Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis stares at his reflection on the dark screen of his PADD. The light overhead catches a speck of moisture in his eye for a split second before he blinks and it splinters and disappears. The tablet is an old model, incompatible with the latest updates, but standard-issue at their level of Starfleet hierarchy. Although serviceable, it’s clunky, and Louis holds it propped up against his knees, which are folded to his chest, the heels of his black boots threatening to rip the black leather upholstery of the captain’s chair, worn from sitting in that position so often.

It’s not quite the professional and regal posture found in Starfleet Officer’s Code of Conduct manual, but those are for another class of starship and another hour. Nearing midnight on a Durance-class cargo ship after a year and a half transporting Filivian avocados—class B controlled product—shuttling between two outpost star bases that didn’t even qualify for a proper name, Louis can’t be bothered with protocol.

And it’s not that Louis has tired of space—he hasn’t quite got a chance to see much of it at all, really—it’s that even sitting in the captain’s chair on the main bridge of a starship, with the universe stretching out in every direction around him, Louis feels trapped. Somehow, beyond all logic, he’s started to find space claustrophobic.

Louis raises a hand to his mouth, the sleeves of his mustard yellow shirt down to his knuckles, rubbing the soft material against his lips for a few seconds. The bands of gold on the cuffs that indicate his rank glint and are reflected in the dark screen before he touches a finger to it, pulling it out of sleep mode. Bottom lip between his teeth, he selects the last video message he received and hits play, although he keeps it muted.

He watches with a tremulous smile his mother sitting at the kitchen table, cutting up a couple of bananas for the babies, in their high chairs with the trays in front of them lighting up sporadically as they bang on them with their little fists.

He doesn’t need sound to hear her voice, and he’s played it enough times he has the words half memorized. ‘Darling, I’m stocking up on all of your favourites. I even got you some of that Ferengian guava. Madeline down at the store is carrying all sorts of alien produce now, if you’ll believe it.’

When Louis was growing up, Jay made a point of buying only products grown on Earth. But now he wonders if that wasn’t part of the front she put on to protect them, showing everyone how disinterested she was in anything alien. After all, if she wouldn’t even eat extraterrestrial fruit, who could suspect her of bedding a non-human?

‘Ernie loves the Orion berries. I think his fingers might be permanently stained.’ She holds up Ernie’s hand, and he spreads his fingers out, revealing the green tinge of the pads of his fingers. Doris mirrors him automatically, closing and opening both fists, giggling. Louis has seen the little ones grow up through a screen and he can’t wait to finally meet them. ‘And I bought enough cereal you and Lottie can stop fighting over it.’ Jay smiles, tears pooling in her eyes before she rubs at them with the heel of a palm in an impatient gesture. ‘Can’t wait to have you home, baby.’

Louis presses his lips tight at the corners as the video message ends, his mum’s face blurred as she reached forward to turn off the recording device.

“Is something wrong?”

Louis hugs the PADD to his chest, hiding the screen from view, startled. Helmswoman Lauren Jauregui has spun around in her chair, one elbow resting on the console, expression sympathetic and curious.

He never opens personal messages while he’s around the crew, and for good reason. “It’s nothing.”

Lauren clucks her tongue, a line between her thick eyebrows. “Come on, Captain.”

Her comment attracts the attention of the Navigator, T'hal, who peers back at Louis.

“Let me guess,” Lauren goes on when Louis doesn’t volunteer any more information. “Missing home?”

Louis shrugs. Beyond the fact that the answer to that question is not straightforward for him, he’s supposed to be keeping a professional front, regardless of his posture. He can’t be whining about missing his mum. “Same as everyone. We’re all on the same boat—” He makes a face, rolling his eyes. “Starship, whatever.”

Lauren chuckles. “Yeah. I hope my girlfriend hasn’t forgotten what I look like.”

T’hal mutters something that Louis doesn’t catch, but which makes Lauren turn red even as she bursts into laughter.

Before Louis can decide whether he wants to ask or not, a sharp hail of ‘Captain!’ rings out across the main bridge. Every officer in each of the different stations which line the circular room turn to look at Communications Officer Mendez.

Louis straightens in the chair, lowering his feet to the floor, stopping the swivel of the chair with his toes. “What is it?”

“Urgent transmission coming through from HQ, sir.”

Louis catches Lauren’s confused, shocked expression, but he schools his face so that it won’t reveal he’s feeling the same. In their eighteen month mission they’ve never had an ‘urgent’ anything, except that one time Steve had got curious and almost set off an explosive avocado.

“Uh. Yeah, all right. Um. Open communications. Let’s hear it.” Louis sits up straighter and adjusts his headband. His hair is just about grazing his shoulders, but he doesn’t trust anyone on the ship to give him a decent haircut. Not after the fiasco with Liam.

The main viewing screen is turned on, but shows nothing but black. After half a minute, Louis shoots Mendez a questioning, impatient look.

“I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” Mendez admits, hunched over his station’s control panel, face twisted in confusion. “It should be working.”

“Can we at least get sound?” Louis asks.

“Yes, yes!”

Static roars and immediately settles into something less deafening, while the screen flickers into a frozen, distorted image of Louis’ immediate commanding officer.

‘This is Admiral Mordock’ is audible, even as the image distorts and goes black again.

Louis grips his thighs. “Captain Tomlinson here.” He turns to Mendez. “Can they see us?” he hisses.

The Communications Officer winces. “Yes, sir. At least... I think so.”

“Right.” Louis rubs his hands together and tilts his chin up. He has a lifetime of experience trying to make himself look bigger and in control.

‘There’s been a change of plans—’ Mordock’s voice keeps getting cut off, and despite Louis’ pointed glances at Mendez there’s no improvement to the video quality.

“Sorry?” Louis’ fingers tighten on the black material of his trousers, his palms damp with sweat.

‘You will be providing safe passage for Prince Ha’rialualaha of Jokaimor and his entourage.’

Louis’ eyes widen. “Excuse me?” he gasps.

‘—have requested to be escorted to Dawbell Summit.’

Louis shakes his head dumbly. “But... we’re supposed to be... we’re supposed to be done.” Their mission is over and they’re supposed to be heading back to Earth.

‘It’s not up for discussion, Captain.’ The disembodied voice is firm and dismissive. A tone Louis is all too familiar with. He glares at the screen even though the image of Mordock is frozen. ‘Pick up is at twelve hours from Starburry Base Alpha. Safe travels and—’

The screen goes black again and the sound gets cut off, leaving behind a silence that seems to press down on the eardrums.

“End of transmission, sir.” Mendez’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

Louis looks around the bridge: everyone is staring at him, looking at him for guidance. All he can think about is that Dawbell Summit, an event to sign in several new planets into the United Federation of Planets, is taking place in two weeks in Helios starbase, which means they have to divert their route and delay their return to Earth a full month.

“Captain?” Lauren ventures to ask after a minute.

“It looks like we’re going to be entertaining royalty.” Louis keeps his tone light, but inside he’s reeling. How did they go from transporting avocados to alien royalty?

“Should we set course to Helios, then?” T’Hal asks, breaking Louis out of his reverie.

Louis nods. “Yeah.” His breath comes out in a huff of bitter laughter. “Can’t leave Prince whatever-his-name-is stranded, can we?” They don’t really have a choice. HQ has spoken.

—

Louis takes a deep breath. There’s a dull pressure building between his eyebrows and he kind of wants to scream. He has to remind himself he’s not actually claustrophobic, and the enclosed space he’s trapped in is in fact a twelve thousand ton spaceship with five habitable deck levels. Louis is familiar enough with his body to know that all he needs to push back the absurd panic building up in his chest is to have something to eat.

He reaches into his pocket, and isn’t surprised to find he’s almost out of the glucose tablets he carries around with him for emergencies. He pops one in his mouth, resisting the urge to bite down instead of sucking on it. Louis twists to look behind him at the sound of the doors from the turbo lift sliding open.  

Perrie Edwards, his first mate, waltzes in with a grin on her face. She looks bright and cheerful despite the late hour, and the sight of her never fails to make Louis experience a rush of insecurity because she’s holding up fine even though she’s a year younger than him—easily balancing the responsibilities of her position with a relaxed camaraderie with the crew—while Louis is not.

“You’re early. Still ten minutes left.”

Perrie saunters over to him with a grin. “I heard we’re to have company? Of the royal sort?”

Louis gives in and cracks the tablet between his teeth. “Who blabbed?”

“News spreads, Louis.”

Perrie leans forward on the handrail, and Louis catches one of the officers in the Damage Control station staring at her arse in her short, yellow dress uniform.

“Mhm.”

“And we might want to make an announcement? Everyone’s bound to notice we’ve changed course eventually.”

Louis nods. “I’ll schedule a ship wide comm for tomorrow morning when I get back to my room.”

“Budge up,” Perrie tells him, giving the chair a push so that it swivels to face back toward the front, before going around to the stairs leading down to the captain, navigation and helm stations.

Louis winces at the brief dizziness when he stands up; he needs something more substantial than a small tablet of sugar.

“So who is it that’s coming?” Perrie asks, sliding into the captain’s chair.

“Some prince. He’s not human, so don’t get excited.”

Perrie laughs hard enough that the twin buns atop her head shake. “Why would that stop me? If someone’s hot, they’re hot.”

Louis gives her a thumbs up, chuckling. “Right. But we’re going to be in close quarters for two weeks, so try to keep it in your pants, please?”

She gives long suffering, theatrical sigh. “Fine. But no promises for once we reach our destination.”

Louis waves a hand dismissively. “Once you’re off the ship you’re good.”

“Great!” Perrie replies brightly.

Louis trusts her professionalism, and a bit of flirting won’t hurt anyone. If the dignitaries can’t handle it, they can flag down another ship for all Louis cares.

—

The crew’s quarters are spread across the fourth and fifth levels of the ship, in the latter of which can also be found the mess room where they take their meals. Louis takes the turbo lift down to the fourth level, and trudges down the corridor. Because of the late hour, the lighting is dim: white light following the top and bottom of the wall, creating a path interrupted by the doors of each of room.

Liam is waiting for him outside his room, wearing nothing but boxers and a worn vest. Their rooms are side by side, but Liam takes the morning shift, which means he’s usually asleep by the time Louis goes to bed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow, once he reaches Liam.

As if on cue, Liam yawns. He frowns when Louis snorts with laughter, and trails Louis to his door. “What happened? We’re not going back to Earth?”

Louis takes out his card key to open the door of his room. “Who woke you up? No one was supposed to find out until tomorrow morning.”

The wrinkles on Liam’s forehead deepen. “I’m First Officer on this ship, Louis, and Chief of Engineering. If anyone should know ahead of time, it’s me.”

Louis tugs at the sleeves of his shirt, grimacing; he does it enough that the gold bands are crackling. “Right. I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Liam wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “I just thought you might need some help, if we need to make any preparations for these people, whoever they are.”

Louis ducks his head, stiff in Liam’s half embrace. His reviews at Starfleet Academy for Officers had frequently pointed out that he had trouble delegating and seeking help. What they didn’t understand was that for Louis, desperate to prove himself and incapable of fully reciprocating any relationship built on trust, asking for help felt like cheating and taking advantage.

“Prince Ha’ri-something from Jokaimor and his retinue,” Louis says finally. “We didn’t actually get much information. We don’t even know how many there are yet!”

Liam gives him a squeeze before letting him go. “Well. We’ll figure it out.” Then, to Louis’ surprise, he grins. “This is pretty exciting.”

Louis stares at him. “Seriously?”

Liam presses his palms to his cheeks, still smiling. “Yeah. Transporting royalty is bound to be more exciting than transporting avocados, isn’t it?”

It pulls a small laugh out of Louis, though he rolls his eyes. “When you put it like that...”

Liam nudges his shoulder. “It’ll be fun.” His smile dims a little. “You need fun, Louis.”

Louis hurries to swipe the card to open the door to his room, avoiding Liam’s eyes. “We should get to bed.”

“Yeah. Good night, mate.”

Louis gets a last glimpse of Liam’s concerned, caring face, before the door slides shut, blocking him from view.

—

With a sigh, Louis turns around.

The crew’s quarters in the ship are all the same: narrow and without windows, maroon carpeting on the floor and twin beds built into a white storage structure along either wall, facing each other with a distance of no more than three feet between them. The captain’s room has a similar design, but has a single bed unit—another bed can be pulled out in the same setting as the crew’s quarters, but without the storage structure—and an additional work unit against the far wall, which includes shelving and a floating desk. To the left, a door leads to the bathroom.

Face to face with the dimensions of his room, Liam and the issues surrounding their friendship are pushed to the back of his mind. Louis doesn’t fight it; dwelling on the problem of bringing more people on board instead of his personal life is a welcome distraction. The Rogue is a small ship, manned to capacity with a crew of fifty sharing double rooms, with the exception of the first line of command. He doesn’t know how many will be coming on board, but it’s going to be a tight fit no matter what.

Disgruntled at the thought of having to share his room, Louis tugs off his boots, kicking them to a side, and steps out of his socks. Barefoot, he crosses the room to the work unit. On the desktop sits his xylopiano, evolved from the traditional piano and the theremin. It combines playing the keyboard as well as a secondary control of the electric signals of a series of antennas.

Louis plays a quick piece, but he stumbles over a few notes and the pitch is off. He’s tired. And anxious. He’s also realised he needs to tell his mum to eat the perishables because he won’t be back for another month. He thinks about trying for an actual real-time video conversation, but decides to record a message instead. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to dodge questions.

He loves his mother more than anything, but even from her he’s been keeping secrets for some time now. There are too many things he hasn’t told her because he didn’t want to upset her. And now he’s afraid that he’ll let something slip, or she’ll be able to tell, somehow, how unhappy he really is with his life. Which would probably lead to her asking him to move back to Doncaster, which would end up with her finding out just how miserable he’d been when he was living there. When Louis had told her he was leaving to join Starfleet Academy, she’d thought he was looking for adventure and excitement in space—which was true—but she didn’t know that he was mostly looking for an escape.

Without undressing, Louis tries to record the message, but when he plays it back, he can hear his voice is shaking. Exhaling through his nose in exasperation, Louis throws the PADD on the bed and rummages in a drawer for a bottle of sugar water, uncapping it with fumbling fingers. He sits on the bed and drinks the whole thing. He lies back, afterwards, headache dissipating, but still drowsy. In the end he pulls on a soft, long sleeved shirt and pyjama bottoms and records a quick message in bed before flicking off the overhead light and burrowing deep under the covers. He doesn’t even have time to think about Prince Ha’ri-whatever before he’s asleep.

***

The next morning, Louis wakes up to a ship buzzing with excitement. Everyone who’s not on active duty is milling about the corridors, gossiping. He skips breakfast to avoid the inevitable barrage of questions he’d be subjected to if he stepped foot in the mess hall, and takes the emergency ladder instead of the turbo lift to get to the third level.

He isn’t surprised to find it deserted. Sickbay has, thankfully, seen little use. Nothing more than a couple of broken bones after an accident and a bad bout of the Martian flu a year back. Louis walks down the corridor toward the laboratory, catching a glimpse of Steve’s pristine office and the hospitalization area shrouded in darkness. He peers through the open door into the laboratory: a large hexagonal room, illuminated by bright lighting panels, glinting on the metallic instruments and rows of testing glassware. White countertops and storage facilities, as well as an assortment of equipment line three of the walls. The other two are used as projection screens, with a sprawling mess of chemical formulas and annotations.

He also isn’t surprised to find that, unlike his assistants and the nurses, Steve is there working on his personal research.

Given their stellar record in terms of illness and injury, Steve has free time to conduct his experiments and work on his projects, even while holding the position of Chief Medical Officer. It’s the one thing that keeps Louis’ guilt that Steve is stuck on this ship with him at a manageable level.

Louis hesitates, but finally steps into the lab. “Hey, Steve. You busy?” he asks. Then injects some levity into his voice. “Wait, what kind of question is that? I forgot who I was talking to.”

Steve looks up from the microscope, chuckling. “Never too busy for you, bro.”

Louis wraps an arm around his middle, with a breath of shy laughter. “You’re making me blush,” he jokes.

Steve stretches his back with a groan, still smiling. “What’s up?” He studies Louis as he undoes his long, black hair from its messy ponytail. “Wait, let me guess: I’m part of the welcoming committee.”

Louis winces. “If you don’t mind.”

Steve gives his shoulder a squeeze and pushes him toward the door. “’Course not. Any excuse to wear my fancy jacket.”

The ceremonial outfit consists of a white, short jacket that cuts off at the waist and is worn over a black undershirt. As the captain, Louis’ closes at the front in white, while other officers’ front is blue, but both uniforms have gold trimmings. Louis adjusts his headband as they walk down the corridor toward the transporter room—no harm in looking his best; he’s representing Starfleet and the Federation, after all.

There’s a crowd waiting outside the transporter room, and Louis has to shoo them away. “You’re going to be meeting them all sooner or later… in a ship this size.”

The last part is a mutter which only Steve catches, making him snort in amusement.

Liam is waiting for them inside the transporter room, at the control panel. The two ensigns from security Louis had requested take up their position by the door with a respectful nod to Steve and Louis when they enter the room.

“It’s just three then?” Liam asks as he sets up the transporter, the circular pads on the platform, which occupies most of the room, lighting up.

Louis shrugs, choosing to stand a few feet from the short stairs leading down from the platform. “Mhm.” He stands with his feet apart, hands clasped in front of himself, chin up.

Liam checks the time, tugging at the collar of his jacket, which is tight in his broad frame. Liam spends a lot of time working out in the ship’s exercise room down on level four. “It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” he says. “Just three?”

They had been forwarded a report that morning with their visitors’ biosignals so they could be beamed up.

Louis shifts to fix his hair again before resuming position. “I guess. But I’m not complaining. The less the better.”

“Look at you rolling out the welcome mat!” Steve jokes, making Liam laugh.

Louis’ lips twitch, but he doesn’t want to break his concentration. He needs to be at the top of his game with these dignitaries on board. “Keep talking and you can have all three of them as roommates.”

“All three as opposed to just one?” Steve asks knowingly.

“Is that the solution you came up with? They’re bunking with us?” Liam says with a bark of laughter.

Louis would flip him off, but he has to content himself with shooting him a dirty look. “Everyone else is already sharing.”

Liam holds his hands palm up, stifling laughter. “I don’t mind! I’m just surprised you didn’t try to stick them in storage or something.”

Louis huffs. “I considered it. But I imagine the princeling would make a fuss.”

Liam fiddles with a lever on the control panel, one eye on the clock. “So you’re sharing too?” he asks Louis with obvious skepticism.

Louis rubs his hands together, palms damp and clammy. He really should have had something for breakfast. “I was thinking the princeling can stay in the observation lounge? Set him a nice cot—”

Both Liam and Steve laugh at that.

Louis scowls, fussing with the triangle hem of his jacket. “I don’t want him in my room! I’m the captain.”

Liam looks unimpressed. “You’re going to cause a diplomatic disaster.”

“I’ll sell it, Liam,” Louis says impatiently, breaking position to wave a hand for emphasis. “It’s much nicer in the observation lounge than in my smelly, old room. He gets privacy and a lovely view, etcetera. I’m not setting out to insult alien royalty, all right?”

Steve claps his shoulder. “I believe in you, Louis,” he says, half ironically, giving him a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” Louis deadpans. He checks the time and takes a deep breath. “Everything ready?” he asks Liam.

Liam flicks a few buttons of the control panel, and the transporter pads start buzzing.  “All set.”

“OK. Here we go.” Louis tenses, licks his lips, and gives the order: “Beam them up, Payno.”

Chapter Text

Liam beams up their luggage first: stacks of cases like they’re going on a cruise. Once the transporter platform is clear, Liam looks to Louis again for final confirmation before he activates the transporter again. Shimmering light coalesces in a matter of seconds into three individual humanoid shapes.

And Louis really wishes he’d had some kind of warning, because he is not prepared for the trio that materialises before his eyes. He’d expected three old Anorans, a humanoid species that could pass for human at first glance. Instead there’s a young Vulcan, with the characteristic slanted eyebrows and pointed ears, dressed in the traditional maroon robes of a diplomatic aide, fastened off center, cut to the knees at the back and the hips at the front, over dark brown leggings and boots; and a human with pale skin and hair the colour of wheat, wearing a shirt and trousers similar to the typical Starfleet uniform but in dark blue.

And then there’s the prince. There’s no doubt of his royalty in a vaporous, green organza shirt open in a vee almost to his naval, tight black trousers, and ankle boots made of some kind of reptile skin. He also has what looks like a Neptunian pearl for a pendant and a gem-encrusted ring on every finger. The luxurious clothes and jewellery he could anticipate, but Louis wasn’t expecting him to be so young— he looks about Louis’ age— or so fit: with a sharp jawline and berry red full lips, and dark curls past his shoulders.

Louis ogles. He can’t help it. No one moves, until, after a brief moment, the prince steps forward, seeming to float down the steps off the platform.

“Hi.” He draws out the vowel, smiling wide enough to make dimples pop out on his cheeks. “Thank you for having us.”

His voice is deep, and he talks slowly, with a British accent that Louis can’t pinpoint, as though it’s a mix of several dialects.

“This is Niall Horan, interpreter and friend.” He introduces the human who nods at them all in turn, like some kind of bobble head, with a friendly grin and a ‘good to meet you’ in an unmistakable Irish accent that startles Louis.

“And this is Zayn, my advisor and friend.” The Vulcan raises a hand in the traditional salute, his large, dark eyes flicking from one to the other, face unreadable. His eyes linger on Liam, who’s not doing a very good job of hiding his fascination.

“And I’m Ha’rialualaha of Jokaimor, but you may call me Ha’ri.”

Harry. An Anoran, prince of a planet a hundred light years from Earth, called Harry. Laughter bubbles in Louis’ chest, even as he can’t take his eyes from him. He almost wants to interject and add the title, some intrinsic contrariness in his nature itching to break free. And also because it annoys him that Harry will use his title to commandeer a freight ship and then turn around and act like he’s a hitchhiker they picked up on the side of the road.

But then Harry is stepping forward and putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders without warning. “Will you tell us your names, please?” he asks mildly.

Steve looks more amused than anything. “I’m Steve—”

“Lieutenant,” Louis mutters under his breath.

Harry’s eyes flick to him for a split second before returning his full attention to Steve.

Steve bites back a laugh. “Lieutenant Steve Hiroyuki Aoki. Chief Medical Officer on this ship.” He shoots Louis a pointed look, and Louis shrugs and nods in acquiescence. He knows they’re the first ones who should have welcomed Harry, but it’s not like he gave them a chance. “Welcome to The Rogue.”

Harry’s grin widens. “Thank you, Steve.” He leans in to brush their cheeks together, a light touch, once on each side. Steve doesn’t seem fazed; he’s travelled both on Earth and outside of it and isn’t bothered by unfamiliar customs.

Despite his obvious shock, Liam steps forward without prompting to greet Harry. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Liam James Payne, Chief Engineer. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you, Liam. Likewise.” Harry pulls back from their greeting, still smiling.

And then he turns to Louis, who is frozen. Because all of a sudden Harry is close enough that Louis can fully appreciate the sea glass green of his eyes and how deep his dimples are. He’s taller than Louis by a few inches, and his hands are huge, engulfing Louis’ shoulders when he clasps them in preparation for his Anoran greeting. It’s not unusual, Louis being smaller than the people around him, but he isn’t normally so hyper aware of it.

“Hi,” Harry breathes. He holds his bottom lip between his teeth, the corners of his mouth still upturned, eyes roving over Louis’ face in a way that has Louis flushing.

“Let me guess. You must be the captain?”

Louis’ fingers curl around the bottom of his jacket, pulling it down in a nervous gesture. “Captain Louis William Tomlinson.”

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry repeats in a soft, almost wondering tone. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you so much for having us on board.”

When he leans in, Louis panics. He shrugs his shoulders, though he doesn’t quite manage to displace Harry’s hands, and turns his face away abruptly before they can brush cheeks.

Harry goes stock still, and Louis hears Liam, and he thinks Niall, gasp, while the crewmen in the background shuffle their feet awkwardly. One of them clears his throat, while Steve stands with a fixed grin on his face. Louis glances behind Harry at Zayn, who looks unperturbed, before finally, with great reluctance, forcing himself to look back at Harry, who blinks once, slowly.

Louis can feel everyone staring at him and he twitches, fisting the bottom of his jacket. “Eh, sorry. Germaphobe,” he blurts out.

He hears Steve’s stifled laughter, but Harry doesn’t react.

Niall takes a step forward. “Harry, that means he’s—”

Harry’s eyebrows dip and he finally drops his hands from Louis’ shoulders. “I know what it means,” he says, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s still rather rude.”

That breaks Louis out of his timidness. He raises his eyebrows, bristling, all his frustration bubbling over suddenly. “You're going to lecture me about rude? While you’re going around making use of the Federation’s starship fleet like it’s a cab service?”

Harry’s lips purse. “We had need of your services,” he replies tightly.

“Yeah, sure. And since the orders come from higher up we are obligated to observe them!”

Louis is vaguely aware that he’s raising himself on his tiptoes, crowding on Harry’s personal space. “So here we are, set on a course opposite our original destination, with ‘guests’ we weren’t expecting and couldn’t refuse! And you’re going to lecture me about being rude! You—”

Liam hisses under his breath and extends an arm as though to put a barrier between Harry and Louis.

Steve pulls Louis to his side with an arm around his neck, bringing his heels back to the floor. “He had an early morning and he’s hangry. Don’t take it personally.” He winks at Harry, wincing when Louis jabs his elbow into his side.

Louis scowls but doesn’t argue, slumping in Steve’s hold. Harry raises his eyebrows, still unsmiling, and turns to Niall questioningly. Niall tells him something in a language Louis doesn’t understand, a small grin playing about his mouth. When he finishes his explanation, Harry eyes Louis, mouth twisted to a side thoughtfully.

After almost half a minute, he makes a small bow, hands before him, palms together. “All is forgiven, Captain.”

