Author's Note: I am finally doing it—posting my first story. I have never done this before and as I am intensely private about my writing this is a big step for me. However, I shall not bore you all with my many insecurities. Here it is, the first part at least, and I hope some of you will find it, if nothing else, semi-enjoyable. Reviews and constructive criticism are immensely appreciated. If all goes well (both writing and reviewing) I will be updating the following parts periodically. (Also—I am borderline-obsessive about grammar and spelling, so if you see anything horribly amiss in that regard, please message me and let me know.) Thank you in advance for reading/reviewing, and now, without further ado, I present—

Five Times Spock Scared Chekov (and One Time He Didn't)

Chapter 1

It was Pavel's third year at Starfleet Academy, and the sixteen-year-old boy genius was cruising easily through his classes. All advanced and honors courses, of course, because not only would it allow him to acquire much more useful learning in a shorter amount of time, it would at least provide some chance for Pavel not to spend his entire four-year span (more or less, depending on when and if he decided to take additional courses) of Academy classes being bored out of his mind. He was, as most people put it, too smart for his own good. It wasn't boasting; it was simply fact. He'd breezed through both elementary- and high school-level math and physics classes with flying colors, never receiving anything less than 100%. He loved math, he truly did, and he was brilliant at it, and it had seemed a waste to leave such talent stuck sitting in some dingy, cramped old regular high school classroom listening to some old professor drone on about a lot of matter that Pavel already knew like he knew his own name.

So when the opportunity came, Pavel had leapt at the chance to skip the last few years of high school courses and graduate early to go on to college. He'd considered his choices carefully, mostly taking into account what kinds of math and physics classes were offered at each university. Then again, it eventually occurred to him that he didn't want the kind of college that only prepared its students to become stuffy old men in stark white lab coats, the kind who spent their entire lives locked away in a lab, poring endlessly over infinite sets of numbers, trying to find the elusive connection between the X-Y axis and the density of pickle slices. Certainly, Pavel loved working with numbers—he often did extra problems for fun, much to the utter bemusement and often chagrin of his roommates, especially when he became fervently engaged in the activity at two o'clock in the morning or some such "ungodly hour"—but all the same, there was no way he wanted to spend his entire career as some crazy recluse, tied to a desk the whole day. He didn't think he wanted to be a professor, either. Standing in front of group of students after group of students, lecturing them the entire day, teaching them the same methods, theories, and applications over and over again, year after year, for the rest of his life—yeah, that didn't sound like a very appealing prospect at all.

Then, one fateful day, the perfect solution had struck him—Starfleet Academy. It was one of the foremost schools on the planet, probably in the galaxy, and they would have no trouble accommodating geniuses like Pavel and providing for all his academic needs. Furthermore, they offered exciting opportunities. If he could make it through all the required training courses, Pavel could achieve a position not only working with his beloved math and physics, he could do it on a starship, all the while traveling throughout the galaxy, encountering and documenting new species, gaining new allies for the Federation of Planets, and maybe even experiencing the occasional thrilling battle in space.

It was the perfect marriage of computer work and adventure, and once he'd made up his mind, Pavel had wasted no time in applying to Starfleet, and Starfleet had wasted no time accepting. Despite the worries of his parents, Pavel had packed his belongings, bid his family a fond farewell, and left Russia for San Francisco.

Certainly, it had been somewhat difficult at first having to adjust to a new schedule, a new living situation, and new classes, a transition magnified by the fact that Pavel was a mere teenager, a minor, attending college among thousands of students all years older than he was. The vast majority of them were still young people, in their early twenties more or less, and obviously considerably intelligent given their status of attending the Academy…and yet Pavel couldn't help feeling a little out of place sometimes. He wasn't a recluse, but he was somewhat shy and didn't always make friends that easily. He found the wild partying scene more intimidating than fun, and instead preferred to stay quietly home in his dorm, or sometimes fill his free time with extra courses and tutoring sessions. So no, he was not the most popular student, if indeed most of them knew of him at all, unless they had caught word of "the crazy Russian whiz kid".

