Archive of Our Own

"Well, hell."

Michael looked over at the comment, finding Pike staring at a load of five cargo crates dubiously. They had arrived on the last shuttle from the Enterprise before they stepped off and by the looks of it, Pike was surprised.

"Everything all right, sir?" Michael asked, moving to his side.

Pike's expression went wry. "I may have bitten off more than I can chew here."

Michael looked from him to the crates and back again. "Are these all yours?" she asked, the surprised note clear in her voice.

Pike dipped his chin in agreement. "I do believe Number One went overboard in sending my stuff."

Ensign Saito interrupted then, looking at the crates, eager to please. "Need some help, sir?"

"That's very kind—"

Before he could even finish, Saito had turned to some of the others. "Guys," he called, drawing Ensigns Novak and Ventress' attention. "The captain could use a hand."

As the ensigns approached, irritation flashed through Michael. She frowned at herself, surprised. She'd never had a problem with any of them. Why was she bothered?

Before she could figure it out, Novak was addressing the captain, earnest, "We got your back, sir."

Ventress and Saito nodded. Seeing that a polite refusal would go nowhere, Pike visibly relented. "There's a drink waiting for anyone who pitches in."

Saito instantly moved to grab a crate, Novak and Ventress just behind. "No problem, sir. We'll just take these to your new ready room." And then they were off, carrying the crates out the cargo bay door.

As they did, Pike shot Michael a knowing look: "They're very eager."

Michael smiled a little, her earlier irritation gone. "Impressing the new power player."

"That just makes me feel old," he groused.

"Not powerful?" she teased.

"Not interested," he shot back, shaking his head. "People think being in charge is sexy and glamorous when really it's all loneliness and the stress of people's lives in your hands. And reports. No one ever thinks of the reports," he added, mild.

It struck Michael, a hard truth wrapped inside a light joke. She studied Pike, seeing another layer to him, the insight warming something inside her; he was clearly the kind of man who spent his time worrying about such things.

She nodded, slow: "Then it seems you should accept the kindness where you can."

Pike sighed. "Well, nothing for it." He hefted a crate and turned to move off.

Michael followed suit, thankful the final crate wasn't too heavy, just cumbersome. She adjusted her grip, rebalancing the load, and when she looked up—

Pike was looking back at her, an inscrutable expression in place. "Trying to impress the new power player, Commander?"

She tilted her head, conspiratorial. "I'd hate to make you feel old..."

His laugh stayed with her.

***

"Hang on, let me... " Pike trailed off as he unlatched one crate, rifling through its contents.

Michael set her crate down, taking in the others scattered around the barren ready room. She wondered what he had in mind for it, given the number of crates.

Then again, maybe she should wonder what his first officer had in mind for the space, since she had sent it all.

"Nope, not there," Pike muttered, moving to the next crate and opening it. From inside, Michael could see colorful, southwestern-themed blankets, a pot, some books.

She blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected such...creature comforts. Lorca had always kept everything so cold, clinical. Well, except for the fortune cookies. But those were odd enough to be another mind game anyway.

Elbow-deep in the third crate, Pike made a triumphant noise. "Here we go. I can always count on Number One." He came up with a fancy, green frosted bottle, showing it to the ensigns. "Cantaran firewhisky."

"Whoa, really?" Ventress asked, blue eyes widening.

"I've only heard of that," Saito agreed, his expression deepening into awe.

Pike moved to set the bottle on the bar cart in the corner, pulling out a few glasses. "A gift from the Ambassador himself. Between you and me, I think he was trying to butter me up, see if he could find a husband for his eldest daughter."

"That...happens?" Novak asked with a squeak.

"Oh, yes," Pike said, pouring out a few glasses and handing them off.

"And how'd it work out?" Michael asked, dry.

Pike smirked at her. "She was a lovely young woman. I didn't have the heart to tell him she was desperately in love with her girlfriend and had zero interest in me."

"Hot," Novak muttered.

Michael ignored that. "You accepted the firewhisky, though."

He held out the final glass, encouraging her with his eyes. "Captain's first rule: never let good booze go to waste." Michael didn't really drink, but it would be rude to refuse, so she finally relented, taking the glass.

Pike held up his own. "Cheers, everyone. Thanks for the help."

They all clinked glasses, the ensigns downing their drinks in one go and immediately starting to cough. Michael took a careful sip of hers, startling as it seared its way down her throat, instantly replaced by a kind of fiery cold. It was extraordinary.

Pike just looked at the ensigns in pity. "It is called firewhisky, gentlemen."

They finally composed themselves, wiping away tears as they murmured their thanks and retreated in shame.

Pike shook his head, then turned to Michael and raised a curious eyebrow.

Michael tipped her glass toward him, considering. "I've never had anything so layered."

Something in him eased at that, like the approval mattered. "It is what they're known for. I'm glad you don't hate it, anyway."

"Meaning?"

"Drinking is illogical. I've gotten that lecture from Spock so many times I bet I could deliver it myself. So thanks for the indulgence. And the help," he added, clinking his glass to hers again, then bringing it to his mouth.

Something fluttered deep within Michael. She looked away quickly, back to her own drink. "Of course, sir."

Michael took another drink, probing at her response. Why did she feel so very unsettled right now?

She had no answer.

***

The chime from their door made Michael look up from her PADD. She frowned over at Tilly, but her head shake said she wasn't expecting anyone either. "Come in," Michael called.

... and Pike stepped inside. Michael shot to her feet, the pulse pulse pulse of her heart sounding loud in her ears, as Tilly did the same on her side of the room.

Pike held up a calming hand. "At ease. Forgive me for intruding after hours, Ensign. Commander." He made eye contact with each of them, nodding in apology. His eyes skated over the room, clocking Tilly's decorated side and Michael's bare one. Michael shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

Thankfully, Pike focused on Tilly. "I asked around and it seems that you're somewhat of a social director, Ensign."

Tilly puffed up, proud. "I like to foster a sense of community, sir."

"It's vital, I agree. Tell me, how would you feel about throwing a party?"

"A party? You want to—but Lorca barely ever let us—great, I feel great." Tilly tripped over her words, she was so excited.

Pike smiled, indulgent. "I was thinking some sort of a welcome, get-to-know-you, we're-all-still-alive deal. That sound like something you can handle?"

If possible, Tilly brightened even further. "Yes, sir. That would be amazing. I mean, right away. Sir."

"Thank you, Ensign." Pike looked over to Michael again, blue eyes penetrating. He tipped his chin respectfully. "Commander." Then he turned to go, leaving Michael staring after him, something about his parting look startling her. She felt off-balance, unsure, even though she hadn't even spoken. So...why?

Once the doors had closed, Tilly blew out a long breath and fell onto her bed. "Ohhh, he's so hot."

***

The party was a hit...or so Michael gathered. Most of the crew showed up to see Tilly's efforts...and they weren't disappointed. She'd gone all-out—roving lights, music, balloons, festive streamers. Rotating shifts of attendants manned the busy bar, alcohol flowing, and the crew indulged, everyone loosening up. Laughter rang loud, small clusters of people talking around the packed central dance floor. Inevitably, eyes kept straying to the man of the hour, taking his measure.

Pike seemed immune to the scrutiny, comfortable in civilian clothes—dark pants and a white button-down shirt that somehow emphasized the muscled line of his shoulders. He circulated through the crowd, drinking, laughing, and even dancing with what seemed like the entire female population of the crew. Or as many as wanted to, anyway. It was actually impressive, watching him grin and twirl one after the other, an easy confidence in everything he did, like even off duty, he was supremely in control.

Michael noticed herself noticing that, which was...odd. Of course that sense of control was second-nature by now. He'd been a captain for years.

But she couldn't get past it. She found her eyes sliding to Pike, even when she'd determined to put it out of her mind.

Michael didn't understand. She had encountered many sociable, approachable people throughout her life. She knew she could rationalize it as trying to figure out her new captain...but it went deeper than that. She just didn't know why...and not knowing her own mind never sat well with her.

She was so deep in these thoughts, she missed Pike being released from Larani's arms. All she knew was he suddenly headed toward her, intent, a flush high in his cheeks. Something within her squeezed tight—

And he landed at the bar beside her, gesturing to an attendant.

Heat flushed through Michael at that. He'd wanted a drink. Of course he'd wanted a drink. What had she thought—

"Can I get a water?" Pike's request pulled her focus, the attendant swiftly pressing a glass into his hand. He nodded gratefully as he drank.

Michael shifted, flustered. But...why?

Tilly hurried over, red curls bouncing against the fluttering green of her dress, her grin bright. "Having fun, Captain?" she asked as she stopped by Michael's side.

"The crew is very welcoming," Pike said, turning to face them both. Michael raised an eyebrow, noting the dodge. He seemed to catch it, tipping his head in wry acknowledgment. Michael warmed at how instinctively they seemed to read each other. That was a good sign, portending a highly compatible working dynamic.

But Tilly didn't seem to notice Pike's evasion. She was too curious about something else: "Everyone's asking, sir. Where did you learn to dance like that?"

"Childhood dance lessons, if you can believe it."

Tilly laughed. "No."