Louis tenses, mouth opening to deliver an indignant retort, but Steve holds him in place. “It’s almost time for lunch. Why don’t we head over to the mess hall? Introduce the rest of the crew to our guests, yeah?”

Niall nods quickly. “I could eat.”

“I do not require sustenance at this hour. I would like to be shown to our quarters, please?”

The unfamiliar voice distracts Louis from his anger. It takes him a moment to realise who’s spoken, as he hadn’t said anything until then, and his voice was low and quiet.

Zayn raises an eyebrow at everyone’s attention on him.

Louis tilts his head at Liam and then at the door in encouragement. Liam sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, before he steels himself and puts on a smile for Zayn.

“I’ll show you to my... your... our room?”

Zayn stares at Liam, who has an arm outstretched in invitation for the Vulcan to precede him out of the room. “My belongings?”

Despite the monotone and the lack of expression, Louis gets the impression that Zayn is anxious.

Harry confirms it as the rest of the group walks down to the mess room after Liam and Zayn have left—Liam carrying the Vulcan’s luggage. “Zayn isn’t comfortable in crowds. He’d rather meet people at his own pace, so as not to cause offense.” His eyes slide to Louis and linger as he speaks in his measured drawl.

Louis’ brow furrows, unsure if Harry is taunting him. “That’s fine. No one’s going to push him to do anything that makes him uncomfortable,” he says pointedly.

Harry’s eyes narrow and he stares at Louis without looking away until the turbo lift doors slide open on the fifth level.

Word had travelled fast, as usual, and the mess room is packed with everyone who isn't needed to run the ship. At least Louis hopes everyone is at their post.

“Looks like Zayn made a good call skipping lunch,” Niall comments. Despite the casual tone, his smile is strained.

“You all right?” Steve asks, hand on his shoulder.

“I’m a tad claustrophobic.” Niall shoots Louis a conspiratorial grin, as though they’re in some secret club together because they both have phobias. In spite of himself, Louis is endeared.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, and climbs onto the table closest to the door, waving his arms around to call attention to himself. “All right, everyone! You've seen them. And you'll be seeing a lot more of them throughout the next week. So anyone who isn't supposed to be here, can you kindly clear out, please?”

There’s a surge of noise, crew members glancing up at him as they talk. But nobody moves.

“Now!” Louis insists, raising his voice slightly and making shooing gestures. After a minute people start trickling out, not without grumbling, leaving less than half the number in the room.

Louis steps off the table onto the bench and to the floor. The room spins for a moment, and Steve, ever perceptive, grabs him by the elbow, steadying him.

Niall thanks him, looking a lot more relaxed, and Harry inclines his head. “Impressive display of authority.”

Louis isn’t sure if he’s mocking him, but his head is pounding, so he decides to ignore him and address Niall instead. “No problem.”

Niall and Harry head over to the replicators which synthesise their meals. The machines are old and have a limited number of options for the menu. And, in spite of the best efforts of Liam’s engineering team, all the food has a slight metallic tang. No one’s been poisoned yet, and Steve assures Louis it’s not a health hazard, but it makes for both dull and unsavory meals.

Steve and Louis trail behind them.

“Louis—”

Louis huffs, rolling his eyes. He knows exactly what Steve is going to say. They’ve had this conversation more than once. “Save it. Please.”

An arm around his shoulders, Steve gives him a slight shake. “You know you can’t be skipping meals.”

Louis ducks out from under his arm, stepping up to the replicator. “I’m about to have lunch, Steve. What are you talking about?”

He smiles when he catches the amused twitch of Steve’s moustache, and selects the code for the Bajoran chicken.

He tries to hold onto his improved mood when he approaches the table where Harry and Niall are sitting. But Harry’s relentless staring while Louis tries to start on his chicken makes his stomach feel funny, and it frustrates him that he can’t hold Harry’s gaze for more than a few seconds.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Louis snaps finally.

To his surprise, Harry’s face relaxes into a smile. “I’m savouring the smell first.” He picks up his bowl with both hands and holds it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. “I haven’t eaten Ferengian snails in ages. We don’t have replicators at home, and snails are a rare treat.”

A small part of Louis is endeared, but annoyance wins out. He hasn’t had more than a few bites of chicken and he knows this is the reason he’s so quick to anger. But he has no inclination to curb his irritation with Harry. “There are fifteen items on the ship’s replicator menu. But of course you get one of your favourite dishes while we’re all stuck having the same food for a year and a half.”

Harry clears his throat, looking awkward, and puts the bowl down. “Well. It's... good.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, chewing a piece of bread. “You haven’t even tried it yet.”

Harry blushes. He raises a spoonful to his mouth and sticks his tongue out first. Louis opens his mouth, but Steve catches his eye and shakes his head.

Louis can’t stay silent, however. “Don't you have a food taster?” he asks. He’s not going to mock his manner of eating, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make him squirm.

But the effect is not what Louis had hoped. Rather than embarrassed, Harry looks almost playful as he throws back: “Do I need one?”

Disgruntled, Louis shrugs. “Doesn’t seem a reach to think someone might want to kill you.”

Niall chokes on his pie and starts laughing.

The corners of Harry’s mouth turn upwards, though he doesn’t quite smile. But he looks at Louis with an intense, almost challenging expression, for long enough to make him squirm.

“I’m not going to do it,” Louis says at last.

Harry dips his spoon into the snail stew again. “I guess I’ll have to risk it. What’s the expression? ‘Here goes nothing’.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the dramatics, especially when Harry moans exaggeratedly at the mouthful. Nonetheless, it takes all his will power to bite back a smile as he chews his chicken when Harry grins at him with a bit of stew trickling down his chin.

In the end, there’s enough people vying for Harry and Niall’s attention that he and Louis manage to have a civil, albeit indirect, conversation. Until talk about the rooming situation comes up once Liam joins them at the table, looking a tad harried.

“Zayn’s settling in.” Liam starts shovelling corned beef in his mouth. “I had to move some stuff around. But, um, yeah, it’s all good. It’ll be... fun... having a roommate.”

“You don’t have guest quarters?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “No. Because this is a cargo ship, not a cruise ship.” He sets his cup down harder than necessary. “Which is only one of the reasons why this whole thing is sh—”

“Such a cool chance to meet new people and liven things up a bit,” Steve interrupts jovially. “I’m a great roomie, Niall.”

Louis can’t really stay mad around Steve. “Yeah, he’s never there ‘cause he barely sleeps.”

Steve pretends to bang his head like a rock star. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead, bro.”

Niall laughs in delight, along with Liam and Louis. But Louis’ laughter dies when he sees Harry staring at him again.

“So I’m sharing with you?” Harry asks before Louis can say anything.

Louis chokes on his juice. “No! No, no. You’re staying in the observation lounge.”

Harry cocks his head. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

Harry doesn’t drop his gaze. “Your officers have given up their rooms. Why don’t you, Captain?”

Louis splutters in indignation. His face goes hot when he knocks his cup over, flooding his tray. Liam hands him a handful of napkins to soak up the mess, and Louis uses the excuse to avoid looking at Harry. He’s furious at Harry, but also annoyed at himself and his reaction to him. And at the fact that however he tries to sell the observation lounge as the better choice now, the implications are that he thinks too highly of himself to give up his room. “Fine. You take my room. I’ll stay in the observation lounge.”

Harry blinks at him, and Louis doesn’t think he’s imagining the slight, smug curl of his lips. “That’s unnecessary, I don’t mind sharing.”

“You’re the prince—” Louis starts to argue, getting juice all over his hand as he squeezes the wet balled up napkin.

“Is my company so distasteful?” Harry cuts in, voice low and earnest.

Louis flushes, ducking his head. An hour and a half in and he’s screwed up already: offending royalty and a new ally of the United Federation of Planets. Then again, Louis is not fit to be a diplomat— they’d made that very clear at Starfleet Academy. “No,” he mumbles.

When Louis glances up he sees Harry’s grinning. “Then it’s settled. Roomies, is that the word?”

Steve gives Harry a thumbs up, but his expression is sympathetic when he looks at Louis.

Louis wants to throw his sodden napkin in Harry’s face... and then run and hide in his room, safe under the covers.

—

He doesn’t get to throw anything at Harry, or escape from him at all. After lunch, Harry requests a tour of the ship. Louis would like nothing more than to excuse himself and cherish the last bit of time on his own in his room, but as the captain he has no choice but to head the guided tour. Not that there’s much to see. It’s little more than an excuse for everyone in the crew to fawn and swoon over Harry, who’s charming and exotic but not different enough to be off-putting.

Louis doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Harry doesn’t attempt his Anoran greeting with anyone, instead shaking hands when they’re offered to him. Although he does participate in an obscure sort of greeting dance with a Lomaki member of the crew.

Louis develops a headache, frustrated by Harry, all dimples, flouncing around in clothes that accentuate the length of his legs and show off his arms and chest. It makes Louis think that protecting his personal space and time isn’t going to be his only problem. He’s also faced with having to share a room with one of the most attractive beings he’s ever seen in his life. The fact that Louis resents him and his smug, condescending attitude barely tempers his attraction to him.

His one hope is that with his evening shift they can avoid each other as much as possible. Though he’ll need to find a quiet place to do the administrative work if Harry is going to be hanging around his room. Or maybe Harry will want to spend most of his time socializing. He seems the sort.

Louis refuses to acknowledge the writhing in his stomach at the thought of Harry spending the night in someone else’s room... with someone else. If that’s what Harry wants to do, that would be fine. Convenient, even. It’s not like Louis has any claim to or intentions toward Harry. All he has is an unfortunate crush, which he will deal with how he deals with most things: avoidance.

—

Louis’ panic spikes as the tour nears its end. Before they can leave the medical section, Louis sidles up to Steve. “Can you keep him entertained for a bit while I sort out my stuff?” he whispers, shooting Harry a furtive glance. But Harry’s attention is finally off of Louis as he seems entranced by the spread of colourful chemicals.

Steve pulls him into a brief half-hug. “Can do.”

He slips out while Steve leads Harry and the others to the hospitalization room and starts to talk about his neon cave, an enhanced hyperbaric chamber to accelerate tissue healing.

Louis literally runs down to his room, full of nervous, pent-up energy. He hadn’t expected any opposition to his plan to have Harry sleep in the observation lounge, and his room is as unprepared as he is for a roommate.

After a quick cleanup and struggling with the catches to pull out the extra bed, Louis rips off his jacket and throws it on his bed, kicks off his boots, then stands in the middle of his room, hands on his hips. Looking at the three feet distance between the beds and the imminent arrival of Harry and his luggage, his room has never seemed smaller.

Eyes falling on the xylopiano and the scattered sheet music on the tabletop, Louis walks over to the work unit, mouth twisted with indecision. He feels exposed with it sitting out in the open, but having to move it irritates him. And he’s also unsure if he’s supposed to share some of the work space with Harry. Does Harry even have any work to do?

“Gonna have to move you.” Louis plays a triad idly as he comes to a decision. “You’ll be alright under the bed, won’t you?”

“Unless it’s scared of dust bunnies… that’s what they’re called, right? They’re dust mice in Jokaimor.”

Louis whirls around, a hand to his chest. “Ever heard of knocking?” he snaps, embarrassed at being caught unawares.

Harry puts down the two cases he had in his hands, letting them hit the floor with a thump. “I didn’t exactly tiptoe in.” His mouth tilts in a crooked grin. “You were just too busy being cute talking to inanimate objects to hear me.”

Louis hates that it makes him blush, and he turns his back on Harry so he can’t see. “Whatever.”

He can’t resist sneaking a peek when he hears the rustle of sheets. Harry is sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands and, of course, staring at Louis openly. “Are you hangry again? Or just always angry?” he asks in a casual tone.

Louis levels him an unimpressed look. “You can expect me to be angry with you for the foreseeable future.”

Harry considers him for a moment before jumping to his feet. He trips, but rights himself and walks over to stand next to Louis. “You don’t have to move it on my account. I really don’t want to be a bother.”

Louis frowns as Harry rests a hand on the edge of the lower keyboard, and looks up at him, expression deadpan. “Imagine that.”

Harry is much closer than he expected, their faces inches apart, and Louis’ composure falters when Harry doesn’t answer, his face unreadable, unmoving except for his eyes studying Louis’ face. He braces himself for some kind of explosion, but Harry breaks into a bright, unrestrained smile instead.

Before Louis has realised what has happened, Harry is moving.

“You play then?” he asks, running his long fingers down the keys in a discordant scale.

It makes Louis twitch and make an aborted movement to stop him. “Take a guess.”

But Harry’s grin doesn’t falter as he continues his violation of Louis’ space, touching everything without shame: from his sock drawer, to his collection of miniature opal skulls, to the worn composition books, to the digital frame that alternates different pictures of his mum and siblings.

“Your family?” he asks, voice soft.

Louis rolls his eyes. “No, I just liked the frame.”

A corner of Harry’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t quite smile as he looks from Louis to the pictures with an intensity Louis doesn’t understand. “You’re the eldest?” he asks finally.

Louis takes the frame from him and sets it back on the shelf. “Mhm.”

Harry nods, face relaxing. “I only have the one sister, Gemma. She’s older.”

Louis exhales a quiet laugh; he’s not surprised to learn Harry is the younger child.

“What?” Harry asks with a tentative smile.

Louis isn’t a cruel person, so he bites back the comment about Harry being a spoiled baby and musters a small smile. “Nothing. It’s just funny. How different our childhoods must have been.”

He can tell it’s not what Harry was expecting, but the hesitance in Harry’s smile actually decreases.

“That makes it more interesting, doesn’t it?” he says.

“What?”

“Getting to know each other,” Harry replies, smile widening.

Louis blinks, caught in Harry’s warm, unwavering gaze. Harry keeps throwing him off balance, and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s not used to having such a strong reaction to anyone. Flustered, he turns to his sleeping unit and fumbles to open a drawer. “You can have a drawer, if you want. For your clothes.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, and Louis can’t resist turning around to look at him again. His dimples make Louis’ stomach flip flop.

He scoffs to hide the effect Harry is having on him. “It’s just a drawer. And—” He gathers a few pages of sheet music, an old gaming device, and two worn shirts, from inside the drawer. “I don’t have much in it, anyway.”

Harry nudges one of Louis’ boots with his foot. “Yeah, you seem to favour the floor.”

Louis stares at Harry, once again thrown for a loop. “You might want to keep that kind of comment to yourself.” He tries to bang the drawer closed, but the mechanism doesn’t allow it, so that all he can do is give it an ineffectual, frustrated push with his palm once it’s closed. “Unless you favour the floor.”

Harry grimaces, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I was only teasing. Trying to ‘break the ice’, not insult you. Was that not good?”

Louis studies him, skeptical. “You ever been around humans before?”

It’s meant as a rhetorical question, and he’s surprised when Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and answers timidly. “A few? Niall and his family, mostly?”

Harry tucks a bit of hair behind his ear, blinking at Louis innocently. “I’ve read a lot about them, though.”

Louis notices immediately that Harry said ‘them’ and not ‘you’, but he chalks it up to him being paranoid.

“And... and I’m friends with Grimmy—Nick. He came to finalize the negotiations for Jokaimor to join the Federation—”

“Ambassador Grimshaw?” Louis interrupts.

“Mhm.”

Louis snorts. “Not the best human to get your cue from when it comes to being polite.”

Harry fidgets in place, fiddling with a turquoise ring on his left hand. “I wasn’t trying to be polite now.”

Louis scrunches his face confusion. “Right. I don’t know if I should be offended or—” He peers up at Harry. “What exactly were you going for?”

Harry hums, shaking his head with his eyes squeezed shut. “Forget it.”

Before Louis can decide if he wants to keep pressing, the alarm of his work unit goes off, projecting  the time in white light on the green grey wall, signaling he has to start his shift. He looks down on himself, still in his ceremonial uniform. “Right. Now get out so I can change.”

Harry runs his eyes down Louis‘ body to his socked feet and back up to his face. “I don’t mind,” he says with a shrug and a crooked grin.

It startles a laugh out of Louis, even as he face heats up. “Great. But I do.”

Harry pushes him bottom lip out. “But we’re going to be sharing a room. Will I have to step outside every time?”

Louis doesn’t have time for common sense right now. “I don’t know. We’ll figure that out, later.” He gives Harry a push, which does nothing to move him. “Move. I’ll only be a few minutes and then I’m gone, so you’ll have the room to yourself.”

Once Harry leaves the room, dragging his feet and grumbling, Louis changes into his regular uniform and grabs a bottle of sugar water from his cache. Exiting the room he almost crashes into Harry, who was waiting just outside the door.

“If you need anything…” Louis calls back as he hurries down the corridor. “I’m sure you can find someone to help you out.”

He glances back once, in time to see Harry’s disgruntled face. But there really is an entire ship full of people who would love to wait hand and foot on Harry, and Louis needs some distance.

Without Harry’s distracting presence, and after looking in on engineering and auxiliary control, Louis can think again. While on the turbo lift up to the main bridge, he remembers that Harry is the reason they have to postpone their return to Earth for another month. And he reminds himself that he doesn’t want to befriend Harry—he wants to avoid him as much as possible, drop him off, complain about him to his mum a few times, and then forget all about him.

—

The evening shift in the main bridge is usually peaceful, following their back and forth fixed route generally without incident. But the unexpected guests have the whole crew in a state of excitement. Everyone especially wants to talk and hear about Harry. Louis tries to tune it out, but after one too many comments about his hair and his lips, Louis bans the subject, which results in sullen silence and dark looks... and Lauren staring at him with an amused look on her face.

“You might want to make a move on him before staking your claim, you know? Kind of jumping the gun there,” she says.

Louis scowls. “I’m not ‘staking my claim’. I’m fighting against his objectification. He’s not a piece of meat or a toy.”

Lauren cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. “Yeah, OK. That’s reasonable.”

Louis hopes word about respecting Harry spreads as quickly as gossip always seems to on The Rogue. At least on the bridge it has a quick effect, and after a few minutes the tension disappears, conversation starting up again—still about their guests, but with a different tone.

—

When his shift ends Louis dallies at the bridge rather than head back to his quarters. After Perrie kicks him out he drops in on engineering again, where Liam’s second indulges him for a while before he starts suggesting that Louis might want to go to sleep. Weariness wins out against the nervous tension keeping him from his bed, and Louis drags himself to his room, bracing himself for another possible encounter with Harry.

He lets out a sigh of relief when he walks in to the sound of soft snoring and darkness. The bit of light he allows himself as he readies himself for bed reveals Harry sleeping on his back, limbs thrown out like a starfish with the sheets bunched up around his crotch. He doesn’t appear to be wearing any clothes.

Louis hits his forehead on the overhead closet as he turns around in a hurry to get into bed. Rubbing the sore spot as he lies with the sheets up to his chin, Louis grows increasingly aggravated by the sound of Harry’s snuffling breathing until he’s barely resisting the urge to throw a shoe at him. However, after no more than a few minutes, Harry’s snores fade into the background and he falls asleep.

***

“What the—?” Louis groans at the loud thump and swearing that wakes him up.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Louis squints at Harry, able to make out his apologetic expression in the gloom. He makes a sound of acknowledgement in his throat and turns around to face the wall. The movement causes chill air to slip underneath the covers, making him shiver. He rolls back around, pulling the covers tighter around himself. “Did you touch the thermostat?” he demands.

Harry freezes, hairbrush in midair. “Um.” He resumes brushing his hair, eyebrows pinched. “Yeah. I was sweating through the sheets.”

Louis frowns at him, pouting. “I’m cold.”

Harry makes an odd trilling sound, face breaking into a grin, which only makes Louis frown harder. “Wait. Seriously?” Harry says in a hushed voice, gaping at him. “I thought you were joking.”

Louis makes a sound of disgust and turns his back on Harry, curling into a ball. Being jarred awake before he has to get up is bad enough, but waking up to a cold room makes him both want to scream and burst into tears. “Just get out and let me sleep.”

He holds his breath, in complete tension during the few seconds before he hears the light thud of the hairbrush being tossed on the bed, followed by the rustle of Harry’s clothes and the door sliding open and closed.

As silence settles in the room, Louis can’t help but wonder if he might not have been a bit harsh. He knows he loses body heat easily, and Harry might have felt as uncomfortable sleeping in the heat as Louis did waking up in the cold.

When his alarm goes off no more than fifteen minutes later, right as he’s dropping off again, Louis’ guilt is replaced by a fresh rush of irritation toward Harry, who seems determined to make his life as difficult and uncomfortable as possible.

—

Louis arrives at the mess room at the same time as Liam, who greets him with a smile as they join the queue for the replicators.

“You survived the first night, then!”

Louis elbows him in the side, shooting him an unimpressed look. “Barely. How was it with Zayn?”

Liam makes a thoughtful face. “Weird. I'm not sure he slept? He just... meditated? I don’t know, I woke up and he hadn’t moved at all.”

“That sounds… disturbing,” he says as he introduces the code for porridge.

“What happened with Harry?” Liam asks, loading his own tray with scrambled eggs and sausage.

Louis scoffs. “He snored. And he turned down the temperature in the room without even asking. And he woke me up making a racket. He’s the worst.”

Liam visibly bites back laughter. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” Louis grumbles, pouting. He exaggerates the pout in an attempt pass it off as a joke, but he’s not certain he succeeds if Liam’s wide, earnest expression is any indication.

“I am!” Liam assures him as he takes a seat across him at a free table. “But you’ve got to admit snoring and tripping over your shoes while half-asleep doesn’t quite make him a monster.” His mouth curves into a tentative smile. “At least he has good table manners. Although he does do that thing with his tongue—”

Louis rolls his eyes with a breath of laughter. “Fine. But he’s on thin ice.”

He can’t tell Liam that the worst of Harry’s offences is how he makes Louis feel all out of sorts. He can’t even blame it all on his looks, because it goes beyond that. There’s something about Harry that gets to Louis like no one has before, and Louis is bordering on terrified because he doesn’t understand it and doesn’t know what to do about it.

He’s spared from further discussion about Harry by Steve, who joins them at their table with a huge cup of green juice in hand.

“What’s Niall like as a roommate?” Liam asks Steve. “He seemed nice enough yesterday.”

“Yeah, he was cool,” Steve replies around the straw in his mouth. “No problem. Snored a bit, but... it’s not a big deal.”

Liam shoots Louis a pointed look, lips twitching. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve, who turns to Louis questioningly.

Louis shakes his head with a sigh. “Just appreciate your luck. You hit the jackpot, Steve.”

“That bad?” Steve says with a bit of a chuckle.

Louis shrugs, but has a spoonful of porridge instead of answering. It’s easier to keep some perspective when Harry’s not around.

“Where are they, anyway?” Liam asks all of a sudden, as though reading Louis’ mind. “Doesn’t Zayn ‘require sustenance’ at some point? I don’t think he ate at all yesterday.”

“Planning a mutiny, probably,” Louis mutters jokingly. But he has to admit if he were in a strange ship surrounded by people he didn't know, he'd seek out his friends for a bit of private time, too.

“Speak of the tribble,” Steve says, tipping his cup toward the entrance of the mess room with a wag of his eyebrows.

Louis turns his head to look automatically and chokes at the sight he’s met with, spilling milk down his chest. Liam claps him on the back until Louis slaps him off, still coughing, while Harry, with Zayn and Niall in tow, approach their table.

“Hi, do you mind if we—” Harry begins with a friendly smile, but Niall is already moving to sit down next to Steve.

“What are you wearing?” Louis blurts out, wiping the milk from his chin with the back of his hand in an absent gesture. He can’t take his eyes off Harry, who’s wearing silver boots, white tight trousers, and a sheer black shirt with silver stars embroidered. And that’s not—Louis can’t deal with that.

Harry squints at Louis, obviously confused. “Sorry?”

It’s too late to turn back. Louis waves a hand encompassing Harry from head to toe. “What you’re wearing ... it’s… inappropriate.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise comically high. He takes a good look at Louis and tilts his head, a corner of his mouth lifting into one of his insufferable smirks. “Is there a dress code on board?” he asks mildly.

“Yes. No.” Louis gapes at Harry as he stands with one foot in front of the other, hip cocked, showing off his long, lean legs. After a moment, Louis pulls himself together, bristling at being caught out. “Yes, there is. Because this is a real ship. Where we do real work. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept.”

Harry’s smile drops, and his stance changes completely. “I am.”

“This isn’t a cruise ship for your majesty where you can show off your fancy clothes,” Louis continues recklessly. Liam winces and Steve is sucking on his straw furiously though his cup is empty. “Everyone here has a proper job.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening. “I have a degree in Interstellar Law and Galactic Anthropology. And I’m an Admiral of Jokaimor’s fleet—”

Louis swallows back how impressed he is and forces a scoff past his throat. “Ceremonial title,” he coughs. He locates the sound of tittering in Niall, who’s biting his nails, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“It’s not just a ceremonial title,” Harry snarls, hands balling into fists. “I passed my exams like everyone else. I might’ve been born into royalty, but I’ve never taken anything for granted, and I’ve never shirked my duties or tried to take advantage of my privilege to get out of doing work.”

The whole mess hall has fallen silent. Harry’s not quite shouting, but close enough, and his voice naturally carries.

A part of Louis kind of wants to run—Harry is radiating hostility and Louis very much feels like he’s overstepped a line—but he gets to his feet and stands his ground instead. “Then you should be more professional,” he says, and he hates how his voice goes high pitched and strained.

Harry holds his gaze, face set in a glare. After a few seconds that feel infinite, Harry gives a sharp nod and turns on his heel, stalking off without a word.

Zayn, who had been standing right behind Harry, watches him leave, then shrugs. “I’m going to eat,” he says, and heads over to the replicator machines without another word.

“Do you have alcohol on this ship?” Niall says with a strangled laugh. “I’d kill for a pint.”

“I have some Bergian beer!” Liam pipes up with an edge of hysteria.

“It’s a little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” Louis snaps, his heart racing in his chest though he’s standing still.

