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There was a certain amount of routine to life on a starship, even a danger-magnet like the Discovery. Systems had to be maintained. Diagnostics run. Sensors recalibrated. It was part of the job. If all went well, things were pretty boring, scientific discoveries aside. (Things tended not to go well on the Discovery, but Michael tried not to dwell on that too much.)
What was not routine was the captain up and announcing that they were all invited to a New Year's party that evening. Out of nowhere.
Then again, Michael supposed it wasn't out of nowhere. She just didn't pay much attention to the yearly calendar, not when stardates were the universal standard.
Everyone else was excited, delighted whispering racing through the bridge crew. Michael was, once again, the odd one out. Not only because she dreaded parties, but also because...really? A party to celebrate the simple passage of time?
Of course, no one else was talking about that.
Tilly was incensed, cornering Nhan after the morning briefing, backing her into one of the little hall enclaves. "How is this the first I'm hearing of a New Year's party?" she asked, as if this were a personal betrayal.
"Captain Pike wanted it to be a surprise," Nhan said, ever-reasonable.
Tilly made a frustrated gesture. "That may be true for other people, but we're talking about me. All party activities go through me," she said, forceful.
Nhan tilted her head. "You know that's not a real rule, right?"
Tilly choked on something offended, like these were fighting words, so Michael stepped in. "But...a New Year's party?" she asked Nhan, putting her confusion into her tone.
Nhan nodded. "We missed it last year because a bunch of the crew was busy getting pressganged into a war of stupidity." Michael's eyes widened; what did that mean? Nhan saw her reaction and waved it off. "Long story. Anyway, after skipping it last year, Pike didn't want to do so again. He thinks marking the new year has 'psychological import.'" She shrugged. "A human thing, I guess."
Tilly threw up her hands. "You're planning the party and you don't even care about the party!" she cried, stalking off, her red curls bouncing, full of high dudgeon.
Michael and Nhan calmly watched her go. After a moment, Nhan turned to Michael. "Is this a real problem or a cosmetic problem?"
"I'm not actually sure."
"Humans," Nhan muttered.
Privately, Michael agreed.
***
By lunch, Tilly was over it, getting caught up in the general enthusiasm, talking it through with Owo and Detmer as Michael picked at her salad and let it flow over her.
"It won't just be synthehol, right?" Detmer said again, like this was Very Important. "Pike wouldn't do that to us."
"He's too smart for such an unwise move," Owo agreed.
As always, something warmed in Michael at mention of Pike, of his wisdom. As always, she said nothing.
Tilly sniffed. "Well, if I had been involved, there sure as shit would be real booze, but I can't say."
Okay, perhaps Tilly wasn't entirely over it.
"I'm sure the captain will do what's appropriate," Michael said, subtly redirecting the conversation.
Tilly raised an eyebrow and pointed a fry at her. "You would be sure of that," she said, promptly shoving the fry in her mouth.
Michael frowned, wanting to know what that meant...but part of her worried about getting into it. Tilly's tone was far too knowing.
She had been so careful...
That was when Specialist Wells sank into the spot beside Tilly, propping herself on an elbow and leaning in, her long dark braid falling over her shoulder. "I can report that anticipation for the New Year's party is sky high," she said, like she was delivering classified intel.
Relief swept through Michael at the distraction. "Technically, there is no sky," she pointed out.
Wells regarded Michael, even. "How very...you," she offered. Then she moved right along. "Nhan better come through. People have expectations."
Internally, Michael sighed. So much for a distraction.
Tilly grumbled. "I was not consulted."
Detmer smirked. "Tell us about it some more."
Even Michael smiled at the gentle teasing.
Tilly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I will not be held responsible, I'm just saying."
Owo nodded, her tone full of self-importance: "You have officially been absolved."
"Thank you," Tilly said, crunching into one of her few remaining fries.
Wells snagged a fry off of Tilly's plate. "More importantly, has everyone decided who they'll be macking on come midnight?"
Michael blinked, translating that. She thought that meant...kissing? People would be kissing at midnight? But it wasn't entirely clear. Human slang was often beyond her.
Owo and Detmer exchanged knowing looks. Wells caught it and rolled her eyes at them. "Yeah, yeah, we know, you two are all over it." She turned to Tilly and Michael. "What about you?"
Michael frowned, mind racing through possible interpretations, none making sense. "Do you mean kissing?"
