This is what I call in my mind: The End of Act II. Act III is soon to come!
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Disclaimer: Badabing, badaboom, no I don't own Star Trek but I do own my room.
{July 2264}
Weeks pass before Sulu and Scotty deem Chekov well enough to finally step out of the apartment. "How does freedom feel?" Scotty asks, shutting the door behind them.
"Fresh," Chekov says, smiling as he catches a whiff of the ocean breeze.
"Fresh like the dust you'll be eating?" Sulu asks cheekily before taking off down the road.
"Come back here!" Chekov sprints after him.
Scotty watches the two of them chase each other down the block, sighing. "It's like I'm the only adult in this household," he mutters, trudging after them and pulling his hood over his head. "I'm getting too old for this."
Chekov makes no move to confront either Sulu or Scotty about their whispered conversations in his living room, figuring that they'd come to him when they're ready. Still, he notices the small changes, like Scotty's tendency to change topics whenever the subject of his traveling came up, or Sulu's increasing amounts of time spent at home. He sees the tiny things that trigger his instincts, demand for instant attention – little details like the rings under Sulu's eyes, or Scotty's knee jerk reactions to the mention of Cynthia's name.
Finally, he understands that for reasons unknown, they're not going to talk about it by themselves, so he takes matters into his own hands. "We need to talk," he says one night over pizza.
"I asked you if you wanted pineapple slices on your pizza – you said you were okay with it," Sulu says around a mouthful. "No complaints."
"The pizza's fine," Chekov says a little impatiently. "Listen. I know Cynthia's been talking to the both of you about my case."
Scotty begins choking on his pizza. Sulu thumps him on the back and calmly agrees, "She may have mentioned a little bit to us."
"Just a little bit," Scotty coughs, grabbing for the water that Chekov hands to him.
"I know she suggested that you two move out," Chekov says quietly.
Scotty and Sulu exchange a glance. "It… may have come up," Sulu says evasively.
"But we're not going to," Scotty rushes to reassure Chekov. "We're not going to just leave you again-"
"I think it's a good idea." Chekov takes a bite of his pizza.
Scotty almost chokes on his water again. Sulu grabs the bottle from the spluttering engineer. "I think you should just avoid food and drink for this part of the conversation," he says half-sarcastically to Scotty. "Pavel, are you sure about this?"
Chekov puts his half-eaten slice down. "Listen," he says carefully. "I know I was in a pretty bad place when the Enterprise blew up. And I was really angry at you – well, the world in general, I guess."
Sulu thinks back to the withdrawn Chekov that he'd encountered when he returned, and quirks a smile at the understatement.
"But I'm better now," Chekov says. "Not perfect, but better. And I guess I just-"
"-want some space to live your life," Sulu finishes. The corners of his mouth are painted with a tired smile. "I understand, Pavel."
"I don't," Scotty blusters, having recovered from his fit. "You shouldn't listen to everything Cynthia says – did I ever tell you how she almost failed her psychology classes-?"
Chekov laughs. "I believe you, Scotty. But I don't know – I think unorthodox methods have their benefits." His face softens as he adds with a little more seriousness, "I understand that you two have been very protective of me the last few weeks. And you know-" He half-shrugs. "Thanks. But I'm also not a kid anymore."
He has a brief flashback to the first time he'd said that to Scotty, and how empty it had sounded to his ears. Chekov takes heart in the knowledge that the words seem more solid now, as though they take their weight in truth.
"Well-" Scotty sighs, resigned. "Guess I'll have to find me an apartment."
"I'm not kicking you out," Chekov reassures him. "You guys can stay here until you find a place to live or something."
Scotty snorts. "That might be a while – what with the going rates-" He takes the bottle back from Sulu and takes a swig. "Bloody real estate agents – it's the 23rd century and they're still blood-suckers." As he stands up from his seat, he drains the bottle in one gulp. "Okay, lads. I'm off to go see Cynthia and deliver this piece of news. No doubt she's gonna gloat about being right, but the effects of that is simply astounding-"
It's Chekov's turn to choke as Sulu points at the door. "Get out," he says in a half-joking manner.
"Oy, it's not your house-"
Chekov half-laughs, half-splutters: "Get out!"
"I'm going, I'm going," Scotty sighs dramatically, grabbing his jacket. He throws them a wink as he opens the door. "Don't expect me back tonight, boys."
The door slams shut, leaving both Chekov and Sulu to chuckle to themselves. Finally, Chekov asks the question he's been wanting to ask for weeks now: "Did you really quit your job at the firm?"
Sulu's hands begin drumming nervously on his knee. "Yeah."
"Why?" Chekov asks, innocently taking a bite out of his pizza.
"It just didn't feel right." Sulu shrugs, not looking at Chekov. "I'll find another one soon enough."
"Hikaru," Chekov says in a tone that says quit lying to me, I know you better. Sulu winces when he remembers that Chekov isn't seventeen and he can't lie to his face anymore. "Why'd you really do it?"
Sulu pauses, wondering how much Chekov should know. "It just… I'm not cut out to be an accountant," he admits. "I love flying. I learned how to be a pilot and a helmsman. I'm not born to be behind a desk, working with numbers that don't make sense in my head."
"So why'd you take the job?"
Sulu darts him a glance, and Chekov stills when he realizes, putting down his pizza on the plate. "Oh."
"Yeah." Sulu looks down at his fingers. "You needed me to stay, and I couldn't just sit around doing nothing, so… I took the job. It's not like I didn't have a degree or anything."
There's a dry taste in Chekov's mouth and it almost tastes like sandpaper. "You should have said something."
"Nah," Sulu says, reaching for another bottle of water. "You had your own problems. I wasn't going to burden you with mine."
"Go back to Starfleet." The words tumble from Chekov's mouth without him really thinking about it.
"You know, you said that the first week you were down with the flu-"
"Yeah, but I'm not suffering from the flu now and I'm not hallucinating. Go back to Starfleet." Chekov wipes his fingers down on a napkin and reaches for Sulu's communicator.
"I quit, remember?" Sulu asks calmly.
"They'll take you back. You're Hikaru Sulu and you're one of their best." Chekov hands Sulu the communicator, number already programmed into it.
Sulu eyes Chekov. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asks, skepticism in his tone.
"Positive." Chekov smiles at Sulu. He doesn't say: it'll assuage the guilt.
Sulu considers him for a moment before putting the communicator away. "I'll go in first thing tomorrow morning," he promises. "The admirals will probably still see me, I've still got friends on that board."
"Good." Chekov turns to put his plate away.
"Where are you going?"
"To fill out some last details on these forms," Chekov says, reaching for the beige folder in the drawer. "Can I ask you a favour?"
"Yeah..."
Chekov finishes scribbling and hands Sulu the folder with a flourish. "When you go in tomorrow – can you hand this in for me?"
Sulu opens the folder and grins when he sees the completed application for a teaching position in Starfleet. "You're doing this?"
Chekov sits back down opposite him. "To moving on," he says, raising a glass.
"Cheers to that." They clink glasses. And for once, Chekov feels all right with the world again.
But what happens now? Any guesses?
Much love,
ohlookrandom
