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29th November 2009

Post

Hey look, another chapter.

Just for the record, having a Chapter 2 means nothing.  I’ve abandoned fics much longer than this in my time as a fangirl.

———-

The Starfleet Academy cafeteria was unusually crowded for a Wednesday afternoon. Midterm exams were taking their toll on the student body, and the dining hall was the perfect place to go after a long study session to unwind with friends over a tall glass of juice and a shared platter of chili cheese fries. Or, for those who need white noise to concentrate and therefore find the still of the library an impediment to study, it was the ideal place to hunch over PADDs full of notes, taking occasional nervous sips from ice cold mugs of coffee.

Robin leaned back into the seat of the the padded, red and white vinyl booth she occupied, trying to ignore the irritated glances she received from passers-by who had come to the cafeteria in groups and were forced to leave because there were no tables available. Feeling self-conscious, she pushed her purse to the edge of the other side of the table, hoping to give the appearance that she was with a friend who had just gone to the restroom but would be back shortly, not that she was sitting here alone with only a mug of tea in front of her, hogging the booth to herself. With her stylus, she tapped a square in the corner of her PADD, bringing up the device’s internal clock. It read 1447 hours, meaning she was still 13 minutes early for her appointment (date?) with Pavel. She had been there since 1400, when her phys ed class had gotten out. Afraid of walking into just this situation, she had skipped the shower, settling for a dab of perfume and, pulling on a light cotton sweater over her workout clothes, she had grabbed her study materials and ran out the gym door. Presently, her legs were growing chilly with nothing but a pair of tight, stretchy shorts covering them, and she wished she’d had the foresight to bring along a pair of long pants.

A shadow fell over the table and she looked up, flashing a wide smile, expecting to see Chekov’s tall form. Instead, she was greeted by the equally tall and much more formidable Commander Spock. She jumped noticeably, her hand flying to her forehead automatically in salute. Spock raised an eyebrow at this, and Robin felt her cheeks grow hot. What felt like a very long moment elapsed, Robin not sure if she should drop the salute without permission, wondering if it really counted as a salute anyway, since she was still sitting down. Her heart pounded in her chest as it tried to recover from the adrenaline surge that Spock’s unexpected presence had produced.

“At ease, Cadet,” Spock said finally, with what Robin swore was a touch of humor. No emotions, my ass, Robin thought, putting her hand down. He’s enjoying every second of this. “I came to ask you if you have heard from Cadet Uhura recently. She was absent from our pre-scheduled appointment at 0800 hours today.”

“Really?” Robin asked. Spock nodded patiently. “That’s odd…” she mused.

Spock waited expectantly for her to continue her thought, then finally gave up the effort when it was obvious that Robin had nothing else more to say on the matter, muttered tersely, “Yes it is. Hence my coming to question you on the matter.”

“Well, I haven’t seen her,” Robin said defensively. “Have you tried sending her a message on the Netcom?”

“I have sent three messages through the network this morning,” Spock answered. “She has not responded to any communications thus far.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have a PADD with her,” Robin shrugged. The prospect was unlikely, however. Nearly everyone carried their notes with them these days, keeping them close by for quick review should spare time present itself, such as a few minutes spent waiting for class to start or an exceptionally long line at the restroom. “Next time I see her, I’ll let her know you were asking,” Robin promised.

An almost imperceptible frown creased Spock’s mouth. “That will not be necessary, Cadet,” he said. His eye fell on Chekov’s uniform top that lay folded next to her on the table. “I believe this belongs to one of my students,” he said, fingering the fabric. “I can see it gets back to its rightful owner, if you wish.”

Robin snatched the shirt off the table and set it in her lap. “That’s ok,” she said. “He’ll be here in a minute anyway.”

Spock bowed slightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “In that case, I will keep you no longer. Good day, Cadet.” And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Robin leaned back in her seat, wincing at the amount of stupid she had just displayed in front of the Commander. She couldn’t help it; unease was her natural reaction to his cold stoicism. She wondered what Uhura saw in him, anyway, and then felt a stab of worry for her friend. What if something had happened to her? She brought out her PADD to shoot off a quick note when a voice from behind interrupted her.

