Canon? What canon? It's fanfiction and I can write what I want. :) Anyway, this is co-written with St. Valentine. Go read her stories. She writes Chekov better than anyone.

This prologue takes place about two years before the movie, but the rest of the story occurs after movie-verse.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I promise, I get nothing from this except a whole lot of fun.

"What's two plus two, huh, freak?" The much larger cadet yelled mockingly, pushing Chekov backwards into the burly arms of the cadet's friend.

Chekov would have come up with a witty answer about how while he certainly knows the answer, he wonders if they're only asking because they don't know themselves. But as it was, he was currently doubled over, recovering from the fist that had just lodged itself in his stomach.

"Fo-ngh," he sputtered out, tasting coppery blood at the corners of his mouth. The burly arms around him tightened before spinning him around so quickly, Chekov felt his neck crick unpleasantly.

"Can't even speak English, can you?" The second cadet leered, fisting one shovel-like hand into Chekov's curls. Chekov felt several hairs part company from his scalp as the cadet pulled harder.

"So let's see if we can't make up a mathematical equation since you seem to like them so much," the first cadet loomed closer to Chekov's face until he could see all too clearly the cruel joy in the older student's eyes.

"There's twice as many of us as there are of you. And our strength is probably about ten times more than yours. If my fist is coming at your face at the speed of light, what's the probability of you ending up in Sick Bay?"

Underneath the many layers of terror, Chekov watched in slow motion as the cadet pulled his fist back. He clenched his eyes tightly as his quick mind quickly rambled a Russian prayer to any god above to protect whichever bone was about to be smashed.

"Hey! You put him down right now!"

Not daring to open his eyes, Chekov felt the burly cadet loosen his grip. The expected punch never landed on his body, and he was thrown unceremoniously to the cold hard floor beneath him. Gasping for breath, he balanced himself on all fours, finally looking up to find out who was his savior.

Maybe it was the blinding pain talking, but she had to have been an angel. God must have answered his rapid prayer. His bruised jaw fell slack as his swollen eyes took in her flowing white dress with a halo illuminated above her head with florescent lights. Yes, she was an angel. That was the only plausible answer.

His pounding head couldn't make out all the surely angry words she was spitting out to his two torturous cadets, but he could not drag his eyes away from her pretty face. He stared in awe as it contorted in rage and righteous fury. It wasn't until her slim hand grabbed the communicator from the purse hanging from her shoulder that the cadets finally backed off their advance and trudged off.

Chekov still gaped in marvel even as his angel's face morphed from wrathful to worry. He allowed her to help him sit upright on the floor. Still unsure of what to say to this beautiful creature, he shut his eyes briefly as her cool hands brushed against his forehead and cheeks.

"Hey, hey, are you there?"

Through a haze of pain and wonder, he heard her attempts to get his attentions. He opened his eyes again to see her dark eyes. They crinkled as she smiled in reassurance.

"Oh, good, I thought I lost you for a second there."

"Zank joo," Chekov said thickly, feeling as though he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton. He winced at how thick his accent sounded, but she misinterpreted his reaction.

"Are you alright? What hurts?" she asked, her cool hands brushing a few stray curls from his sweaty forehead. He leaned into her touch a little, feeling very comforted.

"Eet ees nuhthing," he lied, trying to appear stronger than he was in reality. She cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You have a busted lip, and bruises are already forming on you. That's a bit more than 'nothing,'" she admonished. He looked at her sheepishly, and her expression softened immediately.

Her hand slipped into her bag again, once more pulling out the communicator.

"I'm going to call Sick Bay," she stated, already dialing the number.

"No!" Chekov yelped, fastening his skinny fingers around her wrist. She looked up in surprise, giving him a questioning gaze.

He sighed in defeat, unwilling to let go of her wrist for fear that she would continue her call. Understanding his hesitation, she shut the communicator and silently urged him to explain.

"Beeleef it or not, I uften get into these scrapes. Normally, I vould go to Sick Bay, but I 'ave been there too uften, zey say. I vas told if I vent there once more zis semester, zey vould alert my parents," he explained.

The angel looked confused again, unconsciously tilting her head to the side.

"I em only fifteen," Chekov relented, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. She nodded in understanding. Overprotective parents must be universal because she never probed further about making him go to Sick Bay.

"Is that why they were picking on you and beating you up?" she asked in a horribly straightforward fashion. Her words were curt, but her hand was soft against his hair. He nodded once, licking the corner of his mouth to relieve his skin of some excess blood.

"And because I em better zan zem at math."

He couldn't help but brag as he allowed a small note of pride to color his words. She smiled beautifully, causing his heart to beat a little faster. He found himself smiling in return, despite the sharp pain he felt as he stretched his split lip.

"I can't just let you go to your dorm or wherever without making sure you're okay," she consented, helping him stand on his feet. "Where were you going, anyway?" she asked as she placed her firm hands on his unsteady shoulders.