Liam blinks at him, pouting. “You can have some, too, mate.”

Louis takes a deep breath, lips pursed. He has to remind himself it’s not Liam’s or Niall’s fault that he doesn’t have the option of getting drunk to relax or relieve stress. “Thanks. But I’ve got... stuff to do.”

The closest thing Louis has to stress relief is his music, and he wants nothing more than escape to his room and lose himself in his latest composition and not think for a while. But he’s afraid that Harry will have gone there and he wants to avoid Harry more than anything. So he hides out in the observation lounge, instead.

He slips inside after checking the corridors to make sure no one has seen him, and walks over to the window, which is floor to ceiling, following a concave curve. And this helps, too. The quiet, and the breathtaking view before him: bright star clusters and planets hundreds and thousands of light years away, and a distant nebula in shades of magenta.

After a while he takes a seat at the oval conference table. The bottom of the swivel chair is shaped like an egg and Louis takes advantage of the width to sit cross-legged. The tall backrest curves forward at the top like a miniature awning, and he feels even smaller than usual in that chair.

He wonders if Harry is going to file a complaint against him. Not that it can make his chances of advancement at Starfleet any worse. He’s already been blacklisted for all his diplomatic dreams and it’s hard to think of anything lower than the cargo ship duty he’s on now. Except maybe not being commissioned with a starship at all and instead having a permanent post on some forsaken base in the middle of nowhere. But at this point Louis can’t even bring himself to care. More pressing is the niggling voice at the back of his head—that sounds an awful lot like his mum—telling him he’s maybe been more than a little unfair toward Harry. It has him pulling at his hair, because Louis is certain he can deal with sexual frustration, it’s the other part of it that he doesn’t understand which is driving him mad.

In the following hours Louis records his captain log—he has to do it twice because his voice was shaking the first time, even though he keeps the account to the bare minimum. It’s an official record, not his diary. If he kept a diary it would read ‘fuck Harry’—both as a curse and as wishful thinking, if he’s honest with himself. He also paces the length of the room, overthinking, and beats his high score in the block puzzle game on his PADD.

He welcomes the start of his shift, and hurries to carry out his duties after a quick stop in the nearest bathroom for a wee and to splash some water on his face. But what had been a slight wooziness and pressure between his eyebrows while sitting down, becomes a pounding headache and nauseating dizziness by the time he goes up to the bridge.

The handful of glucose tablets couldn’t make up for skipping lunch and dinner, and he feels downright sick. But he's determined to hold out for a few more hours, never mind Lauren’s furtive glances of concern. He hasn’t been in the captain’s chair for five minutes, however, before the doors slide open.

“Steve.” Louis’ voice comes out monotone, but he’s surprised. Steve doesn’t usually come up to the bridge. “Is something wrong?” he asks, rubbing his eyes trying to clear his vision.  

Steve smiles mildly. “No, bro. Just thought I’d stop by. Say hello to everyone. It’s been too long.”

“Right.”

Steve does do a quick round to the different stations, lingering at the environmental control, before joining Louis. He plops a paper bag Louis hadn’t even noticed he had with him on Louis’ lap. With a confused quirk of his eyebrows, Louis pulls out two chicken and lettuce sandwiches, a packet of nuts and dried fruit, and two bottles of his sugar water.

“You need to eat,” Steve says in an undertone, though nobody is paying them any mind.

Louis uncaps the bottle and gulps half of it down. Then he pulls Steve into a brief half hug. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve gives him a squeeze, then pulls back to reach into the bag, pressing a sandwich into his hands. Louis eats it while chatting with Steve, who leaves once Louis is done. Later, in much better spirits with his blood sugar restored to normal, he munches on the nuts as obnoxiously loud as possible just to make Lauren cringe and to offer her a bit of a welcome challenge to keep focused as they sort through a short stretch of asteroid field.

Louis is getting started on the second sandwich, still smiling after sharing a laugh with Lauren and the navigator, when the doors slide open again. He expects Steve, or maybe Perrie, who sometimes comes up before her shift. But he did not expect Harry. And he especially didn’t expect Harry to walk in dressed as he is.

He’s out of the outfit that Louis had grilled him for and wearing instead some form of uniform: dark jacket with a geometric pattern down to his knees, with a high collar and pearl buttons, dark tight trousers, and gold ankle boots.

Louis stares, heat blossoming in his chest. “What are you wearing?” he gasps, though it comes out muffled because he’d forgotten he was chewing.

Harry marches over to him, a rigidness to his gait that hadn’t been there before. “My admiral’s uniform.”

Louis swallows, the half-chewed piece of sandwich sticking to his throat. “That’s—”

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Harry says shortly.

It’s not what Louis wanted at all. All he wanted was for Harry not to be so dreadfully attractive and distracting and infuriating and confusing, if only to make things that tiny bit easier on Louis, since all the other things he wants (a hug from his mum and to return to that point in his life when he thought joining Starfleet would solve all his problems) are impossible.

“Right.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He stands at attention, hands behind his back, next to Louis’ chair, chin up and jaw tight.

Louis drums his fingers on the armrest, tense. “Was there something you wanted?”

Harry takes a moment before looking down at him, the expression on his face one of careful disdain. “I’m here to observe. Since I’m so inexperienced and unprofessional, I thought I could learn from you. You’ve been a captain for a whole year and a half, haven’t you?” His tone is snide.

Louis sits up straighter, wincing when he squeezes the bottle between his thighs and it threatens to spill over. “It’s still more than you,” he hisses, feeling like a child.

Harry gives him a mocking smile. “That’s why I’m taking notes.” He raises an eyebrow at Louis’ snack on his lap. “Is eating on the job customary?”

Louis hands curl into fists. Of course Harry would be able to single out something that Louis is uncomfortable and insecure about. And although Harry is keeping his voice at a normal volume, the bridge is small—there’s no way anyone is missing any of this. And if Louis knows his crew, it’s probably going to be broadcast to the entire ship.  “I skipped lunch,” he says, voice hushed.

Harry’s mouth curls. “Because you were hiding from me.”

The contrast between Harry’s previous smiles and the warm—if disconcerting—feelings they aroused in Louis, and these cold, mean ones is stark. Louis’ stomach is churning. He feels humiliated and as small as when the council at Starfleet pronounced their final word on his career. “I was working. I’m the captain of this ship, I have things to do that don’t involve entertaining a stowaway princeling.” His voice wobbles, and Louis kind of wants to scream and burst into frustrated tears.

Harry makes a disbelieving noise and turns away from Louis in a clear and mortifying dismissal. He walks over to the engineering station and starts talking to Commander Frida about the ship, leaving Louis with his ears ringing and his heart pounding, bile climbing up his throat.

Louis sits, tense in his chair, for the whole hour Harry loiters at the bridge, asking different crew members genuine questions, all eager and curious, at the edge of Louis’ vision.

Louis doesn’t react when Harry approaches him again. Even as he stands right in front of him, blocking his view to anything else, Louis refuses to look up at him, focusing on a button that’s coming a little loose on his chest.

“Um. I... I’m—” Harry falters, shuffling in place, hands clasped in front of him just above his crotch. Then he points at the half-eaten sandwich still sitting on Louis’ lap. “You should eat that? If you skipped lunch...”

Louis’ mouth purses. Harry’s voice is gentler, almost apologetic, but Louis still wants to punch him in the crotch. He’s at the perfect height for it. When after a full minute, Harry still hasn’t moved, Louis grunts in response.

Harry clears his throat, twisting the turquoise ring around his finger. “I’m going to... leave you to work in peace now... Um. See you later.”

Louis doesn’t answer, biting the inside of his cheek. His heart doesn’t stop pounding until he hears the turbo lift doors slide shut following the click of Harry’s boot heels. The bridge, which had relaxed during Harry’s little tour doesn’t feel any different once he leaves, people about their job, nothing more. But Louis still wants to scream. He’s never felt as trapped in a metal box in space as he does at this moment. And he doesn’t even have his room to retreat to anymore.

“Captain?”

Louis breaks out of his reverie, muscles aching from being tense for so long as he turns to face the navigator who addressed him.

“The scanners are detecting a solar flare coming up, sir. Orders, captain?”

And Louis might not have been a captain for long. And he might be the captain of a small cargo ship that transports avocados, but he’s still the captain. For now at least.

“Let’s try to avoid it, yeah? We’ll reroute and divert course for a few hours until we’re clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re no fun,” Lauren says, sticking her tongue out at him.

Louis manages a weak grin. Her joke falls a little flat when Louis was half expecting the entire bridge to turn their backs on him after the spectacle with Harry. But nobody else questions his instructions, to his relief.

***

“Is this where you’re hiding out, then?” Liam asks as he steps into the observation lounge.

Louis raises a hand in greeting, rather listless, but doesn’t move from his position sitting on the carpeted floor, right up against the window. “I’m not hiding, I’m keeping my distance.”

“You’re avoiding him.”

Louis shrugs, putting the tablet where he’d been watching a film down. “It’s better like this. No unnecessary and potentially disruptive conflict.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“I could call it Harry being a total dickhead, but there might be some kind of law against insulting royalty, so I’d rather not put that on record,” Louis retorts. Harry, with his degree in Interstellar Law, would probably know, Louis thinks moodily.

Liam walks over to him and sits down next to him. “Why are you letting him get to you so much?” he asks, all earnest confusion. “You never cared at the Academy, and you had more than a few people giving you shit back then.”

Louis twists his fingers in the material of his shirt, head down. His quick mind and natural instinct for command had made him some enemies during training. But aside from his usual fear of anyone taking especial interest in him, and what it could lead to them discovering, their coarse bullying hadn’t bothered him much.

“I get you wanting to avoid Harry. But do you have to avoid everyone else, too, though?” Liam says after a minute.

Louis looks up and is startled to find Liam holding out a chocolate muffin.

“It’s for you,” Liam says with a chuckle.

Louis eyes it warily. Steve is the one usually pushing him to eat, and he can’t help the spike of anxiety at the change in routine. Has Liam found out something? Does he suspect?

Liam nudges their shoulders together. “C’mon, it’s not poisoned.”

Louis takes the muffin with some hesitance. “What’s this for? Are you trying to bribe me?”

Liam rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. “I just thought it’d cheer you up a bit.”

“Who says I need cheering up?” Louis mumbles through a mouthful.

Liam hems and haws, not quite meeting his eyes. “You’ve been off for weeks, and I kept waiting for you to bring it up, thinking you might want to talk about it. But now with Harry you’ve only retreated further, and I’m—we’re all worried about you.”

“All who?” Louis squeaks.

“Your friends, Louis,” Liam replies like it’s obvious, but his eyes are sad.

“I’m fine,” Louis says automatically.

Liam doesn’t look like he believes him, so Louis elaborates. “Homesick, I guess.”

And though it’s not quite as simple as that, it’s as close as he can get to the truth with Liam. He does have that gnawing yearning for a sense of comfort and safety and... belonging. He desperately wants to go home—he just doesn’t know where that is or how to find it. For so long he had been convinced he’d find home in Starfleet, in space. He’d spent his childhood looking up at the stars and dreaming of something bigger than the small town where he had never fit in, bigger than the world’s prejudices and his own fears. Except he was as lost and trapped now as ever. Maybe his old Geography teacher had been right and Louis wasn’t meant for the big things he’d dreamed of as a child. Starfleet certainly thought so.

Liam frowns, bottom lip pushing out thoughtfully. “What you need is a holiday. To destress.”

The corner of Louis’ mouth quirks upward in a lopsided smile. “I’m getting one, whether I want one or not.”

“What do you mean?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “You don’t think we’re going to go all the way to Helios Base and not even stay a night?”

Liam perks up. “Serious?”

Louis had been giving it some thought. He would much rather head straight to Earth, but he isn’t heartless: the crew deserved to have some fun. With Dawbell Summit taking place the city was sure to be bustling, full of activities and places to visit, as well as clubs and pubs. It would be a welcome change after their routine coming and going from the same insignificant boring bases with their one pub. “Yeah. We’ll stay for a few days. Everyone can have some fun.”

Liam gives him a ticklish pinch in the side. “Does that include you, too?”

Louis bats him off with a giggle. “Yes, me too.”

Liam’s grin is infectious. “Brilliant. Am I allowed to tell?”

“Sure. It’ll lift morale. And everyone can start planning their outfits and fantasizing about the free bar.”

“There’ll be a free bar?” Liam gasps.

Louis snorts. “Harry can pay.”

Liam bursts out laughing, bumping shoulders with Louis.

“So go forth and spread the word!” Louis goes on, waving one of his arms in a grandiose gesture, to a fresh bout of giggles from Liam.

Once he’s stood up and preparing to leave, Liam goes serious. He hesitates for a moment before speaking. “It’ll do you good, Louis. Having some fun. And after that you can go home.”

Louis nods with a thin smile. He loves his mum and his sisters dearly, but there were reasons he’d left Doncaster. It doesn’t feel like going home, it feels like going backwards. He’d been struggling to move forward, but all he’d done was move back and forth and get nowhere.

***

The next day, tired of being holed up in the observation lounge for hours on end, Louis ventures out for a short walk, ears alert for the telltale sound of Harry’s heeled boots. He has no warning before bumping into Niall, however, as he rounds the corner.

“I found you!” Niall greets him with disconcerting enthusiasm and familiarity. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” Louis asks, more bewildered than suspicious.

Niall shrugs, insouciant. “I wanted to talk. We didn’t get much of a chance before.”

“Right.” Louis hesitates: he isn’t sure he wants to take Niall back to the observation lounge, but the alternative means a high risk of bumping into Harry. “It’s not really... the best time...” he says vaguely and starts edging away.

“I brought a snack,” Niall says in a persuasive tone, waving a bag of candied almonds in front of him.

Louis is certain Niall is trying to bribe him with food. He releases his breath in a put-upon huff. “All right, come on,” he says and starts walking down the corridor.

Niall falls into step with him with a satisfied grin.

Louis rolls his eyes and keeps walking. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Niall’s grin falters, replaced by an awkward expression. “Well.”

Louis shakes his head with a humorless bark of laughter. “No.”

“He’s sorry. Really sorry,” Niall says quickly.

Louis scoffs. “So sorry he sends you to make his apologies for him? Is that part of your job description, too?”

Niall chuckles weakly. “No. He just doesn’t know how to apologise, honest.”

Louis is torn about this news. He’s still feeling the sting of Harry’s public humiliation, but he’s had enough time to appreciate he wasn’t blameless, either. It’s not something he’s going to discuss with Niall, however. “Well until he figures it out, I think I’m going to stay mad,” he says finally. “How’s that?”

Niall guffaws. “That’s fair.”

Louis gives a sharp nod and slows down as they near the door to the observation lounge. He thinks maybe now that Niall has delivered his message he’ll leave. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

Niall bursts into laughter. “I told you I want to talk to you! Where are you from, then?”

They end up talking, somehow. Sitting on the oval table, legs swinging because their feet don’t reach the floor, sharing the bag of nuts.

Louis is reluctant to answer much about himself, but it’s very hard to say no to Niall without feeling like shit.

Niall chatters about nonsense, but also tells him about his experience with his parents being diplomats stationed in a planet almost a hundred light years from Earth with no human settlement.

“So you grew up the only human child in Jokaimor?” Louis asks, aghast.

“My older brother was there for the first year, but then they sent him back to live with our grandparents.”

“Why didn't you go back? Didn’t you miss your friends and your home?”

Niall shrugs, cracking a nut noisily. “At first. But I made a new home. New friends. Harry's more my brother than Greg ever was.”

Louis studies Niall, munching thoughtfully. “It must be almost as weird for you as for him, being around all these humans.”

Niall chuckles. “It's different. But good people are good people no matter where they're from.”

Louis drops his eyes to his lap. “Not everyone thinks that.”

“I do.” When Louis looks up at Niall’s open face and some of the perpetual tension in his body eases, his lips curving into a small smile.

Niall beams back before his face softens. “You miss home?” he asks Louis.

Louis hums. “I miss my family,” he admits.

Niall hums sympathetically. “But you can have more than one family. And everyone I’ve talked to on this ship adores you.”

That startles a laugh out of Louis. “What?”

“It’s true,” Niall protests. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You come highly recommended.”

Louis’ shoulders shake with laughter, feeling more relaxed than he’d thought possible around a stranger like Niall. He fist bumps Niall, still smiling. “Cheers, mate.”

***

After three days Louis is exhausted: sick of the observation lounge and tired of having to sneak around and rearrange his schedule on Harry’s account. He’s been pushing back his bed time so as to be sure that he’ll find Harry asleep when he gets in at night and already gone by the time Louis wakes up. But Louis has had it. It’s his room, and if anything Harry is the one who should find somewhere else to hang out.

When he wakes up that morning, he doesn’t rush out in case Harry comes back after his breakfast.

It’s relaxing to reclaim his old routine and be able to take his time in the morning instead of rushing out in case Harry decided to come back. Louis lingers in bed, stretching indolently before settling in to read the ship’s morning report and the news while sipping on his sugar water.

After that, he picks up a composition he’d been working on and loses himself in the process. He has trouble sitting still when he’s stuck on a bit, so he moves around as much as he can in the limited space, occasionally twirling to the music in his head, humming under his breath, as he figures out how to continue the piece.

Louis spins around as he reaches the far end of the room, moving his hands and fingers in a practice movement of the series of notes he’s singing without words.

He opens his eyes and can’t quite stifle a shriek when he sees Harry standing in the doorway.

“How do you keep doing that!?”

Harry goggles him for a few seconds before he seems to shake himself out of his reverie. “I keep catching you when you’re… hyper-focused or something.” He crosses his arms over his chest, holding onto one elbow with one hand and biting the thumbnail of his other hand. “Sorry.”

Louis mirrors him, wrapping his arms around his middle. His brow furrows in confusion when he notices Harry is wearing a Starfleet uniform. What throws him off the most is that the shirt is red as corresponds the crew in Communications, Engineering, and Security, rather than Command yellow. “Where did you get that?”

“Replicator.” A tentative, small smile spreads on Harry’s face. “I didn’t murder anyone and steal it from them.”

Louis doesn’t return his smile. He isn’t quite ready to appreciate Harry’s jokes yet.

“You have… a really nice voice, by the way. And, like, the way you move is… so… graceful?” Harry goes on, stumbling over the words, his cheeks pink. “Were you writing music?”

Louis can feel his own cheeks heat up, to his mortification. “What do you want?” he asks brusquely.

He doesn’t like how unbalanced Harry makes him feel. Harry has already shown he has no respect for Louis as a captain, the last thing Louis needs is for him to find out he makes Louis revert to a teenager with a crush.

Harry takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Can we stop this, please?”

“Stop what?” Louis asks, deliberately obtuse.

Harry gestures between them. “This... feud.”

Louis rolls his eyes with an involuntary breath of laughter. “It’s not that serious, Harold. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. But if you’re asking if we can be civil to each other for the next couple of weeks, then the answer is yes.”

It’s not quite the apology Louis would have expected after his conversation with Niall, but it’s a peace offering. And if it means they might be able to agree on some sort of timetable so that he can have his room back for a bit, then he’ll take it.

But Harry shakes his head ‘no’. “That’s not—I’m asking if we can start over.”

“Why?” Louis asks, forehead wrinkled in surprise and confusion. What does Harry even care?

Harry twists his fingers in a nervous gesture. “I just think both of us made... mistakes?” Louis makes a face, but doesn’t argue, and Harry continues talking in a quiet, earnest voice. “I know I regret how I acted at the bridge. I was just so mad, because all my life people have discredited everything I do. Like everything’s been given to me—and it hasn’t. And I can be a real dick when I’m mad. And... that’s not an excuse. It was wrong of me to undermine you in front of your crew. And I’m really sorry about that. So if we can agree to, like—”

“Forgive and forget?” Louis interrupts Harry’s rambling.

Harry heaves a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, that.”

Louis considers him. Harry’s apology seems honest. And Louis knows he wasn’t without blame in all this. “All right.”

A slow grin spreads across Harry’s face. “Really?”

Louis nods, unable to hold back his own smile. “Yeah, really.”

Harry claps his hands together, then lets his breath out in a puff, still smiling. “It’s been exhausting trying to avoid you these days. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the exercise room, but the mats there aren’t very comfortable for napping.”

Louis groans. “Are you serious? I was living in the observation lounge because I thought you were here!”

Harry pulls a comically horrified face, and Louis is shocked when he finds himself bursting into giggles. He covers his mouth with one hand, but can’t stop grinning when Harry starts to laugh too. Harry’s laughter is definitive proof that he is not human: a startling trumpeting interspersed with whistling trills. Louis is convinced he shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does.

“I haven’t felt as stupid since I was a kid and set the guards on a search around the palace for my plush bear. Looked everywhere, for hours. Nothing.”

Louis is reluctantly enthralled as Harry spins out his story, gesturing wildly, face animated.

“I threw a tantrum. Refused to go to bed. Yelled at Gemma. And it turned out I must have dropped Darcy in my mum’s room the night before when I snuck in because I had a nightmare.”

“Sounds like you were a nightmare,” Louis says jokingly.

Harry pouts dramatically. “Hey, I was three.”

Louis only has to raise his eyebrows before Harry’s shushing him. “All right, I was six. But the next day I had Cook help me bake apology cupcakes for everyone. And I let Gemma put make-up on me even though it felt icky.”

Louis smiles wide enough he knows his eyes are doing that crinkly thing he’s always felt self-conscious about, but he can’t help it. “I can imagine all the trouble you caused, little prince with the dimples and the curls,” he says. “I bet that wasn’t the only time you got everyone to do what you wanted.”

Harry’s grin widens. His face is pink, but Louis can’t tell if he’s blushing or if it’s from all the laughter. Louis, however, does blush, tangling his fingers in the bottom of his sleep shirt as he plays what he just said over in his head.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “I reckon I had a success rate of about... seventy-six percent. And only about thirteen percent when it came to getting out of doing my chores.”

Louis scrunches up his nose, but can’t hold back a burst of giggles. “Did you do the statistics on that, or are you just pulling numbers out of your arse?”

Harry lets out a honk of laughter. “It’s an estimate, Louis,” he says, faking impatience. “But I am totally ‘pulling that out of my arse’.”

“You’re a menace,” Louis says, shaking his head. But he can’t quite keep the grin off his face. He feels almost giddy—lighter than he has in days, definitely, even weeks.

“I’m really glad we made up, Lou,” Harry says with a content sigh and a shy smile, giving voice to what Louis is feeling,.

Louis nods, lips pressed tight trying and failing to contain his own smile. “Me, too,” he admits.

***

Louis has to admit everything gets a little easier once he and Harry start acting like reasonable adults. It’s a little awkward, the first time he comes back from his shift—just past midnight instead of almost three in the morning—and Harry’s sitting up in bed reading instead of asleep.

Harry looks up from his tablet with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Louis edges into the room, tugging at his shirt over his stomach. “Gonna—” Louis points a thumb at the shared bathroom.

Harry nods, and Louis hurries into the bathroom, conscious of Harry’s eyes following him. When he gets out of the shower, dressed in his sleep clothes and hair dripping down his neck, Harry is still awake. Louis notices how his eyes linger on his collarbones, exposed by the stretched out collar of his shirt, before snapping back up to his face.

“How was it at the bridge?” he asks, putting his tablet down and rolling to lean on one elbow, facing Louis.

“Um. Uneventful,” Louis replies honestly.

“That’s… good?” Harry says, half a question.

“I guess.” There’s a fine line between uneventful and boring, and Louis sometimes has a lot of trouble distinguishing between the two. But it’s not something he can discuss with Harry.

He rises on his tiptoes, one hand on the sleeping unit structure for balance, stretching absently. He feels a little too awake after days going to bed much later.

“I’m a heavy sleeper, it won’t bother me if you want to… do whatever,” Harry says, holding back laughter watching Louis.

“Oh.” Louis drops back to his heels with a self-conscious breath of laughter. What Louis would maybe like to do is to play xylopiano, but he can’t with Harry in the room. “Right. That’s great, thanks.”

Harry makes no move to turn off the sconce light on the wall above his head, and keeps the same position: on his side staring at Louis.

Louis raises an eyebrow, but Harry just smiles at him placidly.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Louis asks after a minute.

Harry shakes his head. “Not really sleepy.” He bites down on the knuckle of his forefinger, the corners of his lips upturned. “Can we do something?”

Louis breathes out a laugh. “Like what?”

Harry scrambles to sit up. “I don’t know. Something fun? You sound like you had a dull evening.”

Louis is momentarily transfixed by Harry’s naked torso, the ripple of muscles in his arms as he holds himself up on one hand. “Are you naked under there?” he blurts out, as Harry shifts, revealing a hairless, bony knee, though the sheets are still pooled around his crotch.

Harry cracks a wide grin. “Oh,” he crows. “Are we playing twenty questions? Niall taught me it.”

Louis has to chuckle at that, then shrugs. “Yeah, why not.” A part of him thinks he should probably put up more of a fight—letting go of his annoyance with Harry didn’t mean making friends with him—but he’s bored... and there’s no denying that he’s embarrassingly fascinated by Harry.

Harry cheers. “Brilliant.” He sits cross-legged, revealing more and more of his thighs, and Louis stares for a second at the creeping sheets before averting his eyes. “And the answer is yes, I’m naked.”

Louis makes a show of rolling his eyes, taking a seat on his bed, pulling his knees up and flexing his feet. “Are you nudists in Jokaimor? Although you have enough fancy clothes that I doubt it.”

Harry trills with laughter. “It’s my turn, but I’ll allow it. And no, that’s just me. I like being naked.”

Louis knocks his forehead against his knees. “I had to be stuck with the nudist one,” he mutters.

Harry leans back against the wall, and tilts his head at Louis with a wide, smug grin. “Why are you so concerned with what I wear?”

“Is that your question?” Louis asks with a pretense of nonchalance as he tries to cook up some excuse that’s not ‘you’re distracting’ or another insult to Harry’s professionalism.