Pike looked to Michael, seemingly despairing, then back to Tilly, holding out his hands. "I threw a tantrum, I'm not gonna lie, and my mother said to me, hands on her hips, 'Chris, you don't know it yet, but these lessons are going to help you in life more than most of what you'll learn in school.' And you know what? She was right."

"Did you tell her that?" Michael asked, dry.

Pike's eyes pinned hers. "Damn right I did. My mother's a genius and I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am without her."

"Awwww," Tilly said.

But Michael frowned at him, dubious of that claim. "How much dancing can you possibly do?"

Pike looked at her, eyes wide. "As the captain of a ship? You have no idea. I bet I've danced with every Admiral's daughter and most of the Ambassadors' daughters at least once."

"I'm an Ambassador's daughter," Michael pointed out.

Pike set his water down abruptly. He held out a hand. "Then may I have this dance?"

Michael's eyes widened, but Tilly just laughed and shoved her toward Pike. "Go!"

Sighing, Michael took his hand, still somehow surprised when he pulled her into his arms, moving the two of them onto the bustling dance floor. "You have to admit, you walked into that one," he said, eyes twinkling as he pulled her close, but not too close, starting to sway them in time to the song crooning over the audio system.

Michael smiled and followed his lead. "Fair enough." She was acutely conscious of his warm hand pressed to the middle of her back, the subtle scent of his cologne, the easy way he moved her to the music. It was nothing like dancing with Ash—more formal, less aggressively intimate—but something about it still made her heart beat faster.

It was probably being reminded of Ash. Dancing always seemed to make her think of him.

Michael tried to shake it off. She focused on the here and now, looking up at Pike, still wondering about his earlier dodge. "Do you even like dancing?"

"That entirely depends on the partner," he said, low, blue eyes conspiratorial, this meant to be just between them. It skipped through Michael, something intimate about it.

"In that case, I commend your acting abilities, sir. You'd never know it from your performance tonight," Michael said, aware she sounded stiff, but unable to help it. She was uncomfortable suddenly, for no reason.

Pike seemed to read it, his tone careful. "I have to maintain a certain façade with the crew, as you know. But I like that you and I can be forthright," he said, genuine. He gestured with their joined hands. "And I consider this a great compliment. I know how Vulcans love dance so," he said, tone turning to the dry amusement she was getting to know.

It softened Michael. "My mother, Amanda, she did try to include some human traditions in my upbringing. I was not unaware of dancing."

"Sounds like our mothers would get along. Though I'm glad mine's not here. She would despair of my form," he said, light, keeping things breezy.

"Would she now," Michael shot back, part of her amused, part of her marveling at how skillfully he could redirect a conversation, shift a mood. She knew the best captains excelled at this, but to experience it firsthand—and have it work—was another thing entirely. He had completely disarmed her discomfort, in the span of a few sentences.

"Absolutely," he said, gesturing to them again with the hand that held hers. "This is far too casual. We should be doing a proper waltz," he said, suddenly changing his movements, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward with his left foot, pressing Michael back. Then he stepped to the right and brought his feet together, repeating the process on the right, Michael stumbling her way through, feeling ungainly and halting.

"Or the fox trot," he said, releasing her entirely as he stepped forward with his left foot, then right, then stepped to the side bringing his feet together, hands up, miming a dance. "Slow, slow, quick, quick," he recited like a scolding dance instructor, words matched to steps, a twinkle in his eyes again.

Michael couldn't help but laugh and shake her head, the display somehow mischievous and charming at once.

Pike just kept on. "Or, my eleven-year-old self's favorite: the lindy hop," he said, sarcastic, as he stepped back, turned, and did some triple-step thing to the left, then repeating it to the right to end up right where he started in a neat little move.

Others were starting to notice, space opening up around them as they stepped back to watch, smiling at their captain's antics.

"Now the bachata, that's probably a bit much. Hell, they shoulda waited a few years to show me that one," he confessed, rolling his hips and shoulders as he stepped to the left for four beats then reversed it to the right, his movements shockingly sensuous, especially coming from their buttoned-up captain. Michael actually felt herself flush, wolf whistles and catcalls issuing from the crowd, this now definitely a performance for the wider crew.

"And the samba's beyond the pale," he said, switching to something that consisted mostly of writhing his hips as he moved forward on his toes. Heat swept through Michael as it got more cheers from the crowd, Pike flashing them a half-smile and shaking his head. "And I won't even go into the Orion dances because that's just inappropriate," he called out, finishing with a flourish.

The crowd burst into applause, Pike dipping his head in an ironic acknowledgment, then waving everyone off. "Yeah, yeah, flattery will not get me to push shift change." He grinned at the laughs. "I'll be hobbling to my quarters now. Have a good night!" The crowd wished him well as he stepped off the dance floor.

Pike paused and moved to Michael again. "Thanks for the dance, Commander," he said, low, the corners of his lips quirking. Then he tilted his head and was gone, leaving Michael shaken at this glimpse of another side of Pike, all suggestive playfulness, so remote from their responsible captain.

She didn't have time to parse it before Tilly was by her side, staring after him. "Well, if there was anyone left who didn't want to fuck him, that sure took care of it."

***

Michael had thought the party would be one and done, a gesture to the wider crew, but even after it, Pike generally made himself available to everyone, lightyears beyond what Lorca ever did. He jogged in the mornings, nodding hello to all those he passed, he regularly ate with the crew, he wandered into Engineering, the science lab, the cargo bay, just to see how people were doing.

She stepped into the officers' lounge two days later to find no less than four 3-D chess boards set up at various tables, but only one player at each...except for the last, where Pike studied the board, intent. He made a move, then looked to Lieutenant Naveen. "Good luck with that."

He stood...and moved to the next table over, taking a seat.

Michael couldn't help herself. She had to know.

Pike looked up as she landed at his side, blue eyes twinkling. "Commander."

"Sir, are you playing four games of chess right now?"

"That's just in here. There are a couple going on in the mess, too, but I'll get back to those."

Michael eyed the board. Pike was playing black—she was not even a little surprised by that—and he was winning handily. She looked back to him. "You're not concerned someone will move the pieces in your absence?"

"I know all the pieces on all the boards," he said, confident and sure, and somehow Michael didn't think they were strictly talking about chess anymore. That familiar shaken feeling swept over her.

"Very good, sir," she said, neutral, tipping her head in farewell and moving off.

She still couldn't get a handle on why he affected her so. From everything she'd seen, he was a good man doing good in the universe. She trusted him implicitly. So why did he always make her feel like that moment right after losing gravity, when her gut dropped out as everything got lighter?

It eluded her.

***

Michael stepped into the ready room, aware she was early, but staring at Spock's childhood drawings was getting her nowhere. She needed a break.

She blinked as she caught sight of the holographic display of a crewmember, the computer announcing, "Specialist Keeley Wells."

The figure disappeared, replaced with another, the computer announcing, "Specialist Ruby Larani."

Pike spotted her then, calling out, "Computer, cancel."

The image of Larani disappeared, leaving only Pike, sitting at his desk and shrugging. "You caught me," he said, dry.

Warmth flooded through Michael. Of course he spent his quiet moments studying his new crew, putting faces to names.

"Buying the crew's love, sir?" she asked, equally dry.

"At the bargain-basement price of knowing their names," he agreed.

Michael smiled and moved forward, gesturing him on. "Don't let me stop you."

"You're here now. It can wait."

Michael was puzzled by the pleased feeling slipping through her, but she shook it off to focus on the present. "You realize this is unnecessary, right? There's hardly need for you to know every crewman's name."

"'Need' is entirely subjective."

"What I meant is that none of the crew would ever question your command."

Pike nodded, firm. "Of that I have no doubt. But I want to be more than just the guy they have to follow because orders."

"Trust me, you're not just a guy to anyone."

Pike's gaze on her sharpened, blue eyes suddenly piercing. Heat flushed through Michael, uneasy at the scrutiny, even as she reviewed what she'd said. It didn't seem notable...but Pike's intensity implied otherwise.

"Am I not?" Pike asked slowly, something weighty in his voice.

Before Michael had to figure out how to answer that, Saru walked in, nodding to them. "Captain, Commander. I believe the others are en route."

Pike blinked and his piercing gaze disappeared. He nodded as he stood from his desk, heading to the conference table, gesturing them forward. "Very good, Commander. What do you have for us?"

Michael tried to shake off that penetrating moment, his eyes seeking layers even she didn't quite grasp.

It was probably nothing.

***

Michael stepped into the mess hall just after the lunch rush, the room having quieted. She preferred to eat off-peak, when the chaos was more controlled.

Surprisingly, Pike stood before the replicators, waiting. He spotted her as she approached and nodded. "Commander."

"It's a little late for your lunch, sir," she said...and then she stilled. Since when was she keeping track of his meal times?

Pike didn't seem bothered by it, flashing that little half-smile she was getting used to. "When I was going through the Academy, we had this one lecturer—a real grizzled old guy—who hammered home a lesson: officers eat last." Pike considered. "I've never quite been able to shake it."

"That doesn't seem logical," Michael said, stepping to the replicator beside his. "Eggplant tagine," she ordered, knowing there was only one such recipe in the replicator's library.