Three pairs of eyes snapped to her, everyone eyeing her. "Yeah. A New Year's kiss?" Detmer prompted, like Michael might be joking, but she wasn't quite sure.
Michael was not joking. "I have no idea what that is."
Wells stared at her, green eyes wide, fry suspended halfway to her mouth. "What."
Tilly clapped a little, her expression gone bright. Apparently she'd gotten a distraction after all. And it only required Michael to be the weird outlier again. Fantastic. "All right, everyone, Teach Michael How to Human is back in session." She turned to Michael. "New Year's Eve parties are an Earth tradition to celebrate the dawn of the new year. Lots of champagne and fireworks and celebrating with friends. One tradition is planting a big ol' kiss on someone at the stroke of midnight."
Owo nodded. "Start the year kissing the person you want to keep kissing." Her eyes slid to Detmer again, almost against her will.
It would be cute if Michael's mind weren't failing to wrap around any of it. Because...what? Formalized kissing? "And this is...planned?"
Tilly waggled a hand. "Eh. It depends."
"I have definitely kissed people on a whim," Detmer admitted. "And mostly didn't regret it."
Owo sighed. "I did."
Wells made an affronted noise. "And that is why you plan," she said, pointed. She looked to Tilly. "I already spread your dibs on Rhys."
Tilly flushed a bit, but smiled like she couldn't help herself. "Keels."
Wells crunched into the fry, preening a little. "Yeah, I'm the best, admire me." She swung her mischievous gaze back to Michael. "So, Burnham, who do you want to suck face with?"
Unbidden, Pike flashed before her eyes. Michael ignored it. "I'm sorry?"
"You will be if you don't get on top of it." Wells seemed to consider her words. "Or on top of someone, anyway," she said in a sly tone. "C'mon, you're hot. We can make this happen."
Michael kept her expression neutral. "I think that's one Earth tradition I can skip."
"Psha, it's an ironclad excuse to go wild and no one will hold it against you. Free yourself, Burnham," she intoned, faux-dramatic, but not actually joking.
Michael's brain kind of caught on something. "No one holds it against you?" she asked, voice ticking up an octave as a very dangerous thought started taking shape.
But no, everything about this was ridiculous.
Detmer made a noise of agreement, snagging the last of Tilly's fries, ignoring her protest in favor of answering Michael: "Oh, yeah, it's a total free pass. Most people are drunk anyway, so if it goes badly, you can shrug it off and move on."
Tilly nodded decisively. "Suck face and then save face. I've availed myself several times."
Owo and Detmer also nodded, like this was a generally accepted thing.
Michael blinked. "Human traditions are absurd," she declared. She would not entertain them.
She would not.
***
Tilly made her dress up—of course—the gold dress clasped around her neck, leaving her back mostly bare, dipping low in front to show off her cleavage. It glinted in the light every time she moved, every time she breathed, but at least it wasn't too short, draping down her legs to swish around her ankles with every step.
Knowing there was no way out of it, Michael let herself be hustled into the mess hall...and then she stared.
It was like an entirely different room. The tables and chairs had been cleared out, replaced by temporary drink stations, what looked like real alcohol flowing. Holographic fireworks exploded above everyone's heads, sparks glinting over the crowd mixing and mingling and dancing below. A large ticking clock was projected on the wall, while holograms saying "Happy New Year" roved around the room. Everyone in attendance was dressed up, lots of silver and gold and white, many also wearing paper crowns or giant gold sunglasses shaped like 2258, some blowing into gold party horns like the goal was to make as much noise as possible.
Okay, that was actually annoying, but thankfully the thumping bass mostly drowned it out.
Tilly looked over at Michael, her rose-gold dress glittering in the light of the fireworks exploding above. "Nhan's been holding out on me," she accused with not a little glee.
Michael shot her a look. "Is that approval I hear? Are you willing to admit you were overly negative?"
Tilly just grinned. "Nope, I will not be shamed. Parties are serious business. Clearly Nhan agrees. Oh, and you know what this means?" She didn't wait for Michael to answer: "I have someone I can delegate to." She squealed a little, like this was the Best News.
Michael just smiled and shook her head, looking back and taking it all in...and then her eyes got caught in the crowd.
Pike edged his way through, his dark gray sweater looking almost slippery in the roving lights, clinging to his chest. He carried a drink, greeting people as he went, smiling, more open than she'd ever seen him. Her body pulsed in response. She wanted him to look at her like that.