Harry holds his eyes for a long moment, then shakes his head. “No. I have a better one.”

“What?” Louis asks, his pulse thrumming in his neck.

“How old are you?”

Louis relaxes, settles back into a more comfortable position, chuckling in spite of himself. “That’s what you want to ask?”

“Seems like a good place to start,” Harry says with a softer, simpler smile.

They stay up for another two hours, talking, and Louis loses track of whether they went over or didn’t reach the twenty questions.

Louis learns that Harry is twenty-three, two years younger than him. That he’s passionate about poetry and loves listening to music even if he doesn’t play. That, despite having a palace cook, it was his mum who taught him to cook. That he uses watermelon lip balm and likes to have his nails painted. That for years he was terrified of swimming after a scare when he was little, but now he loves it. And that he really loves sweets.

And Louis tells him some things in return. It turns out it’s surprisingly easy to talk to Harry. He tells him about getting ice cream with his mum after school and how they could talk to each other about everything. He tells him he likes musicals and books that make him laugh, and doing arts and crafts with his baby sisters. He even admits to composing music, though no amount of pleading convinces him to play it for Harry.

***

The following morning, Louis wakes up to his alarm even though Harry is still in the room getting dressed—quietly. Harry waits for him and they sit together at the mess room to have breakfast—and later lunch—to everyone’s undisguised surprise.

And Louis gets another reason to be glad of his making peace with Harry, which is getting to talk to Zayn and Niall. Niall continues to find Louis absolutely hilarious, going red in the face from laughing and almost choking on his lunch at every quip. Zayn is different. A little aloof—he’s technically much older than the rest of them, though the equivalent in Vulcan years is more or less the same—with a tiresome air of superiority over his encyclopedic knowledge of Intergalactic History. But when Louis makes a passing comment on street wall paintings from the 20th and 21st century he latches onto the subject with actual, visible enthusiasm, and later he nods his head at Louis in parting with the shadow of a smile.

—

Later that night Louis is heading to his quarters when Liam ambushes him.  

“You got a minute?” Liam asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, throwing an arm around Louis and turning him around back to the turbo lift Louis had just vacated.

Louis looks back at the corridor leading to his room with a sense of unexpected disappointment—he’d been looking forward to another chat with Harry.

“Where are we going?” Louis asks suspiciously when Liam marches him out of the lift on the second level.

“Observation lounge.”

Louis tries to stop, digging his heels in, but Liam pushes forward and has no trouble dragging Louis with him. “No! Why?” Louis protests, jabbing his elbow into Liam’s side in retaliation for the manhandling. “I’ve seen enough of the observation lounge. It’s late, I want—”

He freezes in the threshold as the doors slide open to reveal a small party going on. There are snacks and drinks on the table, and music playing in the background.

The room isn’t very large so it looks packed, although there can’t be more than twenty people in all. Louis turns to Liam, between questioning and accusatory. “What is going on?” he demands.

Liam cringes, holding his hands palm up defensively. “Sorry. It was just going to be you and me and Steve. But Zayn overheard so I had to invite him. And he told Niall, who told Harry. And word got out?” Liam smiles sheepishly. “So here we are. And you’ve made up with Harry, haven’t you? So that’s not a problem, right? Don’t be mad?”

Louis puts his hands on his hips. “I’m... not... mad,” he decides finally.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Niall says. He hands Louis a couple of shots. “These are terrible, but they’ll have to do. Much better alcohol in Jokaimor, gotta tell you.”

Louis downs the shots with a shudder at the burn. “Yeah, that’s awful. There’s a reason why hacking the replicators to serve alcohol is a federal offence.”

Niall laughs uproariously and wanders off again.

“So what are we celebrating exactly?” Louis asks Liam, approaching the table in search of a snack.

Liam falters while opening a bottle of beer. “Uh. Your 750th day as captain,” he says quickly, then takes a long gulp of the beer, choking a little.

“That's not till two weeks from now,” Louis replies, deadpan.

“Well, you know... why wait?” Liam says, waving his beer around, slightly manic.

Before Louis can make any guesses, Zayn sidles over and tells him outright. “He thinks your mental health would benefit from inebriation,” he explains, sipping on chocolate milk.

Louis shakes his head at Liam, chuckling, but can’t help eye Zayn’s drink with a tinge of bitterness. Vulcans can at least get drunk on chocolate, but Louis is screwed.

Steve finds him a few minutes after, throwing an arm around his neck, leaning against him a little more heavily than usual so that Louis knows he’s been drinking, too. Louis watches Harry and Liam laughing while Niall does some sort of jig. Even Zayn is giggling with a chocolate milk moustache.

“Should I get fake drunk?” Louis asks Steve, only half joking. “I have enough experience watching drunk people. And I was aces in Drama.”

Steve laughs. “That'd be so funny, bro.”

Without an appreciative audience, the fun factor is limited. But it prevents there being any questions about why he isn’t drinking or why he isn’t drunk if he is drinking, so it’s worth it. It also makes Liam beam with an obvious sense of accomplishment, and has Zayn pulling him aside to tell him that he’s revising his opinion on Liam for the better, given the success of this idea.

Nonetheless Louis gets tired of the act after a while. An hour in he’s drifted to the fringes of the party; leaning against the wall he wonders if he should take the chocolate away from Zayn, who looks a drink away from getting up on the table to dance, despite repeatedly insisting he does not dance. Focused on Zayn, he’s caught unawares when Harry sidles up to him, leaning against the wall at his side, close enough their shoulders nudge together.

“Hi. Come here often?” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously.

“This last week, entirely too much,” Louis replies, lips twitching.

Harry giggles. “Well, it’s my first time here.”

“Oh, and what do you think of it?” Louis says, playing along.

Harry taps a finger against his chin. “It’s fun, not a bad crowd. But if you’re looking for real fun... my place is better. You should check it out some time,” he drawls, wagging his eyebrows again.

Louis’ shoulders shake with laughter at Harry’s antics. “Not going to offer me a drink first?” he teases. It’s joking, and they can always chalk it up to the drinks after.

Harry hums. “Think you've had enough, no?”

Louis makes a face. “I'm not that drunk,” he argues, like he’s heard every drunk person say so many times before.

“No you’re not.”

Something in Harry’s voice makes Louis stiffen. He studies Harry: no tell-tale flush and his eyes are completely focused. “You're not drunk,” he states. And if he’d put a little more whine in it, it could be read as drunken accusation, but it falls flat.

Harry bites down on one of his knuckles. “No. I didn't want you to be the only sober person,” he confesses in a hushed voice.

Louis’ heart is racing as he stares in shock. “Wh—”

Harry’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought it up, should I? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He winces, shaking his head, then looks at Louis intensely. “But I promise I won't tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” he asks hoarsely.

Harry bites his lip. “That you're not... human.”

Louis’ ears ring. He hasn’t heard those words in almost two decades, since his mum sat him down when he was seven and explained. “How?” he gasps.

Harry’s brow furrows, concern in his eyes. He gives Louis a gentle nudge. “Maybe let’s get out of here?”

Louis nods dumbly and lets Harry lead them out of the room. It takes him until they’re almost to the turbo lift to register Harry’s touch: a guiding hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

Once in his room, Louis goes straight to his xylopiano on instinct, touching his fingertips to the keys but not pressing down. His mind is blank.

“Louis?” Harry says after a minute.

When Louis turns around he’s still standing by the door, looking hesitant and worried.

“What do you know?” Louis asks, voice trembling.

Harry makes a vague gesture toward him. “You’re... not full human?”

Louis holds his arms across his chest, clutching at the material of his shirt. “But how do you know? What tipped you off?” He needs to know—if it was something he did—

Harry take a few steps, coming closer.

“Anorans... we can tell? I see you, but I see your... trace, too—kind of like an aura? Every species has a distinctive one, and it’s different for each individual, too.”

Louis takes a moment to process that information, watching Harry’s hand as he reaches out to touch him, slow and cautious. Louis makes no move to reject the touch and Harry grips his shoulder. His hand is warm and huge, encompassing Louis’ whole shoulder. It’s... comforting, though Louis never would’ve expected to get comfort out of Harry just two days before.

“So you knew the moment you saw me?” Louis says after a moment.

“Yeah.”

Louis shudders. The idea of it being out in the open, what he is, makes him feel nauseous. Harry gives his shoulder a squeeze, brings up his other hand to hold both of Louis’ shoulders. “Hey, it’s all right.”

Louis looks up at him, wide-eyed. “It’s not. It’s not all right. On Earth, being what I am is not all right.”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch together. “I know Klingons are hostile to hybrids, but my studies never said it was so bad on Earth.”

“The problem isn’t being a hybrid. It’s not popular, but it’s... tolerated.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Harry asks gently.

Louis takes a shuddering breath, forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’m half Mellion,” he whispers.

Harry blinks, once, twice, and then his mouth falls open. “Oh.” He gives Louis’ shoulders a seemingly unconscious squeeze. “Oh.”

Louis nods, twitching with nerves. “Yeah.”

The Mellions had joined the United Federation of Planets thirty years ago—and their alliance had been the shortest in the history of the Federation. Just five years after they were signed in, they defected, and joined forced with the enemy Cardassian Empire instead. Their name was anathema and they were reviled in every planet belonging to the Federation.

“How—?” Harry hesitates, slowly smoothing his hands down Louis’ arms before dropping his hands to his sides. “Erm. What...?”

Louis hasn’t spoken about this to anyone besides Steve. And, although he doesn’t know much about Harry, or perhaps because of that, he feels the urge to talk. He walks over to his bed and sits down, hands clasped on his lap.

“After she finished school my mum took a gap year. She went on a trip around the world... one of the places she visited was California. Everyone wants to visit San Francisco to check out Starfleet headquarters.”

Speaking to his knees, Louis is startled when the mattress lowers as Harry sits down next to him, close enough that their knees touch. Louis stares at the place where they’re touching, but Harry doesn’t move.

“That’s when—?” Harry’s prompting is gentle.

Louis nods. “She had a thing with a member of the Mellion delegation. Then she went home. And a couple of months later she found out she was pregnant.”

Harry hums, noncommittal. “Did she get in touch with your father?”

“Yeah. But he... um... wasn’t interested.” Louis shrugs, head down; clears his throat. “Relations between the two species were already strained, and a few months after I was born they broke off the alliance.”

When he looks up again Harry is watching him with wide eyes. “That’s—”

“Shit,” Louis fills in for him with a humourless huff of laughter. “It’s shit.” He shakes his head jerkily. “My mum was terrified. Being a half-breed would have been bad enough, really. But being half Mellion...”

He’d told his mum, once, that she should have given him up. She’d slapped him round the head, then brought him in for a painfully tight hug and said he was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she wouldn’t change him for the world. Louis appreciated the sentiment, but he had a hard time believing it sometimes.

“So what did you do?” Harry asks in a hushed voice.

Louis exhales noisily. “The only thing to do: keep it a secret.”

“So you never told anyone?”

“No.” Louis’ ‘are you crazy’ tone must translate, because Harry actually raises his hands apologetically. “No one could find out. Even if... I’d wanted to... trust anyone. I couldn’t put my mum and my sisters at risk like that. The whole family would have become social pariahs.”

He remembers the apprehension. For a while right after his mum told him he’d developed a stutter, so afraid of having the truth slip out. He’d outgrown the stutter, but the fear of anyone finding out had never left him.

“Oh.” Harry runs a hand through his hair, rings catching briefly on the strands. “Why didn’t you move?”

Louis kicks his heels, dislodging Harry’s leg where it was pressed up against his, and starts bouncing his legs nervously. “Where would we go? Mellions betrayed the Federation, they’re hated everywhere. And we wouldn’t have been welcome among them, even if my father had wanted me.”

Harry gives Louis’ thigh a small rub, then cups his knee stilling the nervous jiggling. “That must have been... lonely?” he says quietly, after a long moment.

Louis looks down at his hands. “I had my mum. She’s my best friend,” he mumbles. He loves his mother more than anything, but he can’t deny he felt the distance with his peers. “But it was.” It still is.

Harry gives his knee a squeeze. “Is that why you joined Starfleet? To escape from all that? I imagine it was an oppressive environment.”

Louis sighs heavily. “I don’t even know what I was trying to escape from anymore,” he replies, surprising himself with his honesty. His mouth twists into a strained, rueful smile. “Can’t escape from myself.”

He jumps, heartbeat picking up, when Harry touches his cheek with his fingertips, making Louis look at him. “There is no shame in who you are,” he says, slow and gentle.

Louis swallows thickly. “I’m not… ashamed,” he says truthfully. “I’m…” Afraid. He’s afraid of rejection. Of the reactions of disgust or mistrust he’s certain to encounter. Not everyone is Steve, who had been accepting from the start. If the crew found out, he could lose control of the ship. And he could find himself without a crew willing to fly under his command if word got out.

Starfleet had made it very clear the risk they were taking giving him command of any ship, how a diplomatic or a serious exploration mission were out of the question for him, how grateful he should be to get anything at all.

Louis can’t say all of that, the words get stuck in his throat, and he’s suddenly shaking, breathing hard.

Harry thumbs at his cheekbone, then spreads his other palm on Louis’ chest. “Breathe, Lou.”

Louis feels he should protest the nickname, or the attempts to calm him down. But Harry’s coaxing into matching his breathing pattern stops the fuzziness in his head and the creeping panic, so Louis can’t complain. Once he’s calmer, he catches when Harry says something under his breath in his own language, between the soothing shushes.

“What did you say?” Louis asks curiously.

Harry blushes, his hand sliding down to cup the side of Louis’ neck. “I—” He bites his lip and his eyes drop briefly to Louis’ lips. “I said you’re very beautiful.”

Louis stares at him, unblinking, taken by surprise. “That’s... irrelevant,” he says finally, though his chest and face are both warm.

Harry offers him a small, bashful smile. “I know. But I thought you should know. You’re beautiful, outside and inside.”

Louis’ instinctual response is to duck his head, but he doesn’t quite manage it with Harry’s hand on his neck. “From what I understand I’m pretty standard on the inside,” he says jokingly. “Average human save for a few extra glands and lighter bones. And my heart’s a bit bigger, too.”

Harry thumbs at his jaw, smiling. “I can believe that.”

Louis breathes out a stuttering laugh, face hot. “Shut up. You only just stopped hating me.”

Harry’s quiet giggle sounds like chiming. “I have two hearts, actually,” he says, clearly catching on that Louis was uncomfortable with all the attention on him.

Louis can’t help but wonder what it would be like to rest his head on Harry’s chest and listen to his heartbeats. “It’s not a competition, Harry, for god’s sake,” he says with mock exasperation. It makes Harry trumpet with laughter and give him a light shove, which Louis returns.

—

A while later, after a quick sonic shower, Louis lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling while Harry snores in his bed. He feels torn between panic at everything he just revealed and an unfamiliar sense of lightness, at getting to tell someone. And Harry had been... sweet. Louis wasn’t sure how he would have expected him to react if he’d ever given it some thought, but he never would have imagined he’d be so warm.

Louis had never told anyone about his mixed blood before. The first person to know besides his mum was Steve, and Louis hadn’t confided in him; it had been inevitable when he’d taken his first medical test upon joining Starfleet Academy.

Steve had kept up a normal repartee while he performed the examination, while Louis responded in grunts, his heart in his throat. His mum, who was a nurse, had done all the doctoring Louis needed throughout his childhood herself rather than risk a doctor—it had worked out as he’d never suffered anything worse than the flu.

Once the examination was complete, Steve hadn’t sat behind his desk, instead taking a seat next to Louis. “So,” he said after a moment, smoothing his moustache. “There’s some stuff we should... we should talk about, I think.”

Louis froze up, gripping the armrests of the chair tight enough they dug into his palms.

Steve reached out, a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Hey. It’s OK, man.”

“But I’m—”

“You are what you are. And what you are isn’t anything bad, OK?” Steve said firmly. “It’s not your fault that the Mellion left the Federation... though there are a few Starfleet officials who can’t say the same.
“I was an assistant in the Starfleet science programme back then. Got to work closely with two amazing Mellion scientists,” Steve explained. “And I’m not saying what they did was cool. But they didn’t just up and decided to leave. But whatever happened, there’s no reason for you to be paying for that.”

Louis took a shaky breath, relaxing his grip on the chair slightly. “So you won’t... you won’t tell?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s nobody’s business but yours.” He fixed his hair in its drooping ponytail with the beginnings of a smile. “And mine, as your doctor.”

Louis blinked. “My doctor?”

Steve nodded and shot him a grin. “You’re in luck, I’m a specialist in alien physiology.”

Louis had never heard of human doctors who specialized in alien physiology. Each species tended to go to their own healers for doctoring.

He was in mild shock. After passing every other entry requirement for the academy, he’d been afraid the medical examination would be the one that dashed his dream of joining Starfleet. “But I’m fine,” he said finally. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Steve moved his head from side to side, humming. “More or less. Given your mixed physiology, your needs are a little different than if you were one hundred percent human. And you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself. Like, I can tell you, you’re not eating enough. Your current blood sugar levels would only make sense if you hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours, which isn’t the case, right?”

Louis shook his head. “I had breakfast three hours ago.”

Steve nodded. “Your metabolism is very high, and it’s very easy for you to drop into hypoglycemia if you don’t eat regularly. And by regularly I don’t mean like a regular human,” he said with a chuckle, which Louis found himself echoing.

“So what you’re saying is, I have to graze like a cow?”

It made Steve burst out laughing. “I think sip like a hummingbird is more accurate.”

Their friendship had been born that moment and only strengthened in the following years.

Unable to quiet his mind, it takes Louis a while to fall into a restless sleep.

He wakes up to someone brushing his hair from his face and a familiar voice calling him softly.

Louis cracks one eye open. “What is it?” he mumbles, blinking to make out Harry, fully-dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, for a few seconds nothing more than a dark figure against the light.

“Your communicator was beeping. They need you up on the bridge,” Harry explains. His voice is calm, but Louis can now make out his expression is tense.

Louis frowns, sitting up in alarm. “What’s going on?”

Chapter Text

“They first hailed at o-five-hundred hours. Then we lost contact for a bit. But we received another transmission twenty minutes ago, requesting assistance.” His third mate explains the moment he walks into the bridge.

Louis notes absently that he’s wearing his shirt inside out as he processes the information—once his feet were on the floor, Harry had mumbled something about breakfast and disappeared, leaving Louis to scavenge the room for his uniform and get dressed in a rush. “What do they need?” he asks, going over to the Communications Station.

The Communications officer shrugs. “We’re not sure. We tried to establish two-way communication, but it’s impossible. And nothing is coming through from them but signals of adequate reception of our outgoing messages.”

Louis checks the data they have: a hail code, for attention and help, nothing more. He darts over to the Engineering Station, squinting at the control panel to make out the data they’ve accumulated in the last hour, skimming over it. “Think their ship might be stalled?”

Leigh Anne, the Enginering Officer, nods. “The readings show their position hasn’t changed since our radars detected them.”

Louis hums, hands on his hips, as he considers the situation. “So they probably need us to tow them to the closest space dock, if they’re out of fuel or need repairs.”

He notices the doors of the turbo lift slide open from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t register who enters, concentrated on the conversation at hand. “It’s a small ship, isn’t it? Can The Rogue manage that? How far are we from the nearest station?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll reach the nearest dock in 36 hours so it’s not a problem.”

“Alright.” Louis rubs his hands together, and gives a little hop in place as an outlet for his nervous energy. “Send the message that we’re locking them in, and that I’d like to talk to the captain so they should prepare to be beamed up to our ship.”

“What if they’re Cardassians?” One of the ensigns blurts out, too loud.

Louis turns to him in surprise, lips twitching. “What would they be doing on this side of the quadrant?” he says with a chuckle.

“The ship is a scout model with a verified UFP identification number. They’re probably part of a safety patrol,” Leigh Anne adds. “So, not Cardassians, Shawn.”

Everyone chuckles as Shawn goes red—except Harry, who Louis just notices is standing by the captain’s chair with a strange look on his face.

Louis walks over to him. “What are you doing here?” he asks, careful to sound curious and not accusatory.

Harry hands him a coffee and holds out an entire plate of biscuits he must have taken out of the mess room, despite regulations.

Louis takes the coffee with a smile, letting their fingers brush. “Thanks.”

Although bringing a stranger on board is stressful, the relief at discovering they aren’t under attack or about to be sucked into a black hole wins out. He’d imagined the worst after that nerve-racking wake up call.

“Are you bringing someone on board, then? Isn’t that dangerous?” Harry asks after a moment, while Louis is munching on a biscuit.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Brought you on, didn’t we?”

Harry pulls at his bottom lip, eyes darting around instead of fixed on Louis’ as usual. Louis crams the rest of the biscuit in his mouth, studying Harry. “You don’t have to worry about being late to the summit, promise,” he says, hazarding a guess.

Harry nods and musters a strained smile, but Louis can tell he’s still tense.

However, he doesn’t get the chance to ponder on it further, distracted at receiving confirmation that their message has been received. He heads for the turbo lift immediately. “Coming?” he shoots to Harry, who hurries after him.

On the turbolift down to the third level, Louis gives Harry a nudge with his hip, uncomfortable with this preoccupied, anxious version of Harry. “Thanks again for this,” he says with a smile, taking another sip of the coffee even though it’s too sweet for his taste. “It was a nice gesture.”

Harry’s face relaxes into a small smile. “No problem.”

Louis makes a split second decision to explain, wanting to distract Harry from whatever has him upset. “My metabolism is faster than human, but not as efficient in energy conservation. So I have to, um, refuel frequently,” he says in a rush, pushing through his embarrassment. “It’s a bit of a hassle.”

Harry holds out the plate, offering him a biscuit. “Yeah, I, er, noticed. Hasn’t... hasn’t anyone ever asked you about your eating habits?” he says carefully. “I’d think they might seem a bit... suspicious?”

Louis shrugs, though he’s anything but nonchalant about it. In fact, it’s been a constant concern for him all his life. But he makes do. “I just say I have a fast metabolism. And I try to be discreet.”

Harry winces, knuckling at his eye self-consciously. “And I went and called attention to it on the bridge the other day. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Louis pats his arm with a small smile. “It’s really fine, Harry. You didn’t know,” he says honestly.

Louis is not a person to hold grudges, and—leaving aside the fact that he was partially responsible for their initial clash—the moment Louis allowed himself to get closer to Harry, he’s proven himself to be far from the dickhead Louis originally thought him.

Harry smiles a little and bends down to brush his cheek with Louis’ in a similar gesture to when he’d first tried to introduce himself. Louis stiffens in surprise and Harry pulls back, cringing. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

Louis raises the cup to his lips for something to do with his hands, but doesn’t drink. “I thought it was for greetings?”

Harry motions for Louis to precede him out of the lift as they reach the third level. “Yes. But also as a... a gesture of comfort or affection?” he stutters, face pink. “It’s a little different.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, Louis reaches out to stop Harry from continuing down the corridor with a hand on his forearm.

“Show me?” he says.

Harry looks at him intently, a line between his eyebrows. “You don’t have to, Lou. It wasn’t right of me to make demands like that—”

Louis shakes his head and gives Harry’s arm a squeeze. “I was just being difficult, Harry. I’m not really a germaphobe.” With unexplainable giddiness, he shoots Harry a small grin, looking at him from beneath his eyelashes. “When we started over we should have done that part over, too.”

Harry trills in delight, a grin spreading on his face. “You really want to?”

Louis nods and positions himself so that they’re standing face to face like the first time. Feeling bold, he puts his drink down at his feet and reaches for Harry’s hand, placing it on his shoulder. Harry raises the other one himself.

“I’m Louis,” Louis whispers, suddenly shy, with Harry looking down at him, so close, eyes wide and so green, a smile tugging at his plush lips. “Welcome to The Rogue.”

Harry leans down to brush their cheeks together, one after the other—and this time Louis lets him. Harry’s cheek is soft—Anorans have no body hair except on their head, eyelashes and eyebrows— and the touch is light and fleeting, but it makes the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck raise. “I’m Harry. Thank you for welcoming me,” he says, his voice equally hushed.

After a few seconds he pulls back and they smile at each other for so long Louis has to break himself out of the reverie, blushing. “All right, let’s go. They’re waiting for us in the transporter room.”

It’s only when they reach the transporter room that Louis remembers he’s not wearing his ceremonial uniform. In fact, he’s still wearing his shirt inside out. With a groan, he fixes it in the corner while the Engineering officer prepares the transporter.

“Ready, Hoya?” Louis asks the officer as he moves to stand next to Harry again.

Harry looks him over with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What?” Louis asks, wiping his mouth automatically. “Do I have something—”

Harry’s face scrunches up and he shakes his head. “Your hair—” he says.

Louis keeps still, holding his breath, while Harry smooths down his hair where it was sticking up after changing his shirt. He releases his breath in a light whoosh when Harry’s done. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry breathes. Then he runs his fingers through his hair and fixes the curls that fall on his shoulders. “Do I look alright?”

Louis holds back the inarticulate groan that is his first reaction, because Harry looks as gorgeous as ever—and he smells fantastic as well. In spite of sharing a room, Louis hadn’t registered how delicious Harry smells until that instant. It feels like a switch has been turned on, and Louis is inundated by the scent of cedar wood, and honey, and some kind of sweet, ripe fruit.

“Lou?” Harry touches his arm, breaking him out of his trance.  

Louis clears his throat, fighting the blush threatening to creep up his neck at Harry’s knowing, crooked grin. “You look fine,” he says hastily, then turns to Hoya. “Beam them up.”

The captain of the towed ship turns out to be a Bajoran male, with the horizontal nose ridges proper of his species, and the elaborate earring most of the Bajorans wore as a symbol of their faith. He’s tall, with an absurd shoulder-to-waist ratio, olive skin and generous lips.

The Bajoran descends the two steps from the transporter platform with a skip in his step, and approaches Louis, white teeth flashing. Louis notes how Harry fixes his posture, standing taller, and shifts closer to Louis so that their arms brush.

