Home for the Holidays

When Sulu finally stepped into his Starfleet Academy quarters his personal plebe wasn't gone yet - but he hardly noticed. Four additional men, leaning casually against their kitchenette counter and appliances, practically filled the space. Great beasts of men: gigantic, powerful, tall, thick with shaggy hair twisted into messy braids that hung down the back of their necks – clearly the result of Cinderella's Godmother turning massive bears into men, thought Sulu with a note of alarm.

If only Sulu's alarm ended there.

These great beasts wore white sailor suits from centuries ago: the kind of sailor suits toddlers had their photos taken in. Pristine white pants, a white middy blouse - complete with the flap of a collar down the back - sat atop a white shirt with black stripes. They looked like the boy on the "Cracker Jack" box when he wore white. Sulu didn't know what party they'd come from or were going to - but these great bears of men dressed in the outfits toddlers had their pictures taken in clearly showed that Cinderella's Godmother had lost her mind. Or had a bizarrely wicked sense of humor.

"Who the hell are you?" Sulu felt the tone of his demand perfectly suited the presence of strange sailor-suit-wearing-bears

The men glanced over at Sulu for the first time, exchanged a look amongst themselves, then the Godmother's warped since of humor man closest to him answered.

"We're his brothers," he answered, gesturing with his head toward the first-year cadet.

The laughter burst out of Sulu before he could squelch it. The idea that these men and Chekov had the same DNA was preposterous. If these are my "Little Brother's" older brothers, Sulu thought, they'd certainly eaten other younger siblings to look like they did.

The Godmother's bears looked utterly pleased with themselves at Sulu's laughter. Truly bizarre. He supposed it was to be expected from men that used to be wild bears and had yet to learn the sensibilities of mere Humans.

Since they had eaten their other brothers, Sulu wondered how Chekov had made it this far still alive. Scrawny wasn't appetizing, he supposed, and Chekov couldn't be described as anything else. The plebe DID eat a colossal amount of food at every meal, however – as if he was trying to fatten himself up for the eventual cannibals' meal.

Why would anyone do that? Sulu's mind demanded in disbelief.

Then a worse thought streaked through his brain – the truth that had saved Chekov's life thus far. He'd survived by adroitly offering alternative meals to them.

Oh hell no…

Sulu looked over at his roommate for the first time. He hesitated – hope springing up in his soul for the first time – well, since they'd arrived at the Academy in August. Chekov had a case open on the bed and was quickly filling it. The upperclassman quickly glanced over at the deranged-Cinderella's-Godmother's-cannibal-toddler-salior-dressed-bears to confirm what his eyes had seen but his brain had not acknowledged. A row of suitcases and duffle bags sat at their feet.

But Chekov was packing another bag.

Was it possible? he thought with wild hope. Chekov barely had any personal possessions in their quarters. Was he packing everything to leave the Academy permanently? Giving up? Could Sulu be that lucky?!

Sulu turned to his roommate finally. "Are…" For the first time, he was planning to be civil to the younger man: but outrage instantly drove the wild hope out of his soul.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. The sheer gall…

It was Sulu's duffle bag and traveling case. On Sulu's bed. That Chekov was packing with Sulu's things.

"You have not packed yet - so I am packing for you," Chekov replied with an irritating, flat simplicity. His thick Russian accent had lost some of it's intensity.

"Because I am not going anywhere," Sulu said tightly, allowing the outrage to magnify brilliantly his declaration.

He had grown up on space stations and remote colonies: where his parents and siblings still lived. They only relatives he had on Earth were his aunt's family. He barely knew them. Yes, they lived in San Francisco. Yes, they offered him a place in their holiday celebrations, but it reeked of obligation. When there, the cousins looked at Sulu like they were deciding if he was going to leave any minute or they'd have to kill him to be relieved of his presence.

"I am NOT going anywhere," he repeated, and grabbed a handful of clothes out of the case and threw them on the floor in triumph. Sulu could have his clothes on the floor with Chekov gone, after all.

"You are going home with me."

Sulu's eyes widened and his soul went cold. Oh. HELL. NO.

He ground his jaw into a rock. Those massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bears-dressed-as-toddlers were who-knows-what-relationship to Chekov: but Sulu knew better than to risk screaming at the man like he normally would.

"Thank you," he bit out as civilly as he could manage. "But I have other plans already." Sure, the plans involved sitting around, doing nothing, and enjoying his solitude: but he didn't see how those details mattered. He tried to pull his shirt out of Chekov's hands.

Chekov just tightened his hold on the shirt and fixed him with steady, dark eyes. "I am not rooming with Scrooge." He yanked the shirt away.

Sulu stood dumbfounded: outraged again.