"I vas go-eeng back to my dorm, actshually," Chekov started, shutting his eyes as dizziness took hold. "Professor Pascale allowed me to feenish my vork in the mathematics laboratory."

He blinked rapidly, ridding himself of the honeycomb vision. With a reassuring nod in her direction, she slowly removed her hands warily and allowed him to stand without assistance.

"Zank joo," he repeated. She waved it off with an airy hand, a gentle grin on her face.

"No problem. Anyway, I don't want you go back to your dorm yet," she restated. She looked off unfocused into the distance, biting her bottom lip in a manner that was slowly driving Chekov crazy. He barely had a chance to swallow before she turned her attentions back to him, her eyes bright with an idea.

"How about I take you to a med student instead? I know this guy, he's pretty good. He won't take you to the Sick Bay," she promised, her eyes peering imploringly into his. As though in a trance, he felt himself nod. Anything to bring that smile back on her face.

Without missing a beat, she carefully tugged on his shirt sleeve, pulling him off towards the door and out onto the open campus. They cautiously stepped down the cement stairs outside the mathematics building while he leaned heavily on her shoulder for support.

He gave her a sidelong glance as to look at her features furtively. The moonlight brushed across the front of her face, and he realized that the halo he had seen earlier had only been a trick of the hallway lights. Her flowing white angel dress was really just a blue top with a long white skirt. The florescent lights must have washed out the blue, making her only seem as though she was dressed in pure white.

"Joo look wery nice," he heard himself saying. The pain must have caused him to lose control of his voice. Yes, that was clearly the answer. He never would have complimented an older girl otherwise. "Vere joo go-eng out? I hope I deed not interrupt eenything."

"Well, I might be a little late for an outing, but it's okay. He'll understand," she said, using her free hand to move her ponytail over her shoulder. "If you don't mind," she started, looking over towards Chekov, "could I call him and let him know I'll be late?"

Chekov shook his head as she started to dig around in her purse for her communicator. He listened as she told whoever was on the other end that she would be a delayed, but not to leave the restaurant because she would be there as soon as possible. Disappointed that she seemed to be already taken, he kept his gaze on the ground ahead of them as they headed towards the upperclassmen dorms.

"By the way," she asked, turning that beautiful smile to him once more, "what's your name?"

"Pavel Chekov."

"Uhura."

Chekov eyed the door warily. Uhura had just knocked briskly, calling out some name he didn't recognize. Behind the door, he could hear some creative language and a suggestion of what whoever the hell was at the door should do instead.

Uhura only rolled her eyes in amusement as the door slid open to reveal a man older than Uhura. He stood bare-chested wearing only a pair of black Starfleet issued pajama pants and a scowl on his face. The growl ended in his throat as he realized who positioned herself in his doorway.

"Thought you were Jim," he muttered, his face twisting into a grumpy expression.

"Oh, so he's not here then?" she asked, peering over the man's shoulder into the room. When he shook his head no, she smiled broadly. "Thank God, I was worried I'd have to deal with him."

With a chuckle, the grumpy expression melted slightly off his face as she gently pushed past him into the dorm room. The cranky man snorted as he looked at Chekov, who was feeling increasingly nervous as each second passed. He gave a tiny shake of his head before indicating that Chekov should enter.

Avoiding the older man's gaze, he slid in and stood awkwardly next to Uhura. Unsure of what to do, he glanced around, taking in his surroundings. A heady scent of chips and something Chekov couldn't define filled the air. The half of the room closer to window was haphazardly messy. Video games lay scattered on the floor around it while the bed was covered with tousled sheets. The desk under the window was suspiciously lacking in text books, but there were a few magazines there that made Chekov want to blush. He hoped Uhura did not see them.

Embarrassed, he looked on the other side of the room, which was slightly neater. The desk was covered with books and a computer that hummed with energy. The other bed was unmade, too, but the man sloppily fixed the covers in a hurried attempt to straighten up. He grabbed a shirt draped over the back of the desk chair and pulled it over his head.

He reemerged with a cowlick, causing Uhura to laugh a little. She walked over to fix his hair while he grunted again, jerking his head away from her.

"None of that now," he chided. "Who's this?" The man gestured roughly to Chekov, who felt very small indeed.

"Oh, this is Chekov. This," she said, turning towards Chekov, "is Leonard McCoy."

McCoy nodded briskly. He ran his eyes over Chekov, giving him a once over. Without asking, he took a few long strides over to him. His fingers started poking and prodding at all the newly formed bruises, causing Chekov to wince.

"There was a fight," Uhura explained, sitting herself down comfortably at the desk. "Chekov can't go to Sick Bay, so I thought I'd give you some practical experience."

She gave what Chekov assumed was her most winning grin as McCoy glared at her. Despite his cantankerous countenance, he resumed prodding Chekov. Without another word, he pulled the younger boy's shirt off, casting it off to the side.