“Greetings! I am most pleased to see your faces. We were getting ready to meet the Prophets.” He has a deep, smooth voice and speaks with a slight accent. He inclines his head, hands crossed over his chest, in a traditional Bajoran greeting, but follows it up with a firm handshake. His hand swallows up Louis’, but isn’t as big as Harry’s, Louis can’t help but notice. Then again, as an Anoran, Harry has especially large hands with long, bony fingers.

“Happy to help,” Louis says. “I’m Captain Louis Tomlinson, and this is The Rogue. Welcome aboard.”

The Bajoran grins. “Captain Ozo Farrem. Our most sincere gratitude, Captain Tomlinson, may the Prophets enlighten your path.”

Louis mirrors the Bajoran’s traditional greeting. “Call me Louis, please.”

Ozo nods, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Louis.” Louis isn’t certain if he’s imagining the subtle emphasis on the word ‘pleasure’, but there’s no mistaking the appreciative once-over he gives him.

Harry gives a loud, harsh cough beside him, which makes both Ozo and Louis turn to him. Louis gestures to Harry. “This is—”

“Commander Harry Edward Styles,” he says, voice sharper than usual, holding out his hand, to Louis’ surprise. He also has no idea where Harry got that name, or why he’s hiding his identity.

Ozo’s eyebrows twitch as though in contained pain as he flexes his hand when they break their handshake. “Commander,” he says curtly.

Louis is forced to break the awkward silence. “Why don’t we show you around and you tell us your story, Captain Farrem, hm?”

Ozo gives a small bow, smiling at Louis again. “Lead the way. And please call me Ozo.”

—

It’s awkward. If Louis thought giving Harry and his friends a tour had been uncomfortable, it had nothing on this one. Ozo is talkative and attentive, and there is no room left for doubt that he’s flirting. He’s not aggressive or rude about it, but he’s not subtle either. Meanwhile Harry has become a silent, looming presence following them around.

Louis keeps hearing a low, sort of clicking noise, and it takes him fifteen minutes before he figures out it’s coming from Harry.

“Everything alright?” he asks, slowing down for a minute to fall into step with Harry. Harry grunts in response, jaw tight, lips pursing into what might have been an attempt at a smile but falls short.

Louis is once again at a loss with Harry, but he can’t stop and think about it with Ozo demanding his attention.

“A sound ship,” Ozo says, hands on his hips, feet apart, with a satisfied nod, when they’ve completed the tour.

Louis bites back a laugh at his pompousness. “She’s getting on a bit, but...”

“But she’s sturdy,” Ozo fills in with a hearty chuckle. “Truly, a fine vessel.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, a smile playing about his lips. “What do you want?” he asks with a hint of playfulness. Harry might throw him off balance, but Louis is generally good at reading people, and whatever the degree of any real intent behind Ozo’s flirting, he can tell there’s something specific he wants. “We both know the quickest way to flatter a captain is to compliment his ship. And you’ve got a lot of praise for a ship whose stand out feature is that she’s still in one piece. ”

Ozo throws his head back with laughter, then reaches out to rest a hand on Louis’ arm. “You got me. You’re too clever, Louis.”

Louis glances at Harry, the clicking sound faster and louder, though his expression hasn’t changed.

“So how can I help you?” he asks Ozo.

Ozo puts his hands together in a pleading gesture. “I was wondering if it would be possible for my crew to join us on your ship? We’ve been stranded for days, despairing of rescue and in close quarters. I was more concerned with murder than starvation, if I’m honest,” he says with a chuckle. “They could really use a change of scenery and some new faces, if you wouldn’t mind accommodating us.”

Louis smiles politely at the joke. “Of course, yeah.” He doesn’t even think to deny the request, but he does have to ask: “How many?”

“We’re a small crew of fifteen. They won't be a bother, I promise.”

Louis waves a hand dismissively. “Of course not.”

He doesn’t have to find them a place to sleep, and it’s for a few hours until they reach the space dock.

Ozo gives another bow. “Thank you so much, Louis. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Louis is not imagining the twinkle in his eyes. “Ah. There’s no need. Why don’t we—”

“You at least need to let me buy you a drink when we reach the dock,” Ozo insists.

Louis claps his hands together. “Let's get your crew on board before they murder each other, yeah?”  he says quickly. Between Ozo’s flirting and Harry’s odd behaviour, Louis is eager to get to the mess room where there will be other people.

Ozo laughs and puts a companionable hand on Louis’ shoulder as they start to walk back to the transporter room. Louis doesn’t want to be rude, but he still pretends to need to fix his boot and walks a little faster afterwards so that Ozo has to keep his hands to himself.

—

Ozo’s crew are an amiable, enthusiastic bunch. The mess room is full to the limit with the added people, but nobody seems to mind. In space guests are more than welcome as a relief from boredom.

Louis can’t shake Ozo, however. And it’s proper, really, for the captains to share a meal. But Louis is grateful to have Liam, Zayn and Niall join them for breakfast. He doesn’t think he could stand another hour of Harry’s mute, glowering persona, complete with inexplicable noises, and Ozo’s tiresome cheer.

But breakfast is not without incident. Ozo hadn’t questioned Harry’s presence, but he soon catches onto the fact that Zayn and Niall are not part of the ship’s crew.

“May I ask what brings you here?” he asks Zayn, seemingly intrigued by the Vulcan.

“You may ask but I have no interest in answering,” Zayn says mildly, unflinchingly meeting the Bajoran’s eyes as he chews his food.

Ozo gapes at him, taken aback.

“He likes being mysterious,” Louis cuts in with a forced chuckle, trying to dispel the awkwardness. Liam and Niall echo him and Harry's lips twitch, which is the most relaxed he’s been since Ozo came aboard. “I’m actually just giving them a lift.”

A grin stretches across Ozo’s face. “Is this a habit of yours, picking up strays?” he says, reaching across the table to touch his fingers to Louis’ wrist.

Harry sets his glass down too hard, and starts making the clicking noise in his throat again. Louis shifts so that their knees knock together under the table and the tension in Harry’s jaw lessens somewhat.

Louis is starting to think he knows what’s wrong with Harry, and he can’t decide whether the butterflies in his stomach are good or bad. “I always dreamed of being an interstellar cabbie when I was a kid,” he quips, poking at his porridge with his spoon.

Niall, Liam and Ozo all laugh, but Harry’s scowl doesn’t really budge. Zayn’s face is unreadable, but Louis notices he keeps staring at Harry.

Liam clears his throat and leans forward to address Ozo. “Sorry, I have to ask. Are you the Ozo Farrem, Tsunkatse champion?”

Louis is so grateful to Liam for the distraction. Ozo’s attention is completely diverted to him. “Yes!” he laughs. “I never thought I’d be recognized in the Beta quadrant. Do you practice the sport?”

Liam nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Not professionally, but—”

“Do you?” Harry asks Louis abruptly, still looking grumpy.

His voice cuts through Liam’s and everyone stares at them.

Louis resists the urge to cringe. “Very funny, Harry.” He gives Harry a light punch in the arm and addresses Ozo: “He’s always poking fun at me.” Louis isn’t certain why Harry and company want to keep their anonymity, but if Harry’s pretending to be human that kind of comment is a big slip.

Niall leans in to whisper something, probably an explanation, in Harry’s ear while Ozo is once again engaged in conversation with Liam. Harry turns to Louis, giving him an assessing look, and then releases a quiet ‘ah’ of understanding.

Louis shoots him a dirty look, which actually makes Harry’s face relax into a smile. Tsunkatse is a form of wrestling that relies on strength. Not one Louis would engage in given his small, delicate build.

“So how about it?” Ozo says suddenly.

“Hm?” Louis turns to him, distracted.

Ozo’s expression is sheepish and apologetic. “I was suggesting some friendly competition between Liam, Harry, and me. And Zayn if he’s interested.

As a Vulcan, Zayn has more strength than his physique would suggest. Louis raises his eyebrows significantly at Niall, who’s also been excluded, making him laugh.

Zayn gives a slow blink. “Not interested, thank you.”

“I’m in,” Harry says immediately, pushing himself up from the table with both hands.

Ozo’s expression is unimpressed, but he stands up as well, so that he and Harry are facing each other across the table. “Perfect. Let’s do this.”

—

Zayn drifts off somewhere, but the rest of them head down to the gymnasium. Louis is left alone as the others go change in the locker room, Niall trailing Harry with his tablet out, gesticulating while talking in the Anoran language. He finds a seat on a bench to the side, and asks some crew members hanging around to set up a rubber mat for the wrestling match.

It’s all kind of ridiculous, and Louis wonders if he’s in some sort of crazed sex dream when Ozo and Liam come out of the locker room, muscled bodies on display in their wrestling singlets—red for Liam and silver for Ozo. He cranes his neck trying to catch sight of Harry, but neither he nor Niall surface—Louis assumes he’s catching up on the rules and tactics of Tsunkatse, as he hadn’t even known what it was fifteen minutes ago.

“What’s going on?” Perrie appears out of nowhere, plops on the bench next to him, and hands him an apple. She takes a large bite of her own apple, chewing as she watches Liam and Ozo get into position, saluting each other before engaging. “What is this? Can I film it?”

Louis laughs and bites into the apple. “Friendly competition,” he tells her, voice muffled through the mouthful of apple, just as Liam gets thrown over Ozo’s shoulder and pinned to the mat on his back, signaling his defeat.

Perrie makes an appreciative sound, eyes on the wrestlers. “Cool,” she says before taking another bite with a loud crunch.

Louis is grinning as he looks back in time to see Ozo pulling Liam to his feet and congratulating him on a good fight. Then Harry steps into his line of sight and his breath catches in his chest, jaw going slack. Harry is in a tight, blue singlet that shows off his broad chest and long, lean legs—as well as leaving very little to the imagination. It also exposes his large feet which tend to point inward, with their inhumanly long toes. But that does nothing to quench Louis’ attraction.

“How about it, Harry?” Liam is saying, but Harry ignores him, stepping instead in front of Ozo and doing the requisite salute without preamble. Ozo raises an eyebrow, but returns the salute.

Harry glances at Louis, catching his eye. He doesn’t say anything but Louis can hear the ‘watch me’ nonetheless—like Louis could look away.

Harry and Ozo engage, gripping each other’s shoulders, grappling for the upper hand. Even Louis, who isn’t very familiar with the sport can tell Harry’s technique is terrible, but he makes up for it in upper body strength and sheer determination.

Louis is mesmerized by the sharp angle of his jaw with his hair up in a bun. The taut line of his neck. His mouth has gone dry—the apple completely forgotten in his hand—and his body feels too hot, simmering with arousal.

“That doesn’t look as friendly,” Perrie comments.

Louis hums absently in response. She’s right, though—there’s a rough edge to their wrestling that wasn’t present when it was Liam and Ozo.

“Did you spill something on yourself, love?” Perrie’s voice registers in the back of his mind, but he jumps when she touches his cheek with the tip of her finger.

Louis’ hands shoot up to cover his neck and part of his face, palms pressed to the skin, angling his face away from Perrie, before he comes back to his senses. He lowers his hands and makes a show of rubbing his face although he knows very well it won’t come out. He can’t see himself but he knows his face and neck are shimmering, like gold dust and glitter right beneath his skin. It can’t be that visible in the bright light of the gymnasium, but Perrie is sitting close and has a sharp eye.

“My sister gave me one of those... vintage snow globes... and it cracked, got it all over me...” he rambles.

“Really? Oh, dear,” Perrie says, half laughing.

She doesn’t sound suspicious at all, but Louis still hunches his shoulders, trying to hide himself from her view.

He gets a crick in his neck when his head snaps up in response to a loud smack followed by a pained cry ringing through the room. His heart lurches to his throat at the sight of Harry sprawled on his back on the mat, face screwed up in pain.

Louis jumps up from the bench and rushes to him without a second thought. “Harry!” he gasps, kneeling at his side, hands hovering over Harry’s shoulders and face.

Harry squints up at him, then turns his body toward Louis, curling up into a ball. “Ow.”

Louis finally rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

Ozo crouches next to them, hands on his knees. “He landed on his hand badly,” he explains. “Might have sprained his wrist.”

Harry struggles to sit up, cradling his left wrist to his chest. “But I was winning before that,” he says petulantly.

Ozo raises his eyebrows, humming skeptically, but he seems more amused than angry.

Louis can’t help but smile and give Harry’s knee a supportive squeeze.

“Need a hand?” Ozo asks Harry, getting to his feet and offering him a hand up.

Harry takes it after a moment, using his right hand. “Yeah, thanks,” he mumbles. He grips Ozo’s forearm in a handshake. “Good fight.”

Ozo visibly holds back an amused, though not cruel, smile. “Sure. You should get that looked at,” he says, pointing at Harry’s wrist, which he’s still holding to his chest.

“I’m fine—” Harry breaks off when Louis touches the tips of his fingers to Harry’s hip.

“I’ll take you up to sickbay,” Louis says, surprising himself.

Harry holds his gaze for a moment, then nods with a hint of smile. “I suppose it won’t hurt to let Steve have a look.”

Louis gives Harry a light push toward the exit with a light touch to his lower back. “Come on.”

He sees the smirk Harry directs at Ozo before allowing Louis to lead him out, and it makes heat spread over his chest and face. Louis thinks he probably shouldn’t be flattered by Harry acting like a moron, but it practically confirms his suspicions that Harry’s moodiness was just him being jealous... and the possibility that Harry might like him as much as he likes Harry is rather a relief. And kind of exciting.

“With a bit more practice, I could beat him,” Harry says as they make their way to sickbay. He seems entirely unconcerned by his near nudity, though Louis is all too aware of it.

He wants to tell Harry ‘you already did’ or ‘you don’t have to beat him in a fight for me to like you’, but that might be too much, too fast, so he contents himself with making a sound of acknowledgement—with enough condescension in it to tease Harry a little.

“It’s true,” Harry whines, nudging Louis’ side playfully.

“Mhm.”

Louis starts to giggle when Harry pouts dramatically in response, but stops in his tracks, gasping in horror as he notices the dark, huge bruise on Harry’s shoulder. His eyes widen as he spots several more on his arms and chest, and even his legs. Purplish blue and spreading outward in a web of fine veins. It hasn’t been more than five minutes—not enough time for bruises to start showing—and Louis is more than a little confused.

“What—how?” he stammers, gesturing at Harry.

Harry looks down at himself. “Oh, that’s nothing. A few bruises. It’s normal.”

“What do you mean nothing?” Louis means to poke him, but stops himself in time.

“I bruise easily. Like a peach,” Harry explains with one of his unique chuckles. “But I also heal very quickly. And these are superficial, so they don’t hurt much,” he adds, peering at one on his upper arm with mild curiosity.

Louis isn’t convinced, and he prods at the bruise carefully.  “You sure? It looks painful.”

Louis lets his hand drop and raises his eyes to Harry, who’s looking at him with a soft, happy smile.

“They show up and are gone in a flash. I’m good, promise.”

Steve confirms this, but he also finds Harry has a small fracture in his wrist.

“Can you heal that, too?” Louis asks, poking at one of Harry’s bruises now that he knows it won’t hurt him too much.

Harry makes him giggle when he makes a show of frowning down at Louis’ hand and scooting over on the examination table, away from Louis. “Yeah. But it hurts in the meantime.”

“No need to suffer,” Steve says, brandishing a small instrument, like a short, wide wrench. He slots a cap into place and fiddles with the settings. “It shouldn’t take long. Your body would naturally heal the fracture in about an hour, so with a little help... maybe ten minutes?”

He pulls a wheeled overbed table toward them and instructs Harry to rest his forearm on the tabletop, then holds the osteogenic stimulator over his wrist.

Harry grimaces when the device starts to hum, and Louis automatically reaches out to grab his free hand, giving it a squeeze. Harry’s smile is full of delighted wonder as he glances down at their hands and then back up at Louis’ face.

Louis presses his lips tight in an attempt to contain his answering smile, and quickly looks away. He chooses to focus on the completion percentage indicator on the device, watching it fill up millimeter by millimeter until it’s a full green bar. But he doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand until Steve has declared Harry all set.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve, who shoots him a meaningful look as they leave. Louis has no excuses. His response had been instinctual, and though he’s a generally empathetic person, he can’t deny to himself that the urge to protect and comfort is stronger when it comes to Harry. Which doesn’t make sense, because he’s known Harry for eight days and liked him for three.

Walking down the corridor toward their quarters, they’re intercepted by Niall and Zayn.

Niall immediately pulls Harry into a hug. “You idiot,” he says, shaking his head, but grinning. He pulls back enough to take a better look at Harry, whose bruises are already fading, but still visible. “Look at you. You look like a blueberry muffin. That’s disgusting.”

Harry honks with laughter, pushing Niall away jokingly. Louis covers his mouth with his hand when he giggles, because of Harry’s reaction almost as much as at Niall’s joke.

Zayn rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Why have an advisor if you’re going to disregard all advice?” he murmurs.

“I only ignore bad advice,” Harry says with a grin.

Zayn’s slanted eyebrows rise minimally. “I fail to see how this has resulted in anything but injury to your person.”

Harry’s eyes flick to Louis, his grin growing lopsided. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says vaguely.

Louis, overwhelmed and unsure, and with Harry with his friends, takes that as his cue to scatter. He stammers a half-formed excuse, forces himself to ignore Harry’s disappointed pout, and runs off.

—

In need of a distraction and an excuse to avoid Harry, he decides to take an earlier shift. He makes a stop at the mess room and grabs some lunch, which he eats as he goes up to the bridge. The second mate is doubtful of being relieved ahead of schedule—Louis is stepping in before his shift is over—but Louis insists, and the third mate has no issue changing shifts with Louis.

However, Louis comes to regret his decision soon enough. He essentially signed up for almost a double shift, on less than four hours of sleep, since he had woken up earlier than usual after a late night. And he’s feeling the effects. This longer shift also means he has to have a late dinner, without a snack in between—in his haste that morning he’d forgotten his glucose tablets—so that he’s soon fighting the familiar headache and shakiness of low blood sugar, as well as drowsiness.

With two hours to go, Louis is struggling. He bites the inside of his cheek in frustration. He can’t leave the bridge, and he can’t ask a random ensign to run down to the mess room for him. He thinks about sending word to Steve. But then he remembers Liam and their conversation about Louis closing himself off from his friends, and after a minute he sends Liam a message, asking him to bring him some juice.

Liam replies instantly in the affirmative, and it takes him less than ten minutes to get there, but Louis’ stomach is churning with nerves the whole while. As he’d told Harry, he tried to be discreet about his eating habits. In truth he’s paranoid about not calling attention to anything that might arouse suspicions about his humanity. So even something as small as this is nerve-racking.

Liam greets him as warmly as always. He’s back in uniform and smiling. “I don’t know what possessed you to take a longer shift after you woke up before first light this morning instead of taking a nap.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “There is literally no difference between night and day on a spaceship, Liam.”

Liam attempts a frown, but starts laughing after two seconds. “Shut up,” he says.

He hands Louis a cup with a straw. When Louis takes a sip, he’s surprised to taste his sugar water instead of juice. He actually prefers the sugar water between meals, but it’s not something he advertises—which means Liam has noticed all on his own. He feels torn between feeling grateful and loved and his gut-reaction of panic. Whenever something related to his abnormal physiology is brought up, he starts to imagine that it will trigger a chain reaction of realization and someone will piece it together.

Liam’s face falls. “Is that all right? It’s what you usually drink, isn’t it?”

Louis swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

Liam smiles again. “No problem,” he says brightly. He turns to look out through the main viewing window, where the space dock is just visible in the distance. “Just a few more hours, right?” he says distractedly.

“Is something wrong?” Louis asks in concern, popping the straw out of his mouth.

Liam shakes his head. “No, no. It’s only—Well, it’ll be good to drop off Captain Farrem.”

“I thought you liked him,” Louis says, frowning in confusion.

Liam widens his eyes and nods frantically. “I do! But...” To Louis’ surprise he starts chuckling. “But it’s a bit awkward. What with him and Harry fighting over you.” He presses his palms to his cheeks, trying to control his laughter. “Don’t give me that look, it’s true.”

Louis raps Liam in the arm with his knuckles as hard as he can, making him jump. “Ow! Louis!”

Louis looks around the bridge, his face hot, but no one seems to be paying them much attention. “You’re the one who suggested the wrestling match in the first place.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “To distract him from Zayn and Niall being weird—which you have to explain to me, by the way. But Harry jumped all over the chance to impress you. Even though it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing.”

“He wasn’t—” Louis breaks off, caving under Liam’s look. “Alright, maybe. But it’s not funny.”

Liam giggles. “It really is. And it’s great. I fully support whatever’s going on between you and Harry.”

Louis is startled into a laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks, but there’s nothing going on.”

Liam wags his eyebrows. “Yet.”

“Shut up.”

Liam shushes him. “No, but, for real, Louis. The question is do you want something to go on between you and Harry?”

“I—” Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe.”

He can’t deny he’s attracted to Harry. Very much. And not just physically. There’s something about him that draws Louis in. And although he has reservations, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have something happen between them. He’s not quite sure what, but... something.

—

Nonetheless, Louis is relieved that Harry isn’t in the room when he finally gets back after his shift.

Louis kicks off his shoes, undresses with his eyes threatening to close, and crawls into bed, tired enough that he drops off in seconds.

***

When Louis comes out of the bathroom the next morning, pajama bottoms dragging on the floor, Harry is just coming into the room with a tray. He’s already in the Starfleet uniform, hair in twin French braids, and a smile on his face. “Good morning.”

“’morning.”

Harry sits on the edge of Louis’ bed, balancing the tray on his lap. “I brought you breakfast. We’re about an hour from docking.”

Louis starts and checks the time. “We’re ahead of schedule. This is Lauren’s doing, if she’s been pushing the ship too hard I’m going to kill her.”

“Liam didn’t mention anything, and I suppose the engineering people would know, yeah?” Harry says carefully.

Louis frowns and sits down. His head hurts. “They don’t know shit,” he says, rubbing his eyes sluggishly.

Harry’s lips twitch. “Are you hangry again?”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, even though he’s probably right—he’d been so tired last night after his shift he’d skipped dinner and gone straight to bed. “Maybe,” he admits.

Harry pushes the tray toward him, smiling. “Good thing I brought you breakfast, then.”

Louis’ lips stretch into a smile in an automatic response, and Harry’s grin widens. The next moment Louis breaks out of the spell, and he remembers his hair is a mess and he’s wearing a shirt that’s too big on him so that it’s half hanging off him. In a compulsive movement, he tugs the collar of the shirt straight and runs a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears.

Harry releases a quiet chirrup of a giggle, which makes Louis blush, but also echo his laughter as he realises how ridiculous he’s acting.

“I’m also not much of a morning person,” he says jokingly, reaching for the tea and taking a long sip. Though he keeps drinking until the mug is almost empty, his nose scrunches up at the taste.

Harry’s eyes widen. “Is it bad?”

Louis winces. “It’s a little too much sugar. What did you put in there?”

Harry grimaces, hands twisting in his lap. “Sorry. I thought... since you drink that sugar water, it was the same.”

“Not quite,” Louis says, surprised to hear himself chuckle. Then again, he’s past his freak-out, and with some sugar in his system he can focus on appreciating Harry’s gesture. “Thank you,” he says, selecting a piece of toast. “You didn’t have to... bring me breakfast... in bed.”

He takes another bite to stop himself from talking. He’s making it sound like more than what Harry meant it to be in all probability.

“Maybe some day I can make you breakfast,” Harry muses, with a shy smile.

“You cook?” Louis asks, choosing to focus on that, instead of how Harry is thinking about future mornings together.

“Yep.”

“That doesn’t seem very royal,” Louis says without thinking. He wants to backpedal when Harry’s smile drops and his brow furrows.

“I’m a person, not just a prince, Louis.”

Louis hastens to swallow the food in his mouth. “A person who can cook, that’s very impressive,” he says frantically.

Harry gives a weak twitter, but there’s still tension in his posture.

Louis rests a hand on Harry’s knee. “I’m sorry,” he says, making sure to look at Harry in the eye.

Harry looks down at his hand, then up at Louis. “It’s fine. But I just... need you to know that with you I’m Harry, not Prince Ha’rialualaha.”

Louis nods, ducking his head as he takes another sip of his too-sweet tea. “When we—We’ll be at the dock for a couple of hours while we refuel.” He glances up at Harry who is looking at him attentively. “Did you... have anything in mind about what you’re going to do in that time?”

Harry blinks. “What is there to do?” he asks, sounding bewildered.

Louis bites his lip through a smile. “You’d be surprised,” he says playfully.

Harry sits up straighter, perking up, mouth curled into a lopsided grin, though he still obviously doesn’t understand. “Surprise me.”

And Louis must be losing his mind, because he just volunteered to spend hours alone with Harry—and, in spite of his nerves, he really, really wants to.

—

“The offer to buy you a drink still stands,” Ozo tells Louis with a crooked grin after shaking his hand and pulling him into a half-embrace.

Louis’ eyes slide to Harry, who is standing a few feet away, hands behind his back, making a very poor show of pretending that he’s not looking at them.

“Or not,” Ozo continues before Louis can say anything.

“I told him I’d take him sightseeing,” Louis explains in an apologetic tone.

Ozo gives a bark of laughter. “On a out of the way, tiny space dock?”

“There’s a great view,” Louis says simply.

There’s a beat of silence, in which Ozo considers him with a rueful, but understanding look. “I’m sure there is,” he says finally. He bows to Louis with a small smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Louis. If you ever want to give me a call, I’d love to hear from you.”

And then he’s gone, walking off with his dark hair shining in the light. Louis turns to look at Harry and sees him staring at Ozo’s retreating figure, face set in a rather baleful expression. He startles when Louis catches his eye, and Louis holds back laughter as he hurries to join him.

“Let’s go,” he says, holding his hand out without a second thought, which Harry takes immediately, lacing their fingers together.

“Go where?” Harry asks.