Pike raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, even as his own replicator dinged and he grabbed his tray—a sandwich layered with meat and vegetables. "His point was that it's the specialists and warrant officers who do the day-to-day work of keeping a starship running. Basically, he wanted those of us headed to the bridge to check our egos, which, knowing some of the people who became captains, wasn't a bad lesson."

Michael's replicator dinged and she removed her tray, nodding slowly. "I suppose I can see the merit in that."

Pike smiled a little, then gestured to an empty table. "Join me?"

"Of course." Michael followed and sat across from him, digging into her meal as he did the same.

"Did you ever think about going to Starfleet Academy?" he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"No."

Pike's eyebrows rose as he chewed and swallowed. "Really?" he asked, tone inviting her to expand on that.

"I was planning on joining the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, but it turned out they would only accept one non-Vulcan and Sarek—he—Spock was the logical choice."

Pike tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "But Spock went into Starfleet."

"Yes. Sarek didn't anticipate that." Michael took another bite of her tagine, not really tasting it.

Pike's eyes flickered in realization. "...he didn't consult either of you," he breathed. Then his gaze sharpened again. "Why did you think you didn't get in?"

Michael met his eyes evenly. "I was told I didn't meet their requirements."

Pike studied her, seeming troubled. "I'm sorry."

"I am...content with the path my life took, if that's what you're questioning. If Sarek hadn't made that decision, I never would have served under Captain Georgiou. I never would have ended up here. My life would be very different." She didn't often think about this. It didn't seem...productive.

"Yes, you'd be the only human in the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. A regular barrel of laughs," he said idly, eating more of his sandwich, doing that thing he did—lightening the discourse, keeping things easy and comfortable.

Michael smiled and inclined her head. "It would have been quite the accomplishment, though," she said, soft, thinking of her younger self—how hard she'd worked, how much she'd wanted.

"I think you've done all right here," he said, equally soft, tone indicating how dramatically he was underplaying it. "Both of you have."

Michael nodded, a little pride flaring. Even though she knew it was true, it meant something to hear it from someone else. From him.

She shook off that thought. "How is Spock? Really?" she asked, desperate for any small piece of her brother, even second-hand.

"Present troubles aside, he's...Spock. Too smart for his own good, mouthy as hell, never lets me get away with anything," Pike said, long-suffering, affectionate.

Michael smiled, eyes stinging a little. That sounded just like him, from what little she knew. It was such an odd feeling that Pike knew her brother better than she did these days.

She shelved those emotions for another time. "Just what you need then."

"Oh, don't you start, too," he groused, but his eyes sparkled. "Number One, Spock, and you. The trifecta."

"You should be so lucky," she shot back, smiling as she took the final bite of her tagine, chewing it pointedly.

Pike sobered a little. "I really should," he said, something considering in it.

Michael swallowed, throat going inexplicably dry, not knowing how to respond to that.

Then Pike shook it off, looking down to his empty plate like he just realized they were both done. He looked up at her again, easy smile back in place. "Well. A pleasure as always, Commander."

"Captain," she agreed, nodding.

"We should do this again," Pike said, his tone going curiously careful.

"Eat? I agree," she said, dry. He smiled a little, appreciative. Michael tilted her head. "You know where to find me."

Something pleased gleamed in Pike's eyes at that. "I believe I do." He knocked once on the table, nodded to her, and left.

***

It happened again the next day, Pike joining her at a little table, regaling her with stories of his Academy exploits. Michael laughed through it, shaking her head at him, disapproving.

"What?" he asked, humorously defensive. "I still got an A in the class."

"By sheer luck that the instructor didn't call on you."

He waved his fork at her. "What's that saying? 'I'd rather be lucky than good.'"

Michael made another disapproving noise: "That's a terrible saying."

"Which is why I aim for both."

"You do it well," she said, offhand.

Pike looked up from his food at that, something briefly startled in his eyes. Then it was gone, a small, pleased smile appearing. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should," she said, tipping her head.

Pike looked down, still smiling a little. Michael didn't know why, but the sight of it made something squeeze in her chest.

She shook herself and turned back to her food. She should really finish and get back to the lab.

But why didn't she want to?

***

"Now you're just following me," Pike said, his voice turning Michael around, a smile already in place as he approached the replicators. And her.

"You just got here," Michael pointed out. "Technically, you're following me."

Pike tipped his head at that. The crowd was sparse this late in the evening, most everyone having eaten and gone. "Haven't seen you here this late," he said, stepping up to a replicator and ordering.

"I got lost in a data set and didn't realize how much time had passed," Michael said, shrugging a little, trying to head off the scolding she was sure to get. Tilly always told her how she needed to take better care of herself.

"I love that feeling," Pike said, eyes going wistful.

Something jumped within Michael, heart rate speeding up. "Really?"

"Hell, yeah. Getting so deep in an analysis you start to feel the data. Nothing like it." He frowned. "I don't get the opportunity much anymore. Writing reports is really not the same thing."

Her silence got his attention. Pike looked over, seeing something in her expression, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"Sorry, sir. You surprised me."

Their replicators both dinged and they took their trays, Pike following her automatically, studying her. "Do tell."

Michael hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

Pike read that and grinned. "Oh, this'll be good. Don't spare my feelings now."

"You don't seem like the type," she settled on, starting in on her salad.

"Okay, I'll bite. What type do I seem like?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Michael shrugged one shoulder. "Test pilot straight to the command track, a meteoric rise. It paints a picture."

"So I'm an ambitious flyboy adrenaline junkie? Gee, Michael, tell me what you really think."

"No sparing feelings now," she shot back, looking at him innocently.

Pike snorted, amused. But then pointed his fork at her, emphatic. "I will have you know that I did Engineering rotations on both the Antares and the Aryabhatta and those Chiefs were nothing to sneer at."

Michael made a mock-sympathetic noise. "Is someone feeling inadequate?" she teased.

"You science officers. So superior."

"We back it up," she said primly.

Pike grinned, nodding the point. "You certainly do." He shrugged as he took a bite of his potatoes, something in him going contemplative. "At the end of it, aren't we all hopeless geeks?"

Michael hmmed, thoughtful. "I like to think of us as explorers."

Pike raised his glass in a toast. "To geeky explorers then."

***

Another day, another lunch, Pike deep into a story as he speared a carrot. "And so I said, 'No, Number One, you can't let them worship you as a goddess, we have rules.'"

Michael laughed appreciatively, picturing it. From what she knew of his first officer, Michael could see why she'd inspire such regard.

That's when Owo approached their table, tray in hand. "Can I—"

"Jo!" Tilly called from one of the long tables. "Come here. You can answer this."

Owo looked back at them and shrugged. "Duty calls." She walked over to Tilly, sitting down, immediately pulled into an intense conversation.

Michael caught Owo glancing back at them curiously, but Pike was speaking again, pulling her focus: "You'd swear I made her take her puppy to the pound."

"You did keep her from deification," Michael pointed out. "Most people would enjoy being worshipped as a god."

Pike sat back, shaking his head. "No, thank you. Talk about pressure."

Michael snorted and took a bite of her veggie wrap.

Pike narrowed his eyes. "I've never known anyone who can eat so pointedly. What?" he asked, long-suffering.

Michael swallowed her bite and pinned him with an obvious look: "You're a Starfleet captain. One of the most decorated captains in the fleet. You're already worshipped like a god."

"Then you guys have been holding out on me. Where the hell's my tribute?"

Michael laughed.

***

Tilly walked into their quarters and immediately started taking off her shoes. "Thank goodness that day is done," she groused. "I swear, Stamets and Reno were competing to see who could get me to run around more."

Michael looked at the time and tensed. She was going to be late.

She set her PADD aside and got up, straightening her jacket. "Then you should get some rest."

"What, you going somewhere?" Tilly asked, frowning as she pulled her long red hair out of its bun.

"Chess with the captain," Michael answered, tugging at her sleeves.

Tilly smirked, a devious glint to it that Michael didn't understand. "You don't have to call him the captain, you know."

"What do you mean?"

Tilly sent her a knowing look. "You don't have to be so formal about him. It's okay. After all, it's not like you're calling him 'captain' in bed. I mean, unless you're into that," she added.

Michael froze. "In bed—what are you talking about?" she asked, her heart rate ticking up.

Tilly ran her hand through her hair as she loosened it. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. I think it's great that you two are dating."

Michael blinked as her blood went cold, then blazed hot. "...I'm what?"

Taking in her reaction, Tilly sighed, like she was annoyed with herself. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Now I made you self-conscious about it."

"We're not dating," Michael said...because apparently it needed to be said.

"Michael, it's okay. It's a good thing," Tilly soothed, smiling a little.

Michael shook her head, trying to ignore the way her skin felt tight, like it was too small for her body suddenly. "I'm not hiding it, Tilly. It's not happening."

Tilly looked at Michael, dubious. "The two of you have lunch together almost every day. You had lunch and dinner together yesterday."

"We eat at the same time."

Tilly's eyes narrowed, speculative. "Before he leaves your lunches or whatever, does he arrange the next time he'll see you? And whatever the plans are, it just includes the two of you?"

Michael opened her mouth...and then she closed it. "He has done that, yes."

"Yeah, that's dating."