Tilly's nudge startled her out of it, Michael looking over, guilty. Thankfully, Tilly hadn't noticed her distraction. She was focused on the other side of the room where Rhys drank with Bryce, Owo, and Detmer. A gleam appeared in Tilly's eyes. "Come on." She grabbed Michael's hand and pulled her into the scrum.
Relieved, Michael followed.
***
The drinks, it turned out, were real alcohol. Some of them, anyway. The ones that Tilly pushed on her, definitely.
Michael relented and joined in for their toasts—to health, happiness, and love, to 2258, to Nhan, which actually got a smile from Nhan, Tilly having been forgiven for her doubt. It was all so good-natured and optimistic that Michael had started to see why Pike considered this important.
She really shouldn't doubt his wisdom.
As if conjured from her thoughts, Pike appeared next to her at the bar, crooked smile in place. His gray sweater was exactly as touchable as she'd thought, a pair of fitted black pants completing the look. And to top it off, a gold paper crown now rested on his head.
Michael couldn't help it; she laughed. After the drinks, everything felt soft and floaty and right. Including his presence. With her.
Ruefully, Pike nodded. "Yep, that's about what I've been getting."
And yet he still wore the crown when he could have taken it off. Fondness swept through Michael. "If I were to trust anyone to be king, it would be you, sir."
Something flickered in his eyes, nothing she understood. He flashed a small smile at her. "'Chris,' please," he said.
Heat pulsed within her. He wanted her to call him by his given name?
"Getting familiar with the underclass, are you?" she teased, keeping it light, though a question lingered behind it.
"You're beneath no one, Michael Burnham," he said, the genuine note to it stealing her breath.
She swallowed, finding a smile by sheer force of will. "'Chris,' then," she agreed, tipping her head.
He nodded in appreciation, his eyes sweeping over her, her stomach pitching at the attention. "You look beautiful," he said, like it was so obvious it needn't be said at all. "But is someone missing some holiday cheer?" he teased.
"I will burn those paper horns," Michael vowed, still annoyed by the drunken cacophony it had devolved into.
Pike—Chris—smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Hey, not my doing. But I do think I have a solve for our little conundrum." With exaggerated formality, he took the gold crown from his head...and placed it gently on hers. Michael flushed at the whisper of skin against skin as his fingers brushed her ears, not expecting the touch. Inside, something quivered—
She quashed it. She had control. She did.
"There," Chris said, pulling his hands back, taking her in, so intent. "That's much more fitting. Your highness," he added, his tone going low, almost...intimate.
The suggestion of it swept through her, a fire simmering in her blood, making her want. "Royalty used to be worshipped like gods," she offered, nonsensical, mouth disconnecting from her brain.
Chris tilted his head. "Do you want to be worshipped?" he asked, something indulgent in his tone.
Michael cursed the drinks Tilly had foisted on her, swearing she could feel that buzzing under her skin. She scrambled for something to say, a way to back out of what had started to feel like a very dangerous conversation, indeed.
"That's my mission then," she nodded, keeping her tone light. "To find some subjects. If you'll excuse me."
Michael swept away, the room only tilting slightly, but Chris' laugh? That stayed with her.
***
Despite her best attempts, Michael couldn't shake her awareness of him. Not just in how he was 'Chris' in her head now, but the man himself. No matter how hard she tried to focus on being present with her friends, she couldn't help but track him through the mess hall. He chatted and toasted with crew from all departments, wagged a finger at Wells in a conversation Michael would love to know all about but would never ask, and was generally full of good cheer.
Michael couldn't stop watching him. As the night wore on, and the alcohol subsided from her system, she didn't even have that as an excuse.
Eventually, the crowd started to get more excited, some concentrated focus she couldn't follow. She found herself outside of it, backing off, observing from the sidelines. A familiar position.
Chris stepped up to her, like he read it in her. Like he'd been watching.
It made her flush.
"I don't understand human traditions," she admitted, nodding to the crowd, the decorations, the...everything. "A party just to mark a clock ticking from one minute to the next."
"A party to celebrate the year we lived through. With hope for a better year to come," he said, solemn.
"That you celebrate by formalized kissing?"
Chris huffed a laugh, granting her that with a nod. "Fair. I think it started as a way to wish each other good luck in the upcoming year. And, like traditions do, it morphed from there." He went considering then, thoughtful. "I do like the tradition of 'begin the year as you mean to go on.' There's something hopeful in that."