“On an adventure.”

Harry lets out a honk of laughter and beams at Louis, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please.”

—

An hour later and three hundred feet from the ground, Louis is reconsidering his choices.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Louis had brought Harry up to the network of platforms and hanging bridges set up for maintenance workers to access the ventilation, temperature, built-in gravity, and anti-radiation control systems of the space dock.

Although they aren’t technically allowed to be up there, it had been easy to sneak in. Louis is familiar with the layout and lax security measures of isolated Starfleet outposts. Exploring the infrastructure of the peripheral star bases The Rogue loaded and unloaded had been a means to stave off the terrible monotony of their mission.

Harry shakes his head, though his breathing is erratic as he climbs the ladder onto the platform, standing on trembling legs. “It was a brilliant idea.”

The platform is narrow and has no handrail on one side—and watching Harry’s pigeon-toed, unstable stance, Louis fears it might actually be a terrible idea.

He looks down. The main structure of the docking installation is spherical—arched beams support the framework of hexagonal panels that make up the outer structure—with several circular interconnected levels which all open at the centre so that from their position high above Louis can see down to the lowest level. It’s a vertiginous view of lights and movement: minuscule workers and visitors about their business.

The lighting is dim, and the din of human and machine activities distant, almost inaudible, so high above everything. And Louis finds it peaceful. He likes being around people, and he likes being a part of things—but he also sometimes likes to take a step back and just breathe. Away from all the fear.

“It’s a great view,” Louis says simply.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees quietly.

But when Louis turns to look at him, Harry’s eyes are fixed on him, not on the view below. Louis holds himself very still when Harry starts moving toward him.

“Careful,” Louis whispers, on instinct, watching Harry’s unsteady approach.

“I want to tell you something,” Harry says when he reaches Louis, standing toe to toe.

Louis swallows thickly. There’s an intensity about Harry that’s making his heart race. “OK.”

Harry stares at him for a long moment, holding his gaze, before his eyes drop to Louis’ mouth. He raises one of his hands to Louis’ shoulder, but stops before making contact. “I...” Harry wets his lips, front teeth catching briefly on his bottom lip. “I’d really to kiss you, Lou.”

Louis is frozen in place as Harry’s hand descends on his shoulder, then moves to palm his neck. His breath hitches when Harry bends down to rub his right cheek against Louis’ left—the touch not as fleeting and light as when it was no more than a gesture of greeting.

Louis expects him to do the other cheek, but Harry’s lips skim along his cheek until he reaches Louis’ mouth and draws him into a kiss.

Harry’s lips are soft and warm, and he rubs absent circles with the pad of his thumb against the side of Louis’ neck as they kiss, slow and gentle, curious, figuring out how to fit together.

Louis raises himself on his tiptoes to chase after Harry’s lips when he starts to pull back, and holds onto his hips, fisting the material of his shirt, knuckles brushing against warm skin. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Harry makes a low sound in his throat and meets his lips again, cradling Louis’ face in his hand, guiding his jaw to deepen the kiss.

It’s so good. Louis hadn’t imagined it could be so good.

They kiss until Louis is lightheaded—Harry’s scent that he’d noticed in the transporter room before bringing Ozo on board, coupled with his taste, overwhelming.

He lets Harry draw back so they can look at each other. Louis’ breath escapes in a breathy giggle, and Harry gives him a wide, almost dazed smile. Then he blinks a few times, eyes traveling from Louis’ face down his neck.

“You’re...” he trails off, as though looking for the right words.

Louis can’t see himself but he knows what Harry is seeing: the faint, inhuman glittering of his skin.

And Louis panics. He jerks back with a squeak, automatically pushing Harry away.

Caught unawares, Harry stumbles back, eyes wide. Louis gasps, making a grab for him. But he isn’t fast enough, and he watches in horror as Harry teeters on the edge for a moment, then falls over the side with a strangled yelp.

Louis blanches. Face screwed up to stop himself from bursting into tears, he gets down on his knees and peers over the edge. Harry is lying spread-eagled in what looks like thin air, only small crackles  of electricity showing that he’s on the electromagnetic safety net a few feet down.

“I expected you to fall farther down,” Louis manages to get out.

“Me too,” Harry replies. Then he starts laughing.

Louis is mortified, but he cracks a smile at the hiccuping, whistling trills. “Are you hurt?”

Harry shakes his head, still laughing.

He doesn’t look mad, but Louis is embarrassed and nervous. And his lips are still tingling from the kissing.

“Can you get up again, or am I going to have to fetch someone and go through a lot of awkward explanations?” Louis asks lightly. His voice is wobbly, but he holds it together.

—

“I’m sorry,” Louis speaks up from where he’s lying in bed, propped up against the folded up pillow, watching as Harry twists around trying to see the network of bruises on his back. He looks like he fell asleep belly down in the sun with a mesh net draped over him.

Harry stops trying to look at his back and stretches with a groan, leaning back on his hands. He’s still in his pants, thankfully, on his bed over the covers. Louis tries not to stare at the smooth expanse of his chest, but he can’t help but notice he has six nipples.

“You mean it wasn’t on purpose?” Harry says, tone light and playful.

Louis bites back a tremulous grin. “What tipped you off?”

Harry honks with laughter. “You talked about people trying to murder me within an hour of us meeting, Louis.”

Louis chuckles, blushing, surprised that Harry remembers. Then schools his face into a disinterested expression, and shrugs. “The initial plan was poison, but the opportunity presented itself, so.”

Harry giggles. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

Louis exaggerates a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

Harry’s grin goes a little lopsided, and Louis notices how his eyes drop to Louis’ lips as he licks his own. “I’d like that,” he says.

Louis has to resist the urge to touch his lips, remembering Harry’s touch and taste all too clearly. “It doesn’t count as murder if you’re asking for it, does it?” he jokes, though his voice comes out hoarse.

Harry’s grin softens into a smile, and he folds his legs up to sit with his knees up, long toes curling around the edge of the mattress. “That wasn’t even my first near death adventure.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you’d have been kept under strict protection. Aren’t you supposed to carry on the family name and all that?” He says it lightly, doesn’t want to assume things because of Harry’s royal upbringing again, but he’s curious.

Harry can clearly see right through it, shooting Louis a knowing look, but he doesn’t look upset. “That’s on Gemma, if you must know. And I have been known to... kind of... go rogue, sometimes.” He grins with all his teeth on display and a faux innocent shrug of his shoulders.

Louis clucks his tongue in mock disapproval. “I knew it. You’re a troublemaker who gets away with murder because of your—” He waves a hand at Harry, faltering.

Harry smiles, dimples on full display. “I didn’t always get away with it, though.”

“I’d hope not,” Louis snorts. But he’s endeared and amused, and feeling quite relaxed. It’s incredible how Harry can both put him at ease and throw him completely off balance. “That would make you insufferable. Oh, wait.”

Harry doubles up with laughter, and responds amid giggles. “Hey, don’t mess with me, I’m a Tsunkatse champion.”

Louis bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and hugging his middle. He hasn’t laughed this much with anyone since he can’t even remember.

Once the laughter dies down, they sit in companionable silence for a minute. It’s late, and they should probably sleep. But Louis doesn’t want the conversation to end. “So what kind of trouble did you get into?” he asks after a moment.

Harry smiles brightly. “All sorts.”

He tells Louis about sneaking out of boring lectures and dinner parties to go explore and talk to visitors—as well as play pranks on them. One time he rearranged the silverware at a state party to be facing the wrong direction.

Louis raises his eyebrows, holding back a smile. “That’s wild,” he says, deadpan.

Harry sticks his tongue out. “One time on a trip, I snuck out in the middle of the night, got lost in the forest, and ended up with a broken arm when a targh-bear attacked me.”

“A bear attacked you and all that happened to you was a broken arm?” Louis says incredulously.

Harry nods with affected seriousness. “Niall was with me. And he says it was the luck of the Irish, rubbing off on me.”

“The luck of the Irish, transcending time and space to save you from a bear attack on a planet a hundred light years away.”

“It’s powerful stuff.”

“Clearly.”

Harry drops the act, and props his chin on his hand, smiling. “What about you? Any scandalous adventures?”

Louis hums. “Well. I once stole a car and drove it fifteen miles down the highway while being chased by the police. Then drove it off a cliff, jumping off right before it fell.”

Harry’s eyes bug and he sits up, leaning forward. “Really?” he gasps.

Louis snorts. “No. I lived in Doncaster, mate. The most we did was loiter in parking lots after dark drinking cheap beer and coke and rum. I couldn’t even get drunk, so all I got was a stomach ache—no hangovers, on the upside.”

Harry shakes his head, chuckling. “If it’s any consolation, most drunken adventures aren’t that great. Believe me.”

“Have a lot of experience with that?”

“I’ve been attending state dinner parties since I was thirteen, what do you think? My bodyguard threatened to glue my clothes on, I ended up naked so much.”

Louis covers his mouth with his hand as he laughs. “The nudist Anoran. Of course.”

“Exactly.”

They smile at each other, and Louis is captivated by his mouth—he wants a reminder of how it tasted.

“I’m happy we had an adventure together,” Harry says, catching Louis by surprise.

He nods, but has to look away from Harry’s fixed, warm gaze. “Tonight’s adventure must have been pretty tame for your standards,” he mumbles, busying himself rearranging the covers.

“It was better than usual.”

Louis looks up at that, face twisted in disbelief, but he falters when Harry sits up suddenly, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

“It was. Because you took nothing and made it into something. Something special. Just by being you.”

Louis bites his lip, glances down at his lap and back up at Harry. “It wasn’t just me. You were there, too.” He tries to tease, but it comes out too soft.

He goes rigid when Harry stands up and closes the small distance between their beds. But at Harry’s questioning look, he nods, so that Harry sits down on the bed, at the level of Louis’ middle.

“I like you,” he says bluntly.

Louis gulps.

“In case it wasn’t obvious,” Harry goes on with a nervous smile.

Louis stares down at his hands for a moment. “It’s mutual,” he says finally. “I mean I like you, too.”

Harry beams, and Louis dissolves into nervous giggles. He covers his face with his hands. “What are we, teenagers?” he groans, half-laughing.

Harry's hands wrap wrap around his wrists, encouraging him to lower his hands. “Is that bad?”

“No.” Louis bites his lip. “We’re not Vulcans or Betazoids, so we have to… say things… out loud.”

Harry lets out a hoot of laughter, but the next moment his eyes drop to Louis’ lips. His smile doesn’t quite leave his face even as he speaks, though. “Can I kiss you?” he asks in a low voice.

And Louis really, really wants to kiss Harry again. He sits up and leans in toward Harry immediately, though his heart is hammering in his chest. “Mhm,” he says, inarticulate.

Harry settles a hand low on his thigh and draws him in with the other on the back of his neck. Louis holds himself up with one hand on the mattress, and cups Harry’s face with the other, thumbing at his smooth cheek.

Eyes closed, Louis pauses right before their lips touch. “You don’t have to ask every time, though.”

Harry nuzzles his cheek—and Louis can feel how his lips are stretched into a smile—before he pecks his lips. “Understood,” he says.

Louis can’t help the small, pleased sound he makes when their lips finally meet. Kissing Harry is good. So good. Even better now the second time, past the shock and on stable ground.

He studies Harry's face with his fingertips: the high arch of his cheekbone, the sharp angle of his jaw, and his small, delicate ear. Harry shivers when Louis traces the thin set of ridges in the skin behind his ear, and tightens his grip on Louis’ thigh before smoothing his hand up to grip his waist, pulling him closer. Louis doesn’t resist the pull, tucking his legs in and shifting closer. He spreads a palm on Harry’s chest, and buries the other hand in his hair, following his mouth.

It gets heated. Harry bunching up Louis’ shirt at his waist as he kisses the corner of his mouth before moving down his neck. Louis gets so caught up in the feeling of Harry’s smooth, warm skin, soft like Tholian silk, and his wet, biting kisses, that he doesn’t even remember until he feels Harry’s mouth falter.

Louis jerks back, but Harry grabs him by the waist, spreading a hand across his back, not letting him go far.

“If you push me away now I’ll fall on the hard floor,” he says lightly, lips twitching in an obvious effort to hold back a grin.

Louis can feel his neck throbbing where Harry was sucking on it. “I—”

“You’re shimmering,” Harry interrupts, breaking into a grin. He trails two fingers down Louis’ neck to the hollow of his throat.

Louis flushes, pushing back the panic making his chest tight. “It’s—Yeah, that happens,” he says with a shaky breath. “When I’m... you know... ”

Harry stares at him for a moment, agape, then licks his lips, nostrils flaring. He grips the bottom of Louis’ shirt. “Can I—?” he asks, voice rough. “I want to see.”

Louis lets out a breathy laugh of surprise. “Does it turn you on?” He was definitely not expecting that.

Harry kisses him again, quick and biting, hand still fisted in his shirt but not tugging. “Everything about you turns me on.”

Louis focuses on breathing for a long moment, trying to figure out what he wants to do. Harry makes the tiniest sound of disappointment when Louis tugs at his wrist, but lets go of Louis’ shirt immediately.

“Full Mellions properly glow in the dark,” Louis tells him in a whisper, before steeling himself and pulling the shirt over his head.

A corner of Harry’s mouth lifts and he pushes Louis back on the bed without preamble, fingers almost ticklish as he not only looks but touches, following the spread of the golden shimmer of Louis’ skin down his neck and over his chest.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, playing with the nub of one of Louis’ nipples, making Louis’ breath hitch, before bending down to press an open mouthed kiss to the center of his chest. “You’re beautiful. Fuck. Never seen anything as pretty as you, Lou.”

Louis tugs at Harry to get him on top of him and resume the kissing, words stuck in his throat. His head is spinning at how different Harry’s reaction had been to other one he had experienced.

“Don’t, Harry—” he stammers. “Please.” He’s not sure what he’s asking. Louis can feel Harry, hard and hot against his thigh even over his pajama bottoms and Harry’s pants.

“But it’s true,” Harry murmurs absently into his skin, nuzzling his neck and shifting so that their cocks press together.

Louis digs his blunt nails into Harry’s back with a gasp, and Harry groans, bucking his hips. Heat shoots up Louis’ spine and Louis rakes his nails down Harry’s back without thinking, pushing his own hips up, chasing the friction.

The next second he runs the tips of his fingers over the the area, cringing. “Shit. That’s going to leave a mark, isn’t it?” he says, thinking about Harry’s sensitive skin. “Sorry.”

Harry raises himself up on one arm to look at him. “You can leave all the marks you want, Lou,” he says, voice gruff, then presses down again, making Louis’ breath hitch. “Don’t hold back.”

Louis stutters a laugh at that, but it’s kind of desperate. He’s hot, and so hard, cock throbbing, and Harry is... so much. In every sense. It’s a lot. And Louis is more than a little overwhelmed.

Harry must be able to feel the tension in his body because he stops and draws back to look into his face again. “Louis, is something wrong?” he asks, the rough edge gone from his voice. “Do you want to stop?”

Louis opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the words. “No. It’s just—I—” He doesn’t want to stop, but he doesn’t quite know how to tell Harry what’s bothering him. Before he can find the words or muster the courage, Harry is sitting up and scrambling off the bed.

“I’m sorry. I got... carried away,” Harry says quickly. He makes a frantic gesture with his hands. “You’re just so—”

“Harry—”

Harry shakes his head, standing with his hands over his crotch. “I’m going to...” He grimaces. “Take a shower.”

And he’s bolted to the bathroom before Louis can say another word.

Louis lets himself fall back on the bed, letting his breath out in a long, noisy exhalation. The throb of arousal is ebbing quickly, replaced by mortification. He feels absolutely ridiculous.

Enough to pretend to be asleep when Harry comes out maybe fifteen minutes later. It takes a while for Harry’s snuffling snores to reach him, and it’s not until a while after that that Louis falls asleep.

***

The following day their interaction is somewhat stilted, both of them skirting around each other. Harry wakes him up—and Louis feels like it could become a habit—but his touch is tentative, long fingers raking through Louis’ hair for a second before he’s getting up from the bed, wringing his hands.

Even Liam notices the tension, and takes Louis aside after lunch to ask him about it.

“What happened between you two?” he asks.

Louis fiddles with the collar of his shirt. “Not much,” he lies.

Liam shoots him a deadpan look. “Mate, come on. Something happened.”
Louis glances at where Harry is still standing at the end of the mess room, brow furrowed as he talks to Zayn, their heads together. Liam raises his eyebrows expectantly when Louis looks back at him.

“We kissed and, like, hooked up?” Louis admits, tugging his sleeves down past his knuckles in a nervous gesture.

For someone who was convinced something had happened, Liam seems too surprised. “Really?” He looks from Louis to Harry and back again.

“Yeah. And now it’s...” Louis trails off, heaves a sigh before finishing his thought. “Awkward.”

Liam chuckles. “That happens sometimes, the first time you get your hand down somebody’s pants.” He gives Louis a little shake. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah?” Louis wants to believe Liam is right and the awkwardness between them has nothing to do with Louis screwing up—but Liam doesn’t know the whole story.

“Sure. Unless it was, like, really, really terrible,” Liam says. He squints at Louis. “It wasn’t, was it? He seems pretty normal.”

The implications of that sentence make Louis’ stomach roil. “Normal,” he echoes numbly.

Liam shrugs. “As in… for human standards.” He makes a face. “Unless you’re into weird alien sex. Though, I mean, that’s fine, too,” he adds hurriedly.

Louis smiles thinly. “Right.”

He wonders if Liam would consider the phosphorescence that’s a response to his arousal as ‘weird alien sex’. If Liam makes such a distinction about human and alien, he doesn’t even want to consider how he might react if he knew that Louis is not just a hybrid, but half Mellion.

—

Louis goes to the one person he can talk to with complete freedom.

As expected, Steve is in his lab, perusing a handful of holographic images from microscope samples. Louis knocks on the door frame before stepping inside.

“Hey, brother. What’s up?” Steve welcomes him with a smile.

Louis wanders in, going for casual, and hoists himself onto the countertop behind Steve’s work table, swinging his feet. “Nothing. You can keep… doing whatever it is you’re doing,” he says. “I just want to hang for a bit, if that’s alright.”

He thinks it might be easier to have this conversation while Steve is occupied with something else. “What are you working on anyway?”

“Indefinite cellular stasis.” Steve says, flipping through the holograms and making a quick annotation on one of them. “Unlimited balance of the cells that make up the body.”

Louis lets out an impressed whistle, making Steve laugh. “Fascinating stuff. Groundbreaking,” he says teasingly.

Steve shuts down the holographic projector and turns toward him with a grin. “It could be.”

Louis releases his breath in an amused puff. “Eternal life. I’d say so.”

“Maybe not eternal. But if we could just... slow everything down? So many species have longer lifespans than humans, and slower aging speed, and if we could recreate that—I know what matters is what you do with the time you have, but—”

“But if we could have more time…” Louis finishes the thought for him.

Steve nods with a slightly rueful smile. “But how much time? It’s never gonna feel like enough, when the time comes, is it?”

Louis starts singing, very low and in a crescendo. “Forever young, I want to be… forever young...” Laughter fills his voice as Steve joins in, grinning as he sings. “Do you really want to live forever?”

He goes up to Louis and throws an arm around his shoulder as they dissolve into inarticulate laughter. “That’s ancient. Literally ancient. What kind of music are you listening to, bro?” Steve jokes.

Louis giggles. “You know the words better than I do.”

Steve heaves out a sigh, but he sounds much more at peace. “Well, I’m ancient.”

They both chuckle, then Steve gives him a nudge. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Louis blinks. “Indefinite cellular stasis, of course.”

“Come on. Spill.” Steve goes over to his refrigeration box and pulls out from between samples and chemicals, two bottles of Bolian tonic water, tossing one to Louis. “I’m even going to share the last of my stash with you.”

Louis coos. “Aw, Steve.”

Steve guffaws and jumps onto the counter next to him, popping the bottle open and sipping in silence, letting Louis gather his thoughts.

“Harry knows about me,” Louis says finally.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just tips his bottle at him to continue.

Louis bites his lip and takes a deep breath before continuing, speaking in a rush. “And he was fine with it.”

A smile spreads across Steve’s face. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, lips pressed tight together as he tries to hold back a smile. The shock still hasn’t quite worn off, but speaking about it now is helping him appreciate just what a relief it is to have someone else know and not reject him for it.

Steve is surprised and impressed when Louis explains how Harry had known he wasn’t all human through his heightened Anoran perception, and Louis can tell a part of him is thinking about the scientific aspect of it, interested in the phenomenon from a physiological point of view. But his smile is warm and he releases a content, almost wondering sigh when Louis tells him about Harry’s reaction after Louis had confessed what species he was.

There’s a moment of silence where they both drink their tonic water in silence, then Steve bumps their shoulders together. “I don’t want to say I told you so… but I told you so,” he says.

Louis pushes back against him, still smiling. “It’s not the same,” he protests, however. “Harry isn’t human. His people are only just joining the Federation, they don’t really care about that. All the history, the bad blood, it doesn’t mean anything to them.”

There’s no doubt that Earth was the one who took the defection hardest, since they’d brought the Mellions into the Federation in the first place.

Steve gives his ankle a light kick. “More people than you think might not care about it, Louis. Honestly, I think you’d be surprised.”

Louis’ mouth twists and he shakes his head, chin to his chest. “You know what happened—” His stomach churns at the memories.

Steve sighs. “I know, Louis. I understand.”

He drains his bottle, then turns to face Louis again. “So what is it that’s worrying you? He knew from the start and kept your secret, so I doubt he’s going to blab.”

Louis twists his hands in his lap, thinking about Harry doing the same, turning his rings around and around his long fingers. “No, I trust him,” he says, surprising himself. But he does trust Harry. The pull between them is unsettling in that it’s inexplicable--and unfamiliar for Louis—but it doesn’t feel wrong or dangerous.

Steve’s moustache twitches as though he wants to smile, but he doesn’t say anything. And once again doesn’t press while Louis figures out the less embarrassing way of talking about what’s bothering him.

“You know I do that thing—” Louis begins after a minute, his face scrunched up in embarrassment. “You know I phosphoresce when I’m… in a state of… arousal.” The technical approach does not help with the awkwardness.

Steve hums, nodding, taking it in stride. “Mellion phosphorescence is an important factor in attracting a mate, so it makes sense.”

Louis covers his hot cheeks with his palms, nose wrinkled. “Does it, really?” he says sarcastically.

Steve gives a bark of laughter. “In the context of their evolution and ecosystem, yes.”

Louis leans his head back against the cupboard, eyes closed, and takes a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain... when you’re hooking up with someone... and your start… shimmering.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement. He knows what Louis is referring to. He’s the only person who does, as a matter of fact—besides a board of Starfleet directives. “But Harry knows about your hybridity, so it can’t have come as that much of a surprise.”

“No, that’s—He was alright with it.” More than alright, really. But that’s something Louis is definitely not going to get into. He squeezes his eyes shut. “But I haven’t... been with anyone, since that time when... you know. And I’m—I don’t know—” He falters, swallowing the lump in his throat, and forces himself to look at Steve, who studies him for a moment then nods in understanding. And Louis almost smiles because of course Steve gets it without Louis having to spell it out.

“Hey. My first time was with an Orion. It lasted ten minutes to the dot. And she cried because it was so disappointing.”

Louis’ lips twitch even though he keeps his eyes on the bottle he’s holding in both hands on his lap.

“But then we spent the next three hours figuring out how to make it good. And it was good.” Steve pauses with a thoughtful expression. “Also exhausting.”

That draws a weak chuckle from Louis, and he raises his head to look at Steve, who smiles at him easily.

“I have to confess I’ve hung out with Harry a few times—”

Louis gasps in mock horror.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. Sorry? He’s actually an interesting dude to talk to.”

Louis hums in agreement.

“And he’s nice,” Steve goes on. “Like, genuinely nice. So I think that, like, having sex with him is something you can look forward to, not something you need to worry about.”

Louis’ face is burning, but a smile tugs at his mouth. “Maybe.”

“And if he’s a dick about it, then hit him right here—” Steve pokes right above Louis’ navel. “It’s a very sensitive area for Anorans.”

“Or I could just punch him in the dick,” Louis suggests, feeling laughter bubble up inside him.

Steve laughs. “That’ll probably work, too.”

—

Louis tries not to think about Harry during his shift in the bridge. Or about the fact that they are set to reach Helios base next morning. Their time is almost over, so regardless of Louis stressing over one thing or another, whatever is between them can’t go beyond an awkward night together and then an even more awkward farewell.

After all, in the end, he’s a half-breed captain of a cargo ship with no prospects, and Harry is a bloody prince. It doesn’t get much less compatible than that. Both his wonderment and his nervousness at the connection between them seem pointless when faced with the cold, hard facts of their respective situations.

Once his shift is done, Louis trudges down to his room, wondering if Harry will be waiting up—and unsure if he would rather he were or he weren’t.

Louis peeks inside after the door slides open: the room is in a comfortable gloom, and Harry is stretched out on his bed over the covers. He’s in just his pants once again, and Louis would almost think he was doing it on purpose to torture him if he didn’t know that Harry is a nudist by nature.

Harry bolts upright when he notices Louis is in the room, sitting up, feet on the floor. He pops the in-ear headphones out and tucks a bit of his hair behind his ear, turning to look at Louis with a nervous smile.

“Hi, Lou.”

Louis takes him in: all smooth skin and flowing curls and pink, plush lips. But what has him marching up to him and climbing on his lap is the genuine warmth on his face, the kindness in his eyes. It cements the decision of making the most of the time they have left together. Harry came into his life through sheer luck, and Louis isn’t going to throw away the chance to share everything he can with him.

Harry makes a small sound of surprise when Louis straddles him. “Louis—” he gasps, wide-eyed. But he reaches up to hold him in place, hands on his thighs.

Instead of answering, Louis cups his face in both hands and kisses him, hard and eager. And Louis has spent a lifetime with next to no kissing, but now the thought that he won’t get to do this forever makes him want to cry. He can’t stand knowing that their kisses are counted.