Something pulsed within Michael. No. No, she would have known. She would—

Her mind went to all the times she felt shaken around Pike, but didn't know why. The way her gut sometimes clenched when he looked at her. The way his little half-smile sent a pleased spark zipping through her. The way her eyes followed him...

Oh.

Tilly studied Michael, perceptive. "Did you really not know?"

But a worse thought occurred to Michael: "Does he know?"

"Duh."

Michael breathed out in shock, sinking to her bed, embarrassment slipping through her. She'd been...mooning after her captain obviously enough that Tilly had seen right through—

Her head snapped up. "Do other people know?"

Tilly stared at her. "Did you think it just so happened that you always ended up at a table alone together?"

"You...that time Owo was going to sit with us, but you called her away," Michael realized.

She nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, everyone thinks it's really cute."

"So my captain thinks we're dating, as does the entire crew," Michael summed up, unable to wrap her mind around it. How had she missed this about herself?

"No, you are dating, you were just...in denial, I guess."

"But it's not like I—" Michael stopped herself, heat flushing through her. Want him, her mind supplied.

Tilly picked up on it, penetrating. "Uh-huh. Finish that sentence, Michael. Dare you."

Michael swallowed, knowing she couldn't, not honestly. "I'm supposed to be there right now," she said, soft.

"Then go! Get that hotass snack of a man."

"I...don't even know if I want that," she admitted, her words halting, not able to fully encompass what she was feeling. What did 'getting' the captain even mean?

"Oh, you want it. Believe me, it is clear as day. Embrace it, Michael. You deserve a little fun."

***

Michael fidgeted at his door, still unsure. She'd let Tilly goad her into it, though, and she had to admit: part of her was curious. This was the first time he'd invited her to his quarters. She hadn't thought anything of it, a chance to use his custom chess board, nothing more.

Now she was thinking he might've meant something more.

But did she want that? The heat buzzing through her screamed yes—what she now recognized as want—but another part of her shied away. The last man who'd touched her had been Ash. Something in her trembled at just the thought.

Michael gritted her teeth and pressed the chime, the doors opening almost immediately.

She stepped in to find a room just as homey as his ready room—rugs, throws, southwestern pieces scattered around, comfortable green couches off to one side, as was his desk and the door to his bedroom. The chess board was set up on his meal table, overlooking the stars.

Pike smiled and stood from the table, eyes welcoming. He'd lost his uniform jacket and shoes, relaxed in his personal space. Handsome, her mind supplied. "There you are."

"Yes, I'm sorry for my tardiness. I got...delayed."

Pike tilted his head like he sensed something, but didn't comment. "No trouble at all." He gestured to the chess board. "Well, here it is. Hand-carved by a master artisan. All the pieces have their own unique accents."

Michael stepped up to the table, taking in the board, which was as exquisite as advertised. But she couldn't focus on it, staring at him helplessly. "Are we dating?" she blurted out. Then she flushed, embarrassed by her own lack of grace.

Pike stilled, his posture going careful. "Yes?" He studied her, blue eyes concerned. "Did you not..." he trailed off as he took her in, putting the pieces together. "I thought you said your mother included human traditions in your upbringing," he said, a little helpless.

Michael swallowed, tensing. "Some of the subtleties still elude me." Clearly.

Something like disappointment flashed in Pike's eyes before he looked away. Seeing it, want pulsed in Michael, flaring hot and demanding. All the little things she'd felt for him and ignored slammed into her—the fluttering in her gut, pounding heart, accelerated breathing. This was—this was what she wanted.

After a still moment, Pike shook his head and met her eyes again. "My apologies. I shouldn't have assumed. Now that things are plain, you're of course under no obligation to—"

Michael stepped into his space, Pike's words dying as she did. "That's not why I asked," she murmured. Then she leaned up and kissed him.

The feel of his mouth on hers sent a shock of heat through her, nerve endings lighting up. Waking up. It had been...a long time.

Pike breathed in, sharp and surprised, but he kissed her back, his arms coming around her to pull her close.

Michael fell into him, tilting her head to kiss him deeper as she pressed against his body, relishing the delicious strength there. She opened her mouth against his, licking at his bottom lip and getting a groan as he opened his own mouth, their tongues tangling in an electric slide that went straight through her. Michael made some answering noise, wanting to feel him everywhere—

Pike pulled away, delightfully flushed, a startled look in his blue eyes. "Right, that's. We should take a beat on that. It's...new."

Michael leaned close, nosing at his chin, breathing him in. "But Tilly says we've been dating for weeks now."

Pike swallowed, angling himself away. "I have been. You just realized tonight, I assume."

"Now that we're in agreement..." she said, leaning in again—

Only for Pike to step back entirely, smile tight. "Yeah."

Michael wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. "I don't understand."

"I don't—this wasn't supposed to be—I didn't ask you here to—" Pike rubbed a hand over his mouth, frustrated. "I'm gonna finish a sentence eventually, I swear."

Michael frowned and gestured between them. "But isn't this what you want? Isn't that the point of dating?"

Pike breathed out a laugh, once. It wasn't amused. "I don't just want to sleep with you, Michael," he said, quiet. "Hence the dating."

"I still don't understand."

Pike smiled, but it felt more like a wince. "I'm not into the casual thing. That's not a judgment. I've been there, but it's...not for me."

"Oh," Michael said, realization slamming into her. He'd thought they were dating, but had made no move to get her into bed, everything warm and affectionate, but no pressure. Like he wanted to...enjoy her company. "You want a relationship."

Pike flinched a little and Michael realized, no, he thought he'd had one.

This probably hurt him, she suddenly understood. And with it came a rush of remorse. She'd never intended that. "I'm sorry."

Pike went still, his expression cutting, assessing. "Why are you sorry?"

"I didn't realize. I misled you and even though it wasn't intentional, it's still a transgression. I apologize."

Pike nodded, waving a hand. "It was a miscommunication." He stared at her, banked heat in his eyes. "I suppose the question on the table is...what do you want?"

Michael swallowed. She certainly wanted to sleep with him, the warmth between her thighs obvious and insistent.

But it was also...more. She knew it wasn't just about sex, for him.

Abruptly, Michael flashed back to their lunches, the way he made her laugh, the affection, the way she wanted to know what he thought.

Maybe it wasn't just about sex for her, either.

"I'm not very good at relationships," she confessed, carefully not thinking of her last one. It wasn't...relevant. They were completely different men. There was no reason to connect the two.

"Okay," he said, noncommittal.

"But we could—we could try," she offered, taking a shaky breath. "If you want."

Pike's eyes warmed. He took a step closer and reached for her hand. "I'd like that," he said, quiet, squeezing her fingers.

Michael smiled as more of that warmth slid through her. "Then that's what we'll do."

Pike smiled and brought her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against her skin.

Michael's breath caught as the want flared again. Pike seemed to clock it, his eyes darkening, before he dropped her hand and stepped away. "You should probably go," he said, voice rough.

She shivered. "I really should."

And she did.

***

Tilly looked up when she walked back into their quarters. "Well?"

"I'm dating the captain," Michael said, still not quite believing it.

"Yeah, you are," Tilly shot back, smiling. "Good for you. And fair warning: I will require all the details."

***

The next day was surreal, Michael intensely aware of everything Pike did. Her eyes kept straying to the line of his shoulders in his uniform, the way his pants clung. Just manning her station on the bridge was a special kind of torture, offering the perfect vantage point of his perfect ass.

She was relieved when it was time for lunch...only to realize he'd timed his lunch break to coincide with hers. He oriented his schedule around hers, it was now clear.

She flushed at the thought. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed.

Michael was hyper-sensitive as they gathered their food and stepped to an open table. She catalogued the looks they got—amused, affectionate, knowing—as they sat, settling in.

Pike dug into his lunch, not seeming to clock anything amiss.

"Isn't this weird?" Michael asked on a rush of breath.

Pike looked up, considering that. "Not for me." He studied her, eyes kind. "You?"

Michael shrugged. "A little. I don't—" A thought gave her pause. "Do you do this a lot?"

Pike shook his head once, seeming totally at ease. "It's been a while." He tilted his head at her. "Would it bother you if I did?"

Michael pictured him entertaining a parade of women—joking with them, laughing with them, doing all the things he did with her. She shifted in her seat. "It's nothing to do with me."

Pike regarded her, thoughtful, hmming quietly. After a moment, he gestured between them: "This doesn't have to be any different than it was before."

Except now I know you want to sleep with me, Michael thought, heat fluttering through her.

"Right. Of course, s—" Michael paused before the 'sir' slipped out, recognizing the dissonance of it.

Pike picked up on it, eyes softening. "Call me Chris. When it's the two of us, I'm not your captain, just a guy who's crazy about you."

Heat flushed through Michael at the casual way he put that out there. He was so...open. "Okay."

Chris. She practiced the name in her head, looking at him, perfectly composed before her, handsome and authoritative.

He smiled a little, like he knew what she was doing and sympathized. "It'll get easier."

"If you say so."

***

Michael repeated Chris in her head for the next few days—while working on the bridge, while eating lunch with him, even when she was alone in the science lab, going over the sphere data in hopes that it had any matches for the red angel signals.

Eventually, Chris didn't seem so weird anymore. Intimate, but not weird.

Of course, thinking about him all the time kept her on the knife's edge of desire, which came with its own...distractions. So Michael was a little further behind in her work than she should be.

