moar fic!
LOOK AT ME GO! i'm so proud of myself for finishing this-- totally unbeta'd and really goofy and silly, but i think the prompt kinda demanded it. XD part 3 of 'degrees of separation' is going to beta on thursday if it's done so you should have it posted by monday/tuesdayish, those of you that are waiting. :} in the meantime, enjoy this!
Title : Symmetry in Orbit
Fandom : Star Trek XI / Firefly crossover
Pairing : Pavel Chekov / River Tam
Rating : PG
Summary : for a prompt at st_xi_kink : Firefly crossover, pre-series. Tween!Chekov and River, at the Academy. As childish and Toy Ship-y as two mentally fun child prodigies can get together. And River's bare feet. (Come on, this is Firefly. There has to be an inordinate amount of focus on Summer Glau's feet.)
A/N : i didn't type out the accent; we all know how he talks. also, you could fit my knowledge of physics into a thimble with a lot of room left over, so anything remotely approaching physics jibberjabber is pretty much cobbled together from wikipedia's entries on astrophysics. :# cut text from 'takeoffs and landings' by the ataris.
-----------------------------------
Pavel falls in love for the first time at age ten. His cousin, one of the ones called Vanya, is taking physics in college and leaves the textbook on his aunt's kitchen table when he leaves. Pavel begins reading at page one. By page fifty he is smitten. The equations and theories roll across the pages and into his head as smooth as a diver cutting the water, and he sits at the table with wide eyes, his lips silently moving over words and numbers, while his mind unfurls like a brand-new leaf to the sun.
He finishes the book before Vanya even notices it's missing. He goes to the library and checks out three more like it.
His parents are already half-afraid of their son's burgeoning mind. Already his teachers despair over what to do with him; already there is talk of special schools, of sending him away. His parents want to keep him close, and he is happy they are selfish enough to say so. He knows he will outgrow his home sooner than he should; but he is only ten, and not so eager to grow up.
They take him to the Academy a year later-- just to see, they say, but Pavel knows the difference between speculation and planning, and he does not miss the moment when his mother gives in to the inevitable, and turns away from him to hide eyes blurred with tears. His father lays an arm about his shoulders and tells him //It is how she shows she is proud of you. You are made for great things, Pavel. We have always known it, and now others know it too.//
He will enroll at thirteen, they tell him, the youngest anyone has ever enrolled in Starfleet, and the Academy has promised to take him regardless of his performance in school. He could play hooky every day between now and then, fail all his classes on purpose, and still he could go to San Francisco in September of 2251 and begin classes without a hiccup.
And through it all he is reading, reading, reading. He borrows books on quantum mechanics and advanced hyperspace theoretics from the library and falls asleep reading them by flashlight. He gets Vanya to let him come to his classes sometimes, and pretends to read a comic book while he drinks in the lessons like a sponge, scribbling his questions down on a scrap of notepaper and sliding them to Vanya to ask. Vanya takes physics as a matter of course, but he does not love it, and so Pavel cannot speak of his passion to his cousin. He returns from these classroom excursions wild-eyed and sporting a hectic flush; he runs to his room and copies his notes, dives into books and puzzles his way alone through the mathematics of the cosmos.
He packs to leave for the Academy at last, and bids his parents farewell in a whirl of anticipatory excitement, promising to call, wanting to do so as soon as he boards the shuttle, resolutely glad he packed his communicator deep in his luggage. Flying over the ocean is a new experience and Pavel is awestruck by the expanse of blue beneath him. It strikes him then that in four years he could be flying again, this time with the whole of space before him, an endless black as dark as this sky is bright.
He is unafraid until the moment he steps inside the dormitory, duffel bag over his shoulder, orientation folder in hand. There are so many people and they are all older than he is-- not that this was unexpected, he reminds himself, but the actuality of sharing rank with people twice his age is more daunting than he had prepared himself for. Everyone is kind-- too kind, but disbelieving too, both incredulous at his presence yet knowing there is no way he would be here if he had not more than merited it.