Chekov felt very naked. He had never felt his physique was inadequate, but Uhura had already seen him pummeled by two cadets much stronger than he, and McCoy was incredibly fit for an aspiring doctor. He gave an inaudible sigh. Life's just not fair.

Thankfully, Uhura had graciously found something on McCoy's desk that occupied her attentions.

"So how'd you find him?" McCoy asked her as though Chekov wasn't in the room. He narrowed his eyes indignantly as the doctor smeared some foul creams across the fresh red bruises on his stomach.

"Hot date," she teased without looking up from the papers she leafed though.

"It's Tuesday."

"Congratulations, McCoy. You know your days of the week," she answered dryly. He continued to look ill-tempered in her direction until he finally seemed to realize that she was not going to expand upon how she had found Chekov.

His heart expanded gratefully. She wasn't going to look at him shirtless, she wasn't going to embarrass him by telling his mortifying story. She may not be a literal angel, but Chekov was still pretty sure his prayers had been answered.

McCoy wiped the blood from Chekov's face with only a tissue, wordlessly reassuring Chekov that his injuries were just minor. Giving him a final examination, he brusquely shoved the previously discarded shirt into Chekov's surprised hands.

"There. You'll live."

Chekov nodded silently, quickly putting his shirt back on. Uhura waited a few seconds to assure Chekov would be completely covered before glancing up towards him and McCoy.

"Where's Kirk?" she asked, shuffling the papers around on his desk in a more orderly fashion.

"Hot date," he answered in exasperation. They simultaneously shook their heads, leading Chekov to assume this was not an unusual occurrence for McCoy's roommate.

"But it's Tuesday," Uhura joked congenially. Her eyes met Chekov's before grinning playfully up at McCoy.

"Congratulations, Uhura. You know your days of the week."

Whatever salve McCoy had applied to Chekov's bruises, it worked extremely well. With the exception of a slight tenderness in his stomach where the cadets had punched him, Chekov felt as good as new.

McCoy had sent him off with a warning to be more careful and that if he needed any more ointment, to just find him somewhere on campus. Despite the man's irritable exterior, Chekov had liked him well enough.

Uhura and Chekov walked across the campus again, this time towards the underclassman dorms. Very few cadets were around the campus in the dark on a Tuesday. Chekov found himself grateful for the seclusion. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply before emitting a long sigh. Uhura laughed softly, looking over at him. He met her gaze with sleepy eyes. At this moment, he wasn't sure what he wanted more in life: to fall into a deep, relaxing sleep or to spend an indefinite amount of time with the pretty girl beside him.

"Feeling better?" she asked, her tone holding much more compassion than the other cadet's had.

"Yes, wery much," he nodded. He made up his mind. He'd rather spend an indefinite amount of time with the pretty girl beside him. This time, he couldn't blame his feelings on the pain.

"I'm glad to hear it," she smiled. Her steps slowed until she trailed to a stop. Chekov stopped walking as well, watching her watch him.

"I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I really do have to go meet someone," she apologized. Chekov blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that she had postponed some date to take care of him.

"No, no, eet's fine. Zank joo for ewerything," he said earnestly. "I only hope joo vill not be too late."

She shook her head. After searching in her purse, she pulled out her communicator. Chekov assumed she was going to alert her date that she was finally on her way.

"No, don't worry about it. It was really only about a half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes," she waved aside his comment. His eyes widened in surprise. Had it really only been less than an hour? It seemed like so much longer that he had known her.

"Here. Let me see yours."

Chekov saw she held out her communicator and quickly pulled his from his pants pocket. Through some lucky stroke, it had not been destroyed during his fight with the cadets. They exchanged communicators, and she looked expectantly at him.

"You're supposed to put in your info," she teased lightly. The moment passed in silence as they typed in their own contact information.

"If you ever find yourself in any trouble like that ever again, contact me. I mean it," she demanded in a tone that made Chekov certain that she was a woman who made sure she always got what she wanted.

Once the communicators were returned to their respective owners, she gave him a final smile and a wave of her hand. He stood standing there on the grass for some indistinct amount of time even after her lithe form had escaped his view.

When he finally made his way back to the dorm, he slumped into his bed, not bothering to study for his Starfleet History exam scheduled later on in the week. His roommate asked him what happened and what that awful smell was, but Chekov only ignored him.

His bed felt soft and comforting under his slightly aching body. If his roommate noticed the goofy smile on his face, he didn't say anything. Chekov shut his eyes, the sight of the semi-angel's smile imprinted in his mind. Despite getting beat up by two very large cadets and despite smelling like manure, this was still one of the best days he had since arriving at the Academy.

So, what did you think? I know Chekov's accent is particularly thick, but I figure he only just arrived at Starfleet Academy only a few months ago. A year, at most. He's not used to the English dialects yet. It won't be as thick in the following chapters.

Please review and let us know if you like this or not!

(I love Bones/Uhura!friendship!)