“Robin!” She turned to see Chekov hurrying towards her, dodging patrons in the busy cafeteria. He flashed her a wide smile and slid around the booth to take the seat across from her. “Zdravstvuj,” he said. “Means ‘hello’.” He was breathless, as if he’d just sprinted to the cafeteria from the other side of campus, which, Robin reasoned, he probably had, as she could not remember a time she had seen him simply walking. The boy ran everywhere.

“Zdravstvuj, Pavel,” Robin attempted. She didn’t get the pronunciation quite right, but he smiled at her anyway.

“Not bad,” he said. “Is nice to hear Russian spoken again.” He set his knapsack down on the seat next to him and took out a metal water bottle, from which he took several greedy gulps before returning the container back to the canvas bag.

“I don’t doubt it,” she agreed.

Suddenly, he seemed to notice an odor coming from Robin’s side of the table. Robin leaned back self-consciously, the thought crossing her mind that maybe a shower would have been a good idea. It wasn’t her that Chekov was sniffing at, however, but the cup of hot liquid in front of her. “This is chamomile tea?” he asked with unusual surprise. Robin nodded and folded her fingers around the mug.

“You like chamomile, I take it?” she asked.

“Of course! Chamomile is national flower of Russia,” he explained with pride. “Tea is drunk throughout entire country. Wery good for health. As is wodka,” he added seriously.

“Nothing better!” Robin laughed. “I think we might be a bit early for vodka, though, but let me buy you a cup of tea.” She scanned the room for a nearby waiter. Chekov protested, but finally acquiesced to her persistence when she hailed a waiter and ordered another mug of the tea herself. “Hey, it’s the least I can do,” she said, remembering the jacket, which lay folded in a neat little package in her lap. With a look of sheepish apology, she held the bundle out across the table. “I forgot to give this back before you left yesterday,” she said. “I hope you didn’t get into trouble…” She swallowed nervously, imagining what a stickler Spock probably was for any kind of regulation.

Chekov dismissed the notion with a wave. “Is no problem,” he said. “Teacher likes me.” He accepted the garment, laying it on the seat next to him.

Robin had to laugh. “‘Teacher likes you?’” she teased. “I’d say that’s a bit of an understatement. The whole Academy is buzzing about you! What did you do to catch Starfleet’s eye, anyway?”

“Nothing so great,” the boy answered with a modest shrug, turning his long lashes down toward his fidgeting hands. “I showed them a game I inwented - like ping pong, with transporter. Then solved a few equations, and they ask me to come here.”

“Oh, come on,” Robin pressed. “You must have done something pretty impressive. I mean, you’re what, 14? 15? And already a cadet! That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“15 and half,” Chekov answered hastily. “And yes…am wery good with the numbers. But am not magician.” Obviously he had heard a few of the rumors himself. He paused and studied Robin for a moment. “You are disappointed?”

“Of course not.” Ok, maybe a little, if only for the sake of gossip. “If anything, I’m relieved. I wanted to talk to you for ages, but I was afraid you would think I was…well, an idiot…” She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t admitted the last part. Too personal? She wondered.

“I do not think you are idiot,” he said firmly. Robin smiled happily. Perhaps a little too happily for someone you are NOT interested in, she told herself, and forced the smile from her face. A long, awkward pause ensued, in which Robin tore bits of napkin with her long nails and Chekov meticulously stirred honey into his tea. Finally, he said, “I think that you have enough smart to understand Russian culture. Is good enough.” He looked at Robin seriously for a moment, and then his straight face broke into laughter. Robin giggled as well and the tension dissipated.

“Well then…time to begin our lesson,” Robin announced, both ready to get a jump on things and hoping to put off having to think about math for a little while longer. “First things first - give me the Translator.” She held out her hand for the device.

Chekov’s hand clasped around his right ear protectively. “But…if I take if out, I will not understand you,” he argued. “Then how am I to learn?”

