(chapter 6)

(the right attitude)

"Chekov. See me in my quarters when you are relieved." Kirk says, nonchalantly. Chekov turns, confused, wondering why the heck the Captain would need to see Chekov in his quarters. Then he rationalizes – hey, it might have something to do with the fact that you have been messing around, he thinks to himself. Turning back around in his chair, he and Sulu share a glance, shrugging.

So far, Pavel Chekov's mission to become a slightly more mature person than before is a total flop. Not surprising, he thinks. Chekov has never stuck with anything besides academics. There was one time when the Russian was younger, where he tried gymnastics. He quit after he saw that he was the only boy in his gymnastics class (he was embarrassed, okay?). Next was soccer, which he quit after he understood that he was clearly just not. . .made to play the sport (he was merged with a co-ed team that made fun of him an awful lot for his somewhat girlish looks). When his mother enrolled him in a science camp, however – it had been like Pavel had found a second home amongst the other kids, who he could have a clever conversation about Alkaline metals and the periodic table and Dmitri Mendeleev and even, hey, properties of cylinders, because why the heck not!

When Pavel is relieved from his shift, he makes his way through the shift to Kirk's quarters, feeling awful nervous. He could hear the conversation in his head.

"Chekov, No one likes you. You're going to have to leave. Yeah." The Captain sneers unforgivingly.

"B-But – Captain! My kids – "

"You don't have kids!"

And then Kirk would send him off in a pod to some indistinct planet. Chekov knocks lightly on the Captain's door, and Kirk opens it, giving Pavel a soft smile and gesturing that Pavel come in. The Russian just shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles back to be polite because honestly he doesn't know what else to do.

"Have a seat, Pavel," Jim says, readying a few glasses, and waving a hand towards a stainless steel dining table. The Ensign does so and drums his fingertips against the metallic, chrome-y finish. "I'm sure you know why you're here, right?" the other asks Pavel, setting a glass in front of him, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Yes – yes! Captain, the note – the secret admirer! You are secret admirer!?"

Jim gives Pavel a skeptical look, pursing his lips and pouring himself a glass of water. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Pavel. No. Calm down," he says, "water?"

A disappointed look flashes across Chekov's face and he nods, accepting the water.

"Thank you, Captain,"

Jim shakes his head, taking a sip and setting his glass down with a loud clink, "Call me Jim, Pavel," he chuckles lightly and leans back in his chair, "I wanted you here to talk about your behavior recently."

Oh, god. Pavel takes a sip of water to try and calm his nerves, but his heart is thumping too quickly all over again – "And listen, you know, it's understandable," What? Pavel thinks, confused.

"You're seventeen years old, aboard a federation starship. I assume that you've given up your childhood to make one of the best salaries a seventeen year old in space can make, huh?"

Chekov laughs lightly, drumming his fingertips again, "That is not why, Captain. I do not come aboard starship to make good salary."

Kirk smirks, wondering why exactly, "Your parents force you to join Starfleet?"

Chekov thinks back on his mother's face when he had informed her he was going to the Academy, to America, so early. She had said that he would leave her just like his father did, but Chekov hasn't seen his mother since. Where did he go for all those spring and Christmas breaks at the Academy? Nowhere. He just stayed by himself. How did he pay for the Academy? Chekov had a scholarship.

"Chekov,"

"Eh – what?"

"Did your parents force you to join Starfleet?"

Pavel sighs, "No," he answers truthfully, and continues. "My mother did not want me to leave Russia for Starfleet. My father. . .left. He is. . .no longer my father. I join Starfleet because," he searches his mind palace for all the available answers, but only chooses one. "I want adventure."

Jim's smirk turns into a full-blown smile, and he laughs, "Who doesn't?"

"Captain, what makes me special is that this is what I choose for childhood. I choose Starfleet over Russia, because nothing is left for me there. No friends, no parents, no. . .future," Chekov tells the Captain, a light in his eyes.

"Well, do you have it?"

"Have what?"

"The adventure you wanted."

"Da," Chekov smiles brightly, "and more. I have friends, I have enemies, I have. . .life. I had none of that in Russia. Starfleet changed my life for better, and da, I have trouble at times, but is adventure, yes?"

The Captain's eyes are lit up as he hears Chekov out, hears his reasoning. He's glad he took this time to get to know his favorite Ensign a little better.