Author: I have discovered an undying love for the young officer. Writing him also allows me to be truly, truly geeky--Chekov allows me to incorporate my physics major into my writing, which is awesome. Still a little nervous about the Star Trek fandom, but that's my insecurity talking. Anyway. Here we go!

Disclaimer: I may want to cuddle the boy, but neither he nor any other piece of Star Trek belongs to me.

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Chekov, it was generally agreed, was brilliant. He had to be, in order to get into the Academy at his age and do so well in his classes. He was the envy of many, and the pity of quite a few.

Of course, because of his academic brilliance, it was also generally thought that he was a physical weakling, easy pickings for those frustrated with Chekov's genius.

However, the Academy did have some rigorous physical standards—even for those such as Chekov who might never see outside of his assigned spaceship. So, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't entirely a wuss. He may not know hand-to-hand combat, but he had his skills.

Running happened to be one of them.

Chekov, by nature, wasn't a fighter. Never was, never would be. But, he had been harassed all his life for his abnormal level of intelligence, and so had to figure out a way to stop from getting beaten to a pulp.

So he learned how to run.

Not just sprint so he could duck and cover--although that was the first step—he developed stamina that would take him further than any of his usual pursuers...unless, of course, he had annoyed some alien species whose physical prowess surpassed humans. He had ample opportunity to hone his skills, though, considering how his age and advanced academic standing grated against some.

His youth and relatively small stature had helped him more than once escape, actually. His lack of height allowed him to escape through places that his usually larger pursuers were unable to reach, and his baby-face made him safe among a great many females, since one kicked puppy-dog look was often enough to rally them to his cause.

He tried hard not to be manipulative, but a concussion and quite a number of broken bones during his youth had taught him that for survival, why bother quibbling about the methods? Those at the Academy were most certainly stronger than his childhood bullies.

It was during one of these flights that he ran into one of his future fellow crew-members.

Chekov blindly turned a corner and ran into someone else, scattering the student's belongings everywhere. It took him a moment to reorient himself and he swallowed hard when he saw a large shadow loom over him. The man who had been pursuing him had a number of lackeys who took equal insult to Chekov breaking the curve in one of their classes. Said he was bringing down their grades.

"Sorry," he apologized as he tried to scramble to his feet, but instead was helped up by his pursuer, dragging Chekov to face level by his shirt's collar. There was a nasty grin on the cadet's face and Chekov sighed inwardly.

It looked like his luck was up. Crap. And he had nearly made it through an entire year unscathed.

Suddenly, a voice lashed out, "What are you doing?"

Chekov flinched at the tone, and was relieved once he realized that the person he had barreled into was standing up for him as she pushed herself to her feet.

Chekov assumed she was average height for a human female, but wouldn't have put money on that knowledge. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell down to her waist, and the cadet uniform fit her nicely over her pleasantly dark skin. He certainly wasn't an expert on feminine beauty (with good reason), but he would have said she was pretty.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, miss," said the man (Chekov didn't even know his name!) who was currently holding the boy up.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "I think it does. You do know that violence against fellow cadets is strictly prohibited," she said in a clipped tone.

Chekov nearly melted with relief. Maybe he would get through an entire year without breaking a bone!

The woman cited a few more rules and regulations to his pursuers, each which made the man's hand tighten slightly on Chekov's collar.

Finally, the man dropped him and Chekov landed correctly, rolling a little ways away before settling into a crouch that would allow him to bolt if they tried anything else.

Thankfully, they didn't. They hurled a few more insults that Chekov had heard a thousand times before prior to stalking off.

Chekov released a breath he hadn't known he was holding before standing. He gave the woman a shy, thankful smile. "Sank you, Meess...?"

"Uhura," she answered. "Now, tell me what I just saved you from?"

Chekov sighed softly and launched into an explanation. "Well, we are taking a Quantum Grawity class togeser, and...I score wery high. Zhey...do naut. It makes dem feel...stewpid. So, zhey try to take out zheir frustration on me."

"That's it?"

Chekov nodded. "Yes."

The woman blinked and scowled. "That's absurd!"

Chekov shrugged. "It iz...somesing I am use to."

That statement caused her frown to deepen. "Why?"

"Ma'am, I am sirteen."

Uhura stared before comprehension dawned. "You're that genius-kid!"

Chekov smiled and nodded. "I am Pafel Chekof," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Uhura took it and gave him an amused, slightly fond smile. "You doing okay in class?"

Chekov nodded. "It iz wery fun," he said with excitement.

Uhura laughed. "Only a genius would describe Quantum Gravity as fun."

"You do not sink so?" Chekov asked, seemingly puzzled. There was a hint of a laugh in his voice, though, indicating he knew how odd that sounded...and really didn't mind.

Uhura smiled. "No, not really. Do you know anything about xenolinguistics?"

Chekov blinked and cocked his head to the side. "I do naut, but hawe heard ze term before," he murmured, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "It iz...alien language?"

Uhura nodded. "Would you find it fun?"

Chekov smiled. "No, not really."

There was a short amused silence before Chekov bent down and started collecting Uhura's scattered belongings. There was a brief moment of surprise before Uhura, too, bent down and picked up what she had dropped.

"It iz good dat it iz not windy," Chekov observed as he handed what he had gathered to Uhura.

The other cadet took it with a smile and readjusted her hold. "True. You take care of yourself," she said and gave him a polite nod.

Chekov gave her a smile and waved as she walked away. His hand gradually fell to his side and he sighed softly. If only there were more like her! He thought before taking the long way to his next class.

He was always glad that he didn't really need to take notes...