Disclaimer: Fine. I admit it. I don't own Star Trek: TOS or any other Stars or Treks.

Note: This is my very first Star Trek FanFic (awwwww), so please pardon me if anyone seems too out of character. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it!

Randomness: I frequently type "Star Trek: TOC" instead of "Star Trek: TOS", for whatever reason, so excuse me if I ever type that. (sheepish grin) I also sometimes accidentally type "Neopest" instead of "Neopets" when I'm trying to get to the site of the same name (Neopets, that is, not Neopest). But you didn't really need to know that... ON WITH THE STORY!!! (dramatically pulls curtain aside)

Pavel Chekov:

Navigating a Life

Chapter One, Day One

"Er… excuse me, ma'am?" Ensign Pavel Chekov began timidly. He mentally kicked himself. An accent was fine and dandy—especially a Russian one—but when even you couldn't understand what you'd just said, it was time to try harder to ditch the accent. "Excuse me, ma'am?" Chekov repeated, hoping that he'd be understood this time.

"Yes?" The dark-skinned woman turned to face the young ensign.

"Ma'am… ahm… I mean… ah… Lieutenant… vould you be able to tell me, please, to vhere is the nearest turbolift?" Chekov frowned at himself, lecturing his own poor English. He really should have paid more attention in the English course back at Starfleet Academy.

"Pardon?"

"Ahm… the… vhere is…." Chekov furrowed his brow. "Uh… turbolift?" he finished feebly, nearly pleading.

"Oh, the turbolift," the lieutenant nodded in comprehension. "Just down the corridor. You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am—ah, Lieutenant." Why couldn't all senior officers just be called 'sir' or 'ma'am'? That was much easier to pronounce than was 'Lieutenant'. There were just too many darned vowels crammed into that one word.

The lieutenant smiled. "Don't hurt yourself, Ensign. It's 'Uhura'." Chekov nodded, a bit embarrassed at being barely able to pronounce a run-of-the-mill rank term. "What's your name, and where are you posted?"

"Ensign Chekov, ma'am—ah, Lieutenant—ahm, Uhura." Chekov exhaled in an attempt to relax before continuing. "Nawigator, alpha shift—the bridge."

"Mm," Uhura acknowledged. "I'm alpha shift's communications officer. I guess I'll see you around the bridge, then. You're Russian, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel more comfortable speaking in Russian?"

"Yes."

Uhura smiled. She said in Russian, "Welcome aboard, Chekov." When Chekov looked surprised, Uhura chuckled, "I'm communications officer, aren't I? I have to know a lot of languages." Chekov grinned. "How about I help you brush up on your English?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright, then. I'll meet you in the mess hall after my shift. Later," Uhura waved.

Finally, something was going right. Poor Chekov had been wandering the halls of deck D—or was it deck E?—for at least an hour, completely lost. Now he walked down the hall and smiled again in relief. After stepping into the turbolift, he said, "Deck F," as the doors shut. Deck F. His new home; it was the deck with his quarters—his own private quarters. No roommate as in the Academy.

The turbolift stopped at deck E to accept another passenger. A gold-shirt entered the turbolift and said, "Deck C."

"Good morning, sair," Chekov greeted the lieutenant respectfully as the turbolift doors closed. He recognized the black-haired man from when he was shown the bridge.

The lieutenant smiled and turned to Chekov. Suddenly frowning, he nodded stiffly and said, "Ensign."

Vhat did I do? Chekov thought. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," was the brief, crisp reply.

The turbolift doors opened and Chekov left the 'lift, still wondering what he'd done wrong. He shrugged and went into his quarters. Checking the clock, Chekov noted that he had about an hour to kill before meeting Lt. Uhura in the mess hall.

-

Chekov left his quarters half an hour later, wanting plenty of time to find the mess hall. He stepped into the turbolift and guessed, "Deck… B?" The turbolift doors closed, then opened again a few moments later. The ensign walked down the hall, looked into a room, and sighed. Well, at least he'd found engineering.

"Ahm, sair?" Chekov said to a red-shirted man who seemed to be in charge of things.

"Aye, laddie?" the red-shirt replied with a heavy Scottish brogue.

"To vhere is the… mess hall?" Chekov couldn't understand why they called the mess hall the mess hall, instead of the eating hall. Maybe because there is a big mess after eweryvon has finished eating? he guessed silently.

The Scotsman chuckled. "Ye really are lost, aren'tcha?"

"Yes, sair," Chekov admitted.

"Well, I s'pose ye cen see that this is engineering—the heart of me lass."

"'Lass'?" Unless he was mistaken, 'lass' meant 'girl'. He must haf a wery strange girlfriend, Chekov decided.

"The Enterprise is what most people call her," the red-shirt sighed. "But she is really a lass—a very special lass at that. I'm Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, but most people call me 'Scotty'. And what is your name, lad?"

"Ensign Pavel Chekov, sair."

"Ah, Chekov," Scotty nodded. "The cap'n told me a bit about ye. You're his new navigator for the alpha shift, aye?"

"Yes, sair," Chekov said, hoping that the captain hadn't told Scotty anything about him that was too terrible.

Scotty nodded again. "Ye wanted ta get ta the mess hall, now, lad?" Chekov confirmed this with a quick nod. "Well, now, I'm goin' there meself, so I'll show ye the way."

"Thank you, sair."

On the way to the turbolift, Scotty asked, "Do ye have any questions about me lass or her crew?"

"Only von, sair," Chekov said slowly.

"Yes? An' jus' call me 'Scotty'."

"Yes, sa—Scotty. Lieutenant Sulu… he does not… Mr. Sulu, he…." Chekov sighed and started again. "Mr. Sulu… the helmsman… vhy does he doesn't like me?" The ensign sighed again. Even he knew that that was terrible English—and even worse grammar. At least he was on his way to his first English lesson with Lt. Uhura.