“Oh, you will…eventually. But you’re never going to learn to speak English well if you’ve got it translated for you all the time.” His look said he had his doubts about Robin’s teaching method, but she held her ground. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back when we’re done. And I’ll make sure you understand me,” she assured. Chekov reluctantly handed over the device.

As soon as Robin got it in her hand, she couldn’t help but study the tiny earpiece. The technology was very new. Microtranslators like this had been mentioned in one of her classes, but she’d never actually seen one. A tiny button on the side allowed the user to select an output language. When she pressed it, a blue menu glowed on the smooth back of the device. She scrolled through the choices, noticing with wonder that there had to be at least a thousand languages installed on the tiny machine.

“Excuse me…Robin?” Chekov interrupted her study, impatient to get started. She smiled apologetically at the bemused Russian.

“Sorry,” Robin said. “Fascinating technology.” She set the Translator down. “Ok,” she began in an official tone, “this is what is called ‘Language Immersion.’” For her student’s sake, she spoke as slowly and clearly as she could while still sounding natural. “Do you swim?”

Chekov looked confused. “Yes, I can swim,” he said, trying to work out the importance of the seemingly random question.

“Well, this is the same concept as learning to swim,” Robin explained.

“But…we are in cafeteria. Pool is in athletic building,” he said, with a gesture towards the eastern exit. His overly patient tone and raised eyebrows conveyed his growing suspicions that Robin was out of her mind.

“No, no, no,” she laughed. “We’re not actually going to swim. But, ok…if you want to learn to swim, you have got to get in the water, right?”

“Yes…”

“Well, the best way to really learn a language, is to immerse yourself in it. If you put yourself in a position where you have to rely on your own wits to communicate in English, you stand a much better chance of becoming fluent. Does that make sense?” Chekov nodded. She picked up the Translator, holding it up like a visual aide and continued, “I mean, sure, you can use this when you’ve got classes, when you need to make absolutely sure you understand everything, but keeping it in all the time is just going to hinder you, not help.” Again, she spoke slower than normal and made hand gestures to convey the more complicated ideas. The swimming analogy really does fit well in this case, she mused. Being unsure in a language and trying to hold a conversation with a native speaker was the linguistic equivalent of jumping into a pool with no life vest when you did not know how to swim. From across the table, Chekov looked like he were hanging onto each word for dear life, and Robin began to wonder if he really just didn’t know enough English to converse without the Universal Translator. But no, she told herself, he speaks well enough. He just doesn’t trust his own comprehension ability.

Chekov answered slowly, “I…I am getting gist.” A triumphant grin slowly spread across his face. “Yes. I do know what you are saying.”

Robin smiled back proudly, cherishing the warm fuzzy feeling that teaching brought on. “I knew you could, Pavel,” she said. “Now then…” She slid Chekov’s PADD towards her, reviewing what his class has already covered. “Let’s start with pronouns,” she announced after a moment.

They studied for the better part of an hour, at the end of which, the young Russian was showing a marked improvement in proper placement of his ‘he’s’ and ‘she’s’ and ‘it’s’. Finally they had worked their way through the chapter on pronouns and it came time to switch gears and roles, where Chekov was the teacher and Robin was the student.

“Now,” he said, “it is time for Geometry lesson. You have computation tables, correct?”

Robin nodded and pulled up the program on the PADD that contained graphs and formulae needed to solve her homework problems.

“Let me see that,” Chekov said, taking the PADD out of her hand. His long, slender fingers flew over the screen, typing in rapid strokes. He handed the PADD back to her and said, “Ok, now we can get started.”

Robin looked at the page. It was blank. She typed the command to bring up the compu-tabs, but a large box appeared instead. It said, “Access Denied.”. She glared at Chekov, who shot her a look of innocence.

“You locked out my program?” she asked angrily.

“It is called, ‘Immersion Mathematics,’” he said offhandedly. “You learn what formula means, how to use it, then you can use program.”. He looked up to see her eyes glint with irritation and smiled wickedly. “Payback is bitch, no?”

