a/n: Hello everyone! Happy first day of February! I've decided that after such wonderful feedback from my other story, I would maybe start a new one on here!

This will mostly be a series of one-shots from different points in time, as well as probably Chekov-centric, since I just can't help that I love him so much. Cover photo credit goes to lovely devianart use Angelical Design. I absolutely love reviews, so if you like the story, I would love to hear what you think! Until next time my friends, I hope you all have a lovely day!

If you asked who exactly had started it, well, you would get a slew of answers ranging from "the lieutenant from the medical bay who always sits near the door" to "that one engineer on the far left table that likes to sit with that one girl from security".

Now if you asked any one of the people who sat at the senior command crew table that particular day, you'd get attempts at trying not to make eye contact, mumbled, nearly inaudible responses, and efforts to try and change the subject completely.

All in all, it didn't take a genius to figure out who ended up causing the maintenance workers to stay two and a half extra hours just to clean up the mess.

The whole story began when Chekov hadn't been having the best of days. That was for sure.

He'd stayed up way too late the previous night working on some new designs for a new set of circuitry down in engineering and almost arrived late to Alpha shift after sleeping through his alarm an extra half hour. With no time to get ready, he'd simply thrown on a pair of pants and uniform shirt and completely ignored his usual attempt at taming his curls. It was a lost cause anyway.

He arrived to the bridge with literally seconds to spare, but not without a few concerning glances from the rest of the crew. They didn't say anything, and he was glad they didn't. He knew he probably looked a mess, and he didn't need anyone else pointing it out.

After seating himself at his work station, Chekov was able to glance at his reflection in the metallic shine of the helm. His hair was a mess, more than usual, and there were dark circles lining the lower parts of his eyes. In an attempt to rectify some of the situation, he smoothed out his wrinkled shirt and pants, and ran his fingers through his unruly curls a few times. He checked his reflection once more and deemed it adequate enough to continue working.

Needless to say that he was all but ready to head to the mess hall for lunch after the awful morning he'd had.

He gathered up his food from one of the replicators and sat at his usual table on the far side of the room. He shared it with the rest of bridge crew when they had a break the same time he did. Today happened to be Sulu and Kirk who sat with him; plus Scotty, who'd decided a sandwich break was needed in order to relieve his stress.

Chekov must not have noticed he was drifting off into sleep, because it startled the hell out of him when Scotty slapped the table a few times to get his attention. His head snapped up in surprise.

"Somethin' eatin' at ya, laddie?" The engineer questioned as he took a bite out of his sandwich.

"Nyet," Chekov replied, pausing a moment to stretch out his arms and yawn, "joost tired".

Scotty nodded his head in understanding. "Long night, eh? I know how that is. Have ta stay late sometimes ta make sure none of those bampots break everything. Can be quite tha pain when they can't even tell left from right, let me tell ya". He continued rambling on to himself about incompetent engineers and poorly-trained cadets, all while aggressively taking bites of his now-mutilated sandwich.

"You weren't up doing anything too scandalous last night now were you, Pavel?" Sulu teased with an awful impression of a seductive tone. Beside him, Kirk snickered as he ate a spoonful of his soup.

Chekov sarcastically rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Karu," he replied jokingly. He reached for the biscuit on his tray to throw at the laughing helmsman and threw it, realizing far too late that what he'd picked up wasn't his roll, but instead the cupcake Scotty had placed on the side of his own plate.

The pastry flew through the air and landed a direct hit on Sulu's face. Chekov held his breath as the cupcake stayed in place for a few moments before slowly detaching itself and landing on the floor with a soft plop.

Vanilla frosting was smeared all over the poor helmsman's face, running from his left eye and all the way over to his right cheek. There was a stiff moment of silence before all three men around him burst out into a fit of hysterical laughter and giggles. Sulu slowly brought up his hand and took a glob of icing off the side of his face. He eyed the substance warily before looking up at his tablemates.

Chekov could have sworn he saw the devil flicker over Sulu's eyes, because the Asian man's features quickly settled into a wicked smirk. And in that moment, Chekov knew he was absolutely done for.

Sulu grabbed a giant fistful of the mashed potatoes on his plate and hurled it across the table. With a yelp of fear, Chekov used all his speed to quickly duck under the projectile, allowing for it to rapidly sail right over his head, and head straight for the table of engineers behind them.

"Oh crap," he heard Sulu mumble as they all watched the gooey mess fly right into the head of one of biggest, burliest, most terrifying men Chekov had ever seen. He was known for being an intimidating bully who wasn't afraid to make things physical when in an argument.

What a fantastic day this was turning out to be.

The entire mess hall fell silent as the remaining potatoes fell into a glob on the floor. The man sat there in silence for a moment before quickly standing up and aggressively pushing his chair out from behind him.

"Alright!" He yelled out, turning to the people behind him. "Which one of you wise asses threw this, huh?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Chekov saw Sulu slowly bring his mashed potato-covered hand down below the table and behind his back.