Nevertheless, Pavel loved being at Starfleet. The classes were stimulating, if not always his favorite subjects, and most of the students were decent, though the same could not always be said of all the teachers.

Starfleet was supposed to boast some of the best professors in the quadrant. And, generally, it would seem that this was indeed the case. However, as far as Pavel was concerned, some of them were just downright bad. Some seemed simply incapable of teaching a single lesson in a way that even remotely made sense. Some of them were apparently too lazy to bother teaching anything but the bare minimum and expected students to figure most of it out on their own. A few of them didn't seem to have the merest clue about what they were even teaching.

Still, there was always one particular professor that, from the moment Pavel had attended his class for the first time, had always caught his attention. Not necessarily in a bad way—well, not bad at all, really. Yet there were certain things about him that made Pavel uncomfortable.

Lieutenant Commander Spock certainly stood out physically, as far as professors (and most students as well, for that matter) went. The Vulcan's pale skin, sharp, elegantly pointed ears, and dark upswept eyebrows certainly made him difficult to miss, even among a student body of which no small part was comprised of aliens, many much more outlandish and bizarre in appearance than he. Maybe it was his height—skinny but tall, Spock was a pretty big guy, and towered at least an inch or two over most of the cadets and other professors. Maybe it was his stern, typical Vulcan countenance—the one with the never-changing expression of…a lack of expression. It would likely be impossible to pinpoint precisely what it was that made Spock stand out—but for some unknown reason, Spock scared Pavel out of his wits.

It wasn't that he disliked Spock. Sure, Spock wasn't talkative, wasn't friendly, and never joked or smiled or did anything to suggest that he was anything less than utterly serious. On the other (and probably more important) hand, he was a great teacher. The first time Pavel had seen him, he'd been shocked by how young Spock was. He'd heard all the tales of the Vulcan professor, the one that few seemed to hate but no one really liked either. He'd also heard that Spock was a Starfleet graduate, and brilliant even by Vulcan standards, but nevertheless he hadn't been expecting someone that was no more than ten years older than Pavel himself. To his credit, however, Spock not only clearly knew what he was talking about, he was actually genuinely good at teaching. Surprisingly so, in some ways—the few courses he taught, while most of them were not extremely esoteric, tended to be on the more difficult side to begin with, so it was truly remarkable that the Vulcan managed to impart them in such a way that they actually made relative sense to the average slightly-smarter-than-average student, especially considering that Spock regularly used so many 'big words' in his typical speech that some would have a hard time deducing the meaning of his words were he informing them that their own pants were aflame. And not only did the material make sense, the classes actually weren't boring. Of course to the average student, honors physics and sciences and xenolinguistics courses did not tend to be the most engaging subjects in the world—but unlike some professors, Spock managed them in such a way that, surprisingly, did not engender the entire student body to want to beat themselves over the heads with sledgehammers. (Or fall asleep in class, suddenly keel over, catch their faces on the edge of a desk, and knock a few teeth out, which ironically enough had happened before.) Strange, it seemed, that Spock could go on and on in that deep monotone voice of his, seemingly devoid of emotion and inflection, and yet somehow not sound like an automated robot—or more likely, some droning lullaby that put half the students to sleep.

All in all, as a professor, Pavel liked Spock, really, quite a bit. Though he wasn't animated, he was talented and undeniably smart; he was tough but never unreasonable; he was hard to please and sometimes meticulous, but fair and always ready with a calm correction and truly helpful explanation for why something was or was not right, without ever being demeaning; his teaching was thorough and fairly engaging, and he actually invited individual questions and class discussions. Hence, ideal as far as the somewhat overachieving, slightly nerdy student like Pavel was concerned.