28th November 2009

Post

Fluff bunny

This is a little bit of Star Trek related prose I’m working on, mostly to satiate the raging Chekov obsession I’ve got going on right now. I just want to say that I totally suck at finishing fanfics, so even though this doesn’t really have an “ending” in the traditional sense, I’m not promising anything else. In the case that this does actually go somewhere, I also do not promise a plot, character development, resolution, or anything else seen in “traditional” literature. It’s pure, happy fluffiness, folks. If that’s your thing, enjoy!

————

It took three whole weeks for Robin to finally give in to her curiosity. From the moment she saw the young cadet, she had wondered about him. She suspected she was not alone. Who wouldn’t be curious about the youngest cadet ever to join Starfleet Academy, plucked from the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology at the tender age of 14 (or was it 15?), after impressing the hell out of Starfleet Command with mathematical ability they had never even heard of. They actually sent scouts out for this boy, and that was amazing enough by itself. Starfleet Academy does not seek out students. Robin had never even seen a recruiting poster for the school. Anyone who had the slightest inclination toward working in space tried for the Academy. And only the very best - the top 20 percent at most - was granted admission. But, astonishingly, after receiving a trans-planetary communication from an old Russian physics instructor, a handful of Starfleet Command delegates actually beamed clear to Moscow to see what the boy could do. Robin had heard that he transported a pregnant cat ahead in time by three hours, and when the cat rematerialized, a litter of kittens appeared on the pad with it. Her roommate said that she heard he had fed a sparrow a gold ring, set it to flight, and then beamed the ring out of the bird as it flew off, from a half mile away. Whatever it was, it was enough to get Starfleet to allow the boy to enroll, mid-term, three (or 4?) years ahead of the standard entry age.

As curious as the school might be, however, it didn’t seem like anyone had the nerve to actually talk to the new cadet. When she passed him in the hall, he walked alone. When she carried her tray to join her friends at their preferred table in the cafeteria, he ate alone. When she went for the late afternoon walks that she loved so much, he would often pass her on the trails, running alone. It was rather sad, really, but she didn’t think the shunning was done out of meanness. People were probably just intimidated by him; she knew that she was, for sure. Thinking about the things that she could do at 14 (or even 15) and then realizing that this boy probably had all that stuff mastered at age 10 sure made her feel inferior. The more she thought about it, the more she wasn’t sure she even wanted to get to know someone that super-smart. She imagined how their conversations might go, with him rattling off equations and theories, and her feeling like a dunce, smiling and muttering, “Uh-huh” every few minutes.

She stared at him now from across the courtyard on the Academy’s back lawn. He was sitting cross-legged on the stone ledge by the fountain, tapping a stylus against the PADD he held in his hand, engrossed in whatever it was he was working on. Even if he weren’t situated at the dead center of the pathways that went across the courtyard, he would have been nearly impossible to miss - in the full light of the afternoon sun, his skin was possibly the palest thing in sight. Although it was still chilly at 14 degrees Celsius, he had taken off his red cadet’s jacket and laid it by his side, revealing the plain black short sleeved shirt that he wore beneath it. The sight of him made Robin shiver, but he seemed not to notice the cold, concentrating instead on whatever it was he was working on, occasionally furrowing his brow as he chewed on his stylus absentmindedly.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Nyota Uhura glared down at Robin from her perch on top of the bench, giving her a shove.

Robin glared back and rolled her eyes. “Of course I am,” she lied in an exasperated tone, receiving an irritated “Mm-hm” in return.

“What do you think about the situation, then?” Uhura asked testily, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I’ve told you what I think,” Robin said. “Vulcans don’t date humans. You’re crazy.”

“His mother is human,” Uhura pointed out. “And he’s asked me to study a full three chapters ahead of the class.”

“So extra work means a guy likes you? Well, excuse me then, I’ve got to go ask Commander Fisk out on a date.” Fisk, her Subspace Geometry instructor routinely assigned her extra homework, under the idea that more work would make the lesson easier for her to grasp. It didn’t.