He arrives at his first physics class fifteen minutes early. It's an intermediate level course; he tested out of all the elementary ones last spring, and there's nothing more exciting to Pavel right now than this, his first chance to sit in a class and for the first time in his life, talk to someone else about physics. He sits to the side of the lecture hall, watching the other students file in. They come in every color and shape, and after a Klabnian meets his stare with a three-eyed one of her own (he recognizes what she is, at least; he's found time somewhere to read up on the species he might encounter here, wishing not to look like more of a country infant than he already will), Pavel keeps his head down and waits for the professor to enter.
It is not what he expected. It is both less and infinitely more exciting than he had dreamed; there is a syllabus, and questions about testing, and how the grades will be measured. He is embarrassed to discover he had all but forgotten things like grades existed. Just as the professor begins to outline the course their studies will take, a slim hand in the front row goes up and the professor nods.
"I don't mean to show off," the hand's owner says in a voice startling in its childlike softness, "though I realize it's somewhat unavoidable-- but I've read your book, and was just wondering-- I read your book and was wondering if you were going to go in-depth with your theory of the Space Coriolis effect, especially when dealing with planetary transportation...?" She trails off and the professor looks nothing short of thunderstruck.
"Miss-- Tam, is it? Oh, they warned me about you," he laughs good-naturedly, and the girl's voice also sounds bemused as she answers. "I get that a lot." There are a few grins from the other cadets, and Pavel's joins the mix. He can't see much of Tam besides her dark hair, the long strand she's twirling around one finger as she talks. She sounds so young-- he can't help craning for a better look at her face, but he's too far back.
"To answer your question, Cadet Tam," the professor is talking again, "no, we will not be covering string theory this semester. Those of you who do well in this class and are also insane will have the option of passing directly into my advanced particle physics course next semester, which might be more along the lines of what you're looking for." She murmurs something Pavel can't hear; the students around her laugh, and the professor grins.
The bell has barely begun to ring the end of class and Pavel is on his feet, darting through the other students heading for the door, his eyes locked on the back of her head. "Excuse me, excuse me," he mumbles, cutting between people until he is beside her at last. "Miss Tam," he says, and he is polite though his face is radiating excitement when she turns and he sees-- yes-- she cannot be more than fourteen or fifteen. "Excuse me, but I am very interested to know-- how is it you are coming to be in this class?" Her face doesn't change, though surprise and interest flicker in her eyes, and he adds quickly, "They told me I was the youngest one here."
She smiles, then, and Pavel's world changes.
"They told me the same thing," she says, a hint of laughter and excitement like finding out you have the same birthday as someone when you're eight. They're older than eight, but when they find out they do have the same birthday there is only the briefest pause before they are both laughing in delight.
They walk to the mess for lunch together, and sit until everyone's cleared out and they're ten minutes late to their next classes. They meet again for dinner, and this time they're talking until they're kicked out by an antagonistic lunch lady. Pavel mutters something in Russian under his breath at the same time River mutters something in-- is that Chinese? They share a look and explode with mirth as they burst out into the California autumn evening.
Pavel has been waiting all his life for a friend like this. Between classes they debate derivative theoretics outside in the Academy's regal shadow, Pavel stretched out beneath a tree, River pacing barefoot with blades of grass tickling her ankles. The table in the alcove facing the ocean on the fourth floor of the library becomes theirs; they study until late at night beside the open window, listening to the sounds of the sea. On the weekends they take the BART to the beach, sharing a pair of headphones to tune in to the Vulcan Science Academy's weekly podcast, and Pavel walks in the surf with his pant legs rolled up, while ahead of him River dances joyfully with the waves.
Two years later it is spring, and they turn fifteen. River's brother has come to San Fransisco to celebrate. It is the first time Pavel has met him, and he is unaccountably nervous. They sit in a fancy restaurant with too many forks beside each plate and a fancy bottle of wine, and he can tell Simon is scrutinizing him, though the doctor does a good job hiding it.
