A wild Sulu appears!

Disclaimer: I do not own, blah blah blah.


They end up at a small diner down the road on account of it being so early (Sulu: "You know how I never like to wake up late,") and Chekov realizing that the milk's gone sour since the last time he checked (about a week ago). Sulu orders them both a heap of blueberry pancakes while Chekov twiddles his thumbs, only nodding once or twice when the bored waitress asks if that's it for the both of them.

"So, happy birthday," Sulu prompts when the waitress strolls away.

"Thanks," Chekov says quietly.

"Twenty-three. How does it feel?"

Chekov thinks about it for a moment. "Old," he says. "I guess we all feel that after we turn twenty-one."

Sulu snorts. "I wouldn't know; it's been a while since twenty-one."

They both lapse into awkward silence. Behind them, a couple whispers intimacies to one another. Chekov squirms.

"When did you get home?" he asks at last.

"Yesterday morning. I would have come to find you sooner but-" Sulu clears his throat uncomfortably. "Paperwork and all that."

"The journey went well?" Chekov asks carefully.

"Oh, it went better than expected. Had a bit of a run-in with the Rayistites; nothing too major." Sulu almost looks like he's swallowing nails, he looks so uncomfortable opposite Chekov.

"That's great," Chekov says listlessly.

"And you? What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much. Got a new job." Chekov fiddles with his napkin, tearing it to tiny pieces. Sulu doesn't miss this – he knows Chekov's tells, too, just as much as Scotty does. Chekov always begins fidgeting when he's uncomfortable or when he's skirting around the subject. For the time being, though, Sulu lets it go.

"Where are you working?" he prods.

"At this bar downtown." Chekov won't look at Sulu.

Okay, that's it. Sulu's patience is legendary, but today it's been worn thin after a week's worth of restless sleep. "Something wrong?"

Chekov's head comes up to look at him like a deer in the headlights.

"What's wrong?" Sulu asks. "You won't look at me, you won't talk to me."

The pile of pancakes arrives just then, but both men don't even thank the waitress when she sets it down with a plunk. She scuttles off, muttering something about men, thankless little-

"Nothing's wrong," Chekov says quietly.

"Then talk to me."

"Calm down," Chekov says right back, his knuckles turning white. "Just – take a deep breath, Hikaru, please, just…" He trails off. "Please."

Sulu does as he asks, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, forcing himself to let go and relax. Eventually, the tension slides out of his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see Chekov nervously shredding his napkin still. "Sorry," he mutters.

"It's okay." Chekov still won't look at him. "Let's just – let's just not talk about Starfleet. Okay?" He grabs three pancakes, dumps them on the plate, and begins slathering it in blueberry syrup before shoving a forkful into his mouth. "These are really good," he says around bites. "Blueberry pancakes are your favourite, aren't they, Hikaru?" But he still isn't looking at Sulu, and he's certainly not expecting an answer.

Sulu looks at him, tries to understand how anyone could try and shut that much out. He remembers Chekov during their first few years at the Academy, remembers coming out of his room one day and seeing Chekov emerge from the room down the hall, face fresh with confusion and a little bit of terror etched in the space between his brows. Sulu remembers how excited Chekov was to be posted on the Enterprise that first day they were sent into space. He remembers the childish exhilaration when Chekov had performed a miracle on two falling men; he remembers the loss of that invincibility when he had failed to repeat the miracle twice. He remembers Chekov's determination down in the engineering room; he remembers Chekov's hope when Bones managed to do the unthinkable and pull Kirk back from death. He remembers Chekov's desperation down on Dolal. His raw anger, pain, terror – his strength.

How had he lost everything that made Chekov Chekov in six months?

I didn't think it was this bad. Sulu recalls the message Scotty had left for him a month and a half ago:

"Aye, Hikaru – I guess I should call you Captain – should I? I'm not on duty. Anyway, ahem! I am calling with that update that you asked for. Or not asked for. Implied. I do a very good job with inferring things with implications, don't ya know. But anyway, where am I? Getting a bit ahead of myself, er. Oh! Yes! Pavel. He's not doing so well, sir. Wish I could do better, but nobody knows him better than you do. Still wakes up screaming. Won't talk about it. Won't talk to nobody but me, sir. And I'm afraid I'm not doing him any good staying around here. I'm going to tell him about my friend Cynthia – well I guess she's not so much a friend as a friend if you know what I mean, eh, heh, er! S'pose that's not appropriate information for Starfleet channels. But she's a therapist, pretty awful if ya ask me, but she's a friend. Maybe he'll go. It's the least I can do, ya know? Anyway, time's almost up, so I hope you get this, Hika- er, Captain Sulu. See you when you get back!"

Sulu could read between Scotty's rambling lines: Chekov was shutting himself off from everyone who ever mattered, and Scotty was worried. Sulu had to admit that he was too, that first time he heard the message.

It was why he was home early, a month ahead of schedule. He'd have been home earlier if that damn navigator hadn't gotten them all lost (again). Sulu thinks about how much more efficient the mission might have been if Chekov had chosen to come with him. It would have made facing an entire load of strange crewmembers that much easier.

He'd come home early, hoping that Scotty's famous penchant for exaggeration was in full effect; but apparently not, Chekov was still broken and Sulu didn't have a single idea of how to fix it. This wasn't the boy of seventeen that he'd befriended almost six years ago. Sulu couldn't just say: "Hey, Chekov, look, it's all going to be okay." This was never going to be fixed with a smile, a friendly fist bump to the shoulder, an offer to engage in bets that he would deliberately lose.

Sulu watches Chekov continue to avoid his eyes and eat pancakes that he used to love and thinks about how he needs a miracle to fix Chekov. The only problem is that he was never the one who performed miracles; the ones who could are all dead and the only one left who can is sitting in front of him.

"So where are you going to go after this?" Chekov asks, finally realizing sheepishly that Sulu is picking at his pancakes.

"Back to the rooms, probably, until I get my bearings. Starfleet hasn't told me yet what my next mission is." Sulu swirls the pancake around in the blue, sticky syrup. "Probably won't be for a while, either; I'm not a real captain until they say so."

"But you were captain of the Enterprise."

"Only because Jim's instructions were very clear, and you know how he's the golden boy of Starfleet."

"Was," Chekov mumbles.

"Yeah." Sulu looks down.

There's silence for a while before Chekov blurts, "Come stay with me."

Sulu looks up, startled. "What?"

"Yeah." Chekov won't look at him still. "Come stay with me. There's a sofa bed that you can sleep on, and the flat's big enough for both of us. Scotty did it and I think you're still neater than he is, so I don't see why not."

It's the first humorous note that Sulu's heard out of Chekov's mouth all day, so his laughter is a little louder than he expects it to be. "Uh. Sure. You don't mind?"

Chekov shakes his head no. Sulu's smile dims a little when he sees that Chekov's taken to shredding his napkin again, but he lets this one go, too. "That's… that's awesome, Pavel. Thanks. I think I'd like that."

Chekov still isn't smiling. "Great."

"Great," Sulu repeats.

It's no miracle, he decides, but he'll take whatever he can. One step at a time.