You all have been so great so far - thanks for all the comments, favourites and follows.

I just revamped some of the story, so the next few updates might be a while coming. Just a heads up, though!

Here, as a reward for being so awesome, have some Scotty/Sulu/Chekov banter.

Disclaimer: Don't I wish.

Chekov gets home before Sulu does, even after taking an extra two hours overtime at the bar. "Hi, Scotty," he says tiredly as he walks past the dozing Scotsman in his sleeping bag.

"Mm? Er, hmm!" Scotty jerks awake with a start and almost rolls over. "Morning, Pavel."

"Actually," Chekov says, pouring himself a cup of tea, "it's six in the afternoon. You've been asleep for almost the whole day."

"Are you serious?" Scotty peers at the digital clock above Chekov's head. "Bloody hell, why didn't any of you wake me up!"

"You weren't here when Sulu and I left this morning," Chekov says patiently, pouring Scotty another glass of tea and handing it to him. "It's chamomile," he explains when Scotty sniffs it with a look of suspicion. "It's supposed to soothe you."

"I don't drink tea," Scotty declares.

"You're Scottish. I thought every British citizen knew how to drink their tea."

"I'm Scottish, not English," Scotty sniffs.

"Well, I'm glad to see that the distinction is still prevalent in the 24th century," Chekov says dryly, putting the cup away and pouring Scotty a glass of juice instead. "How exactly are you going to sleep tonight if you've slept the whole day away?"

"You can tell me about your theories about the latest transporter issues," Scotty drawls. "That always puts me to sleep."

"Your girlfriend seems to think that it's fascinating," Chekov retorts.

"She's not my girlfriend," Scotty says into his glass. He drains it in one gulp, wincing at the sour taste. "Are you sure you're in therapy? That don't sound like… therapy talk."

Chekov thinks back to the debacle with the anxiety attacks and remembers how relieving it was to talk about something completely unrelated to the Enterprise. "You'd be surprised," he says vaguely.

Just then, a key scrapes in the lock and Sulu staggers in, holding two bags of groceries in his arms. "Oh, you're awake," he says when he catches sight of Scotty. "Have you really slept through the whole day?"

"You were home and you didn't wake me up?!"

"Well – you were snoring so peacefully," Sulu defends himself, handing Chekov a bag of groceries. "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I got you your favourite brand of cereal?"

Scotty coughs. "I don't have a favourite brand of cereal." Still, his eyes follow the box of Lucky Charms as a grinning Chekov takes it from Sulu. They know the truth.

"How was your meeting with Cynthia?" Sulu asks.

"It wasn't bad," Chekov says semi-truthfully, deciding to leave out the part where he saw Kirk's ghost and almost had a panic attack. He's seen the dark rings under Sulu's eyes; the former pilot has a lot on his mind, he suspects, and he doesn't need Chekov's problems burdening him any more than the bare minimum. "I was actually just about to tell Scotty that Cynthia thinks I should be an instructor at Starfleet."

"On what, navigation?" Sulu asks.

"Advanced theoretical physics." Chekov shuts the cabinet door, holding a packet of fusilli. "I told her it was a silly idea."

He misses the meaningful glance between Sulu and Scotty. "I think it's a great idea," Scotty says at last.

"I agree with Scotty," Sulu says. "And I'm not the one sleeping with your therapist so, you know, you ought to take my word for it."

Scotty punches Sulu ("OW!") before turning back to Chekov, who's staring at the pot of water. "I really think you should give it a try, lad," Scotty says. "You'd be great at it."

"Yeah, come on, Pavel." Sulu rubs the spot where Scotty punched him, but he's half-laughing, so Chekov figures it's nothing too major. "You graduated top of our class in that area – why wouldn't you be a great instructor?"

"You'd probably be light years ahead of the greatest minds in the field," Scotty adds.

"He already is," Sulu reminds him. "Remember that one time-"

Scotty is already laughing. "Are you talking about the time he corrected Novak Zoran in class when he was giving a lecture?"

Sulu barks out a sharp note of laughter. "I was actually thinking about the time that he disproved Sen Gupta's theory of relative quantum gravities. His face – and the ribbing we all gave him after-"

"I heard about that," Scotty exclaims, "that went down in Starfleet history-"

But he notices that the laughter has already died off Sulu's face, and so follows his gaze to Chekov, who's staring out the window as the pot of water boils in front of him. "Pavel?"

"Hm?" Chekov seems to rouse himself out of a stupor. "Right. Oh. Sorry." He hastily dumps the fusilli into the pot, accidentally splashing his arm in the process. "Ow! Damn it."

"Alright, you daydreamer, no need to go throwing things in excitement," Scotty says, getting up. Sulu is already guiding Pavel towards the couch. "I'll handle the pasta. You two go and do whatever it is you need to do."

"It's just a small burn," Pavel says a little pertly, but lets Sulu push him towards the couch anyway.

"What's wrong?" Sulu asks in an undertone as he grabs the roll of bandages Scotty tosses at him.

"Nothing," Chekov mutters.

"No, come on, I know you." Sulu begins wrapping Chekov's hand, noticing that the skin is already red. "You don't want to go back to Starfleet?"

Chekov won't look at him.

"You don't have to, you know," Sulu says. "I just think it would be something you'd enjoy."

"I'm not ready," Chekov blurts, turning to him. He doesn't say what he's thinking: it doesn't feel right.

"Okay." Sulu covers his hand for a moment. "That's fine. Don't go back if you're not ready. Just – keep your options open, okay?"

Chekov smiles tightly. "Okay."

"Okay," Sulu repeats, smiling slightly. "Scotty, you need help?"

"Is the pasta supposed to be sticking to the bottom of the pot?"

"Christ, Scotty, how did you ever survive living on your own-" Sulu scampers off to save their dinner from the Scotsman.

Chekov watches them both from the couch as Sulu good-naturedly punches Scotty in the shoulder and pulls the pot off the stove. "Leave it to you, we wouldn't have anything to eat-"

"Oye! I'll box your ears for saying that-"

"You couldn't catch me even if you tried."

"All big talk, Mr. I've Got Close Combat Training," Scotty snorts, handing Sulu the jar of Bolognese sauce from the fridge.

Chekov tunes Sulu's retort out as he glances at Cynthia's papers on the coffee table. APPLICATION, it reads at the top. He contemplates filling it out, sending it in – it couldn't hurt, his mind says.

But something in him resists.

Eventually he just grabs the papers and shoves them under his pillow, planning to shred them in the morning.

I once accidentally dropped the whole bag of fusilli into the pot. I didn't enjoy that experience.

Let me know what you think :)

Much love,
ohlookrandom