The only downside—Spock, as a person, was downright intimidating. Pavel knew he was not alone in the sentiment either; he had yet to encounter one cadet who wasn't terrified of the Vulcan professor, at least initially. Not that Spock was mean or anything; that wasn't it at all. Pavel's best guess was that it was likely the stern countenance and demeanor, the seeming coldness and void of emotion and humor, and the simple perfection—a brain like a computer, the cold efficiency, the ramrod-straight posture, the way he moved with the elegant grace of a cat—all that combining with the total aura of distance and severity. Spock's entire air commanded respect. Of course there would always be students who, out of class, drunk at the bar some evening, mocked certain characteristics of all their professors, and Pavel assumed Spock was not exempt from this. He didn't think he'd ever heard any of them say anything nice about Spock—that was to be expected that students who were all frightened of him in one way or another would exchange all the horrifying details with each other outside of class—but he doubted any of them would ever dare to gossip about Spock in the Vulcan's presence, out of lecture hall earshot or not. Well, excepting the comments from certain students who, despite their being terrified of the Vulcan himself, still could not be deterred from remarking upon Spock's posterior end, the quality of which, apparently, if the comments were anything to go by, was quite above average.

Oh well. Pavel could analyze the matter until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't change a thing. For right now, he had an immediate problem.

Pavel enjoyed Admiral Archer's physics class. "How many physics classes do you need?" most would (and did) say, but he truly did enjoy it. Moreover, he wanted a thorough knowledge of it, and that meant having a thorough understanding. So, whenever there was something he wasn't entirely clear on (which, admittedly, usually meant he had a better grasp on it than the rest of his classmates), as a rule Pavel made it a point to find time to ask his instructor, one on one, and get the matter cleared up. He didn't mind the extra time out of his day for private tutoring, and in fact he rather enjoyed the sessions. The trouble this time around had been relativistic physics. That wasn't the Problem. As soon as the daily class session was over, Pavel, before scampering out the door to his next class, had made his way down to the Admiral's desk. Archer, who liked Pavel and was by now familiar enough with his habits to guess what the visit was about, had smiled and welcomed Pavel's request for a tutoring session. Always appreciative of his student's eager dedication and curiosity, Archer was, of course, perfectly happy to help, and Friday morning, 0900 hours, had been agreed upon for their meeting.

But come the following afternoon, Thursday, plans had changed. That wasn't the Problem either.

Archer was going to be occupied Friday, being called away from his classroom for an unexpected but necessary meeting of the Starfleet admiralty. Pavel had expressed his slight disappointment at the realization that they were going to have to put off their scheduled tutoring session, but accepted the circumstances easily. It was no big deal, after all. They'd simply have to reschedule.

"I'm sorry about breaking our meeting, Mr. Chekov," Archer had said sincerely. "But not to worry—I know understanding this material is important to you, so I took the liberty of fixing you up an alternative."

At that, Pavel had perked up a little, though he was at once curious. "Really? What kind of alternatiwe, sir?"

"Well," Archer had replied, "since the meeting is only of the admiralty, and most of the other professors should still be available, I figured, why make you miss your session just because ten of us aren't going to be around? So I actually went ahead and set up for you to meet with another professor tomorrow to talk to about this stuff, same time, so you don't need to mix up whatever plans you've already made."

Pavel was grateful for the consideration, but he was admittedly doubtful. "Zank you, sir; zat is wery kind of you," he began uncertainly, "but…are you sure ze ozer professors know what zey are doing with zis subject? I mean," he amended, suddenly trying not to blush furiously, "are zey as knowledgeable about it as you are?"

Archer laughed good-naturedly. "Well, you're right to ask, Cadet; some of these clowns wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of it to anybody. But don't worry—I made sure to get someone who definitely knows what he's talking about. I set you up tomorrow to meet with Lieutenant Commander Spock." Pavel had felt his breath go out of him and his eyes bulge a little as the Admiral smiled beatifically. "I assure you, he's more than fully capable of teaching you all you need to know."