Michael hmmed, the thread of it derailed as Tilly stepped up nearby and called out, "Final countdown, people!"
The crowd cheered, Tilly grinning and taking Rhys' hand, the clock on the wall ticking down, the crowd joining in and shouting out the countdown.
Michael frowned and looked to Chris. "Is this normal? Can't they just read the clock?"
Chris laughed. "Tradition," he reminded, light.
"Baffling," she countered, looking back to the crowd just as it got to a shout of, "One!"
And with that, the room exploded in cheers, everyone screaming, "Happy New Year!" in unison, blowing horns, elaborate fireworks exploding above their heads.
Michael clocked movement next to her and looked over. Chris held one of the gold paper horns. He blew it, waggling his eyebrows at her in a way that made her laugh, even with the grating noise. "Happy New Year, Michael," he said, eyes warm.
"Happy New Year," she returned, forcing herself to break the look, taking in the rest of the crowd—
A crowd now filled with couples baldly kissing. She looked around, so many people joyfully joining in. Owo and Detmer, making out messily, stumbled into Tilly and Rhys, also making out messily, who stumbled into the crowd behind them, a cascade of sloppiness that shoved Michael back into Chris with a breathless laugh she couldn't help. Everything was absurd.
Chris cradled her against his chest—his really very firm chest—a rumble of amusement there, and Michael looked up at him with a smile, the lights above flaring at just the right moment, highlighting the cut of his jaw.
Michael felt it zing through her right as Chris met her eyes with an amused look, a moment of connection—
And she was turning, lifting onto her toes and pressing her mouth to his, heat flaring where their lips touched, her sudden desire catching in her throat.
Someone blew a horn right next to them and Michael stumbled back, shocked at herself. She caught only a glimpse of Chris' eyes—equally shocked—before she turned and rushed away.
***
Shit, shit, shit.
Michael cursed herself as she slowed from her ungainly escape, taking refuge in the empty galley, heart fluttering double-time in her chest. Why had she done that? How could she be so foolish? No matter what people said about kissing traditions, about a free pass, that doesn't apply to the captain.
And now he knew. Michael had expended so much effort to keep her affections secret and then just went and—
A footfall alerted her to his presence just before he tugged at her arm with a low, "Michael."
Michael turned automatically, meeting his still-shocked eyes, flush high in his cheeks. She forced down thoughts of that kiss—she could still feel the press of his mouth, the pleasure of it slip-sliding through her—trying to come up with an excuse. An explanation.
Chris said nothing, searching her eyes for a seemingly endless moment. "Really?" he asked, like he couldn't believe that happened.
Michael quite agreed. She opened her mouth to respond, to say something—
And Chris stepped close, his bright presence killing all higher brain function. "Let's try that again," he murmured right before he brought his mouth to hers.
All sound dropped out except a high-pitched ringing, Michael tipping her face up to his and kissing him back, automatic, sudden fire rushing through her as Chris slid his mouth over hers, skilled. Intent. Thorough.
Chris pulled back to breathe, Michael's eyes fluttering open—when had she closed them?—but then he was back, angling his head the other way, kissing her deeper, his mouth lush.
Michael made a soft sound into the kiss, slumping into him as warmth curled down her spine, her legs going weak.
Chris cradled her—so strong—murmuring something into her mouth.
Michael breathed out, opening her mouth, and the kiss went deeper, heated and wanting, but also sharp. Determined.
When Chris pulled back this time, he was panting. He stared at Michael for a beat, something so startled in his expression. And yet underneath that...yearning.
"How about we continue this elsewhere?"
***
Chris held her hand as he led her down the hall, Michael marveling at the sparks running through her from that simple touch.
She couldn't help but push him against the side of the turbolift, fusing their mouths together, his kisses stealing all ability to think.
He made a pained noise when they reached his floor, like he hated to pull away, but he had to.
When they finally got into his quarters, Michael didn't even see it, too busy pushing him up against the wall there, too; she'd never felt this urgent need for someone before, like if they separated this feeling would shatter, all the warmth and connection and desire crumbling into nothing.
So Michael didn't move away, the two of them tripping their way into his bedroom, kissing desperately.
Only once they landed on the bed with a startled oof did they pause, shaken out of their reverie. Chris was splayed out beneath her, Michael perched on his thighs, panting as she took him in, his eyes holding hers, dark with desire. Michael wanted him to look at her like that forever.
