The Rose

By: Shima And Tempis

It was the rose that really bothered her. If there hadn't been something so substantial to prove what she had done, she never would have cared. But the rose, the fact that it was there, that it existed at all, made her curl into a ball on one of the plastic subway seats and burst into tears.

"It's been what, three years?" Chekhov asked her idly, sitting on the swing beside her unmoving. He had changed so much in what seemed like so little time. Navi stared down at her knees, her hands gripping the chains on her swing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. No matter how hard she tried, she could not look at him. It was too strange, to see how this boy genius had grown up.

"Just about," she answered quietly, her eyes fluttering from one sight to the next, not meeting his gaze. She knew he was looking at her with curiosity in his eyes, but she wasn't ready to take in his features yet. It was just too weird.

"Mikhail's looking good—no permanent scarring from our first meeting, I see." There was laughter in Chekhov's voice as he pushed off a little bit, swinging himself back and forth just enough to catch Navi's attention. Betraying her heart, she looked up at him.

Chekhov had changed. He had gotten taller for one, immensely so. Even sitting down he still towered above her, his eyes cast downward into hers. He was tan, much like Mikhail—Navi shook away that thought. He had grown his hair out a little, it was shaggy around his ears and fell into his eyes. She smiled a little bit at the glasses he still wore, the only remnants of the Chekhov she used to know. He was dressed smartly-much like a young businessman-and she almost chuckled outright. It wasn't unusual to see him looking so formal. The first time she had met him he had donned a lab coat and tie. Nevertheless, seeing him dressed so smartly and still looking so relaxed was amazing.

Was this really the boy who had bet her that if he beat her in a fight, she would have to go out with him?

"Sometimes I wish your punch to his head would have given him some manners, though." Navi commented, jarred back into their conversation as her eyes drifted downwards again. She hadn't truly met his eyes and yet she felt like he had seen right through her, as if he knew who she was really thinking about underneath her scrutiny of his changed features.

"Mikhail could never change that easily, Nav," Chekhov said idly, stretching his hands above his head. His crisp ironed shirt came up just a little, just enough to expose his tanned abdomen out of the corner of Navi's eye. She blushed from more than just this glimpse, but also the use of her nickname—it sounded so different coming from his mouth. "How've you been?"

Her blush deepened. Had she not had such a pale complexion, it might not have bothered her so. She swivelled a little, trying to hide her face, but that only set her swing into motion. The pendulum effect of her movement pushed her closer to Chekhov only seconds after she had tried to push away.

Suddenly, Chekhov's hand reached out and he caught the nearest chain of her swing. Navi looked up and was forced to realize in milliseconds just how close they were before Chekhov had leaned down and placed his lips gently over hers. She closed her eyes tightly and didn't even try to pull away. She let him decide when the kiss ended, and her eyes fluttered open when he finally did. He let go of her swing and smiled at her.

"Hope you haven't changed too much," he commented, and reached into his computer bag which he had set on the ground beside him. In his hand came a white rose, long-stemmed, that he placed in her hand before gathering his belongings and getting up. "See you later, Navi." He smiled at her again, before walking off.

Navi stared at the rose in her hands in shock. How had he known? Had she ever told him? Thoughts raced through her mind as she shut her eyes, biting her lip in the way that she hated. Her hand clenched around the rose, thorns biting into her palm, and a lone tear slipped down her cheek as another tanned, dark-haired boy slipped through the lock she had placed on her thoughts.

--

Tears slipped down her cheeks like rain as she tried to get her emotions under control. Bitterly she kicked the rose off of the seat beside her and onto the cold metal subway floor. Why did he have to be so wonderful to her? Navi wrapped her arms around herself, shivering with emotion. She restrained the urge to touch her lips, the imprint of Chekhov's kiss still upon him. She cried for what seemed like hours before she emerged from the subway car. Still disoriented, she fell to her knees on the platform.

"Navi!"

She looked up blearily at the familiar voice, and soon arms were about her, picking her up from the floor. She was pressed into a warm chest where the tears she thought she had finished with reemerged. She cried into his chest as he rubbed the small of her back, rocking her side to side as if they were dancing.

"Nav, what's wrong?"

She sniffled before looking up at him, into his chocolate eyes. She had a paranoid fear he could see Chekhov's kiss on her lips, but she was too shaken to truly care. Mikhail looked at her, completely startled, his arms still about her.

"N-nothing." Navi stammered, but she buried her head into this shoulder. He shushed her as she sobbed again, and ran a hand over her head to smoothe her rumpled hair. He was the one who should be wonderful. He was the one who was supposed to make Valentine's Day special. What did it matter that they argued all the time and had never officially chosen one another? Navi was his whether he liked it or not.

"Hey, it's okay. I got something for you." Mikhail took her hand and led her back into the subway car. He noticed the white rose on the floor almost immediately, and something seemed to click. Sighing, he picked it up and twirled it in the fingers of his free hand. "Apparently, so did someone else." Navi bit her lip. She could not look him in the eye.

"Well, mine's better." Mikhail turned to her, leaning her chin up with the hand that was not still in hers. Her eyes were red and puffy and she tried to bring her hand up to wipe her tears away, but Mikhail caught her hand before it reached its destination, and they held the rose together. "Mine's much better."

He leaned in and Navi was sure he would kiss her, like she had always hoped he might do again someday, but he did not. Instead, he planted a kiss on her cheek, right on a streak of salty tears. A blush spread across her cheeks at how much more intimate the motion felt. Mikhail smiled as he pulled away, then let go of one of her hands to wipe away the rest of her tears.

Mikhail held up the rose in front of them so Navi could see it clearly before he tucked it behind her ear. Navi's eyes widened and she tilted her head in question, looking him in the eye for the first time since he had caught her.

"So I know I have to step it up if I want to keep you."