For Castor

The warp core of a Constitution-class starship was a rugged, functional piece of equipment more complex than most anything else you could find in the reaches of space. The Enterprise chugged along smoothly, ripping seams through space as it went. Engineering bustled with redshirts, milling around the walkways and monitoring their stations.

“Trick question, lad.” Scotty said gleefully to a technician, who seemed more interested in finishing his job than continuing whatever conversation Scotty was trying to have, “The only matter-antimatter mix ratio is 1:1, you see.”

Castor smirked at Scotty’s persistence, eavesdropping from a few yards away as they poked at a control console. The job Castor had would be easy for any old regular Joe - if regular Joe had an advanced understanding of warp field electrodynamics.

Of course, there was one particular problem with Castor’s post, which they didn’t bring up to anyone in public. Every half a year the performance review would come around, and commanding officers would post the usual praise. “Excellent job under stressful conditions, Castor.” They might say. “An exemplary member of the crew, Castor is. Due for a promotion and a better position in Engineering.”

But Castor didn’t want a better position in Engineering.

Castor wanted to get posted to the Bridge.

They managed to make their way to the bridge infrequently, passing engineering reports to have the Captain sign. And every time they entered the room, their eyes would linger on the helmsmen. Sulu, staring confidently out the viewscreen - and one more. Pavel Chekov, a skinny Russian boy, sometimes biting his tongue in concentration or picking at his fingers with boredom. And, Castor thought, did Pavel… Give them weird looks when they walked onto the Bridge? Did Pavel look as though he was trying too hard not to make eye contact with this passerby?

“Did you hear what I was sayin’ to Lola here, Castor?” Scotty suddenly jerked Castor’s mind from their train of thought, and Castor realized the chief engineer was leaning amiably over their control console.

“O-Oh. Yes, I did.” Castor said, partially lying.

“I was only sayin’, when Lieutenant Chekov comes by to have a look at the place, I’ll ask him -“

Castor’s head lurched up to make eye contact with the chief Engineer, and suddenly they tried to make it look as though they were much less surprised than they really were. “Why would Lieutenant Chekov come down to Engineering? While… While on duty?” Castor asked urgently.

Scotty knitted his eyebrows, a little surprised by Castor’s energy. “Uh, lad? I’m not quite sure myself. He’s been a bit quiet about the matter, but I know he’s decidin’ to come down before going off duty today.”

Castor nodded calmly and returned their gaze directly forward to their control panel, trying to breathe slowly and calmly. Scotty got the impression that Castor had just run up and down the stairs a few times and was trying to slow their breath.

“Aye…” Scotty said slowly. “Well, anyway, I’m expecting him any seco-“

“Expecting who any second?” A chipper, Russian voice came from behind. Walking up swiftly from the turbolift in yellow, blond curls falling over his forehead, Chekov approached in a manner that struck a compromise between professional and friendly.

“Ah, the man of the hour. What do you need, Chekov?”

Suddenly, Chekov seemed cagey. He sucked in a breath and gesticulated with his hands, as though starting and restarting sentences over and over again in his head.

“I actually, uh… I just wanted to speak with one of your officers.”

Scotty blinked. Strange, but oh well.

Chekov turned to Castor, looking down at them in their chair. “I-I believe your name is Castor. We haven’t spoken much, but could I have a moment?” He asked. He bobbed his head aside towards the door out to the hallway - he wanted privacy. Castor was trembling. O-Okay. They rose from their chair, nodded at Scotty, and followed the helmsman out into the hallway.

Castor squeezed awkwardly at balled hands by their side, looking up at Chekov. He stood close. Closer than was professional. And maybe even closer than was friendly. It was as though you were cramped together in a closet, but you were standing to the side of a spacious hallway, and you had no idea why.

“I never thought I’d manage the courage to do this, Castor.” Chekov tilted his head, a smile flashing onto and off of his tiny face a few times. “It’s you I see bringing those reports to the Keptin. I’d recognize that teal hair anywhere.” At the word ‘anywhere’, he gestured with his hands as though to mimic a tiny explosion in front of himself.

“Yes. What of it, Chekov?” Castor replied testily.

“You know, Castor is a star system! I thought you might want to know the Keptin says we’re supposed to be going soon.”

Castor nodded slowly, and silence hung in the air for a long moment, and then another. Finally, they broke the silence - “Is that what you came down here to tell me, Lieutenant?”

Chekov rubbed the back of his neck idly. “N-No. I was actually wondering if you like… Food. Have you ever had Borscht?”

Castor was now altogether confused, because there was no way this was going where they wanted it to go. It was impossible - the universe could not be so fortunate as to have Chekov ask -

“It’s a traditional Russian soup. Absolutely delicious. And I wanted to ask if you would come to my quarters tonight and share some with me.” He intoned more confidently. At this, Castor finally snapped and their jaw fell open, a quiet whimper tumbling from their lips. Chekov was visibly surprised. “A-Are you alright? You suddenly look so pale-“

“I would love to!” Castor interrupted quickly. Hoarsely, with breath that couldn’t quite be asked to actually leave Castor’s lungs. Chekov’s once tense body language melted. A smile, the beauty of which couldn’t be paralleled even by the Archus Nebula, painted itself across his narrow face and his lidded eyes glassed over with affection.

“I think… We have been feeling the same way about each other for some time. If… If I understand you properly, Castor.” Chekov said quietly. And then, a hand. A warm, gentle Russian hand taking Castor’s in his own, stroking the back of their wrist with his thumb in tiny, slow circles. “I’m so happy you said yes. I would be embarrassed to tell you how often I think of you while on duty.”

Schwip. The sound of the automatic doors behind you opening. Scotty poked his head around the corner to see how his warp field analyst was doing - the answer was, that their hand was held firmly in Chekov’s in a very romantic-looking position.

“O-Oh! Sorry, lad.” Scotty said, not realizing what he’d see. A little red in the face, Scotty ducked back into engineering.

Of course, borscht with Chekov was incredible. The quarters aboard a Constitution-class starship were cramped and intimate, and with dim lighting the conversation flowed from your mouths as easily as the synthehol flowed from the replicator in his room. There was an insatiable magnetism between the two as they shared their food and drink, and there was a terrible difficulty in getting Castor to finally leave Chekov’s quarters and return to their own. Castor could only bite their lip and smile, feeling their heart thud in their chest when they heard the question everyone in Engineering was buzzing about the next day.

“What’s got Chekov acting so happy?”