"Well?" The man yelled out again, spreading his arms out in front of him. He turned towards the table where the bridge crew was seated, and Chekov's eyes widened in fear.

"It was you wasn't it ya little punk!"

"Vhat?!" Chekov quickly put his hands up and frantically shook his head. "Nyet, Nyet! Eet vasn't me I-"

The engineer clearly wasn't buying it and was cracking his knuckles in preparation for what Chekov assumed to be his doom. "You think this is funny? When I get done with you I swear you'll-"

Smack.

The man was effectively silenced as a piece of lemon pie struck him right in the face.

Chekov slowly turned round in astonishment and saw Kirk standing there, his fingers covered in pie cream and that smart-ass smirk painted onto his face.

"Hey, take it easy," he said. "It was just an accident. And I'd advise you not to talk to my crew that way again, unless you want the rest of the pie to go along with your new makeup". His grin widened as the people around him began laughing hysterically.

If that engineer had been angry before, now he was thoroughly pissed. His face and the tips of his ears turned a bright red, and he let out a yell of bellowing rage.

"That's it!" He screamed. He turned towards his table, grabbed a huge handful of his spaghetti in his oversized hand, and violently hurled it across the room towards Kirk.

Obviously already anticipating this course of action, the blonde simply ducked down a few feet out of range, and the food completely missed him, landing in the hair of a woman who sat at a table filled with people from medbay. She let out a scream of horror as the red sauce dripped down her face and onto her blue dress. With murder in her eyes, she grabbed the thing closest to her, a plastic bowl full of tomato soup, and launched it back towards where the other projectile had come from.

It was a poorly thought out throw and very weak, which caused the soup to not even make it halfway across the mess hall, and instead completely soak another two engineers at a table adjacent from where the bridge crew sat.

From there, all hell literally broke loose.

You could barely tell who was throwing what at this point; it was just a flurry of various foods coasting across the room at unimaginable speeds.

Chekov had taken refuge behind the table he'd previously sat at-Kirk and Scotty had flipped it on its side in order to use it for protection from the flying food that seemed to be coming from all directions.

The two men in question were off somewhere gathering ammunition, while Chekov and Sulu stayed behind and tried not get blasted in the face with pie.

Sulu peeked over the top of the table and let out a very loud (very manly) scream as an ice cream cone came straight for his face. He ducked down just in time to avoid getting covered in the frozen desert.

"Wery nicely done, Karu," Chekov muttered as he sat with his back against the table, attempting to clean the mess off his shirt from the macaroni and cheese he'd failed to notice flying towards him.

Sulu turned towards him defensively. "Hey, this is not my fault," he pointed at him.

Chekov rolled his eyes. "Oh nyet, oof course, eet es noot your foolt," the boy replied sarcastically, "you joost accidentally started a food fight vith ze entire mess hall. Nov I geet et".

"If you hadn't ducked out of the way then the other guy wouldn't have gotten hit!"

"Vhat vas I soopossed to do? Let eet hit me? Eef you didn't throw ze potatoes, I vouldn't hawe had to duck!"

"Well if you hadn't thrown that cupcake, then none of this would have happened!"

"I already told you zhat vas-"

"Ladies, ladies," Kirk interrupted as he came up behind them and crouched down behind the table. "Enough with the arguing. Right now we need to focus on arming ourselves. Something Scotty and I excellently took care of". He set down a table cloth he'd been holding behind him and opened it up, revealing at least a dozen, fully intact and heavily creamed pies. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and Chekov knew that this fight was only going to get worse from here on out.

"Wait a minute," Sulu paused. "Where is Scotty?"

His answer was received a few moments later as a cry rang out from behind them.

"I'll stuff you all inta tha next millennia ya oof-lookin twallies!" Scotty screamed out as he scrambled across a series of table tops-all while launching various food items he was carrying in his arms.

He stumbled in behind their makeshift barricade covered in a myriad of food ranging from chocolate sauce to guacamole. It took all of his will power for Chekov not to laugh.

"Would not advise going back out there again," he panted. "Place is a bloody war-zone".

Chekov nodded in agreement as a carton of milk went soaring over the table and exploded in a mess on the ground.

"McCoy is going to kill us," Sulu concluded.

"Yeah," Kirk agreed, rubbing the back of his neck, "he probably will. And I don't think Spock would find any of this very 'logical' either. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy it while it lasts".

He grinned devilishly as he held up one of the pies.

Each one of the other men retrieved their own ammunition, and Chekov picked up one as well. He eyed the pie warily, considering whether or not to follow through with his next course of action. He looked at the chaos around him, the flying food, yelling people, and overturned tables, and smiled. Well, screw it. This was a food fight after all, and he still had to get even with whoever had ruined his shirt with their lunch. Standing up, he took aim, setting his sights right on a cadet who was hiding precariously behind a table.

It wasn't even four hours later that Chekov found himself hiding out with Sulu in one of the Jeffries tubes in order to avoid McCoy, who, as predicted, had no trouble in deducing the culprits in that day's events.

Totally worth it.