Pavel tries to make conversation, but it is difficult; wine makes him taciturn, and River is wearing a red dress, and he wants terribly to impress her brother but the equation they were given in class today is still not solved, and he cannot put it out of his mind. More accurately, his mind will not listen to his directives to set it aside. As Simon asks him about his classes he is calculating the integral of the hyperspace terminal velocity equation and squaring it; he tries to answer without stammering, but beneath his words is a sine curve transected by the line derivative of the square, and he concludes hopelessly that River's brother will think him an idiot no matter what he does.
He is surprised when they leave the restaurant and Simon shakes his hand with far more warmth than his meeting handshake had contained. The doctor is smiling. "Thank you for taking care of my sister," he says with an affectionate glance at River, who parries back an affectionately exasperated look of her own. "Simon, you worry too much," she tells him, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for my birthday dinner. I promise I really was just kidding about going to the Klingon restaurant-- this was much better." She has already slipped off her shoes and carries them in one hand; the fringe on the hem of her dress brushes the backs of her knees as she walks.
They see Simon off to his shuttle and as soon as he is out of sight River turns to him, her dark eyes animated and her smile full of satisfaction. "I think I figured it out," she says, as if they had left off the conversation five minutes ago and not five hours. "I was thinking about it during dinner. If you take the integral of the terminal velocity twice and then plot it against the sine curve- -"
He stops her by kissing her. He would like to blame the wine, but cannot; there is nothing provoking him to do this except he is fifteen, and she is beautiful, and he loves her. It is a sweet kiss, almost innocent, but when he pulls away grinning he is short of breath.
River's eyes are still closed, and as he watches with his heart in his mouth they open, and she gives that slow smile that melts his heart. Slipping her hand into his, she squeezes it and takes a step back. "Come on," she says, "race you back."
They run back to the Academy laughing like children, the city streaming by them at the speed of light.
...i don't have the time or steam at the moment to keep writing this pairing, but if there's any other fic of the two of them out there, i wanna read it, like, yesterday. :} :} :}
Title : Symmetry in Orbit
Fandom : Star Trek XI / Firefly crossover
Pairing : Pavel Chekov / River Tam
Rating : PG
Summary : for a prompt at st_xi_kink : Firefly crossover, pre-series. Tween!Chekov and River, at the Academy. As childish and Toy Ship-y as two mentally fun child prodigies can get together. And River's bare feet. (Come on, this is Firefly. There has to be an inordinate amount of focus on Summer Glau's feet.)
A/N : i didn't type out the accent; we all know how he talks. also, you could fit my knowledge of physics into a thimble with a lot of room left over, so anything remotely approaching physics jibberjabber is pretty much cobbled together from wikipedia's entries on astrophysics. :# cut text from 'takeoffs and landings' by the ataris.
-----------------------------------
Pavel falls in love for the first time at age ten. His cousin, one of the ones called Vanya, is taking physics in college and leaves the textbook on his aunt's kitchen table when he leaves. Pavel begins reading at page one. By page fifty he is smitten. The equations and theories roll across the pages and into his head as smooth as a diver cutting the water, and he sits at the table with wide eyes, his lips silently moving over words and numbers, while his mind unfurls like a brand-new leaf to the sun.
He finishes the book before Vanya even notices it's missing. He goes to the library and checks out three more like it.
His parents are already half-afraid of their son's burgeoning mind. Already his teachers despair over what to do with him; already there is talk of special schools, of sending him away. His parents want to keep him close, and he is happy they are selfish enough to say so. He knows he will outgrow his home sooner than he should; but he is only ten, and not so eager to grow up.