Scrooge? SCROOGE?! Absolutely no one who knew anything about Sulu would make such a comparison. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Try as he might, Sulu always ran out of funds long before the month ended. He'd tried to budget: but unexpected things came up - supplies needed immediately for his projects, equipment for his martial arts and fencing, rocks... Never food, of course - he never had funds to buy extra food to supplement (or replace) the Academy's meals. He'd felt that deprivation his earlier years at the Academy, but not enough to curb his spending on his projects.

He hadn't felt that deprivation this year. Seemingly miraculously, this kitchenette constantly overflowed with food. Though it should have been obvious that Chekov was filling it, Sulu conveniently pretended not to have reasoned that out. If he ate the cookies, tuna fish, salmon, brisket, chips, bagels, pancakes, bacon, pies, cakes…and everything else Sulu had a craving for as soon as he discovered it…and no one noticed it – well, it couldn't actually have belonged to anyone, could it? Of course, the possibility that Chekov was simply an idiot who didn't know where the food was going was a thought that did not displease Sulu.

His objection that 'miserly' wasn't a description anyone would use for him didn't get voiced, however. While Sulu had been ruminating on the food situation, he had become preoccupied with Chekov's packing. Sulu's favorite civilian clothes filled one of the cases on his bed. While he could force himself to believe that Chekov recognized the clothes from the piles of laundry he routinely picked up - it couldn't possibly explain what steadily filled the other cases and duffle bags. Sulu's favorite deck of cards, his favorite backgammon set, his favorite mahjong set, his favorite rock hammer, the study supplies for the course he was struggling with, the study supplies for the subject that was his current passion, his martial arts and fencing clothing and equipment all took up more and more space in the bags…. How did Chekov know ANY of this?

Chekov quickly fastened the pieces of luggage closed. Sulu grabbed one of the cases as the younger cadet went to lift it.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Their tug-of-war was stopped instantly when a beefy, tanned hand plastered over theirs. Both the cadets looked up at the massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bear-dressed-as-a-toddler as he yanked the handle out of both their hands.

"Officers do not tote luggage," he declared with force. The other massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bears-dressed-as-toddlers swarmed around the bed and absconded with the other cases and bags.

"We aren't officers yet," he muttered.

The sour look of disproval the first massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bear-dressed-as-a-toddler gave Sulu showed that he'd heard it – and that it was Sulu he regarded as an errant toddler.

"Viktor brought you one of my winter coats," Chekov commented as he pulled on a long wool coat. "We're the same size."

Sulu laughed out loud this time, a wild grin sweeping over his face. Practically the same height, yes, but Sulu had 6 black belts and Chekov looked like a stiff wind would snap him in half like a twig.

"I won't need it," Sulu finally said. He'd never worn a winter coat in his entire life. A hooded sweatshirt and his leather jacket were all he'd ever needed against the winter's biting air. It started as a teenage rebellion and boastfulness: but it'd become a matter of fact and pride now.

"And I'm not going anywh…." Sulu froze as one of the massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bear-dressed-as-a-toddler men stepped up in front of him: their bodies mere inches apart. He couldn't say inches from his face: because his face was staring into the man's chest. He was a full foot taller.

"You are going to our scout ship," the massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bear-dressed-as-a-toddler stated gruffly. "It is your choice whether you walk or I carry you."

Sulu had no question that he was telling the truth. He shifted his dark eyes to Chekov again. "Does your family make a habit out of kidnapping people?" he snarled.

The younger man's eye's widened and he looked quickly at the massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bears-dressed-as-toddlers. There seemed to be a silent conversation going on between the five of them.

Finally, Chekov shrugged and declared their mutual conclusion. "Yes."

So, they weren't just massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bears-dressed-as-toddlers – they were serial killer kidnappers as well.

The first massive-deranged-Godmother-created-cannibal-bear-dressed-as-toddler had moved and was propping the door open. Despite the fact that he had no intention of being the next replacement-for-Chekov meal, Sulu resigned himself to the truth that this wasn't going to be where he won that victory. He moved to obey the serial-killer-kidnapping-cannibals-who'd-eaten-their-younger-brothers and moved through the open doorway into the hall.

No one followed him, however. When he turned back, he saw the Chekov had his feet planted firmly and was refusing to move.

"I want a ride," the pleb declared.

Viktor scowled at him in disapproval. "You're too OLD for a ride."

Chekov jabbed his finger at Sulu. "He's older! You were going to give HIM a ride."

"Officers do not get piggyback rides through the hallways of Starfleet Academy," Viktor snarled - then grabbed the back of Chekov's uniform like he was a child and unceremoniously shoved him forward.

For a split second, as Chekov passed him, Sulu could have sworn he was grinning happily at his own cleverness.

That couldn't be, however. Because, as far as Sulu could tell - Pavel Chekov had never smiled in his entire life.