"Sulu?" Scotty seemed surprised. They stepped into the turbolift and Scotty said, "Deck E," before continuing. "Sulu?" he repeated. "Sulu dinna like ye?"

"I don't think so," Chekov shook his head.

"Hmm…" mused Scotty. "I think I know why. You see, lad, Sulu is very good friends with O'Neil, the former alpha shift navigator. He prob'ly dinna think that anyone cen take O'Neil's place." The turbolift stopped at deck E and Scotty continued. "Just give him time—he'll warm up ta ye with time."

"'Varm up'?" Chekov echoed.

"It's an idiom."

"I haf heard of those," Chekov nodded.

"It means… well…." Scotty tried to elaborate. "Och, I dinna know how ta explain it, laddie. Ah, here is the mess hall. Are ye eating with anyone?"

"Lieutenant Uhura," Chekov told him.

"A wonderful lass. I'll see ye later, lad. Jest come to engineering anytime you need help findin' your way around me lass," Scotty offered. He walked off toward one of the replicators.

Chekov scanned the mess hall and finally spotted Uhura sitting at one of the tables. She waved him over and called, "Chekov!" over the din of the lunch-time crowd. The navigator started toward the table, but tripped over someone's foot and sprawled to the floor. Several crewmembers, not noticing the poor ensign until it was too late, accidentally stepped on Chekov or bumped their feet against him. There were several mumbled apologies to him and Uhura quickly made her way over to Chekov.

"Chekov, are you alright?" Uhura asked as she pulled the ensign to his feet.

Scotty, passing by with a tray of replicated food on his way back to Engineering, put his tray on a table and came over to where Uhura was hauling Chekov to his feet. "What happened, lad?" he asked Chekov.

"He practically got trampled," Uhura explained. "If you feel half as bad as you look, Chekov, you'd better go to Sickbay."

"Sickbay?" Chekov echoed. "As in… hospital?"

"Essentially. Are you okay?"

"Da, I'm good," Chekov nodded quickly.

"Ye don' look so good ta me, laddie," Scotty commented. "Let's take 'im to Sickbay," he added to Uhura.

"Nyet, no, I'm good," Chekov insisted. Uhura and Scotty, however, decided that it would be best if they let Dr. Leonard McCoy take a look at the ensign, so they each took one of his arms and steered him to Sickbay. "I'm good," Chekov continued to protest, even as they dragged him into Sickbay.

McCoy looked up from his console and greeted the trio with, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," Chekov declared. "I'm good. Good-bye." He tried to worm his way out of Uhura and Scotty's grasp, but didn't succeed.

"Why is it that nobody likes coming to Sickbay?" McCoy demanded in exasperation. "Even Jim, our courageous captain, misses his physicals if he thinks there's half a chance of me not noticing."

"Mos'ly they dinna like comin' ta Sickbay 'cause it means they're sick," Scotty quipped, helping Uhura set Chekov down on the edge of a biobed. "The poor lad was trampled in the mess hall," he told McCoy.

"Trampled?" McCoy raised an eyebrow. Realizing what he'd just done, the doctor groaned and mumbled something like, "The Vulcan must be getting to me."

"I don't know exactly what happened," Uhura admitted, "but I think Chekov tripped over something. That's how everybody ended up stepping on him."

McCoy gave Chekov a quick examination, ending with, "A few bumps and bruises. You'll live."

"I know, sair," Chekov said. "I did not ewen vant to come to here."

"Just change your uniform and you'll be good to go."

"To vhere?" Chekov asked.

"What?"

"To vhere vill I be 'good to go' to?"

"It's an expression," McCoy explained impatiently. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to explain every single little idiom to you the way I have to to old pointy-ears!"

"More idiom? Vhy must eweryvon use so many idiom?"

"Get used to it, kid," McCoy sighed. "Now, you're cluttering up Sickbay. Out! All three of you."

"I get the feelin' ye aren't in a good mood t'day," Scotty observed.

"No, in fact I'm in a very bad mood," McCoy stated. "Now, shoo!"

"Shoo?" Chekov looked at his feet. He then looked up and said, "Two shoe."

McCoy moaned. "OUT!"

"Alright, alright, ye dinna need ta shout," Scotty shook his head.

"See you later, Doctor," Uhura waved. "Let's go, Chekov."

-

"Now," Uhura said patiently. "What is this?" she asked the ensign, pointing to a picture of a glass of water.

"Vater?" Chekov guessed hopefully.

"Water," Uhura pronounced.

"Vater," repeated Chekov.

"No, no, no, not 'vater'—water. Wah-ter."

"Vah-ter," Chekov said slowly.

"Well, that's enough for today," Uhura sighed. "You mostly need to work on your pronunciation."

"How could I improof it?" Chekov asked.

"Just changed all your V's to W's, and all your W's to V's."

"Vhat?"

Uhura sighed again. Her patience was beginning to wear thin. "Forget it."

"Forget vhat?"

"Never mind what I just said," the communications officer clarified.

"Oh. Da," Chekov nodded. "Thank you wery much for your help, Uhura. It vas wery good of you to help me vith my English," Chekov said with a cheeky grin.

"Impertinent, aren't you?" Uhura chuckled. "Well, anyone that sasses me must be on a first-name basis—I'm Nyota."

"Imp-pair-tin-ant? Sass? Basis?" Chekov frowned in concentration. "Vhat do that vords mean?" Uhura quickly translated the vords—I mean words. "Oh, da. I am Pavel."

"Alright, then," Uhura smiled. "See you later, Pasha."

Pavel grinned. "Da. See you later."