"I didn't know," he finally said, helpless.
Michael swallowed. "I didn't want you to."
Chris' eyes darkened. He sat up, cradling her jaw, bringing their mouths together, fierce and hot. "Now I do," he growled.
She pulled back, mind deliciously blank of anything but him. "Good."
Chris made a dark noise and rolled them, getting Michael underneath him, clever fingers slipping under her dress. Michael sucked in a pleased breath, helping him pull the dress up and off, moaning as his mouth dipped to her breast, rolling a nipple between his teeth, the bright bloom of pleasure sending liquid heat straight through her.
She tugged at his gray sweater, as touchable as she thought, making demanding noises Chris seemed to understand. He pulled back to rip it off before leaning down for her skin again, mouthing his way down her body even as his fingers tugged at her panties.
Chris' mouth between her legs made something seize up inside her, Michael crying out, loud in a way she never was, moaning freely as he dragged the flat of his tongue over her clit, fingers pressing inside her, a full-on assault she could not defend against. Not that she'd want to.
Soon, shockingly soon, Michael felt an orgasm trembling through her, her hand gripping tight in his hair as she made urgent noises and moved against him.
Coming was like butterfly wings whispering pleasure all over her, body pulling tight against his fingers as the orgasm pulsed through her, her voice high and desperate and calling his name.
Michael gasped her way through the aftermath, heart fluttering, muscles shaking, as he kissed his way up her body, his weight pressing her down, something enticing in it. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, trading breathless kisses again, tinged with her taste now, sparking a new pleasure inside her. Michael wrapped a leg around him, making a displeased noise when she felt the pants he still wore. Still, she arched into him, rubbing herself against his erection, reveling in his gasp, in the way his body went slack with pleasure.
"I want you inside me," she whispered into his mouth, capturing his groan instantly, fingers going to work on the clasp to his pants.
Trembling fingers both helped and hindered, Michael brushing them aside to sneak into his pants and wrap a hand around his very hard cock, drawing him out as she sucked on his tongue. Chris moaned when she firmed her touch, uncontrolled, and Michael took pity, loosening her hold on him as she pressed his cock against her.
The shock of it made him pull back, his blue eyes almost completely black, lips puffy and red, hair falling over his forehead. "You want it like this?" he asked, like he needed to make sure.
"Yeah," she breathed, shifting her hips against him, urging him on.
Chris needed no more encouragement. He sank into her, both of them moaning, mouths reconnecting, and then it was a blur, Michael gripping sweat-slicked shoulders, squeezing a leg around him as he thrust into her, lighting her up. Pleasure tingled at the base of her spine, spreading through her thick and honeyed, another orgasm building somewhere deep.
His hand slipped between them, touching her lightly, spiraling her ever higher even as he fucked her beautifully, exactly as she wanted. Michael made more of those helpless noises into his mouth, body reaching for it—
Her second orgasm was more intense, like flying when you didn't expect it, a total rush. It surged through her, sucking her under, Chris responding, his own orgasm sounding almost pained, like it was torn out of him.
Michael would like to see that, she thought in a moment of clarity. She'd like to see Christopher Pike fall apart.
After the storm had settled, Chris pulled back, meeting her eyes, then leaning down for another kiss. Slow. Deliberate.
Michael made a soft sound when he pulled out of her, Chris slumping beside her, their panting the only sound in the room.
Eventually, heart rates slowed, awareness leaking back in, thankfully without regret in its wake. Michael hadn't experienced this kind of contentment often...but she could get used to it.
She looked over, taking in Chris' profile, face relaxed in pleasure.
Noticing her attention, he turned his head, lips curling in the slightest of smiles.
Michael returned it, her chest feeling so full. "This is not what I expected from today."
"This is not what I expected from this year," he said, curling his body around hers, bringing their mouths together in another—longer—kiss.
When he pulled back, Michael traced his jawline, admiring. "Begin the year as we mean to go on?" she said, parroting him, hopeful.
Chris met her gaze, blue eyes so serious. "Yeah," he said, low. "Exactly that." He leaned in again, this kiss shorter, but no less full of feeling. He pulled back, then looked down at himself, his expression going rueful. "Though I do plan to lose the clothes in the future."
Michael smiled. "Happy New Year, indeed."
***
Fin. Feedback is adored.