With an edge of desperation, Louis buries a hand in Harry’s hair at the base of his neck, the other clutching at his shoulder. Harry groans and runs his hands up Louis’ thighs to his hips, then his waist, underneath his shirt. Louis shivers at the touch of Harry’s hands on his bare skin, and his breath stutters when he feels that Harry is growing hard beneath him.

Louis wrenches himself from Harry’s mouth to suck on his neck, right beneath his jaw, while he explores the width of his shoulder, the shifting muscles in his broad back. He doesn’t even realise he keeps rocking his hips until Harry lets go of his waist to grip his hips, to guide him into moving in tight circles.

“Like that,” Harry murmurs. “So good, Lou.”

Louis hides his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, whimpering. He’s so close to coming it’s embarrassing, but he also feels like he might be sick, his heart is beating so fast.

“Louis—” Harry raises a hand to cup the back of Louis’ head, scratching at his scalp. “Are you alright?”

Louis nods but doesn’t trust himself to speak, still curled up against Harry’s chest. The movement of his hips falters and he goes still.

Harry lets go of his hip to stroke his back instead. “Maybe we should talk?” he says, breathing hard.

Louis breathes Harry’s scent in deep once before straightening, sitting back on Harry’s thighs and anchoring himself with his arms over Harry’s shoulders. “What do you want to talk about?” he whispers.

Harry’s lips twitch and he settles with his hands in a loose clasp on Louis’ lower back, arms around his waist. “About what we’re doing here.”

“What are we doing?” Louis asks. He means it as a joke, but it comes out much too serious.

Harry nudges and kisses his cheek. “That’s what I’m asking, Lou.”

Louis licks his lips, lets one of his hands trail down to trace figures on Harry’s chest, flicks at one of his nipples to avoid answering.

Harry’s grip tightens on his waist, his breath hitching noticeably. “Louis.”

Harry’s eyes are wide, and Louis rolls his hips again, with new determination. “I want to get you off. Can I?”

Harry gapes at him, one hand sliding up his spine and the other slipping lower to grip Louis’ thigh, thumb digging into the crease of his groin, pulling at the material of his trousers.

“Harry?” Louis insists, voice breaking. “Please?”

Harry groans what sounds like a curse in Anoran, and Louis can feel his cock twitch beneath his arse. Louis shivers and leans in automatically for a kiss when Harry grips the back of his neck, tugging him closer.

Harry stops him before their lips can touch, however. “If this is about last night, you don’t owe me anything,” he says, voice gravelly. “I know I came on a bit strong.”

Louis nudges into his hand, eyes fluttering closed before opening. “It wasn’t like that,” he whispers.

Harry brushes their lips together, slipping into little, intoxicating kisses. “Then how was it?”

Louis falters. He lowers his gaze, tracing the long column of Harry’s neck, feeling his thrumming pulse beneath his fingertips. “I—I—” he stammers.

Even after his talk with Steve, Louis is still anxious, fighting against the ingrained fear associated to sex after a lifetime of hiding and knowing all too well the consequences of failing to do so. He wants to let go and be with Harry, but he can’t seem to. He’s shaking, breathing erratic.

And Harry must be able to tell it’s not from arousal, because he shifts his hips in a move that’s meant to encourage Louis to get off his lap, not get him off.

“I think we need to go a little slower, hm?” he says.

Louis’ toes find purchase and he stands up, heart in his throat. He fixes his shirt, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“I like you,” Harry says, reaching to take Louis’ hand. "I really like you, Lou. I don’t want you to just get me off.”

Louis looks down at their hands and then up at Harry, whose expression is earnest and soft. He finds himself smiling. “I don’t know how you ended up on this ship, but I’m glad you did, Harry.”

Harry squeezes his hand. He opens his mouth as though to speak, but seems to have to gather his courage before he finally blurts out: “I chose this ship.”

Louis tilts his head to the side, not understanding. “What?”

A slight grin spreads on Harry’s face. “There were several ships to choose from. But I chose yours,”  he says. “I liked the name. The Rogue. It felt... fun. And brave.”

Louis lets out a huff of laughter. “Are you sure you know what rogue means?”

Harry pulls a ridiculous face. “Yes.”

Louis plays with Harry’s fingers. He doesn’t wear his rings to bed, so Louis explores the prominence of his bones and the thin skin between his fingers. “I got to name the ship, actually. Though the high-ups gave me a lot of shit about it, claiming it was unprofessional.”

Harry releases his breath in a contented sigh. “I got a good feeling about this ship when I read the name.” He stretches his leg to nudge Louis’ leg with his toes. “You should know my people are very intuitive.”

Louis smiles, endeared, their hands still hanging between them, fingers entwined. The rush of arousal and the headiness of it has been replaced by something gentler, but almost as overwhelming. “Are they? Or is it just you? The intuitive nudist,” he teases.

Harry laughs, eyes sparkling. “It’s not just me. And we’re good. I was right. The captain of The Rogue turned out to be fun. And brave. And so beautiful,” he says. “That last one I wasn’t expecting.”

Louis rolls his eyes, even as he blushes. “My default response to things is flight, not fight, Harry. I’ll give you fun and beautiful, but brave—”

Harry pulls him closer, so that Louis comes to stand between Harry’s legs, their knees brushing. “I think you stand and fight for what’s really important,” he says quietly. Then lifts his eyebrows playfully. “And I’ve got to defend my intuition, so I’m going to stand by that.”

Louis’ smile is almost pained. “You’re something out of a dream, Harry.” He caresses his cheek, and thumbs at the corner of his mouth. Then tweaks his nose. “Or a nightmare, at first,” he adds with a mischievous giggle.

Harry’s bashful, delighted grin turns into a silly pout. “I take it all back. You are a scoundrel.”

Louis laughs. “So you do know what it means!” he teases.

Harry launches an attack, trapping Louis between his knees and tickling him. Louis wriggles, giggling, trying to bat him off. “No! Stop it!” he protests between hiccuping laughter. “How did you know I’m ticklish? Harry!”

Harry gives him one last tickle before standing up with his hands stilling on Louis’ waist. “Intuition,” he says with a wide grin.

Louis pokes him in the stomach with a dirty look, making Harry wheeze with laughter. When his laughter dies down, he leans in. “Louis, can I kiss you?”

Louis tilts his chin up, arms slipping around Harry’s waist. “I told you you didn’t have to ask.”

Harry hums, leaning in closer, eyelids drooping, gaze fixed on Louis’ mouth. “Can I, then?”

Louis wets his lips. “Just one. And then we need to sleep.”

“Just one,” Harry agrees.

The lines blur, and Louis isn’t certain if it’s one kiss or more, but it’s a few minutes before they break apart. This time it doesn’t feel stilted or uncomfortable, though.

After a quick sonic shower, Louis gets into bed, and Harry blows him a kiss before turning off the light. Louis watches Harry in the dark until his eyes close, and then whispers. “I really like you, too, Harry.”

“I heard that,” Harry whispers after a minute.

Louis giggles, his chest warm with feeling. He doesn’t understand how Harry manages to put him so at ease, or how he salvaged the mess of a situation Louis’ insecurities created, but he’s happy he did. He hadn’t lied before: even if it has to end soon, he’s very happy he met Harry.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Louis has to wake up earlier than usual to coordinate their arrival at Helios Starbase where the summit is taking place. Helios has an expansive docking structure in low planetary orbit, where the ship will remain while the crew takes a shuttle craft down to the planet’s surface.

He leaves Harry sleeping on his stomach, hugging his pillow, the sheets a mess around his legs. Since that first night they had argued, Harry hadn’t touched the thermostat again. After they made up, though, Louis had turned the temperature down a little and piled on another blanket for himself, but it’s apparent Harry is still overheating at night.

Harry’s curls are all over his face, some strands sticking to his parted lips. And Louis has to resist the urge brush his hair from his face, not wanting to wake him.

—

A few hours later The Rogue ‘drops anchor’. Louis sends a ship wide transmission for the crew to have fun and keep out of trouble, along with the information about the accommodations set up for their stay.

Louis meets up with Liam to do the final check up on the ship after the crew is out. He carries his sugar water and drinks it through a straw as they make the rounds.

Stopping by their quarters to pick up some clothes, Louis gets an unexpected pang when he sees that Harry’s luggage is gone, the pull-out bed closed so that the room now seems too big. It reminds Louis that, no matter what happens, Harry won’t be coming back on the ship.

“Everything OK between you and Harry, then?” Liam asks as they exit the ship.

Louis looks around: the hangar is cavernous, stretching upwards into darkness, with the metal beam structure exposed. The noise is a shock after the relative silence of the ship, as is the cold and hard lighting.

“Louis?” Liam prompts.

On his tiptoes Louis catches sight of Harry standing off to a side, with Zayn and Niall, and he can’t help but smile because Harry didn’t take the shuttle down with the others and instead is waiting for him. “I think so, yeah.”

Louis hasn’t made it more than ten feet toward them before he’s accosted by a dock supervisor. Once he has verified Louis’ Starfleet Captain Identification number, and spent an absurd amount of time comparing his on-file picture on his PADD against the real Louis, he starts asking questions.

“Business or pleasure?”

And Louis had been afraid of this. Escorting Harry was off-mission as well as off the record, it seemed, so that The Rogue, a minor cargo ship that operated in another area of the quadrant, had no real reason to be docking in Helios at such a busy time.

“Uh. Pleasure in our business,” Louis says with an ingratiating, playful grin.

The supervisor is not amused. At least Louis doesn’t think he is— it’s hard to tell with the thick-set brow ridges and the cutaneous growths sprouting downwards around his mouth.

“And what’s your business?”

“Transporting goods.”

“What goods?”

Louis’ eyes slide to Harry, who looks like a dream out of the Starfleet uniform in a light pink shirt, white, tight trousers, and silver boots. “Luxury items,” he says, feeling reckless.

“Right. I’m going to have to take a look at your cargo.”

A small, nervous chuckle escapes Louis. There’s nothing in the ship’s cargo hold. Before he can make up an excuse, Harry is waltzing up to them with a placid smile on his face.

“This ship was escorting me. I requested passage to the summit and they were kind enough to respond.” He bends down to peer at the plaque on the supervisor’s chest and tags on a belated ‘Supervisor Jok’ that comes off as too familiar rather than deferential. If that’s even what he was going for; Louis isn’t sure.

“And who are you?” Supervisor Jok demands, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Harry.

Harry makes no answer, except to tilt his head to the side and look at him down his nose with a raised eyebrow. After a few seconds, the supervisor lowers his gaze.

“Sorry, um, I’ll need a name, sir?” he backtracks, in a much more respectful tone.

“Prince Ha’rialualaha of Jokaimor.”

The supervisor’s reptilian tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Have you got any ID?” he says in a small voice, after a moment’s hesitation.

Harry smiles and holds out his hand palm facing out, wiggling his fingers. “I carry it around with me all the time.”

Louis holds back a chuckle. The urge to laugh seems almost detached from him, though, he’s so fascinated by the interaction taking place before him.

“Uh. I don’t have a print scanner with me,” Jok falters, fumbling with his PADD. Harry just smiles at him without a word: close-lipped and dimple-less, it’s very different from the smiles Louis is used to seeing.

Harry’s impassivity seems to unnerve the supervisor, who clears his throat but can’t seem to get anything out.

“Well, then. Thank you for your time,” Harry says after a minute. And starts walking off toward the shuttle departure area, Zayn and Niall falling into step with him.

Louis stares after them, dazed, before turning to look at Liam, whose mouth is hanging open in shock.

“Right,” Louis says. “If that’s... all?”

Jok grunts without looking at either of them, then turns around and stomps off.

—

The five of them take a shuttle down to the planet’s surface, and then a rapid transit train from the connecting station into Dawbell’s city center.

To Louis’ pleasant surprise, Harry takes his hand and leads him over to their seats, leaving Zayn and Niall to the two seats in front of them while Liam sits next to Louis but across the aisle.

The windows are uninterrupted except for narrow structural pillars and reach up to make part of the roof, and with the tracks running high above street level, sunlight fills the carriage. It catches the hints of gold in Harry’s hair and turns the fine hairs that escape his bun into a halo.

Louis studies Harry as the train starts moving, wondering if what he saw back in the hangar was a glimpse of Prince Ha’rialualaha as opposed to Harry. The prince’s irreproachable politeness had a coldness, a careful distance, a cutting edge to it, that Louis hasn’t felt with Harry except for that time at the bridge after their argument.

Louis doesn’t quite know what to make of it. For better or for worse, Louis is himself at all times. There are parts of him he might hide, but he is, essentially, the same person. He thinks about what Harry had said ‘with you I’m Harry, not Prince Ha’rialualaha’ and whether it’s more or less exhausting to hide or to pretend.

Harry catches Louis looking at him and beams, warm and soft—and genuine. He takes Louis’ hand in his and Louis doesn’t think twice before leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek.

“You two are so cute,” Niall pipes up from in front, arms folded over the back of the seat.

Harry acknowledges Niall with a nod and a lazy grin, while Louis thanks him and then smothers a giggle into Harry’s shoulder. He’s acting like an love struck idiot, and he should probably be embarrassed, but Harry smells too good, and his body is warm and comfortable, and his smile when he settles in for a cuddle is too wonderful for Louis to care.

Riding in trains and cars has lulled Louis into a calm reverie since he was a child, and he gets lost in the scenery, looking out the window while stroking the soft hair curling over Harry’s nape. With spring turning into summer the place is overflowing with green vegetation amid the tall, sleek buildings.

He starts as the pleasant, automated voice calls out of the next stop: District Eta Carinae Nebula.

“It’s here,” he tells Liam, stretching his leg across the aisle to poke him with his toe.

Harry whines at being dislodged from his position.

Louis gives his small ear a gentle pinch. “Don’t complain, your hotel is bound to be much nicer than ours.”

Harry straightens up abruptly, turning in his seat to face Louis. “You’re not coming with me?”

Louis starts reaching for his bag beneath his seat. “Um, no?” he replies in surprise.

Harry frowns. “Why not?” he asks quietly. He leans in to whisper to Louis. “We don’t have to keep sharing a room if you don’t want to. But I thought you’d be… closer.”

Louis can’t resist thumbing at Harry’s bottom lip, which is pushed out in a pout. “I need to be with my crew—”

“They can manage.”

“And you’ve got things to do, don’t you?”

Harry nods in reluctant agreement. “But I want to have you with me. Like, as an advisor.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Do you just give that title out to everyone you like?”

“Yes,” Zayn says from in front, making Harry frown harder and Louis bite back laughter.

“This is a private conversation,” Harry grumbles.

“It is impossible not to overhear given our close proximity,” Zayn counters, peeking from between the seats with an unperturbed expression.

“He’s right,” Niall agrees, head popping up again.

Louis glances at Liam who shrugs apologetically in agreement. Louis is thankful the carriage is empty besides them.

Harry makes a face and exhales noisily through his nose. “Regardless, Louis is a captain and brilliant, and I value and trust his judgement. It’s not just because I like him.”

Touched, Louis cups Harry’s face and gives him a gentle kiss. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, love,” he says gently. He’s pretty sure he’s not even allowed.

Before Harry can protest the train pulls into the station, and Louis stands up, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Harry grabs his wrist, eyes wide.  “I’ll see you later tonight?”

Louis knows he should tell Harry to settle in and get some rest, but the summit only lasts three days, and after that who knows what will happen. He wants every bit of time with Harry he can get.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he confirms.

Harry raises himself out of the seat to give him a last kiss. Louis turns back once before following Liam out the door onto the platform.

—

Louis wasn’t kidding about Harry’s hotel being much nicer than that of the ship’s crew. On a limited budget, the rooms rented are smaller than the ones on the ship, with dim lighting and no windows. Nonetheless, Louis doubts anyone is too fussed about the accommodations, probably too eager to go explore and have fun. In fact, he and Liam don’t find anyone from the crew still hanging around when they arrive at the hotel, and they soon head out themselves, meeting up with Perrie, Lauren, and some others for a walk and lunch.

Dawbell is a popular destination, and with the summit there are even more visitors than usual. But the weather is mild, enough that Louis is comfortable in a light, cream jumper and skinny jeans. It feels good to be out of uniform, and he especially appreciates not having to wear his boots, even taking the opportunity to kick off his slip-ons for a while at the park where they spend the afternoon soaking up the sun.

—

Harry doesn’t arrive until after dinner. The last thing Louis wants is to be holed up with Harry in the  cheap hotel room, so he takes him to the park where they can enjoy the fresh air and the smell of burgeoning spring.

He tells Harry about his day as they walk down the concrete path, lit up with rows of glowing lights at ankle height. On one side a stretch of Lomaki red grass in a slight downward incline till it meets the path again, which winds in concentric circles down to a central fountain. On the other side, the outermost level of the park, which is a wide, level semicircle of green grass interspersed with tall Vulcan pine trees.

They go around the same bit of path instead of going down toward the centre because the air is chill and Louis doesn’t fancy getting near the spray from the fountain, even though he’d thrown on a burgundy jacket over his jumper. Harry is wearing the same light shirt he was in that morning, but seems unbothered by the drop in temperature.

It doesn’t take long for Louis to tell that Harry is preoccupied.

“You tired, love?” he asks.

Harry swings their hands between them with a sigh. “A little, to be honest.”

Louis bites his lip. Maybe he should have insisted that Harry get some rest instead of catching a train back just to see him. “You didn't have to come. You shouldn’t have—”

Harry shakes his head, and gives his hand a squeeze. “It's not that. It’s the politics that tire me.”

“That's...” Louis’ face scrunches up in a sympathetic grimace. “Unfortunate, given your... position.”

Harry lets out a weak chuckle. “Yeah. Been steeped in politics since I was born.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Harry runs his free hand through his hair, loose now, a little flatter than usual because he’d had it in a bun most of the day. “The thing is... not everyone in Jokaimor wants us to join the Federation. Not everyone wants this union to happen.”

Louis has heard nothing about that. Granted he hasn’t been in a position to keep up with Federation gossip, but he’s still surprised both sides have decided to go forward even with opposition. “Why?” he asks curiously.

“Mostly because it means making peace with the Saraghavan, our neighbours and long time enemies, since they are part of the Federation.”

“Oh.”

Harry nods wearily. “And even those who agreed aren't convinced. They don't quite trust humans—not in the sense of treachery. But, like, they don't trust humans to be of any use if the Saraghavan turn... as everyone is convinced will happen.”

Louis’ eyebrows pinch together. “But if that happened, the Saraghavan would become an enemy of the Federation and humans would be bound to help.”

Harry lets out a huff. “But the Saraghavan are old allies of the Andorians. So if it came to war, would the Andorians be willing to go against the Saraghavan in defence of Jokaimor? No one thinks so. Which would mean we'd be dependent on humans for aid.” He glances at Louis, and hesitates before continuing. “And we see humans as kind of... weak? You seem... fragile to us? Though we have similar lifespans we are stronger, with fewer illnesses and a lot less susceptible to injury.”

It's not really funny, but Louis finds himself chuckling. “Seriously? You bruise at a light breeze.”

Harry doesn’t laugh. “That's a skin reaction, but our healing speed and efficiency makes it very hard to inflict real sustained damage.”

Louis blinks. “So you can't be killed?”

“No, of course we can. By serious brain damage or anything that inflicts damage faster than we can heal it.”

Louis gives his head a little shake, a little stunned by this new information. “Right. Got it. You're amazing,” he says finally, flapping his free hand dismissively—which makes Harry smile. “But shouldn't they be concerned with how we'd fare against the Saraghavan, not against you?”

Harry lets out a loud trumpeting laugh. “Lou, the Saraghavan are stronger than humans by far.”

Louis makes a face. “I think you underestimate human military power. And you're forgetting the most important strategy humanity has: diplomacy. Isn't that what this—” He waves his free hand around for emphasis. “—the United Federation of Planets, is all about?”

Harry stops in his tracks and stares at him for a moment, then leans down and presses their lips together, hard and quick. Then softer, fitting his hand to Louis’ jaw to kiss him properly.

“Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” Louis asks once they break apart, though he’s smiling.

Harry trills with laughter. “No. I kissed you because you're brilliant, and passionate, and I really like you.”

Louis blushes and reaches to rest a hand on Harry’s hip. “I like you too. And, for what it’s worth, I think it's brave of you to stand up to everyone and fight for this union.”

“I’m doing what I think is right for my people,” Harry says, expression somber. “Without this union we're headed toward war with the Saraghavan.”

Louis throws his arms around his neck, raising himself on his tiptoes to kiss him lightly. “It'll work out. You always get your way, don't you?” he says, teasing.

Harry smiles, settling his hands on Louis’ waist. “Hopefully this won't be the exception. I just have to make it till the signing. A day and a half and it’ll be done.”

Louis pecks his nose. “You got this.”

When Harry tries to draw him into a kiss again, he wriggles out of his embrace and runs off onto the grass, searching the ground for a couple of sticks or something that will serve as makeshift goalposts.

“What are you doing?” Harry calls out, watching him from the path.

“You need to relax.” Louis jabs the last stick onto the soft earth. “So we’re playing footie. Football.”

“Don't you need a ball for that?” Harry asks doubtfully.

Louis makes an ‘aha’ sound as he finds what he was looking for and runs to fetch it. Then he throws it carefully to bounce off Harry’s chest. Vulcan pine cones are spherical, bigger and not as hard as the ones on Earth. They don’t make for the best football, but it’s the best Louis can come up with.

“Or that will do,” Harry says, then runs to join him on the grass with a grin.

Harry is terrible. There’s no competition, so Louis starts passing him the ball instead of taking it from him, and also scoring in his own goal to make Harry laugh.

Louis, engrossed in a demonstration—that Harry had asked for!—of the proper technique to kick the ball, is caught unawares when Harry suddenly tackles him to the ground. Louis screeches in surprise, which makes Harry laugh.

“All right?” he asks, smiling so wide his dimples look like they were carved into his face.

Louis scrunches up his nose, shaking his head, but he can’t hold back his giggles. And he’s messing around—Harry was so careful that Louis isn’t hurt at all, just breathless with laughter.

Harry nuzzles Louis’ neck and cheek, trilling. When he draws back, Louis twists a lock of his hair around two fingers and gives a gentle tug. “You’re a very sore loser, did you know that?” he says.

Harry sticks his tongue out. “No, I’m not.”

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to call him out anymore, closing in to kiss him. They stay tangled up together, kissing between giggles, for a few minutes. Then settle down, side by side, their bodies touching from their shoulders to their ankles, gazing up at the stars.

“I should get back,” Harry says just when Louis is starting to get drowsy.

“Mhm.”

He kind of wants to ask Harry to stay, but he thinks better of it. There’s only one bed in his room and it’s tiny. “See you tomorrow?”

Harry sits up, and taking Louis’ hand, pulls him up with him. “Definitely.”

***

Louis checks his reflection in the glass for the fifth time, unsure about his hair. It’s swept back from his forehead, but a lock curling at the end keeps falling forward on one side, while the longer ends at the back spike out at his collar. He isn’t even certain he’s allowed to be at this cocktail party—let alone dressed in his Starfleet captain’s ceremonial uniform—but Harry had wheedled him into agreeing to come.

He raises a hand to tuck his hair back behind his ear yet again in an almost compulsive gesture, and jumps when Harry takes hold of his hand instead and brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

“Stop fretting, you look gorgeous,” he says, leaning in to touch their cheeks together.

Louis gives him a shy smile when he draws back. “You look very princely,” he says, fingering the ruffles on the front of Harry’s white shirt.

“Thanks?” Harry says with a giggle.

Louis definitely meant it as a compliment. In his high-collared, ruffled shirt, opalescent leather trousers, and white boots, Harry looks like a prince in an old-time fairy tale. For once Louis is glad not to have had much of a chance to make use of his ceremonial uniform, because even if rather underwhelming in comparison to Harry’s outfit, it’s at least in mint condition.

“You need to relax,” Niall cuts in. “Have a drink.” He grabs four flutes of Tallaxian champagne from a passing waiter and presses two of the electric blue glasses into Louis’ hands.

Louis exchanges a brief glance with Harry, who shrugs with a slight grin. “Drink up,” he says and holds his own glass up for Louis to clink.

Niall joins in with a whoop.

—

The banquet hall is spacious, shaped like a comma with a curved drop ceiling with cove lighting. A terrarium follows the length of the concave wall from hip height up to the ceiling, full of exotic, fluorescent plant life. The convex wall is made up of frameless, glass stacking doors that open onto a garden with black slate floors and a collection of spherical, lit-up fountains.

The guests are eclectic: Starfleet officials and assorted diplomats from a range of planets and species, as well as important political personalities from Dawbell. Everyone seems to be moving around to greet and chat with different people, but Harry, Niall, and Louis keep to their corner, which is positioned perfectly for access to passing waiters.

Niall whistles, impressed, and stops a waiter. “Look at these beauties!” He stops the waiter who’s holding out a tray of coils of Romulan eels over hard toast. “Get in!”

“Fancy stuff,” Harry agrees, popping one into his mouth after first holding one out for Louis between thumb and forefinger.

“I thought you two would be used to these kind of parties,” Louis comments, taking a bite. His face twists in disgust at the texture as he starts chewing.

“We are,” Niall says, grabbing another hors d’ouevre before the waiter moves on. “So we know the rules to make it through these.”

Louis slips the rest of his appetizer into Harry’s mouth, fingertips tingling as they brush Harry’s lips. “Which are?” he asks, amused.

“Eat fast,” Niall lists off, stopping another waiter bearing shots of Plomeek mousse. “Drink lots. And the most important part: don’t split up.”

Louis stares at him. “Aha,” he breathes, laughter in his voice.

Harry nods, expression matter-of-fact. “No, really. Don’t let them catch you alone.”

Louis giggles behind his hand. “Who?”

Niall laughs. “Anyone. Everyone.”