“No, this is different.” Uhura waved a hand dismissively. “He wants me to get ahead of the class so I can help him with a program he’s writing. Some kind of test for prospective command candidates. No…I think he’s interested.”

“So…ask him out. You’re the expert on Vulcan mating rituals; why come looking for my input?” Robin shrugged simply and turned her head back to the young cadet, who was still bent over the PADD, scratching his stylus furiously across its surface, then with a sudden flourish, he struck the PADD with the tip of the stylus, his face breaking out into a euphoric grin. Apparently he had just worked out whatever was puzzling him a moment ago.

“Eh-hem.” Uhura cleared her throat pointedly. “Speaking of mating rituals… You going to ask that boy out or what?”

Robin looked scandalized. “What? He’s only 14! I’m 18! That’s practically robbing the cradle, Nyota!”

“So? He’s Russian. I heard they like older women” Robin regarded Uhura for a moment, trying to decide if her friend was being serious or making a bad joke, and then shook her head.

“Nope. Sorry. I’m too young to be a cougar.”

Uhura just laughed. “Have it your way then. But if you’re going to sit and stare at him, the least you could do is go and talk to him. Poor thing doesn’t look like he has a friend in the world besides a PADD full of computations.”

Talk to him? Yes, Robin decided, that was going to have to happen eventually if she wanted their relationship to progress beyond stalker and stalkee. A knot tightened in her stomach as she imagined the extreme likelihood of making a complete fool of herself in front of the boy, taking her idiotic hijinks to the international level.

“Go on,” Uhura coaxed, giving her friend a helpful shove.

“What, you think I can’t do it on my own?” Robin asked, swatting Uhura’s hand away in annoyance.

Uhura sighed. “Honey, if that’s what you need, then fine: I dare you to go talk to young Mr. Chekov. And while you’re over there, ask him if he really did invent a new type of Geometry. That’s all my Acoustical Engineering class can talk about right now.”

Robin squinted up at Uhura, and then back towards Chekov. Right. It was a dare now; she had no other choice. Her honor was at stake. Robin stood up, tugged at the hem of her tunic to straighten her uniform, and marched directly toward Mr. Chekov. At this time, the entrance to the East Wing caught her eye, just beyond which was the ladies bathroom. Perhaps just a quick freshening up, she thought, and turned toward the glass door.

No! she told herself firmly. If she was ever going to get the nerve to introduce herself, it was right now. Swallowing her apprehension, Robin changed course at the last second, making an odd zig-zag across the lawn that brought her directly in front of the young Russian. She opened her mouth, groping for a greeting that wouldn’t sound too idiotic. It didn’t come to her. Her shadow, however, happened to fall across the boy’s lap and, after a moment, he looked up to see what was blocking his light. What he saw was a slightly dense-looking blonde, whose long tresses floated in the breeze behind her while she stared at him with her mouth agape. He raised an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Hi,” she said in a rush, with a sheepish smile that failed to recover her dignity. “I, um, saw you sitting here and thought you might be lonely- that is, I thought you could use some company; I don’t mean to imply that you don’t have any friends. I’m sure you’re a very likeable person with loads of friends that you probably hang out with when I’m not looking- I mean, not to imply that I watch you or anything, just that you’re always by yourself when I see you- when I happen to see you,” she corrected, “from time to time, that is, you’re by yourself…probably taking some time away from all those friends of yours that constantly demand your time…” She trailed off defeatedly. “And so, I thought you could, erm, use some…company…” She felt her face grow hot. What the hell was that? She thought. What brought on the verbal diarrhea? Whatever happened to a simple “Hi?”

The boy’s face was a mixture of panicked and confused. Robin didn’t blame him. She was about to leave when he said in quick Russian, “Prastite, ya ne panimayu vas.” He reached under his jacket and withdrew a small knapsack. “Veht,” he added, holding up a hand. It took Robin a second to realize that he wasn’t making a hasty retreat, but was telling her to wait. He withdrew a small, silver cylindrical object, about the size and shape of a cockroach, with a soft rubber bud sticking out of a long side. He pressed the device flat against his ear, shoving the bud into his ear canal. After tapping the stylus a few times on the PADD, he said in a thick Russian accent, “Now…begin again, please?”

