A/n: This has been sitting in my story bin for far too long. I figure if I publish it, I'll finally get my butt in hear and write more on it. No promises on regular updates, but I'm aiming for every couple of weeks at most. Feel free to harass me via PM if you get impatient.


It was a bad day.

First, Chekov had left the PADD with his homework in the dorm room, so he ran back for it. Once he got there, he belatedly remembered he had loaned it to his roommate, Sulu. Then he sprinted back to class and came in ten minutes late, hot and red-faced and sweaty, and still without his homework.

After class, a few of the cadets dubbed him Tomato Face. The name relentlessly dogged his steps throughout the day. It didn't help that he tended to blush scarlet every time the incident was brought up.

He found his replicator card missing at lunchtime and had to borrow one from a sympathetic professor. Then, he accidentally spilled a glass of milk on some blonde girl, who shrieked rather loudly. Her boyfriend punched Chekov in the jaw, hard, before realizing what had happened. The man's grudging, disdainful apology was almost worse than the injury.

On the way to Sickbay, he had accidentally bumped into another cadet, causing her to drop her delicate exobiology project all over Chekov. Apparently she had been researching the practical applications of Andorian polar seal dung, which happened to be quite pungent.

After he showered and got his rapidly swelling bruise treated, he finally got through his compulsory speech therapy class.

Of course, his day wasn't complete until someone got in a jab at his age. Yes, Chekov really was fourteen. No, he did not want any help with his homework. No, he was not interested in a date with someone's little sister. Yes, he was sure.

Now, sitting by himself at dinner, he only wanted to be left alone.

He picked at his meal for a few minutes before someone 'accidentally' spilled root beer all over it. Chekov just sighed and threw it out. He wasn't all that hungry anyway.

He still had a while before his last class, so he took his seat again. A moment later, a young woman with black hair in a sleek ponytail came up beside him.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

"Гусь свинье́ не това́рищ*," he said curtly.

"Ну, тогда я полетел**," she replied coolly, turning smoothly and walking away.

Chekov froze for a few seconds. Then he ran after her.

"Hey!" he called. "Excuse me, um –"

The woman paused for a moment to let him catch up. "Yes?"

"Um, I'm sorry for snapping at you like that." He blushed as it suddenly sank in how beautiful and fierce she seemed. "I-I've had a bad day."

Sympathy warmed her face. "I understand. It's not easy being so young at the Academy."

Chekov nodded shyly, painfully aware of his youth. "You speak Russian well."

"Thank you," she smiled at the compliment. "Actually, that was why I wanted to talk to you. My Languages professor recommended me to you. He said you were Russian, and maybe I could practice speaking the language with you?"

He grinned. "That would be very nice. Though I don't think you need the practice. You are very good, not even much accent."

"Well, I'm getting better," she responded modestly. "I'm Nyota Uhura."

"Pavel Andreievich Chekov," he responded. "You probably knew that, though."

"It's good to meet you, Cadet Chekov," Uhura nodded. "How are you liking the Academy?"

"Well... The work is...fun, and...challenging," he said, avoiding her gaze.

She seemed to understand his discomfort. "There are a lot of jerks here who don't recognize talent when they see it."

A bell rang, signaling the time.

"Oh, great," she muttered. "I have to go. I have a class in a few minutes."

"It's alright," he said earnestly. "I can meet you after, or tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she confirmed, "0930 hours, in the library?"

"That sounds good," Chekov told her.

Uhura said a quick goodbye and hurried off to her class, her boots tapping smartly against the smooth floor. Her retreating red dress disappeared through a far door.

On his way out, Chekov had to duck around a bully with too much time on his hands. But he didn't care.

He was going to meet a beautiful woman at the library tomorrow.


Translation: *A goose is not a pig's friend. (Go away.) **Well, I'm flying away. (Fine!)