They take him to the Academy a year later-- just to see, they say, but Pavel knows the difference between speculation and planning, and he does not miss the moment when his mother gives in to the inevitable, and turns away from him to hide eyes blurred with tears. His father lays an arm about his shoulders and tells him //It is how she shows she is proud of you. You are made for great things, Pavel. We have always known it, and now others know it too.//
He will enroll at thirteen, they tell him, the youngest anyone has ever enrolled in Starfleet, and the Academy has promised to take him regardless of his performance in school. He could play hooky every day between now and then, fail all his classes on purpose, and still he could go to San Francisco in September of 2251 and begin classes without a hiccup.
And through it all he is reading, reading, reading. He borrows books on quantum mechanics and advanced hyperspace theoretics from the library and falls asleep reading them by flashlight. He gets Vanya to let him come to his classes sometimes, and pretends to read a comic book while he drinks in the lessons like a sponge, scribbling his questions down on a scrap of notepaper and sliding them to Vanya to ask. Vanya takes physics as a matter of course, but he does not love it, and so Pavel cannot speak of his passion to his cousin. He returns from these classroom excursions wild-eyed and sporting a hectic flush; he runs to his room and copies his notes, dives into books and puzzles his way alone through the mathematics of the cosmos.
He packs to leave for the Academy at last, and bids his parents farewell in a whirl of anticipatory excitement, promising to call, wanting to do so as soon as he boards the shuttle, resolutely glad he packed his communicator deep in his luggage. Flying over the ocean is a new experience and Pavel is awestruck by the expanse of blue beneath him. It strikes him then that in four years he could be flying again, this time with the whole of space before him, an endless black as dark as this sky is bright.
He is unafraid until the moment he steps inside the dormitory, duffel bag over his shoulder, orientation folder in hand. There are so many people and they are all older than he is-- not that this was unexpected, he reminds himself, but the actuality of sharing rank with people twice his age is more daunting than he had prepared himself for. Everyone is kind-- too kind, but disbelieving too, both incredulous at his presence yet knowing there is no way he would be here if he had not more than merited it.
He arrives at his first physics class fifteen minutes early. It's an intermediate level course; he tested out of all the elementary ones last spring, and there's nothing more exciting to Pavel right now than this, his first chance to sit in a class and for the first time in his life, talk to someone else about physics. He sits to the side of the lecture hall, watching the other students file in. They come in every color and shape, and after a Klabnian meets his stare with a three-eyed one of her own (he recognizes what she is, at least; he's found time somewhere to read up on the species he might encounter here, wishing not to look like more of a country infant than he already will), Pavel keeps his head down and waits for the professor to enter.
It is not what he expected. It is both less and infinitely more exciting than he had dreamed; there is a syllabus, and questions about testing, and how the grades will be measured. He is embarrassed to discover he had all but forgotten things like grades existed. Just as the professor begins to outline the course their studies will take, a slim hand in the front row goes up and the professor nods.
"I don't mean to show off," the hand's owner says in a voice startling in its childlike softness, "though I realize it's somewhat unavoidable-- but I've read your book, and was just wondering-- I read your book and was wondering if you were going to go in-depth with your theory of the Space Coriolis effect, especially when dealing with planetary transportation...?" She trails off and the professor looks nothing short of thunderstruck.
"Miss-- Tam, is it? Oh, they warned me about you," he laughs good-naturedly, and the girl's voice also sounds bemused as she answers. "I get that a lot." There are a few grins from the other cadets, and Pavel's joins the mix. He can't see much of Tam besides her dark hair, the long strand she's twirling around one finger as she talks. She sounds so young-- he can't help craning for a better look at her face, but he's too far back.
"To answer your question, Cadet Tam," the professor is talking again, "no, we will not be covering string theory this semester. Those of you who do well in this class and are also insane will have the option of passing directly into my advanced particle physics course next semester, which might be more along the lines of what you're looking for." She murmurs something Pavel can't hear; the students around her laugh, and the professor grins.
