. Well, they were.” He grins. “And now they’re ours.” He holds out his hand. “Ante up, McKinley.”
McKinley looks shifty. “Right. About that…”
Sulu is instantly suspicious. “Hey, no welching! If you’ve got a problem…”
McKinley suddenly makes a choking sound, and drops his head into his hand. “I just… I can’t talk to anyone about it, y’know! I mean, if I hadn’t had such a tragic childhood… See, my dad never loved me, and then I found out he wasn’t even really my father, but my uncle because my mother had slept with both of them and, I don’t know, man, it ruined my life, and I turned to gambling to try to escape the pain, each victory a golden haze that covered all the hurt inside, but the victories grew fewer, and the pain grew greater, and I’ve built a spiral of despair and darkness that I fear will consume me if no-one can help!”
Sulu, jumps up, lays a compassionate hand on his shoulder. “McKinley, we’re here for you,” he says softly. “I mean, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I can help.”
“No problem,” sneers McKinley, and he chucks the credits onto the table.
“What a jerk,” says Sulu, watching him leave. “But hey. Twenty credits.”
oOo
McCoy and Spock are having one of their usual discussions on the bridge, which traditionally involve McCoy getting angry and Spock - and yes, no one is taking the I-am-Vulcan-hear-me-embrace-logic-and-the-suppression-of-all-emotion thing seriously anymore - baiting him as far as is humanly (Vulcanly?) possible.
“And furthermore,” says Spock, “I believe we have taken our unwarranted aggression too far. Underneath this invective and bluster, I know you to consider me a friend, as I do you.”
McCoy glares for a moment, then his lips quirk. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Space bros?”
He holds out his hand, Spock clasps it, and they lean in to bump shoulders.
“Space bros,” agrees Spock.
“Furthermore,” says Spock, “I regret to inform you that your basic understanding of Human physiology is flawed at the most fundamental levels.”
“Well dammit,” says McCoy, “sure am glad to know one of us has a medical degree. Oh, now, wait. That would be me.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Your attempt at humour, Doctor, is surely misplaced.”
”Just remember,” says McCoy, “bros over half-Andorian hos.”
“Indeed,” says Spock.
oOo
An encounter with a(nother) rogue Romulan leaves the Enterprise a little shaken, and Chekov is privately congratulating himself over some on-the-fly navigational genius, when Kirk comes up to him.
“Hey, kid,” he says.
“Hello, Keptin,” says Chekov.
“I just wanted to say thanks - that was some damn good work you put in there. Pretty much saved the ship.” Kirk nods approvingly, and punches him lightly on the arm. “You’re doing well, Chekov. I knew you would.”
There’s a silence, and Chekov realises the captain has stopped whatever he was actually saying.
“Um, yes?” he hazards, and Kirk looks confused.
“Good job. Doing well.” He reaches out and ruffles Chekov’s hair. “Get some sleep, kid.”
“I am no child, Captain,” says Chekov, dignified. “I believe I have proved that today.”
Kirk’s gaze falls. “Of course. I apologise, Ensign. I meant no offence.”
Chekov inclines his head graciously. “You are forgiven.” Kirk looks suitably grateful, and Chekov smiles kindly.
Kirk is already walking away, and Chekov heaves a sigh. Some things are just not meant to be. He yawns, and heads to his quarters, and entirely misses the sight of Rodriguez and Miya having a row in a turbolift.
THE END
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Further to the whole damn “village!verse”, as I am humorously calling it, Chekov expects a little more melodrama than even Enterprise can provide.
Author’s Note: OK. Yes. This is basically in homage to my own love for ridiculous teen dramas (ah, Dawson’s Creek… The OC… Gossip Girl… my own personal hilarious favourite, One Tree Hill…).
It’s not that Chekov is a drama queen. It’s just that he expects drama around him. His mother teaches Russian literature, his sisters have been obsessed with generation after generation of teen dramas, and the Chekov household has always best been described as ‘turbulent’. Thus it is that he expects life on Enterprise to be perhaps more dramatic than it really is.