But it was fine. She didn't mind pulling a late night.

She was deep into sphere data again when she heard the door open, looking up—

Chris stood in the doorway, two containers in hand, regarding her, soft. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

Chris gestured with the containers. "I brought you dinner."

Michael blinked as he moved to the console in the middle of the lab, setting down the containers. "That seems like a lot of food," she finally said, just for something to say, surprised.

He smiled. "I brought us dinner," he corrected, pushing one of the containers toward her while keeping the other.

Michael's stomach grumbled and she realized...she was actually hungry. Curious, she looked inside—

And found the veggie wrap she liked. Her eyes moved up to his, flushing, though she didn't know why. "You didn't have to."

Chris waved a lazy hand. "You're working late. You need to eat. I wanted to see you. It's no big deal."

No, but it was...sweet. Thoughtful.

Michael stared at him, at a loss. "Why aren't you with someone?"

Chris shook his head once, like that wasn't even close to the response he'd expected.

But he rolled with it, smiling a little. "I wish I had a pithy answer for you. The truth is, I spent most of my twenties convinced our job was too dangerous for a relationship. Once I got over that, I was into five-year-missions and command and it got harder. I guess it just never felt...right."

"...oh," she said, surprised at the detail there. This was something he'd spent some time considering.

Chris' expression went rueful. "That's a lot, I know. What about you?"

Michael swallowed, her one and only real relationship flashing before her eyes. She shrugged, uncomfortable. "I've always tried to keep things...appropriate."

Chris studied her. "There are ways to have appropriate relationships. If you want."

Michael smiled, tight, as she thought back on Ash, on how he pushed. On how she let herself open up, even against her own instincts. She shook off the thoughts. "Like yourself, my career always came first." She shrugged. "I guess we're similar that way."

Doubt flickered in his eyes, but Chris shuttered it. He smiled and took her hand, squeezing it, warm. "I'm just gonna consider that everyone else's loss."

Michael curled her fingers into his, the ever-present desire flaring—

And the door opened. They both looked over—

To find Tilly staring back. She blinked, once. "Right, I'll just be going." And she about-faced and moved to retreat.

"Tilly!" Michael called just as Chris said, "Ensign."

It was enough to get Tilly to stop and look back at them, vaguely guilty. "Um, yes?"

"You don't have to leave," Chris said.

Tilly looked to their hands. "You're having a moment. I don't want to interrupt."

Michael flushed, but shook her head, even as she pulled her hand away. "It's fine."

"It's not fine! He could be laying you out on that table right now and I stopped it. I can't be the cockblocking friend, that's so not cool."

Michael flushed harder as that image flashed before her eyes, an instinctive pulse of want accompanying it.

"Let me assure you, he would not be laying anyone out anywhere," Chris said.

Tilly rounded on him. "Well, you should. The sexual frustration between you two is criminal. And distracting. Do it for the rest of us, for pete's sake."

Chris stared at her. So did Michael.

Tilly shifted, realizing what she just said. "Um, sir."

"That'll do, Ensign."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

When she retreated this time, neither of them stopped her.

***

Michael stepped onto the observation deck, curious. She spotted Chris standing at the far end, no one else around. Hearing her, he turned, smiling in welcome. "Hey."

She smiled. "Do I get to know the big mystery yet?" Chris had been maddeningly vague when he'd asked her to meet here. She didn't even know how he knew about this spot.

Chris nodded his head toward the viewscreen, his pleased smile telling her he was delighted she hadn't figured it out. "See for yourself."

Michael moved to his side, taking in what he'd been looking at—

A white dwarf in the midst of being destroyed by a supermassive black hole. The accretion disc was fully formed, the hot gasses of the star swirling around the black hole, brilliant and blazing.

"A tidal disruption event?" she asked, surprised. They were rare enough to still be noteworthy, not to mention beautiful—swirling trails of fire disappearing into a dark void at the center.

Chris nodded. "Computer, overlay x-ray mapping," he said. The computer chirped and a new screen layered over the image, the bursts of x-rays from within the black hole made visible as colored light.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, settling in by his side, his warmth seeping into her as she took in the light show, the natural process of universal destruction that transformed one form of energy into something new.

Then Michael looked at him askance. "You failed astrophysics," she chided, light.

"Doesn't make this any less spectacular," he shot back. "Besides, I thought you'd appreciate it."

The sincerity in his eyes struck her—like he spent time thinking about what she might enjoy, like it mattered to him.

"You thought right," she murmured, right before she leaned up and kissed him.

Chris froze, surprised, even as Michael turned and moved closer, pressing against his body, his heat swamping her. She moved a hand to his cheek, feeling the light scrape of stubble against her fingertips.

It seemed to jolt him, Chris tilting his head and kissing her back, his lips sliding over hers, skilled.

Michael flicked her tongue at his bottom lip, a tease, and like that it went molten, their mouths opening against each other, Michael suddenly overwhelmed by his taste, by her body's response, yearning for him. She sucked on his tongue, gripping a hand in his jacket and pulling him closer, wanting to fuse the two of them together.

Chris groaned, arms looping around her and cinching tight as they traded kisses, like they were the only two people in the universe. Michael's head swam, that familiar desire surging through her, heady and insistent. She wanted this.

He made an agonized noise against her mouth, then broke away, resting his forehead against hers and breathing hard. Michael followed his mouth—

But he shook his head, releasing her and pulling away.

Michael suddenly realized she was panting, too, both of them mussed, and in public, no less. Maybe that was the problem. "How about we take this somewhere more private," she suggested, her voice low.

Chris sucked in a breath, something wanting in it, but after a moment, he shook his head. "Let's leave it for now." But his tone betrayed his reluctance; he was as affected as she.

Michael frowned. They had been officially dating for almost a week, both of them aware of it this time. He'd wanted a relationship, which it seemed like they had. She couldn't understand the hesitation. "...really?"

Her surprise seemed to shake him out of his lust. He touched a finger to her chin, like he was savoring the sight of her. "You know what everyone loses in the rush into bed? Anticipation," he rumbled, the word shivering through her.

"If that was your goal, mission accomplished," she replied, a seductive note to her voice that she'd never heard before.

His blue eyes darkened, but he still took his hand away. And then he took one more step back, just for good measure. "Dinner?" he asked, light.

Michael sighed.

***

"When you finally jump him, the sex is going to be epic. Heck, I'm getting laid and even I'm jealous right now," Tilly said, blunt as ever.

Michael frowned. "Wait, who—"

"So not even worth getting into," Tilly dismissed. "Let's talk more about you."

"I just...don't understand," Michael said, spreading her hands wide. "He kissed me back. He always kisses me back."

"And it's hot, right?"

Michael shifted a little, her body responding even to the memory of Chris' arms around her, his mouth on hers, gasping into each other. "I think so."

"Then you should ask him." Tilly nodded once, like it was decided.

Michael stared at her. "Ask him..."

"Yep. Next time he pulls away, just straight-up say, 'hey, I wanna bang, but you don't seem to, what's up?'"

"Precisely none of those words is passing my lips," Michael said, flat.

Tilly waved a hand. "Translate into Michael-speak if you want. I'm talking about the principle."

Michael pictured how that conversation would go, looking up at Chris and asking why he didn't want her. Something within her shrank back. "You want me to just...ask him."

"Heck, yeah! If you don't ask for what you want you're never gonna get it. Who knows? Maybe he's one of those uber-traditionalists who doesn't believe in sex before marriage. In which case you should definitely marry him. Because if you two don't bang, the universe just isn't fair."

"Tilly."

"Don't worry, I don't actually think he's the celibacy-before-marriage type. Not with the way he works those hips."

"Tilly," she tried again, a shade more desperation to her voice.

"You know I'm right," she sing-songed, a sparkle in her eyes. "Ask for what you want, Michael. You'll thank me."

***

The next night, they played chess at his little meal table, the stars zipping by outside his windows. The chess set truly was exquisite; she appreciated its loving detail almost as much as the fact that this was something he prized enough to keep with him, that Number One would think important to send along. She loved chess; that he loved it, too, warmed something inside her.

Michael played black and it was a fight to the last, but she got him eventually. Chris quirked a smile when he realized, genuinely enjoying the moment he tipped over his own king. "My compliments," he said, warm.

"You lasted longer than most," she said, tipping her head in acknowledgment.

Chris grinned suddenly, something devious in his expression, but he didn't respond.

"What?" Michael asked, suspicious.

"Absolutely nothing at all," he shot back, all prim and proper in the way that meant he was being mischievous.

Michael leaned over and nudged him, playful. "Tell me."

Chris grabbed her arm, smiling again, eyes dancing. He brought her wrist to his mouth, kissing the thin skin there. "It's childish innuendo," he said, eyes on hers. "I wouldn't want you to think less of me."

Michael barely even heard the words, too focused on the heat trailing from her wrist straight through her. She sucked in a breath and flipped her hand, tugging him close—

And into a kiss, Michael pressing her mouth to his, helpless to resist. For a moment, Chris kissed her back, a hand coming up to frame her face. Pleasure snaked through her, the kiss going passionate—

Until Chris pulled away, sitting back in his chair. Michael got a glimpse of his eyes—heated and dark—before he looked back to the chess board, straightening. He cleared his throat, like he was putting the moment behind him. "Another game?"

