Work Text:
Project one, step one.
Chekhov wasn’t the type to throw himself into new situations. He was content with how his life already was, and couldn’t see any reason why it’d need to change or go off its current course.
But two, tiny, fragile little creatures, had decided otherwise. Being a father, most definitely, was never in Chekhov’s plans. Not now, not ever. He was never even a fan of kids! So how, and why, were there two itty bitty little things in his office now, completely dependent on him of all people?
Copper and Phantasia didn’t seem over than a few days old, barely the size of his palm - Hell, their eyes weren’t even open yet. They stayed curled up on his bed in a frantically put-together makeshift nest of blankets and pillows, and Chekhov was worried if he even so much as breathed too heavily, he’d disturb their near constant state of rest.
Chekhov had spent his short time so far with the girls learning about them. What would calm them, what would cause those tiny, heartbreaking, frantic squeals, and their schedules. It wasn’t often that he saw them awake, but when they were, Phantasia constantly wanted to be held, she’d cry and squeak, squirming and pushing against her sister in their little nest until Chekhov scooped her up, and only then would she nuzzle back into him, falling still again. Copper seemed more contented to remain curled up among the soft blankets, letting out small, soft huffs as she slept. Chekhov hated how cute he found it. They were like stupid little kittens.
His nights had gone from being spent slinking around in vents, spying on his fellow toons, and gathering parts, to sitting comfortably laid back in his bed, two little fluffballs nuzzled together on his stomach, his tail acting as a large boarder to ensure they didn’t slip off.
Project one.
Don’t let these tiny things die under his care. Simple enough.
Step one.
Don’t let them out of his sight, don’t forget to feed them, and keep them happy.
And so far? Step one seemed to be working perfectly fine! The girls were constantly only ever a few feet away, he fed them on time, exactly every two hours, and they seemed perfectly content in their life with him.
Chekhov learned quickly that the girls had very different ways of expressing their displeasure. Phantasia was loud, constant squeaks, squeals, and cries. Chekhov really never had any issue deciphering what the little unicorn wanted when she was so vocal about it. Copper, on the other hand, was a bit different. Her protests came in the form of startled squawks and quiet, little huffing noises, as well as.. melting, when she was stressed. Figuring that out was one of the most jarring things Chekhov had to go through with the little buggers, though he should’ve expected it, honestly, she was made of wax anyways.
Chekhov shifted against his pillows, reaching down to pull the girls from his stomach up toward his chest - Earning an agitated little squeak from Phantasia, although she just snuggled into him again. Copper didn’t react much to the change in position, burrowing herself back against her sister’s side, muzzle shoved into the curve of Phantasia’s underbelly, causing the little unicorn to squirm slightly, rolling over onto her side, letting out an indigent little exhale of air at the interruption of her perfect cuddle.
The two seemed so happy, so at peace, just to be near each other, to be near him. It was such a fragile sensation, a bond that Chekhov still couldn’t fathom being right in the middle of.
But he didn’t exactly mind.
-
Chekhov was happy just to watch the girls as days became weeks. They were becoming more active, had actually opened their eyes now, and more of their personalities were starting to shine through the previous sleepy haze. It made him stupidly emotional. These weren’t just stupid babies anymore, they were his stupid babies.
He was their dad, plain and simple. It was certainly an intimidating title, though it was one he’d become fiercely protective over. He wouldn’t give them up for the world.
As the time wore on, Phantasia’s clinginess ceased to fizzle out, getting worse if anything. The squeaks had become actual hiccuping cries now if he wouldn’t pick her up while daringto be in her line of sight. She was almost always in his arms, pressed up against his chest, while Copper was a constant, small, warm weight in his lap most of the time. The little dragon didn’t have the same drive for being held that her sister did, though she did like to be close, whether it be to Phantasia or Chekhov himself. The girls were so drastically different in the smallest of ways, and it genuinely amazed him. They had so much personality for being such little guys.
Chekhov had been dozing off in his office chair, a heavy, solid pressure of the girls resting on his lap. He could hear the faint huffing and angry squeaking as they batted at each other, though didn’t bother to put an end to it. They were just playing, it was probably good for them anyways.
At least, that was his thought process before Copper leaned in and nipped Phantasia’s shoulder, drawing a loud squeal from the victim of such an oh so ferocious attack. Chekhov groaned, sitting up slightly, just enough to nudge Copper back with a paw. “Hey, not nice!” He scolded, pushing her snout away from her sister’s fur. Copper didn’t react beyond a small snort, flopping backwards further onto Chekhov’s lap. Phantasia’s little eyes were narrowed slightly as she burrowed herself closer to Chekhov’s torso, snuggling there and tucking her limbs under her in a tiny, angry little loaf.
Chekhov huffed, a small chuckle slipping from his maw as he reached down, rubbing his pawpads against the fur on Phantasia’s back, making sure his tail blocked Copper from tumbling off of his lap.
He could live with this, with them, that was for sure.
Project one?
Perfectly in motion.
Step one?
Complete.