Which, given how crazy Enterprise can get, is saying something.
oOo
Chekov passes Rodriguez and Miya in the corridor outside the observation deck.
“Hey, Pavel,” says Miya.
“Yo,” says Rodriguez.
Chekov sneers, and Miya’s face falls, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. She reaches out a hand. “Pavel… please!”
Rodriguez’s face contorts with jealousy, and he grabs her arm. “Come on,” he says, glaring at Chekov. Miya resists, and he pulls harder, until Chekov punches him on the jaw, and he staggers into the wall.
“Leave her alone!” Chekov says, his eyes dark and brooding. “You’re not good enough for her!” Rodriguez runs off, the coward that he is, and Miya catches Chekov’s hand in her own.
“Pavel… your hand…”
Chekov shrugs. “Is nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “He is a jerk. He had it coming.”
“You’re my hero,” breathes Miya, coming closer. “Oh, Pavel, I’m so sorry for turning you down before! It’s just… I was so afraid. Afraid of letting you in. Afraid of being hurt. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Da,” says Chekov, and he pulls her close and kisses her, and she melts against him.
“Hello,” says Chekov stiffly, and they pass with no further conversation.
oOo
“Your theories are a load of horse manure!” Archer’s voice is staticky over the communal station in the mess, but it’s clear that Scotty has no intention of moving.
“Didn’t the Admiral’s dog reappear?” asks Uhura.
“Yeah,” says Sulu. “I think he and Scotty just got used to yelling at each other.”
“Aye, well, if you weren’t fifty years out of date, Admiral…”
Admiral Archer sighs, his lined face looking careworn. “I’m getting old, I know,” he says. “And Scott, I know we fight, but I want you to know how much our relationship has meant to me. I-I’m afraid I don’t have much time left now.”
Scott’s face softens. “It’s meant the world to me too, Admiral.”
“Scott - Montgomery… I don’t know how to tell you this.” Archer hesitated. “I… am your… father -
Nyet. That is not right.
- I… am your… grandfather.”
“That cannae be possible!”
“I’m afraid so. Did your parents never tell you you were adopted?”
“Chekov! Hey, kid!” Sulu is snapping his fingers as Chekov stares at him, the sound of Scotty’s conversation still coming over loud and strong.
“…and if you set foot in San Francisco, I’ll have you up on charges, you damn scoundrel!”
”This is the happiest day of ma life,” weeps Scotty.
“Mine too, son,” says Archer, reaching out trembling fingers to touch his screen.
oOo
Kirk, Chekov, Uhura and Dawson emerge mostly unscathed from a more-hazardous-than-usual away mission. In the transporter room, Spock is waiting for them.
“I am pleased to see the indigenous people forebore from their usual practice regarding unwelcome visitors, Captain,” he says. Kirk grins, and shrugs, and Spock turns to Uhura.
“Lieutenant.”
“Commander.”
”Lieutenant… you know how reluctant I am to discuss these matters, but the fear for your likely fate dread in my heart on hearing your distress call has made all such concerns seem foolish.”
“Commander… Spock… I don’t understand!”
“It is simple, Uhura,” says Spock, eyes filled with emotion, hands outstretched, a tentative smile on his lips as the woman he loves stretches her hands out likewise, “I can no longer deny my feelings for you. I love you, Uhura. Love you with the passion of a burning supernova. Curse my Vulcan nature for hiding it from you for so long! When I think of the hurt and uncertainty I’ve caused you…” He turns away, one hand pressed to his forehead, and Uhura surges forward.
“Spock… darling! Don’t talk like that! I’ve understood. I’ve always understood!”
Spock turns back to her, hope a fragile flicker in his heart. “Do you… do you think we can start again? Make our love work?”
Uhura makes no answer, simply presses herself against him, showering kisses, which Spock returns amorously -
Amorously? Lovingly? Fervently? Hmm. Is difficult to know.