Frustration slammed into her. She didn't understand.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, sounding half-lost even to herself. But, well...she was.

Chris met her eyes, the desire hidden away, only distant warmth there now. "Of course."

"But—" Michael trailed off, not knowing how to say it.

His expression went cautious, like he didn't understand. "You have concerns?"

"I'm—" Michael shook her head, deciding to just put it out there. It couldn't be worse than not knowing. "I want you," she said, blunt. "But it doesn't seem like you..."

Before she could finish, Chris's eyes darkened. "Oh, I want," he confessed, his voice a heated rumble. Then he leaned in, his mouth covering hers, forceful. Hot.

Michael made a noise against him as he teased her mouth open, tongue exploring, sharing taste and breath. Lust shot through her at the way he fluttered his tongue against hers, everything slick and hot, blanking out her mind. All she could feel was his mouth on hers, his hands pulling her from her chair to fall against his chest, sparks zinging around inside her and settling between her legs.

When he bit her bottom lip, she actually whimpered, the sharp sting shooting straight through her. She wanted to be naked. Why weren't they naked and—

Chris pulled out of the kiss on a gasp, flush high in his cheeks, eyes glassy. He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip, where he'd bitten her. Michael felt it down to her toes. She swayed toward him—

And he dodged her. He smiled, small. "...I want," he said again, soft this time.

Michael sucked in a breath, dropping her forehead to his shoulder, breathing out, once. She gathered herself, then looked up again. "If it's not...that. Then why?" she asked, pressing against him, mouth hovering near his.

Chris brought one hand up to cup her cheek. "I would like to make clear that what I'm about to say is not a criticism." He met her eyes intently, making his point. After a moment, Michael nodded, so Chris continued on: "It's just that in some ways you're so present, but other times, when things get too personal I feel your guard go up."

Michael stiffened, which Chris instantly clocked, rubbing his other hand up and down her back, soothing. "Observation, not value judgment," he reminded. "I figure, if you have reservations, we shouldn't go there quite yet."

Michael swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. "I trust you implicitly," she said, vehement.

"On the job, I never have a moment's doubt," he agreed. Then he ran his thumb along her cheek. "But this? There's some reticence there, consciously or not. So we should...take our time."

She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. After a moment, she nodded. She could hardly argue with that.

***

"...huh," Tilly said, chewing on a nail.

Michael shook her head from where she was sitting on her bed, hugging her legs to her chest. "What does that mean?"

"Well...is he right?" Tilly asked in that devastatingly plain way she had.

Michael went still. She didn't say anything.

But Tilly didn't need her to. "He's right?" she asked, confused. "What's he right about?"

"I haven't wanted to—there are certain things—I'm not like you, Tilly," she finally said.

Tilly's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Okay, my Michael translator is broken. What are we talking about right now?"

Michael sighed and tried to explain. "You, you're so...open. Chris, too. He just...says things. How he feels."

"Okay," Tilly said, eyes urging her to continue.

"I don't know how to do that," Michael said, quiet. "When things come up, I don't know what to say."

"Things like Ash," Tilly guessed.

Relief swept through Michael, once again glad that Tilly knew her so well. "...yes."

"So let's review. You want to sleep with him, but when you guys are together and the conversation turns personal, you dodge him."

Michael stiffened at that. "I wouldn't put it like that."

"How would you put it?" Tilly asked, seeming genuinely curious.

She shook her head. "I keep things...light." Chris did that, too, just in a different way. She didn't see why her way was a problem. Who wanted to get into the pain and heartbreak of the past?

Tilly studied her like this was obvious and she couldn't understand why they weren't in agreement. "Right, but he wants a relationship and you're holding part of yourself back from that."

"Can't you have a relationship without...laying yourself totally bare?" Michael protested.

"I mean, not a real one?" Tilly shrugged. "I'm not saying you have to confess all your sins, but, ya know, he wants to know you and you're not letting him. I get it. And you want him, but don't want to let him get too close. One of those things is gonna have to give."

"...right," Michael said, frowning.

Tilly seemed to read her unhappiness. She held out her hands, a don't blame me gesture. "Look, it's up to you. And to be fair, he was upfront. He said he wasn't up for casual. So if you want his dick, you're gonna have to open up a little."

Michael winced at the blunt evaluation...but she couldn't fault Tilly's logic.

She just wished it didn't make her so uneasy.

***

They went on as they were for a few days, sharing lunches and odd dinners, spending time together, everything easy and affectionate. But still, Chris kept a little distance. Not cold, but an awareness prickled between them, like they were both hovering on the cusp of something, neither tipping over the edge.

It was driving her to distraction. Michael considered following Tilly's advice and having a talk with Chris...but every time she imagined actually doing it, she just...couldn't. What would she even say?

As she went back and forth on it, Tilly decided to throw another party. "Just because."

Michael suspected, by the red dress Tilly insisted she wear, that she had some ulterior motive, but she couldn't parse it. How would a party and a dress change anything?

But when Chris took one look at her in the dress and his gaze went heated—the swingy red fabric came modestly to her knees, but left her back mostly bare—Michael reconsidered. Maybe there was a method to this madness.

That night, Chris danced only with her. He held her in his arms, swaying her to the music, even nuzzling her ear, his free hand running up and down her back, her skin tingling at every touch.

"Why, Captain, I do believe you're making a spectacle," Michael teased, low into his ear, getting a shiver.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, equally low.

"We could make a bigger one," she suggested, pressing against him more firmly.

Only for Chris to shuffle back, making an amused noise.

Michael sighed and didn't push it, swaying with him again. "They all think we're having sex, you know."

"Your point being, what? Everybody thinks it so we should be doing it?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

"Well, that is how this started."

"And here I thought it started with us enjoying each other's company," he mused.

Michael pulled back to look at him, smiling. "Fair enough." She eyed him up and down, perfectly correct in his uniform. "But if you won't give me the captain's perk I want, I'll just borrow another," she said idly, plucking his badge from his jacket.

Chris frowned, not understanding, but Michael just smiled and walked off.

She stepped out of the lounge and moved over to the officers' heads, using Chris' badge to key into the captain's private restroom—

Only to feel Chris' hands land on her hips as he followed her in, the door sealing shut behind them. "Really? This is what you wanted?"

Michael leaned into him, strong and unyielding behind her. "I want lots of things...but I'll take satisfying my curiosity."

Chris' hands left her, then. She turned to look back and he gestured around them, smiling a little. "Fancy bathroom. Satisfied?"

Michael looked around, clocking the nicely-appointed room—vanity and bench, toilet and shower off to the side, everything pristine. Then she looked back to him, gaze hungry. "Not in the least."

She moved to him, taking his mouth, and Chris groaned against her, kissing back. She could taste the whisky on his tongue—he'd indulged more than he usually did—and she was suddenly starving for it. She explored his mouth, pulling him closer, until they overbalanced, stumbling into the wall, breaking the kiss on a laugh.

Shameless, Michael rubbed herself against his thigh, nipping at his chin, already so wet from breathing him in the whole night.

Chris groaned and found her mouth again, pressing his thigh into her, hands trailing to her grinding hips. "Michael..."

"Want you," she breathed, heat snaking up her spine, even from this, rubbing against him through two pairs of clothes.

His hand moved down between them, slipping under her dress, fingertips tracing over her soaked underwear. She'd be embarrassed if the heat of him didn't make her gasp and press down harder.

"So wet," he murmured, biting at her earlobe.

"All the time," she said, low, gasping as his fingers pressed against her entrance, the thin cloth the only thing separating them.

Chris groaned again and shifted his fingers, pushing her panties aside, finding slick skin.

Michael gasped as he pushed two fingers in, sudden fire racing through her. She gripped his shoulders and hung on, her hips moving against him as he pulled his fingers out and thrust in again, setting up a rhythm. His thumb flicked at her clit, making her cry out.

Chris took her mouth as he worked her, sucking on her tongue, swallowing the noises she made. When she started fluttering around his fingers, he pulled out of the kiss, leaning down to lick at her mouth once before moving away again, eyes on her face. He never stopped moving his hand.

Everything in Michael felt hot and trembling, his fingers spiraling pleasure through her, his eyes only adding to it. She panted, hips moving, fingers clutching at his shoulders, right on the edge.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, eyes dilated, taking her in like just the sight was intoxicating.

Michael's whole body shuddered as her climax washed over her, muscles gripping tight around his fingers, the rush of pleasure going straight to her head. He knew just how to stoke it, moving in counterpoint to her, taking her higher until she was mewling against him, overwhelmed.

After, she slumped against the wall, panting, even as he eased her through it, expert at that, too. Chris kissed her again, slow and thorough, staying close. Eventually he pulled his fingers out of her. Michael moaned at the loss.

Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth and her vision whited out, it was so hot. Michael made some kind of helpless noise and pressed against him, her body reacting. She wanted more.

"I think you should show me the captain's bedroom now," Michael breathed, staring at his mouth.

Chris swallowed, eyes hot...and then shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Michael blinked. "But—" She moved her hand down, cupping his erection through his uniform pants for the barest of instants before he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his mouth. He kissed her palm once, breathing hotly against it.

