Vantage Point, Sulu/Chekov, G
Title Vantage Point
Characters Sulu/Chekov
Rating G
Word Count 937
Continuity ehhh ToS more than TOS XI, but either probably works.
Summary Chekov shows off his home to Sulu.
Notes Sulu calls Chekov 'Pavel Andrieivitch' here because that's more the Russian way to do it. From what I understand, Pavel alone is apparently very Americanized. Sulu could also use the nickname Pasha, but the was closer than I wanted them to be for this fic, though I spent ages agonizing over that choice ^^
Thanks
Thanks to ellyr_in_ink for the beta read and reassurance
Thanks to gileonnen and isilwith for the helpful discussion on Russian names and mannerisms.
And thanks to thanfiction for correcting me on the ingredients of Broscht, I went brain dead for a bit there.
Vantage Point
Sulu pulled the jacket more tightly around himself in a vain effort to keep the sub-zero temperatures from sucking the warmth from his bones. As he repositioned his scarf for maximum facial coverage, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to leave the warmth of the hotel without his heated jacket.
Right, he remembered as he looked ahead at his companion. Chekov hadn't worn his. At the time, Sulu had taken that as a challenge. Now he realized that the young man was just insane and should never have been emulated, no matter how much Sulu's pride had insisted otherwise.
"Sulu, come on," Chekov called out. "We are almost there."
Sulu looked up the hill to see his exuberant "tour guide" gesturing ecstatically at him. Chekov looked as though nothing could make him happier than trudging uphill through the snow while sensation slowly left his extremities.
"Crazy Russian," Sulu muttered into his scarf.
"Move faster," Chekov yelled down. "It helps to keep you warm!"
"You know what else helps keep me warm?" Sulu said as he trotted to catch up. "Being inside with a hot glass of tea."
After five years on a ship that seemed to get smaller each day, Sulu didn't even need Chekov to turn around to know the Russian had snorted. Nevertheless, the junior officer stopped and let Sulu catch up.
"You have been in worse environments than this before," Chekov said reproachfully, taking hold of Sulu's arm to help the other man steady himself.
"There aren't any angry natives with strange weapons to motivate me to move quickly," Sulu explained. He paused for a moment to make another futile attempt to position the scarf so it protected his nose from the biting air. He ignored the laughter of the young man beside him.
"Would you like me to find a weapon and chase you up this hill, Sir?" Chekov asked with the earnest innocence of his first few weeks on the bridge.
Sulu couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I'd fire back. I'm pretty sure the Prime Directive doesn’t protect you."
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway; we're at the lookout point. See?" Chekov asked, gesturing at the landscape with a wide sweep of his arm. "Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"
Sulu looked where Chekov gestured. From their vantage point, they could see the entire city below, the modern part as well as the historical part. All of it was blanketed white and stood crisply out against a pale blue sky. It was certainly a lovely sight, but Sulu had seen thousands of exotic landscapes before and knew he wasn't nearly as moved as his friend wanted him to be. He didn't want to disappoint Chekov, though. For one thing, the kid sulked, but more important than a peaceful evening, Sulu really liked him and truly didn’t want to hurt Chekov's feelings.
So he turned, expecting a pair of dark eyes to be scrutinizing his response already, and prepared to fake it with the best of them.
However, instead of looking for Sulu's response, Chekov was engrossed by the sight of the city below. Sulu found himself staring at his friend more than the landscape. The cold had turned Chekov's cheeks and nose a rosy red, giving him an even more boyish look than usual. Strands of his dark hair escaped from under his ushanka and brushed against his face, drawing Sulu's attention to the man's eyes. They shone with an uninhibited joy that Sulu rarely saw from the often self-conscious younger man. For a moment, something other than the frigid air took Sulu's breath away.
Sulu looked away before Chekov could notice exactly what he was staring at.
"You're right, Pavel Andreievich" Sulu said, causally putting an arm around the other man's shoulders, "The view from here really is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen."
Chekov turned and gave Sulu a delighted smile. "I knew you'd like."
Sulu pushed his own boundaries and, while continuing to watch Chekov gaze at the city below, moved to stand closer to his friend. Chekov did not step away, either enjoying the view too much to notice, or, Sulu hoped, honestly not minding the closeness. When Sulu felt Chekov take hold of his arm, he decided it must be the latter.
Then, without warning, the wind picked up, and the Russian shivered. "Okay," he said, turning to Sulu. "Let's head back; it's getting cold up here."
"Oh, now you notice," Sulu said, rubbing his arms and exaggerating his own shivering. "What was that about warm Russian cuisine you promised me? Or was that just a rumor?"
Chekov grinned. "It's not a rumor, there's a wonderful place to eat just at the bottom of the hill. And I already know what I'm going to make you try, so don't worry."
Sulu worried anyway. "As long as it's not cabbage," he said, walking beside his friend.
"Hikaru!" Chekov said, stopping and giving the senior officer a very hurt look. "I'm surprised at you. Russians eating only cabbage is merely a horrible stereotype that has been perpetuated be exactly those kinds of jokes."
Sulu blushed a little. "Sorry," he mumbled. Sulu knew what it was like to constantly face down annoying stereotypes and felt guilty for making one himself. "So, what are we having?"
"Borscht."
"What's that?"
"It's a soup made from beets." Chekov grinned impishly. ". . . and cabbage."
Sulu groaned as his friend laughed at him. "When we go to San Francisco, remind me to throw you into the ocean."
"No," Chekov said, grabbing Sulu's arm, "I do not think I will."