And that was the Problem.

It was also how Pavel found himself wobbling along on his way to Spock's office this morning, PADDs in tow, practically shaking in his boots (hence the wobbling). He'd barely slept the night before. But in the face of his anxiety, at least he didn't feel tired.

Pull yourself together, he thought sternly at himself, making his way along the too-empty corridors of the Academy. Honestly, how bad could this be? Hell, Spock was amazingly smart, so Pavel should be elated at this opportunity for one-on-one learning time with the Vulcan. And besides, how bad could Spock really be? Sure, he was serious…and stern…and big…and really strong…and had scary eyebrows…but at least he's vegetarian…I think…

Pavel blinked and actually physically shook himself, cutting off that line of thought. Okay—sure, Spock was serious and stern. But that didn't make him mean. Pavel had been in a lot of periods with him, and he knew Spock wasn't mean. Firm, and harsh, sometimes, but not mean. Anyway, Pavel was a good kid, and a good student—it wasn't like he would end up causing any trouble to bring the fiery wrath of Spock the Great and Terrible raining down upon himself. Okay…since Spock never got mad, maybe "the icy Vulcan eyebrows of Doom of Spock the Great and Terrible" was a more fitting description. Damn, Pavel needed to stop with these dramatic mind wanderings. The point was, Pavel was an angel through and through, and a pretty smart one at that. No reason Spock would come down on him for anything.

The bad part was, Pavel knew this—he was in all reasonable thought certain of it—but it didn't stop the nervous fluttering sensation inside his chest.

Mercifully, however, when he arrived outside Spock's office (two minutes ahead of the scheduled time, he congratulated himself), the door was shut. For a moment Pavel considered sounding the door chime, or even just knocking, but then thought better of it. He was a little early anyway, and Spock might be busy. Pavel figured that must be the case because he heard the faint but recognizable sound of voices escaping through the door. He couldn't make out any words and few details of the voices themselves, but since it would seem that Spock was otherwise occupied for the time being, Pavel stepped back a few paces from the doors (let it never be said that Pavel Chekov was guilty of eavesdropping on a superior) and stood quietly in the center of the vacant little corridor, patiently waiting his turn.

He had only been standing there for a few seconds, however, before the voices became markedly louder, and closer to the door—or rather, one voice in particular. Pavel blinked for a moment, unsure, and a little surprised. There were only two voices, he now realized. One of them he recognized as Spock's—smooth, low, and calm as ever, but carrying nonetheless—and the other was a female voice. A female voice which sounded decidedly hysterical. And it seemed to be getting more so with every passing second.

In his growing bafflement, Pavel didn't register that the voice was getting closer until the doors abruptly slid open right in front of him and a girl burst out, almost causing him to topple over with the surprise. Pavel didn't know her, but he saw that she was wearing a cadet's uniform, was clutching a PADD, and was also in wild tears. She didn't quiet down or lift her head as she brushed past Pavel and started off back down the corridor, hurried and disconsolate. Pavel, now rubbernecking, finally tore his gaze away from the spectacle and looked back at the door the cadet had burst out of. There was Spock, standing in the doorway, also watching the retreating figure, one eyebrow halfway raised.

In that moment, all of Pavel's meager confidence shattered. His heart pounded and his whole body seemed to weaken. He half-consciously clutched his PADDs closer to his chest, as if that would somehow protect him, as he stared, wide-eyed, up at the (great and terrible) Vulcan who now stood before him.

And then suddenly, the Vulcan gaze was upon him as Spock turned his head to regard the bug-eyed little student now cowering at his feet. For a brief moment Spock considered Pavel with a tiny tilt of his head—a movement that somehow made him look predatory, a little like a tiger examining potential prey—and Pavel felt like he shrunk even more as the dark, towering figure seemed to loom over him.

Spock spoke. "Ah, Mr. Chekov." Pavel didn't even have enough of his wits about him to gulp. "Precisely on time."