The hazy glow of a nearby star flooded through the main viewer, it seemed no one had bothered turn it off and so they had slept amongst the stars that night.
Spock had fallen from Bones' lap; leaving smears of eyeshadow down the length of his onesie leg and had laid asleep in the pile of Uhura's sparkly feather boa.
Kirk was wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag, naked, after taking off his babygrow in favour of one of Nyota's velvet gowns. Sweat was beading at his brow through the ghastly amounts of alcohol his body was attempting to process.
Scotty was beside one of the helms, still clutching a half-full cut-glass beaker of scotch and was still dead to the world.
Keenser hadn't returned but the best guess was that he had returned to engineering and passed out against a control panel of some kind.
Uhura looked rough, the make-up that Karu had done her was smudged to hell and the frilly edging on her baby-pink negligee was hanging lose; probably from the jungle simulation hide and seek and dancing like Red Indians around the captain's chair.
Chekov and Sulu were snuggled together, spooning, under a large duvet near one of the helms where they had cried the night away to each other about the old earth film 'Titanic'. Sulu had a look of content over his face with his chin nestled tightly into the hollow of Chekov's shoulder.
It had been a good time, wild as it always was - hard to spring back from.
The bridge was an absolute mess, streamers fallen down, bottles of ale on the floor and spilt drinks staining the carpet blue...
...in 30 days they would do it all over again.