- End
Characters Sulu/Chekov
Rating G
Word Count 937
Continuity ehhh ToS more than TOS XI, but either probably works.
Summary Chekov shows off his home to Sulu.
Notes Sulu calls Chekov 'Pavel Andrieivitch' here because that's more the Russian way to do it. From what I understand, Pavel alone is apparently very Americanized. Sulu could also use the nickname Pasha, but the was closer than I wanted them to be for this fic, though I spent ages agonizing over that choice ^^
Thanks
Thanks to ellyr_in_ink for the beta read and reassurance
Thanks to gileonnen and isilwith for the helpful discussion on Russian names and mannerisms.
And thanks to thanfiction for correcting me on the ingredients of Broscht, I went brain dead for a bit there.
Vantage Point
Sulu pulled the jacket more tightly around himself in a vain effort to keep the sub-zero temperatures from sucking the warmth from his bones. As he repositioned his scarf for maximum facial coverage, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to leave the warmth of the hotel without his heated jacket.
Right, he remembered as he looked ahead at his companion. Chekov hadn't worn his. At the time, Sulu had taken that as a challenge. Now he realized that the young man was just insane and should never have been emulated, no matter how much Sulu's pride had insisted otherwise.
"Sulu, come on," Chekov called out. "We are almost there."
Sulu looked up the hill to see his exuberant "tour guide" gesturing ecstatically at him. Chekov looked as though nothing could make him happier than trudging uphill through the snow while sensation slowly left his extremities.
"Crazy Russian," Sulu muttered into his scarf.
"Move faster," Chekov yelled down. "It helps to keep you warm!"
"You know what else helps keep me warm?" Sulu said as he trotted to catch up. "Being inside with a hot glass of tea."
After five years on a ship that seemed to get smaller each day, Sulu didn't even need Chekov to turn around to know the Russian had snorted. Nevertheless, the junior officer stopped and let Sulu catch up.
"You have been in worse environments than this before," Chekov said reproachfully, taking hold of Sulu's arm to help the other man steady himself.
"There aren't any angry natives with strange weapons to motivate me to move quickly," Sulu explained. He paused for a moment to make another futile attempt to position the scarf so it protected his nose from the biting air. He ignored the laughter of the young man beside him.
"Would you like me to find a weapon and chase you up this hill, Sir?" Chekov asked with the earnest innocence of his first few weeks on the bridge.
Sulu couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I'd fire back. I'm pretty sure the Prime Directive doesn’t protect you."
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway; we're at the lookout point. See?" Chekov asked, gesturing at the landscape with a wide sweep of his arm. "Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"
Sulu looked where Chekov gestured. From their vantage point, they could see the entire city below, the modern part as well as the historical part. All of it was blanketed white and stood crisply out against a pale blue sky. It was certainly a lovely sight, but Sulu had seen thousands of exotic landscapes before and knew he wasn't nearly as moved as his friend wanted him to be. He didn't want to disappoint Chekov, though. For one thing, the kid sulked, but more important than a peaceful evening, Sulu really liked him and truly didn’t want to hurt Chekov's feelings.
So he turned, expecting a pair of dark eyes to be scrutinizing his response already, and prepared to fake it with the best of them.
However, instead of looking for Sulu's response, Chekov was engrossed by the sight of the city below. Sulu found himself staring at his friend more than the landscape. The cold had turned Chekov's cheeks and nose a rosy red, giving him an even more boyish look than usual. Strands of his dark hair escaped from under his ushanka and brushed against his face, drawing Sulu's attention to the man's eyes. They shone with an uninhibited joy that Sulu rarely saw from the often self-conscious younger man. For a moment, something other than the frigid air took Sulu's breath away.
Sulu looked away before Chekov could notice exactly what he was staring at.
"You're right, Pavel Andreievich" Sulu said, causally putting an arm around the other man's shoulders, "The view from here really is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen."
Chekov turned and gave Sulu a delighted smile. "I knew you'd like."
Sulu pushed his own boundaries and, while continuing to watch Chekov gaze at the city below, moved to stand closer to his friend. Chekov did not step away, either enjoying the view too much to notice, or, Sulu hoped, honestly not minding the closeness. When Sulu felt Chekov take hold of his arm, he decided it must be the latter.
Then, without warning, the wind picked up, and the Russian shivered. "Okay," he said, turning to Sulu. "Let's head back; it's getting cold up here."
"Oh, now you notice," Sulu said, rubbing his arms and exaggerating his own shivering. "What was that about warm Russian cuisine you promised me? Or was that just a rumor?"
Chekov grinned. "It's not a rumor, there's a wonderful place to eat just at the bottom of the hill. And I already know what I'm going to make you try, so don't worry."
Sulu worried anyway. "As long as it's not cabbage," he said, walking beside his friend.
"Hikaru!" Chekov said, stopping and giving the senior officer a very hurt look. "I'm surprised at you. Russians eating only cabbage is merely a horrible stereotype that has been perpetuated be exactly those kinds of jokes."
Sulu blushed a little. "Sorry," he mumbled. Sulu knew what it was like to constantly face down annoying stereotypes and felt guilty for making one himself. "So, what are we having?"
"Borscht."
"What's that?"
"It's a soup made from beets." Chekov grinned impishly. ". . . and cabbage."
Sulu groaned as his friend laughed at him. "When we go to San Francisco, remind me to throw you into the ocean."
"No," Chekov said, grabbing Sulu's arm, "I do not think I will."
- End