"It'll keep."

***

"He fingerbanged you in the captain's private head?" Tilly asked, her voice squeaking.

"That is...a horrible term," Michael said, once again appalled by human sexual slang.

"But descriptive," Tilly chirped. "Now stop evading. The captain, fingers, private bathroom," she prompted.

Michael shivered at the memory. "He just kept watching me." She shook her head. "I wanted to go back to his room, after. He put me off again."

"This is some impressive delayed gratification, I'll give him that."

"But isn't that...he had his hand—" Michael flushed, then shook her head. "I don't understand."

Tilly shook her head. "Yeah, that's a shift. Had he been drinking?"

"Some."

Tilly cocked her head, considering. "You know, we've been focused on how frustrated you are," she said idly. "Maybe it's the same for him. Captains can have moments of weakness. He's not a monk or anything."

Michael swallowed as that idea registered, heating her blood again. "You think he just...couldn't help himself?"

Tilly's eyes swept over her, lighting up. "Ooh, I bet it was the dress. I am so good," she crowed.

"Tilly, are you seriously taking credit for this right now?" Michael asked, flat.

The smile dropped off her face. "Sorry. But hey, you got an orgasm out of it."

"Not the one I wanted," Michael muttered, making Tilly laugh.

Then she went serious again. "Did you ever talk to him about Ash or...any of it?" she asked, careful.

"Not yet," Michael bit out.

Tilly just nodded and didn't say anything at all.

***

When the door chimed the next morning, Michael wasn't entirely surprised. Tilly looked over at her, eyes saying you bought this.

"Come," Michael called.

The door opened, admitting Chris, perfectly put-together in his uniform. He looked to Michael first, but addressed Tilly: "Ensign, could you give us a moment?"

"Boy, can I. So many moments," she said, zipping up her jacket as she headed for the doors. "Be good, you two." And then she was gone, the doors closing behind her.

Michael's eyes stayed steady on Chris, who smiled a little, like he couldn't help but be amused by Tilly. Then it softened into something almost remorseful. "I'm sorry," he said, quiet. "I crossed a line."

"You didn't."

"I crossed a line I set for myself," he clarified. "I shouldn't have let things get out of hand."

Michael smiled, against her will, and Chris caught it, showing another brief flare of amusement. "And that was an unfortunate pun."

Michael laughed once, then stood, moving to him. She took his hand, bringing it to her mouth, lips lingering against his skin. "You're welcome to cross the line any time," she said, low.

Chris' nostrils flared, desire flitting through his eyes before he blinked, shaking it off. He pulled his hand back. "I'm not. I like to think I'm more disciplined than that. It won't happen again."

For once, Michael wished he wasn't a man of his word.

***

Things went back to the way they were, but for some reason, Michael felt like she was on borrowed time. They still ate together and socialized, everything warm and inviting, but she also couldn't shake the worry that it was getting...old. She had to make a decision—let him close or let him go—and though he wasn't pushing, she felt it hovering over everything all the same.

It wasn't just that she wanted to sleep with him—though she did, desperately, with a kind of intensity she'd never felt before. It was that she wanted...him. She wanted the way he made her laugh, the way he looked at her and she just knew what he was thinking. She wanted that closeness, all the time. She didn't want to give it up.

Which, she supposed, was answer enough.

***

Michael pressed the chime to his quarters. It was late enough that he'd be home, but he wouldn't be asleep yet, likely reading over the day's final reports. She wouldn't be...interrupting.

It took a moment, but the doors finally opened, Michael stepping in to find Chris at his desk, PADD in hand. It sent a burst of satisfaction through her, that she'd been able to anticipate his routine. She knew him.

And if it kept her mind off what she was going to say, that was just an added benefit.

"Michael," he greeted, setting his PADD down.

"I hope it's not too late."

"Never. I was just finishing up. Everything all right?"

Michael hesitated; now that the moment was here, she wasn't sure how to get into it. Every rehearsal of this slipped away, leaving her floundering.

Chris clocked it and stood, worry slipping into his eyes. "Michael?"

Michael looked around the room wildly, her eyes landing on his PADD. It sparked something. "Did you read the reports on Lieutenant Tyler and Voq?"

He blinked at the subject change, his brow furrowing, but he followed her lead: "The Klingon infiltrator," Chris recalled, nodding. "You discovered his true identity when he tried to kill you."

"We were also in a relationship."

Chris went utterly still as that landed on him, the implications registering immediately. "...you and Lieutenant Tyler," he said, slowly.

"So I thought. Now I don't know what was Tyler and what was Voq...or anything, really." Michael shut down the pain at that, how every moment they spent together was an open question. An open wound.

Chris rubbed a hand over his mouth, clearly troubled, but he didn't say anything.

She continued on regardless: "Once Voq was gone for good, Tyler—he—I broke it off. He didn't take it well." She fumbled over the words, trying to encompass it when even she couldn't quite reconcile with it.

That did get a reaction, Chris blanching. "He expected something else," he said, flat.

Michael shifted, still pained by the aftermath. The betrayal, that had been one thing. But after...

"He knew that I had never been in love before. He thought I was using Voq as an excuse to run away."

Chris flinched, like that actually hurt him, here and now, even though it was Michael's memory. Without saying a word, he moved to Michael, pulling her into a hug, squeezing tight. "I'm sorry," he said against her ear, nothing but compassion in his voice.

Michael swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "It's not that I don't trust you," she said into his shoulder.

"...it's that you don't trust anyone," he finished, like he understood.

"I try not to dwell on it. And I didn't want you to think I was—" Michael broke off, not wanting to say damaged, but thinking it all the same.

Chris pulled back. He cradled her face in his hands, intent. "You are strong and brave and good. And you are not what others have done to you."

Michael nodded even as a tear leaked out, against her will. Chris brushed it away, pulling her close again, lips to her forehead, comforting.

"So that's why," she explained, her voice halting. "I know I pull back sometimes. I don't mean to. It just...happens."

He nodded, still cradling her face, eyes full of compassion. "Thank you for sharing this with me. Like it or not, we're all a product of our experiences. But I can promise you this: I am a straight shooter. I will never betray you."

Michael nodded, knowing it was true, even as part of her was terrified of how true it was.

"I want to let you in," she offered, as far as she could go right now.

Chris nodded, like he understood that. "It's enough."

Michael pulled him close then, mouth finding his, Chris returning the kiss, slow and thorough. He kissed all over her face before meeting her lips again and slowly melting into a kiss, everything soft and dreamlike.

Then he pulled away.

Michael gripped his arms and made a negative sound. "I swear, if you tell me one more time that we should wait..."

Chris choked on a laugh.

***

This time, it wasn't frantic, up against a wall. Instead, Chris laid her out on his bed, taking her clothes off piece by piece, like this was all part of a religious ritual. He took his time with it, reveling in every inch of bared skin, trailing his fingertips over it, following with his mouth. Michael gasped as he scraped his teeth along the inside of her elbow, unable to understand how they weren't naked yet.

She squirmed against him, trying to speed things along, but Chris leaned away, eyes flashing a warning at her as he moved to the other side, kissing a slow trail from her wrist all the way up to her shoulder, sparking fire with every press of his mouth.

She still had her tank top on; he was fully clothed. This was never going to end.

"Chris..." she tried, tugging at the zipper of his jacket.

He made some kind of sound against her collarbone and let her push the jacket off, but he didn't move things along, kissing his way down to the edge of her tank, but going no further.

Right. She would have to take things into her own hands.

So while he sucked at the base of her neck—fire sweeping through her, settling down low—she tugged at his undershirt, peeling it off him until it got tangled up between them. She pushed him back, yanking the shirt off, ruffling his hair and getting a grin for the effort. "Something you wanted?" he asked, dry.

"We're getting closer," she shot back, pulling her tank up and off, leaving her in her bra and pants. She moved to take care of those—

But he was there, mouthing at her ribcage, fingers slipping around to run up her back, then down again, his blunt nails raising sensation along the way.

Michael couldn't help it; she groaned at the wet heat of his tongue tracing her ribs, the way her back prickled with awareness as he stroked it. Her hands landed on his shoulders, digging into the bunched muscle there; there was something delicious about his strength.

Chris made a pleased noise against her skin. "See, you think you want to hurry up and get there, but the journey is half the fun."

She grabbed his hand and pressed it between her legs, her wetness evident even through panties and uniform pants. "I'm nearly there already."

Chris flexed his hand, the pressure sending a shock of heat through her, Michael letting out a wanting noise. But then Chris pulled that hand away—

Only to land at the clasp of her uniform pants, working them open. "Yes," she murmured. Finally.

He rolled the pants off her, following their path down with his tongue, tracing the skin of her legs, making her flush. But once he'd pushed everything off, he stayed there, tongue tracing the contour of her ankle as his fingers dug into the arch of her foot.

Michael gasped and flexed against him, the stretch of muscle there adding a different sensation to the arousal humming through her.

"Seriously?" she panted.

Chris grinned as he pulled away from her ankle, expression going innocent. "Problem?"

Michael blew out a frustrated breath. "Nothing I can't solve myself." She reached for her bra, getting it unclasped and off, then moved to push her panties down.

Chris' eyes tracked her, hot, even as he took his time nipping up her legs.