The bell has barely begun to ring the end of class and Pavel is on his feet, darting through the other students heading for the door, his eyes locked on the back of her head. "Excuse me, excuse me," he mumbles, cutting between people until he is beside her at last. "Miss Tam," he says, and he is polite though his face is radiating excitement when she turns and he sees-- yes-- she cannot be more than fourteen or fifteen. "Excuse me, but I am very interested to know-- how is it you are coming to be in this class?" Her face doesn't change, though surprise and interest flicker in her eyes, and he adds quickly, "They told me I was the youngest one here."
She smiles, then, and Pavel's world changes.
"They told me the same thing," she says, a hint of laughter and excitement like finding out you have the same birthday as someone when you're eight. They're older than eight, but when they find out they do have the same birthday there is only the briefest pause before they are both laughing in delight.
They walk to the mess for lunch together, and sit until everyone's cleared out and they're ten minutes late to their next classes. They meet again for dinner, and this time they're talking until they're kicked out by an antagonistic lunch lady. Pavel mutters something in Russian under his breath at the same time River mutters something in-- is that Chinese? They share a look and explode with mirth as they burst out into the California autumn evening.
Pavel has been waiting all his life for a friend like this. Between classes they debate derivative theoretics outside in the Academy's regal shadow, Pavel stretched out beneath a tree, River pacing barefoot with blades of grass tickling her ankles. The table in the alcove facing the ocean on the fourth floor of the library becomes theirs; they study until late at night beside the open window, listening to the sounds of the sea. On the weekends they take the BART to the beach, sharing a pair of headphones to tune in to the Vulcan Science Academy's weekly podcast, and Pavel walks in the surf with his pant legs rolled up, while ahead of him River dances joyfully with the waves.
Two years later it is spring, and they turn fifteen. River's brother has come to San Fransisco to celebrate. It is the first time Pavel has met him, and he is unaccountably nervous. They sit in a fancy restaurant with too many forks beside each plate and a fancy bottle of wine, and he can tell Simon is scrutinizing him, though the doctor does a good job hiding it.
Pavel tries to make conversation, but it is difficult; wine makes him taciturn, and River is wearing a red dress, and he wants terribly to impress her brother but the equation they were given in class today is still not solved, and he cannot put it out of his mind. More accurately, his mind will not listen to his directives to set it aside. As Simon asks him about his classes he is calculating the integral of the hyperspace terminal velocity equation and squaring it; he tries to answer without stammering, but beneath his words is a sine curve transected by the line derivative of the square, and he concludes hopelessly that River's brother will think him an idiot no matter what he does.
He is surprised when they leave the restaurant and Simon shakes his hand with far more warmth than his meeting handshake had contained. The doctor is smiling. "Thank you for taking care of my sister," he says with an affectionate glance at River, who parries back an affectionately exasperated look of her own. "Simon, you worry too much," she tells him, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for my birthday dinner. I promise I really was just kidding about going to the Klingon restaurant-- this was much better." She has already slipped off her shoes and carries them in one hand; the fringe on the hem of her dress brushes the backs of her knees as she walks.
They see Simon off to his shuttle and as soon as he is out of sight River turns to him, her dark eyes animated and her smile full of satisfaction. "I think I figured it out," she says, as if they had left off the conversation five minutes ago and not five hours. "I was thinking about it during dinner. If you take the integral of the terminal velocity twice and then plot it against the sine curve- -"
He stops her by kissing her. He would like to blame the wine, but cannot; there is nothing provoking him to do this except he is fifteen, and she is beautiful, and he loves her. It is a sweet kiss, almost innocent, but when he pulls away grinning he is short of breath.
River's eyes are still closed, and as he watches with his heart in his mouth they open, and she gives that slow smile that melts his heart. Slipping her hand into his, she squeezes it and takes a step back. "Come on," she says, "race you back."
They run back to the Academy laughing like children, the city streaming by them at the speed of light.
...i don't have the time or steam at the moment to keep writing this pairing, but if there's any other fic of the two of them out there, i wanna read it, like, yesterday. :} :} :}