She took a seat and asked, “What is that?” pointing at the thing in his ear. His eyes lingered over the PADD and then met hers.

“Uniwersal translator,” he said, a little sheepishly. “My English is not wery good. It is a help to hear the words in Russian and then to see the English here.” He flipped the PADD out so she could see it. “So I am always to be learning,” he added.

“Fascinating,” Robin said, intrigued, leaning in slightly to study the device, also taking much comfort in knowing that he probably hadn’t understood a word of what she said. Pulling away from her inspection, she smiled brightly and said, “Anyway, I’m Robin McAlister; you are Cadet Chekov, right?”

“Pavel Andreivich Chekov,” he answered proudly.

“Nice to meet you, Pavel,” Robin said with a nod. A gust of wind blew past and she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “How can you not be cold in this weather?” She asked, eying his bare arms. Chekov laughed.

“In Dubrovki right now is foot of snow on ground. Temperature 4, maybe 3 degrees below zero. Wind chill of negative twenty. This,” he gestured toward the clement blue sky, “this is like springtime.” His soft brown eyes fell upon Robin and his amused expression changed to concern as he noticed how she hugged he arms across her body. “But is cold for you, yes? Here – put on coat.” He held the red jacket out to Robin, and when she protested, threw it over her shoulders himself, where it settled over her arms like a shawl.

Feeling quite silly to be wearing two coats in temperate weather to ward off psychosomatic chills, Robin nevertheless drew the jacket tighter around her body and muttered, “Thank you.” She didn’t dare look over toward the bench where Uhura was sitting, but she thought she heard a whoop come from her direction. Chekov nodded approvingly, oblivious to any spectators.

“Dubrovky,” Robin said, returning to their conversation, “that is where you are from? I thought it was Moscow.”

“Nyet,” Chekov said with a fierce shake of his head. “I study in Moscow. Grow up in Dubrovky. Is quiet little village not far from Moscow.” A wistful expression settled over his face, one that Robin was quite familiar with – homesickness. She gave him a supportive smile. Leaving her parents farm in Georgia had been hard enough on her, even though the promise of exploring strange new worlds in space excited her. At least she had the comfort of being surrounded by people who, for the most part, were like her, sharing her customs and language. She felt a stab of pity for poor Pavel, who had none of that here.

“What’s it like?” she asked, allowing him to reminisce about his home.

“I do not remember much,” he answered with a shrug. He gazed down at the PADD for a moment, tracing circles on the surface with the stylus, as if unsure whether or not he wanted to continue. Finally he said, “I move to Moscow when I am nine, enroll in Fizteh- the Institute, you know, learn mathematics…science…physic. Always learning, studying. Father say ‘Education take you from farm, key to…zhizneradostnost,” he finished, unable to find the right English word. He paused and looked intently at Robin. “Except…I do not know why he thought farm was so bad. Is peaceful. Is not so much technology like Moscow, or here, but is comfortable.”

Chekov frowned and Robin gave him a knowing nod. “Is- I mean, it’s familiar. I come from a farm myself,” she offered. “Seven generations. We grow cotton.”

“Must have been hard to leave.”

Robin nodded. “Well, it’s all in my brother’s hands now. At least it’s still in the family.” That fact alone put the farm’s success in jeopardy, a fact she had tried not to think about when she enrolled in Starfleet Academy. He lacked the discipline to work every day without someone else holding him to a schedule. She shuddered to imagine the state the crops would be in once her father was too old to oversee them by himself.

Silence ensued between the two cadets, and Robin gazed down into the fountain, watching the sunlight sparkle as it danced over the churning water. It reminded her of the shimmer of the transporter, and she thought suddenly of going home. She dipped a finger into the pool.