- and the two of them stay entwined together until the room is empty and night has grown around them, while they whisper sweet nothings to each other.
“I believe Lt Hawkins was seeking your assistance with a translation.”
“Aye, Commander.”
oOo
“I can’t believe you bet twenty credits on Kirk losing to Scotty,” says Sulu, his face of a picture of disgust. “Were you high?”
“Whatever,” says McKinley, scowling. Sulu shrugs.
“Hey, man, they’re your credits. Well, they were.” He grins. “And now they’re ours.” He holds out his hand. “Ante up, McKinley.”
McKinley looks shifty. “Right. About that…”
Sulu is instantly suspicious. “Hey, no welching! If you’ve got a problem…”
McKinley suddenly makes a choking sound, and drops his head into his hand. “I just… I can’t talk to anyone about it, y’know! I mean, if I hadn’t had such a tragic childhood… See, my dad never loved me, and then I found out he wasn’t even really my father, but my uncle because my mother had slept with both of them and, I don’t know, man, it ruined my life, and I turned to gambling to try to escape the pain, each victory a golden haze that covered all the hurt inside, but the victories grew fewer, and the pain grew greater, and I’ve built a spiral of despair and darkness that I fear will consume me if no-one can help!”
Sulu, jumps up, lays a compassionate hand on his shoulder. “McKinley, we’re here for you,” he says softly. “I mean, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I can help.”
“No problem,” sneers McKinley, and he chucks the credits onto the table.
“What a jerk,” says Sulu, watching him leave. “But hey. Twenty credits.”
oOo
McCoy and Spock are having one of their usual discussions on the bridge, which traditionally involve McCoy getting angry and Spock - and yes, no one is taking the I-am-Vulcan-hear-me-embrace-logic-and-the-suppression-of-all-emotion thing seriously anymore - baiting him as far as is humanly (Vulcanly?) possible.
“And furthermore,” says Spock, “I believe we have taken our unwarranted aggression too far. Underneath this invective and bluster, I know you to consider me a friend, as I do you.”
McCoy glares for a moment, then his lips quirk. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Space bros?”
He holds out his hand, Spock clasps it, and they lean in to bump shoulders.
“Space bros,” agrees Spock.
“Furthermore,” says Spock, “I regret to inform you that your basic understanding of Human physiology is flawed at the most fundamental levels.”
“Well dammit,” says McCoy, “sure am glad to know one of us has a medical degree. Oh, now, wait. That would be me.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Your attempt at humour, Doctor, is surely misplaced.”
”Just remember,” says McCoy, “bros over half-Andorian hos.”
“Indeed,” says Spock.
oOo
An encounter with a(nother) rogue Romulan leaves the Enterprise a little shaken, and Chekov is privately congratulating himself over some on-the-fly navigational genius, when Kirk comes up to him.
“Hey, kid,” he says.
“Hello, Keptin,” says Chekov.
“I just wanted to say thanks - that was some damn good work you put in there. Pretty much saved the ship.” Kirk nods approvingly, and punches him lightly on the arm. “You’re doing well, Chekov. I knew you would.”
There’s a silence, and Chekov realises the captain has stopped whatever he was actually saying.
“Um, yes?” he hazards, and Kirk looks confused.
“Good job. Doing well.” He reaches out and ruffles Chekov’s hair. “Get some sleep, kid.”
“I am no child, Captain,” says Chekov, dignified. “I believe I have proved that today.”
Kirk’s gaze falls. “Of course. I apologise, Ensign. I meant no offence.”
Chekov inclines his head graciously. “You are forgiven.” Kirk looks suitably grateful, and Chekov smiles kindly.
Kirk is already walking away, and Chekov heaves a sigh. Some things are just not meant to be. He yawns, and heads to his quarters, and entirely misses the sight of Rodriguez and Miya having a row in a turbolift.
THE END