Disclaimer : Don't own Star Trek, don't own Chekov, but I own the idea to Ensign Silver. i_am_bug and I share her. Well, I guess I don;t owwn her then I don't even own THE SPEECH. Tavia does. I own the romance... (o.O) By "popular demand". MY little joke. I own it. (_-) What a kidder I am. And now

A SILVER ROMANCE_

CHAPTER ONE : One of Those Days Again

RED ALERT!!! RED ALERT!!! BREE!!! BREE!!!

Chekov rolled his eyes. It was going to be one of those days. Kirk was going to make him stay aboard and click buttons while everybody else had fun. Chekov hated that.

"OK, people!" said Kirk, clapping his hands, either for attention or fun. Chekov suspected the latter. "We're going to beam down. That'll be Scotty, Uhura, Sulu, Spock, Bones and me. Cool with that, y'all?"

Kirk had been acting odd latey. Must have been a mid-life crisis. He was wearing and 1960 disco outfit with the shirt open and a bunch of thick, gold chains on his bare chest. His toupee looked like and afro this week, and dark glasses. It was scaring the crew. Ensign Jones was inching away from him.

"Eet is NOT OK with y'all!" Chekov yelled. Kirk might have given him an odd look, but the glasses hid it. Chekov was standing now, yelling, waving his arms.

"You tink you can stop me from ewer doing anything!? No, I am strong! I can do stuff, Keptin! I want to go to the pleneet!"

Kirk sat down hard. "Uh, if you feel that strong about it Fine, sure. I can let you go. Find a random ensign and beam down. I'm down with that, yo Russian dawggie!"

Chekov gripped his forehead, then got past the punk accent. "Really?" he asked, staring.

"Yo dawgg, I mean it. Y' wanna go, fine! Go!"

And Chekov went. He sprinted off to the turbolift.

Spock turned to KDawgg. "Captain, why did you let him go? We are on red alert."

"True, Spock-my-man, but the red alert is onboard. I just wanted to get away. So we'll deal with the Klingons outside the window." He pointed at he screen on the front of the ship. "Or whatever technical jargon we're supposed to use in reference to that thing."

Spock looked logical. "Yes, KDawgg."

Kirk reached over to give his first officer a high five, but Spock just gave him the Vulcan hand greeting.

Kirk rolled his eyes.

Chekov was in the transporter room when he realized he'd forgotten to get an ensign. He decided not to get a redshirt; except for Uhura they died too fast. He leaned out the door and grabbed a random gold-dress (A/N : Does such a thing exist? It's like a gold-shirt. Like Chekov. But female. In one of those skimpy little dress thingers. That's what I'm calling a dress.) and dragged her into the room.

"You've got a special mission. Ve're beaming down."

The ensign looked startled but nodded, her curly brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. Chekov pointed at the transporter pads and follwed. When they were on their respective pads he turned to Commander Kyle and jerked his thumb at the ensign. Kyle nodded and energized the transporter.

Chekov and the random ensign (A/N : Disapperated?) disappeared.

Kirk was back in his normal uniform just in case the Klingons hailed (A/N : NO! He did NOT change on the bridge) and it was a good thing he'd planned ahead.

The Romulans hailed.

Kirk looked levelly at the screen. "Um"

"Whoops, sorry. You wanted Klingons," said the Romulan.

They turned off the hailing frequency.

"We are the Klingons."

"That's better," said Kirk, staring at the Klingon ouside the window.

"Spiffy," said the Klingon. "You will now die, please."

The Klingons fired and killed the unraised sheild. Kirk screamed like a girl. "AAIAAH!" (A/N : And the author laughed)

"Why did you do that?" asked Kirk.

"No reason," said the Klingon. "Spite, I s'pose."

Kirk sent out two calls to eineneering. "Don't let Chekov beam down! Scotty, get us outta here!" He gave the Klingon his best defiant Kirk stare.

They were gone, zipping through space.

Kirk smiled at the bridge crew and they all rolled their eyes. All except Spock, who kind of took a deep, cleansing breath and did not show emotion.

Then the call came in from the transporter room.

"Captain Kirk, Captain Kirk, Commander Kyle here."

"Report, commander? Damage? Injuries? Compliments?" He sounded hopeful.

"No, sir. It's just-"

Kirk whimpered. "Just one. Please?"

"What, injury?"

"No! Compliment."

"Uh, your toupee looks real."

"Thanks. Kirk out."

"NO! I have a report, sir!" (A/N: I admit that was a space filler as much as part of the plot (*-*))

"What is it?" asked Kirk in his best I-don't-really-care-but-as-the-captain-I-have-to-ask voice.

"Chekov, sir! He'd already beamed out!"

Kirk looked stunned. "But that's not what was supposed to- well, that's really sad, too bad we had to lose such a fine- I mean, oh, veeth, let's go get him."

"Good idea, sir!" chorused the bridge.

They were back in the planet in about five minutes. (A/N : Or as Spock would have said "5.1000000001 minutes, sir.")

"Scan for life," said Kirk, filing his nails and leaning with his knees crossed on the chair arm. "Then we can beam 'em up, I guess."

Spock fiddled with some random buttons. Then he tapped a nob slightly to the left. Then he raised his eyebrows.

"Captian, this is most, um, illogical unusual highly unexpected"

"How unexpected?" asked Kirk, and Spock rattled off the first 40 digits of pi without the decimal, then added "Over one."

"Kinda unexpected then?" asked Kirk in his I-am-so-super-smart way.

"Yes, captain. There are no signs of life on the planet."

Kirk lept to his feet. "No signs of life? But Chekov's down there!"

"No, sir. Evidently he beamed down just as out ship was hit."

"What, so you think he's dead?"

"No, sir."

"Alternate universe?"

"No, sir."

"Wormhole?"

"No-"

"Then what!?"

Spock blinked. "Time warp, captain. He'll be stuck on earth. And he will hav eto shift through 8 different eras before he can return home."

Kirk pinched the flesh between his eyes. "Dear God. Chekov in a time warp"

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Well, that was fun. It'll get better I hope. Lotsa authors notes, but that's OK. We'll figure it out in the end. R&R if ye want more. R&R if you don't want more. R&R if you don't care. R&R in general.

And isn't it convenient? 8 eras. That'll be 10 chapters because I saved room for an "afterwords" chapter. And what shall these eras be, you ask?

Wait 'n see.