“So what about you?” Chekov said suddenly “Why you join Starfleet?”

Robin continued to stare into the water. “Just…I’m seeking knowledge, too, I guess.” She glanced up at the sky, where the daytime moon was just beginning to rise over the tall pine trees that lined one side of the Academy. Her own voice grew wistful as she continued, “I always wondered what was really out there. When I was a little girl, sometimes I would go out into the cotton fields at night just to stare up at the stars and just…listen.”

Chekov frowned and studied the PADD, making sure he had heard the correct word. “Listen?” he asked finally. Robin broke her reverie with a laugh.

“I wanted to hear the alien planets talking with each other,” she explained. “I thought if I just listened hard enough I would hear what’s going on up there. And then I’d know the answers to all the questions I had. I focused on language in high school, and now here I am at the Academy, majoring in Xenolinguistics.”

“Ah,” Chekov said, “I am never good with other language, as you can see,” he gestured toward the Translator in example. “Not human language, anyway. Too many different ways of speaking - too confusing. I speak in mathematical equations. Is uniwersal language.” He laughed. “Talk to computers, no problem. Mathematics, that is the way to finding the answers.”

“Ah, see that’s my shortfall. Math is too logical, too black or white for me. There’s no room for intuition. I just can’t wrap my head around numbers and symbols.” Robin sighed.

“I do not understand,” Chekov said, his eyebrows pressed together in confusion. “How can head be wrapped around number…?” His hand traveled up to the mop of brown curls atop his head, feeling his skull as if to check its solidity.

“Sorry,” Robin laughed. “Figure of speech. Hey,” she said, inspiration dawning on her, “why don’t we help each other out? You tutor me in math and I’ll help you with English. I mean, if you want my help, that is. I’m not amazing with language, but I’m not bad. If you want amazing, you need to ask my friend Nyota Uhura. She is spectacular-“

“I do not want to ask your friend Nyota Uhura,” Chekov interrupted before Robin could start out-pacing the Translator again. “I would like your help wery much,” he accepted gratefully.

Robin smiled brightly. “And maybe you could teach me a little Russian. It’s such a beautiful language. If you don’t mind,” she added hastily.

Chekov looked positively giddy at the thought of someone who wanted to hear him talk about his heritage. “Oh, is no trouble,” he assured her, waving a hand dismissively. “And I am sure will be no problem teaching you mathematics Is wery easy once you get to hang it.” Robin couldn’t help but giggle at his misuse of the phrase.

“Sorry,” she said, forcing a straight face. “Ok, first lesson - the saying is ‘get the hang of it,’ not ‘get to hang it.’”

“Get the hang of it…” Chekov repeated thoughtfully. “This does not make sense…” As he was pondering this, a glint of gold on his wrist suddenly caught his eye. With a cry of, “Oi!” he shoved his PADD and stylus into the little knapsack. “I must go,” he said hurriedly, then hesitated, reluctant to end the conversation. After a moment of uncertainty, he said, “Do svidaniya. Is first Russian lesson. Mean ‘until next time.’”

“Do svidaniya,” Robin repeated with a nod. Chekov smiled and then turned away, sprinting toward the West Wing, pausing briefly at the open door to give a quick wave, and then he disappeared behind the glass.

The sound of footsteps made Robin turn around. Uhura was standing behind her, arms crossed confidently, lips turned up into a victorious smile. “Cute,” was all she said. Robin rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“So how old is he?”

“I didn’t ask.” Oops. Well, there was always next time, she thought.

“I suppose you didn’t find out about the Geometry thing, either.”

“Oh please,” Robin waved away the question. “Don’t believe all that gossip.”

“Hey, you never know.” Uhura laughed. “Are you at least going to give him back his uniform?”

Damn it. Robin’s hands went immediately to the red jacket that hung around her shoulders. It was too late to catch him and she had no idea what class he was off to. She sighed and slipped off the coat, hoping that that Pavel’s next instructor had enough human kindness to forgive a minor lapse in regulation dress code. The only thing she could do now was to think of ways to make it up to him.