"Four months." Jim glances up and down the street before he wheels Chekov around to the passenger's side of his dad's car and pulls the door open so he can shove him down into the seat. Then he crosses back to the driver's side and vaults in.

"It's been kind of-- you know. Nice. Like a vacation."

It's not the biggest lie he's ever told, but it's definitely up there. Jim hates being away from his ship, and his pocket navigator can probably tell.