Description: Little stories about everybody's favorite crew's first words. I'm ba-ack, and I've brought Chekov with me! Sorry so long in updating, my creativity went on hiatus.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Star Trek or its characters.

xxx

Young Pavel Chekov sat planted firmly before the illuminated television, his face just inches from the screen as his glazed-looking eyes clung to the colorful images flashing on and off of it in time to the nimble fingers manipulating the controller in his grasp. His father, unbeknownst to the small child, had just entered the family's tiny den and was sneaking slowly up toward his son's turned back. Once within reach, Andrei snatched his boy by the shoulders and shouted "Boo!"

Pavel calmly completed the current level of the educational videogame he had been devotedly playing as if his father were not present and then turned to fix him with a reproachful glare for having disturbed this most beloved of pastimes.

Andrei Chekov chuckled at his son's complete lack of a startled reaction to the small scare and retreated to the plush couch on his left. Once settled, he patted the spot next to him invitingly and little Pavel tottered over to join him. After a few failed attempts on his own, Andrei lifted the child and displaced him atop the middle cushion of the sofa.

"How about some music, Pav?" he asked while reaching for the remote on the end table. The boy bounced happily on the spot as his father browsed their music library, all the while marveling at Pavel's curiosity and love for anything intellectually simulating. He selected a personal favorite, a piece from Nabokov's Lyrical Symphony, and the two relaxed back as the music rushed into the room.

The child beamed as the notes washed through his ears and he attempted to keep up with the masterful rhythm using his own hands. "You like it, huh?" Andrei asked, looking down proudly at his son.

What a clever boy he was! Just barely over a year old and he was already writing proficiently and practicing arithmetic with the aid of academic softwares, games, and programs his parents enthusiastically provided for him. They had taken their son to a childhood development specialist when they noticed their child's aptitude for learning. There they were told that Pavel possessed a considerably high IQ for his age and he was branded a child prodigy, or, in the doctor's exact words, a "whiz kid."

Andrei could've burst from the pride he held for Pavel. Not only was his boy a miniature genius, but he already seemed to hold a strong appreciation for his Russian heritage, a trait that Andrei was more than glad to pass to his only child.

"It's an excellent piece, isn't it, Pavel?" he asked the boy again. Pavel nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

"You'll find that many of the finest composers were Russian, Pavel: Nabokov, Gladkov, Mosolov, Berezowsky, Kukin, Nikitina…." He continued on as his wife entered the room, a glass held in her hand. She paused in the doorway to watch the exchange from father to son.

"In fact, son, we Russians have proven ourselves more than exceptional in many facets, like literature, art," Andrei boasted on, "Let's see, we've got Anton Chekov, Leo Tolstoy, Andrei Rublev…" he stated, counting each name off on his fingers.

Once he had finished his list – which was not lacking in the least – he turned to his son seriously, "Always remember this, my boy: All good things have come from Russia." Pavel bowed his head solemnly, his unquestioning belief in his father's words seizing hold of him and embedding deeply into his loyal mind.

Mrs. Chekov approached them then, smiling to herself. When she reached her husband she extended the glass into the air between them, "Vodka?"

Small Pavel snapped to attention as his hand shot out toward the offered drink, with perfect clarity and confidence he spoke: "Me, please!"

His parents stood in a brief, stunned silence. After a moment, a wide grin broke out on Andrei's face. "Not for children, Pavel," he said with an affectionate pat on his son's head, "when you're older."

Andrei turned to face his wife, "A true Russian boy, this one, isn't he? Ha! Already he –" but the statement faded into silence as he registered the icy glare emanating from the young mother.

"Don't encourage my son to drink!" she snapped hotly, "And stop implying that being a 'true Russian boy' means having to like Vodka!!"

"Hey, don't blame me," Andrei replied defensively, "it's you he takes after!"

xxx

And that's chapter 7, hope I haven't disappointed any of you Chekov fanatics! =)

Sulu will be next and I'll try to get it up ASAP; thanks for your patience.