They met in the middle as she kicked her panties off, Michael pulling him between her legs, and still, he didn't get on board, preferring to mouth at her knee instead.

She gasped as he bit, sending more heat pooling between her thighs.

"Enough," she said, shifting and nudging him back with her knee, hard enough to land on his back. His eyes gleamed as she climbed over him, fingers going to the clasp on his pants, the blue material doing nothing to hide his erection.

She made much quicker work of the rest of his clothes, shoving them off and climbing back on top of him, exploring as she went. Their uniforms didn't leave much to the imagination; he was as muscled as he seemed, a light sprinkling of hair covering his chest and belly. She scratched her fingers through it, liking the sensation.

His cock lay hard against his belly, thick and red. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the pulse in time with his gasp. Michael stroked him, loose, reveling in the fine tremors already building in his thighs. "I want you inside me," she murmured, leaning up to take his mouth.

Chris kissed her back, mouth soft and lush as he sucked on her tongue. Michael firmed her hand, wanting, and he made a noise into her mouth. "Not yet," he groaned, pulling her hand away, up to his mouth, where he kissed it.

Then he rolled them again, following her over, taking a nipple in his mouth. The shock of wet and heat made Michael gasp and arch, trying to get more.

Chris obliged, teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue, his fingers skating over her body again, lighting her up. He traced down to her inner thighs, but stayed well clear of where she wanted him, drawing light circles over the sensitive skin there.

She squirmed against him, so wet, not above pleading. "Chris, please..."

He scraped his teeth lightly over her nipple once more, the sensation burning through her, and then he pulled away, up to take her mouth again. The kiss was playful, teasing, and Michael groaned into it, trying to go deeper.

To no avail. Chris just pulled away, quirked his lips at her, and pushed himself down—

All the way down, Michael gasping as he bent his head between her thighs. After so much teasing, she hadn't actually thought—

And then she couldn't think, his tongue fluttering against her opening, tracing up her slick folds to circle her clit, sudden pleasure swamping her. Strong fingers pressed inside her—so open—as his mouth set up a rhythm and Michael couldn't help but cry out, the sudden assault of pleasure leaving her shaking.

Chris thrust thick fingers inside her, thumb playing with her folds in counterpoint to his tongue, licking over her in a way that seemed meant to drive her mad.

Michael gripped a hand in his hair, the other fisting the blankets, and tried to get more, moving against him, her whole body tingling. She knew she was making noise, but couldn't hear it, a high-pitched ringing drowning everything else out.

Then Chris crooked his fingers, rubbing at something inside her, and Michael nearly came off the bed. A new kind of pleasure shot through her as it felt like she got even wetter. "What—" she gasped, but lost the thought, her internal muscles fluttering around his fingers, totally out of her control.

"I'm—" she tried to warn him, but couldn't get anything else out, gasping as what seemed like every muscle in her core shook.

It didn't seem to faze Chris, who kept up his assault, edging his teeth over her clit, making her shout again, even as his fingers rubbed at that spot inside her. He sucked on her, light, then flexed his tongue against her—

And she was flying, her vision whiting out as the pressure inside her snapped, waves of ecstasy washing over her. It went on for ages, Chris guiding her through it, his fingers and mouth still moving.

It felt like Michel's whole body pulsed, pleasure like a physical thing taking over, making her sob, completely out of control.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, her senses too overstimulated, it receded, leaving Michael gasping and shaking, the rest of the world filtering back in.

Chris pulled his mouth away, moving up to kiss her shoulder, but his fingers stayed where they were, gentling her as the aftershocks rushed through her, internal muscles still fluttering. He made soothing noises against her skin, his other hand pulling her close, wiping at her face—

From where tears had leaked out. Michael sucked in a breath and leaned closer to him, finding his mouth—

She could taste herself. She groaned into his mouth, Chris answering it, and then he pulled his fingers out of her completely, shifting so he could hold her close.

Michael panted into his neck, muscles still trembling, and she couldn't get a handle on it, random sensation still firing through her. Chris just held her, running a soothing hand down her back, still and calm against her.

Eventually, her breathing regulated, her body stopped shaking, and the ringing finally receded. She sucked in a breath, looking up at him. His eyes were warm. "You back with us?" he rumbled, voice gravelly.

Even that small thing sent a shiver down her spine. "...yeah," she finally managed, realizing her throat felt raw. She frowned.

"You got a little...vocal," he explained.

Michael flushed; she'd made that much noise and couldn't even remember it. "Ah. Sorry."

"No need. You are incredible," he said, a hint of awe in his voice.

Michael flushed again. "I don't think I'm—that was—" She shook her head, unable to wrap her mind around it. "It hasn't been like that. Before."

Because every other time a man had gone down on her it had been brief, foreplay, sometimes even awkward when the guy knew he should, but wasn't quite up on the how. No one else had been quite so...dedicated.

Chris' expression turned speculative, a cautious glint to it. "Is that the first time someone got you off with their mouth?" he asked, soft.

Michael swallowed, but nodded. "It was...more. Than I thought."

"As you deserve," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. "I'm only sorry it's taken this long for someone to treat you right."

Michael leaned in again, licking into his mouth, still tasting faint traces of herself. She shifted closer to him—

And felt his erection press against her. From where he was still hard. Because he hadn't come yet.

She broke the kiss as shame slammed into her; she had completely forgotten—

"Hey, none of that now," he said, lips quirking, kind.

Michael shook her head and wrapped a hand around him, squeezing, feeling his breath catch against her. "What do you want?" she asked, stroking him lightly.

Chris tensed, his breathing speeding up. "Ah, whatever you want," he said, already shaky.

Michael sat up, hand still moving over him slowly, watching the muscles in his stomach tremble, how he tried not to shift against her, controlled. His skin was faintly flushed, blue eyes gleaming as they flitted from her hand to her face and back again. He liked this.

The thought sent a shiver of pleasure through her. She wanted his eyes on her.

"Stay just like that," she said, swinging her leg over to straddle him.

Chris' eyes widened, his hands landing on her hips automatically. "You want—"

"I like to be on top," she said, kneeling over him, positioning him at her entrance.

"There's a shock," he said, dry, but anything else was drowned out by his groan as she sank down onto him, a long press that Michael felt all the way up her spine, pleasure sparking again. He filled her perfectly, an easy slide home that made her gasp out loud.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice strained, his fingers gripping into her hips with force now.

Michael felt her internal muscles clenching around him, heat already suffusing her. This was—she could come again, like this. It was suddenly all she wanted.

She pushed herself up and then sank back down onto him, both of them moaning. Then she did it again, hands going to his chest to brace herself as she changed angles, and speed, breath catching when he hit that spot inside her.

Chris' eyes were wide, moving from her face to her breasts to where he disappeared inside her. He panted as she moved on him, the muscles in his chest and arms standing out.

"Not that I don't appreciate the visual, but it kinda feels like you're doing all the work here," he said, voice dark and rough, shivering through her.

"Perfect," she breathed. "This is perfect." She tipped her head back as her body clenched around him, close again.

"God," he gasped out, starting to shake underneath her.

Michael refocused on him, pleasure all over his face, almost pained with it. "I want to feel you come inside me," she said as she sped up, the muscles in her thighs starting to tremble, her internal muscles already fluttering around him.

"Fuck," he said again, the strain clear. He pulled one hand from her hip and pressed it against her, fingertips playing over her clit again—

And Michael gasped, the orgasm washing over her, pleasure pulling everything tight—

"Michael," Chris called out, his expression shattering as he pulsed inside her.

Michael moaned, heat sweeping through her again, not as intense as the first time, but somehow sweeter. She collapsed on him, panting into his chest, both of them shaking and sweaty.

Chris wrapped his arms around her, heart beating fast under her ear, panting. She nuzzled his chest as the aftershocks buzzed through her, internal muscles still fluttering around him.

Eventually, he started to soften inside her. Michael sat up and pulled off him, both of them making a noise. She didn't even try to be dignified as she collapsed beside him, all the nerve endings in her body still singing his praises.

Michael floated as her body cooled down, their breathing syncing up, something viscerally satisfying in that. Eventually she moved, curling into him. He dropped an arm over her hip, keeping her close.

"Anticipation, huh?" she finally said, dry.

Chris made an amused noise. "Worth the wait?"

Michael looked up and met his eyes, seeming bluer now, her fingers scratching over his chest. "Well, if you'd told me I'd get double the pleasure out of it..."

His amusement morphed into confusion, the corners of his lips turning down. "Double?"

She hmmed. "Part of me thought multiple orgasms was some kind of idealized sexual experience, something that couldn't actually be reached."

Chris rubbed his eyes, like this pained him. "I keep telling Starfleet they need to include sexual etiquette in the coursework."

Michael huffed out a laugh. "You want them to teach a class on sex?"

He flung out a hand, like this should be obvious. "So that everyone can have better sex. The status quo is just disgraceful."

Michael laughed again. "Maybe they can pair it with dance lessons."

"You joke, but I will have you know that's where I learned some formative relationship stuff. Most importantly, 'a lady comes first...and often.'"

Michael leaned in to kiss him, mouth soft. She pulled away on a smile. "I look forward to putting this into practice."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.