Harry chuckles, then shakes his head, sobering up. “People in these circles and places are playing games,” he says. “Sometimes several games at once. And everyone is just another piece in the game for them.”

Louis tenses, fingers fumbling on the champagne flute still in his hand. He knows all too well what it’s like to be a piece in a game, cast aside as worthless. While in training, Louis had aced all of his courses concerning diplomacy, through study and natural aptitude: he was generally personable and quick-witted, pragmatic but not rude, courteous but warm. But all his hard work and drive had been for nothing. And the Louis who was ready to take on the world seems like ages ago—before the disappointment of crushed dreams and eighteen months in relative isolation, trying to come to terms with Starfleet’s decision. Standing here now he feels out of place. And vulnerable.

Harry must notice, because he gives him a quick nuzzle and a kiss on the cheek, wrapping his fingers in a loose circle around Louis’ wrist. “You don’t have to be scared. Just careful. Stay on guard.”

Louis’ mouth twists into a rather bitter smile. He’s been on guard since he first learnt about his heritage. At this point what’s harder for him is letting his guard down. “I think I can do that.”

It takes Harry a moment to catch on, but Louis can tell when he realises by the furrowing of his brow and the despondent downward curve of his mouth.

“You really need to,” Niall says. “Some of these people are snakes. Like, they’re actively trying to sniff out your weaknesses and secrets.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his drink, venting his nervousness in the form of crankiness. “Tell me again why you nagged me into coming to this thing? It sounds like so much fun.”

Harry’s face falls. “I’m sorry. I just... wanted to be with you. And it can be fun, really—”

Niall hurries to agree. “It can! And you don’t have to worry, because we won’t let you get into trouble, promise. We’re pros.”

Louis chuckles, most of his annoyance disappearing. “Thanks, Niall.”

Niall peers around. “I’ll even break rule number three to get you another drink. I’ll be back!” he calls as he dives into the crowd.

Louis turns to look at Harry, who still looks bummed out, staring out after Niall with a preoccupied air. And that is the last thing Louis wants, to upset Harry over something that is not his fault at all.

He takes a deep breath and taps two fingers to Harry’s jaw. “Come here.”

Harry starts and turns toward him, eyebrows quirking in confusion, but he automatically bends down so he can listen to Louis—close enough that Louis can whisper in his ear, which is what he wanted.

He curls his fingers at the base of Harry’s neck where it meets his shoulder to keep him in place. “Even if it was boring and awful, I still would have come, Harry,” he says honestly.

Harry goes still, frozen in place for a few seconds, before straightening. He stares at Louis with wide eyes. “You would? Why?”

Louis bites his lip and looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. “Because you asked, you dolt.”

Harry doesn’t react for a long moment during which Louis’ face heats up as he starts to second guess himself. Then Harry breaks into a wide smile, eyes shining. He leans in and rubs their cheeks together, both sides this time. Louis wonders that he doesn’t have some beard burn, but his body probably heals the faint abrasions on his skin instantly.

“Was it all that sugar water you drink that made you so sweet, hm?” Harry says when he pulls back, still smiling.

Louis elbows him lightly, shushing him, fighting back a smile. “Stop it, I can’t take any more of those dimples.”

Harry laughs.

—

Niall doesn’t return, but Harry reassures Louis that Niall can take care of himself, and adds with a chortle that ‘he probably just got caught up chatting with someone... or chatting someone up’.

Harry, however, doesn’t leave Louis’ side. They eat and drink—even if Louis can’t get drunk, the alcohol is top notch—and people watch. There’s not much entertainment save for a xylopiano player that they can’t see from their position, but Louis can’t be bored with the assortment of people assembled: representatives from most of the planets of the United Federation of Planets including species with scales and antennae, fur, extra appendages and limbs, or skin in every colour on the spectrum.  

And he can’t bored with Harry, who combines lame jokes with sharp humour with matches well with Louis’ own.

Still giggling into Harry’s shoulder at his latest awful joke, Louis doesn’t see him coming, but he feels Harry’s body stiffen.

Louis automatically pulls back to look into Harry’s face. “What—”

Harry doesn’t look at him, face set in a glower and eyes fixed on something over Louis’ shoulder. Louis turns his head in time to get a good look at the man approaching them. He’s older and taller than Harry, though still young and in shape, which is evident in his short tunic and tight trousers. The cut of his outfit is similar to Harry’s usual clothes, but his shirt closes in the front and the fabric is not as sheer or colourful. Add to that his clean shaven face and the size of his hand when he raises one in greeting and Louis knows he’s another Anoran before he even opens his mouth.

“Ha’rialualaha!” He sports a simpering smile, but doesn’t initiate the traditional Anoran greeting like Louis expected. He glances at Louis but doesn’t address or acknowledge him, assessing and dismissing him in the same breath, and goes on to speak in the Anoran language.

His tone is jovial, but the artificial smile Harry returns in response makes Louis wary. To his surprise, Harry replies in Earth English. “As much fun as one can have in one of these, Beneonahe.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and begins to answer in Anoran, but Harry cuts him off, hissing something in Anoran. Louis starts when he feels Harry place a broad palm on his lower back and shift closer, so that Louis is slotted to his side.

Ben’s eyes flick to Louis, his face still frozen in an unnatural grin, before returning to Harry. “But you love these kind of parties, don’t you?” he says, clearly repeating what he’d just said. He has more of an accent than Harry, but obviously knows the language well.

“They’re a part of the job,” Harry replies curtly.

“Dream job, being a prince, isn’t it? Where can I sign up?” Ben jokes.

Harry bristles at that. “Being born into royalty is a privilege, but also a responsibility. It’s my life and it’s my job, it’s not a joke.”

Ben puts his palms together and gives a small bow. “Of course. No offence intended, my liege.”

Louis can’t help but feel that there’s an edge of mockery in the title, and a slight twist in the corner of his mouth that belies his words.

Harry nods, but he remains stiff as Ben fades back into the crowd.

Louis gives his elbow a comforting squeeze. “Alright?”

Harry nods, but he keeps wrinkling his nose like there’s a foul smell. “That’s Beneonahe of Winston House, the self-appointed head of the delegation sent by my mum to handle the signing of the union.”

Louis wrinkles his own nose. “Seemed like a bit of a prick, to be honest.”

Harry’s face relaxes and he releases his breath in a whistling trill of laughter. “He’s pompous and officious... but he gets the job done, I suppose. He’s used to having all the power in the Council back home, so it’s not sitting well with him, me showing up and wanting to take it back.”

Louis isn’t used to power struggles. He never had any leverage to even begin fighting Starfleet’s chain of command. And he had always been held hostage by the very nature of his being. “Well. You show him who’s boss,” he quips. He’s watched two many old films.

Harry honks with laughter, and they manage to ease into relaxed conversation again.

—

Louis tries to keep up with the conversation, but a discordant noise keeps distracting him, until Harry has to gives the back of his neck a squeeze to get his attention.

Louis winces, making a face and resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears. “Sorry. It’s just—What the hell is that noise?” he mutters.

Harry gives a faint chuckle. “The music has taken a definite turn for the worst, it’s true.”

Louis pushes out his bottom lip and bats his eyelashes at Harry. “You’re a prince. Can’t you make it stop?”

Harry laughs his odd trumpeting laugh, and leans in to nuzzle his cheek as though he can’t help himself, before giving an enthusiastic nod. “I can try.”

He takes Louis’ hand and leads them toward the source of the noise. Toward the end of the room is a three-tiered platform, made of electric blue glass to match the glassware, on which an Orion is playing the xylopiano. Her hands movements are uncoordinated, and the instrument keeps screeching although her technique on the keyboard isn’t all bad.

Harry studies her, still holding Louis’ hand. “I could... pay her to stop?”

“Please.” An Andorian next to them nods fervently, antennae bouncing atop his head.

Louis cringes. “That’s probably rude, though, isn’t it?”

Harry pouts, exhaling noisily through his nose. “Yes.” Suddenly he turns to Louis. “You want to play?”

The Andorian speaks up again. “I will pay you to play if it means we get her to stop murdering our ears.”

There are murmurs of agreement from eavesdroppers around them. Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis, a smile playing around his lips. “Lou?”

Louis licks his lips, tugging at the bottom of his jacket as he considers it. He’s never played for an audience before. His mum has never faltered in telling him how amazing he is at the xylopiano, and his music teacher despaired when Louis told them he wanted to join Starfleet instead of attending the conservatory—but that was years and years ago. Then again Louis hasn’t stopped playing or learning in that time. And Steve raves about his talent when he joins him on his synthguitar.

“I’ll give it a go, yeah, alright,” he says finally.

He loves to play, and given the act he’s following, there’s a very slim chance of making too much of a fool of himself. He’s not a professional, but he knows he’s not terrible. A ear-splitting screech from the xylopiano settles his decision, though the doubts come rushing back the moment he’s seated in front of the instrument with the displaced Orion glaring at him from the side. Harry is standing next to her and smiling at him, though.

Louis takes a deep breath, positions his hands—and starts playing.

It’s not perfect—he starts out too tentative, and he misses a note once or twice—but the music flows through him. He tends to overthink everything, and being taught to hide pieces of himself from a young age made him self-conscious, too aware of himself. But the vigilance and the fear doesn’t exist when he’s writing and playing music. It’s the best bit of freedom he’s ever found.

When he finishes the piece he’s taken aback at the silence, but the next second there’s a round of applause. He looks up to find Harry gaping at him, holding Louis’ jacket against his chest in a scrunched up bundle. In spite of the positive reaction, Louis is relieved when the appointed musician, who had been playing all night except for their short break during which the Orion had taken over, comes back. They give Louis a small, respectful bow and Louis nods before stepping down the platform and heading over to Harry.

He holds out his hands for the jacket, but it takes Harry a moment to shake himself and give it to him. “Louis, that was—”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It was... adequate. Better than whatever that Orion was doing, but—”

Harry shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It wasn’t... perfect. But it’s, like, you don’t just hear it, you—” He makes a sweeping, vague gesture with his arm. “—feel it, somehow. It actually bled into the aura of everyone in the room.”

Louis swallows thickly. “Sorry?”

Harry shakes his head again, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond before Niall is barreling into Louis.

“Mate, that was brilliant. The Golgons I was talking to were so into it!”

“Thanks, Niall—” Louis falters. “Sorry, who?”

Niall disentangles himself from Louis and waves over a couple of odd looking fellows: squat, with short, drooping snouts like anteaters, and mottled brown skin.

“The Golgons. They’re from quadrant Delta! Crazy, innit? They only speak a bit of Romulan, but they’re funny.”

Louis raises a hand and gives a small wave, wagging his fingers. The Golgons make sneezing noises and clumsily return his wave—they have short fingers and long, thick claws.

Their snouts flap a little as they speak to each other in high-pitched voices, casting glances at Louis and Harry.

“What’s that?” Niall asks shamelessly, a grin on his face.

One of the Golgons smirks and says something that makes Niall’s face go red before he bursts into laughter. Louis’ attention, however, is caught by the odd sound Harry makes. It’s apparent he knows some Romulan.

“What did they say?” Louis asks, feeling a little put off at being left out.

“Sorry,” Niall says. And to Louis’ surprise, the Golgon pats his arm apologetically as well. “Ro said—” Niall breaks off laughing before composing himself. “He said he can smell Harry all over you.”

“What?” He glances at Harry who’s face is aflame.

“It’s because I keep touching you,” Harry mumbles.

“What?” Louis repeats, more confused than ever.

“Anorans are a bit like cats. The whole face rubbing thing? It spreads their scent,” Niall explains. “And Golgons have an incredible sense of smell.”

Louis turns to Harry, who gnaws at his knuckle and avoids his eyes. Louis thinks about all the nuzzling Harry had been doing—and how he’d left out this bit of information when he explained it was a sign of affection or a comforting gesture besides a greeting.

The Golgon pokes Niall and says something else to him, though he looks at Louis while he speaks.

“He says he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Niall translates. “He just thought it was cute.”

Louis releases his breath in a stuttering chuckle. “It’s fine,” he says, and repeats it, looking at Harry meaningfully. “It’s absolutely fine.”

Harry gives him a tentative smile, which Louis returns.

The other Golgon addresses Harry in Romulan. Louis is watching Harry as he bends down, brow furrowed in concentration, then reply in faltering Romulan, when he feels eyes on him.

He  turns his head around and goes cold when he meets all too familiar eyes glaring at him from across the room. The man, who is wearing an identical ceremonial uniform, lifts a hand holding a champagne flute and inclines his head as though in invitation. And given that the man is Admiral Simon Cowell, Head of Starfleet Academy, the invitation feels very much like an order.

Louis touches his fingertips to Harry’s hip. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, his voice coming out hoarse.

Harry startles and, as though on instinct, reaches for Louis. But Louis slips out of his loose grip on his wrist and hurries through the crowd toward Simon. Once he sees Louis is coming to him, Simon starts moving, leading him outside to a secluded corner. As though summoned, Commodore Simon Jones joins them. Neither of them are very tall, but Louis feels as small as he had at the bottom of the amphitheater while the council decided his fate almost two years ago.

“What are you doing here?” Jones asks him bluntly.

Louis straightens his back and tilts his chin up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here with friends.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, or as much as his face will allow it. “Not our business? As a member of Starfleet everything you do is our business. And your being here tonight is highly inappropriate. And unauthorised.”

Louis could argue that he’d received orders from HQ to bring Harry to the summit, but he supposes he had been expected to act like a taxi cab and leave immediately. “According to you my existence is inappropriate,” Louis spits back in a furious whisper.

Simon’s lips twitch. “It is unquestionably offensive. But you were still allowed to remain in Starfleet... on certain conditions: minimum interaction, minimal risk. Yet here you are, calling attention to yourself—”

“What? I’m not—”

“The Firzean ambassador was very intrigued by your performance,” Jones cuts in. “It appears that the resonances in your music create a response in the amygdala, triggering an emotional reaction. He was surprised because he’d never heard that humans could do that.”

“Because they can’t,” Simon adds.

Louis gulps. “I didn’t... I didn’t know that.”

Jones scoffs. “And this is the reason for the decision of the council. You are a liability. What do you think the reaction would be if it was discovered we had among us, loyal members of the United Federation of Planets, a mongrel Mellion?”

Louis bristles at the expression, biting the inside of his cheek even as he feels his eyes start to sting.

“We were lenient and let you continue in Starfleet. We even gave you a captaincy! But if you can’t be trusted, then perhaps that is a privilege we will be obligated to revoke. And your heritage is not something you want on your public record, is it? But we would, of course, be honour bound to inform other potential employers that might consider taking you on that you aren’t trustworthy.”

Louis swallows back the bile rising in his throat at Simon’s words. For all his dissatisfaction with his current post, the thought that he might be stripped of his captain’s rank and discharged from Starfleet makes him want to throw up. And if his heritage were made public his chances of finding another job would be next to none. “You can’t—” he chokes out.

Simon’s face stretches in a sharp grin and he claps him on the back. “You’re toeing the line, Tomlinson. We gave you everything you have now and we can take it away just as easily.”

“So keep your head down and stay out of sight or you’ll be packing back to the hole you came from to... unload boats...” Jones pauses, looking Louis from head to toe, snickering. “Or whatever menial job you can find that will take a half-breed runt like you.”

And then both of them are walking off, leaving Louis reeling, his chest tight. Space hadn’t offered all the freedom he had dreamed of, nor had he found the home he had imagined, but the thought of being trapped on Earth, in tiny Doncaster where he can’t even see the stars, makes him physically ill.

He flinches when a hand descends on his shoulder.   

“Louis, what’s wrong?” Harry squeezes his shoulder, his face full of concern. “You’re shaking. Are you cold, akenui?” He starts to pull Louis into an embrace, but Louis jerks back.

“Lou?”

Harry’s voice and manner is hesitant, questioning, but undemanding, and the prickling in Louis’ eyes becomes unbearable. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

“I need to get out of here,” he groans, sidestepping Harry and starting to shoulder a path for himself through the crowd toward the exit. But he feels disoriented and overwhelmed by all the people and the noise. He knocks into a waiter, making the glasses teeter, and then almost falls onto a Klingon. Louis’ breath hitches in a sob as everything seems to be spinning around him. Before he can panic further, two familiar hands settle on his shoulders and start guiding him to the door.

Harry settles a hand on his nape once they are outside the banquet hall as he leads Louis down the corridors, the sound of his heels muffled on the beige carpet.

Louis can hear him speaking, but he can’t understand the words. He only realises Harry is speaking Anoran once every other distraction is removed, in the silence of the turbo lift, disturbed only by Louis’ own irregular breathing.

“What does that mean?” Louis mumbles as he comes back to himself. His shivering has stopped with Harry holding him from behind, arms wrapped around his chest while he rubs his cheek against the side of Louis’ head.

Harry hums. “You are safe. Breathe. I’m here with you.” His voice is hushed, and his gaze shy when Louis turns in the circle of his arms to face him.

Louis hadn’t caught much of anything, but there was a word that stood out. Maybe because Harry had also used it at the terrace. “That word, akenui. What does it mean?” Louis whispers.

Harry blushes. “Um. Like... sweet? Something dear?” he stammers.

Louis means to thank Harry, or make a joke to lighten the mood, but he can’t really talk over the lump in his throat.

“I—Harry—” His vision blurs with tears, which cling to his eyelashes when he closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on taking a deep breath. But can’t manage it, instead breaking into sobs.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just holds him close, bending down to curl around him so that Louis is literally wrapped in his arms.

And Louis isn’t even sure why he’s crying, really. Jones and Simon, of course—but also everything else that he’s been holding back for so long. And some of the tears are because Harry is so wonderful, and Louis doesn’t want to lose him, but doesn’t know how he can keep him.

“What happened?” Harry asks after a bit, once Louis has quieted. “Those men are from Starfleet, aren’t they? Are you in trouble?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, concentrating on trying to listen to Harry’s double heartbeat. But between the pounding in his head and his wet breathing he can’t. Suddenly exhausted, he sighs, forehead pressed to Harry’s shoulder. “I’m not supposed to be here,” he says at last.

Harry pets his hair, comforting, but also an invitation for Louis to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Louis extricates himself from Harry, wiping his face with his sleeve as he takes a step back. “You were right about my music being off—”

“I said it was special—” Harry reaches for him, but Louis steps back against the wall. He realises Harry must have stopped the turbo lift, because they aren’t moving. But he doesn’t even know where Harry was taking him, he was so out of it.

“You were right. As a human, I’m not supposed to be able to do that. Some people noticed. And Admiral Cowell wasn’t happy about it.” He scrunches his face up to stop himself from bursting into tears again. “That’s— this is the reason they banned me from exploration and diplomatic missions in the first place. And now—”

“They did what?” Harry interrupts in a hushed voice.

“Yeah.” Louis sniffles. “When they found out... what I was... there was an inquiry. Some members of the council said no one would want to serve under me if it was known, and there was too much of a risk of offending our allies, or having new potential allies turn the Federation down because they won’t trust me,” Louis explains. He takes a deep, shaky breath. The memory is still so fresh in his mind: standing alone, trembling while he waited for the verdict. “So they took a vote and that was the council’s decision. Admirals Azoff and Corden voted against, but it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s...” Harry says a harsh word in his language.

“Bullshit?” Louis hazards a guess.

Harry nods, and Louis lets out a strangled breath of laughter. “I graduated top of my class, you know? Special mention.”

Harry swears again. “How did they find out?” he asks after a minute. “You’d kept it secret for years while you were at the academy. What happened?”

Louis wraps his arms around his middle, chest tight. “I... I made a mistake.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, waiting for Louis to go on. But he moves a little closer, holding his hands clasped in front of him like he wants to reach out to him. Louis thinks he might like that. But first he needs to explain. He knows it was bound to come up, and he’s so used to keeping secrets, but he doesn’t want any with Harry.

“You know how I do that thing... when I’m—” He gestures vaguely at his neck and chest, blushing, and Harry nods, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Well, that’s kind of hard to explain and very... noticeable? I found out when I was thirteen—on my own, thankfully. But that meant I couldn’t—” His face is blazing now, and he has to duck his head at the intensity in Harry’s eyes. “I was always careful. And it was fine.”

Frustrating and infuriating at times, but fine. Though it might have been more of a struggle if anyone had ever matched the level of attraction he felt toward Harry.

“But when we went out to celebrate after graduation—” he continues. “I was stupid. I don’t know. I drank something and everything got…  fuzzy, and I couldn’t think properly—I ended up in bed with this science officer—” Louis suspects something had been put into his drink, some kind of drug. But he couldn’t prove it, and that detail was irrelevant to the council. Especially since their encounter hadn’t gone past some heated kissing and heavy petting. “And he... he freaked out. And reported it. So they launched an investigation and I got found out.”

Steve hadn’t written it down on any official document, but there was enough in his medical records for them to piece it together. They had actually gone on to pursue disciplinary action against Steve as well, for failing to report it in the first place.

Harry is silent for a few seconds, face set in a deep frown, before suddenly bursting out with a string of swear words in both Anoran and English. It pulls a weak chuckle from Louis.

Harry doesn’t smile, however, though his face softens as he lifts his hands to cup Louis’ face, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Louis lets his eyes slip closed, trying to coordinate his breathing with Harry’s as he breathes in his faint scent of ripe fruit and honey. He’s fighting back nausea after telling Harry something he’s only ever discussed with Steve—he hadn’t even told his mum because he knew how much it would upset her.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says after a few minutes, pulling back a little but still cupping Louis’ face. “About what happened to you. It’s unfair and I want to have that science officer killed. No. Actually, I want to kill him myself.”

Louis’ lips curve into a small smile before he opens his eyes to Harry’s earnest gaze fixed on him. “As much as I appreciate that you’re willing to do the dirty work yourself, I think murder is a little extreme,” he jokes, voice strained, reaching up to give Harry’s soft hips a squeeze.

Harry thumbs at his cheekbones. “I’d like to kiss you now. May I?” he asks in a whisper.

Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s shirt, bunching it up over his hip. “This is going to get old, Harry,” he says with forced lightness. “Stop asking.”

He leans in, stepping on Harry’s toes on purpose as he raises himself up to fit their mouths together. Harry steadies him with a hand on his waist, the other slipping down to hold the side of his neck while they kiss. It’s a quick kiss, because Louis is a mess after crying, and they have had the lift stopped for long enough security is bound to come looking if they stay much longer. When they pull apart Harry has a quizzical frown on his face, even as he licks his lips.

“What is it?” Louis asks with some trepidation.

Harry presses their lips together again, softly, then kisses both of his cheeks. “You taste different, like salt instead of sugar.”

Louis blinks at him for a second, then has to clap a hand to his mouth to stifle an outburst of giggling. After the last half hour, his emotions are all over the place and overflowing, but he still doesn’t think anyone has ever made him laugh as much as Harry—or could make him laugh after recounting the worst experience of his life.

Harry gives him a soft smile. “Come on, Lou. Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

He starts the turbo lift again and in a few seconds they are up on one of the top floors of the hotel. Louis doesn’t hesitate when Harry takes his hand and starts leading him down the corridor to his room.

Upon entering the room Louis’ attention is immediately absorbed by the panoramic view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make out the outer curve of the room, which is shaped like a half crescent moon.

Even after Harry turns on the light—using the dimmer so that the room remains in a warm, comfortable gloom—the view keeps Louis entranced as he drifts to peer out the window. Dawbell architecture tends toward tall, spiraling constructions made of glass and white brick, lit up at night against the backdrop of the rock desert that surrounds the city and is nothing more than black velvet in the night.

"I'll find something for you to wear to bed."

Louis turns to find Harry still standing by the door. “Yeah, thanks.”

The lightness from the spell of laughter has petered out, leaving Louis drained. And his movements are lethargic as he uses the bathroom and splashes some water on his face.

Harry steps into the bathroom the minute Louis walks out, the smoked glass door sliding between them. Louis undresses and slips into the jumper Harry had left for him on the bed. It’s too big on him, but comfortable and warm, made of Venusian sheep wool.

The bed has a solid white frame with a flat, rooflike projection without frontal support. And it’s huge—especially for what Louis is used to: going from his childhood bed to a narrow bunk at the academy, and from there to the modest sleeping unit on ship.

When he climbs onto the bed and slips under the duvet in just his pants and the jumper, a holographic control panel descends in front of him to configure the settings on room temperature, humidity, etc. Louis shivers in the cool sheets, but doesn’t mess with the controls.

Harry comes out of the bathroom in just his pants, as usual, but hesitates.

“Is this alright? I could sleep on the couch?”

There’s a pale pink scoop sofa, as well as a small smoked glass dining table with a couple of tall backed chairs, in the room.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Get in here and warm me up,” he says, exaggerating a shiver.

His reservations about sharing a bed seem absurd now that he’s bared himself more to Harry than he could by taking off his clothes.

Harry breaks into a small grin and throws himself on the bed, making Louis chuckle. He lays on his back, keeping the duvet down to his hips, and pats his chest. “C’mere.”

Louis cuddles up against Harry, resting his head on his chest, arm over his waist. Harry tugs the duvet up to Louis’ shoulders and clasps his arms around Louis, tight enough that it should be stifling, but Louis hasn’t felt as safe and snug in a very long time.

Harry kisses the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Why?” Louis asks drowsily.

“The night didn’t turn out like I had hoped for at all.”

“It was fun... up until it wasn’t,” Louis murmurs, pressing a light kiss over his pectoral without really raising his head. “But that’s not your fault, love.”

Harry hums, not sounding entirely convinced.

Louis burrows closer, entwining their legs. “Tomorrow’s a busy day for you, finalizing the whole process for the union and then the signing ceremony in the evening. That’s what you have to focus on. Don’t worry about me,” he says firmly.

“But—”

“But it’s no use. There’s nothing to do about me. It is what it is.”

Harry sighs, nudging his cheek against Louis’ head a few times before settling. Louis thinks about what Niall had said—about Anorans bunting like cats—and feels his lips turn up in a smile which he hides against Harry’s skin.

Everything else can wait. The fear and the pain of old wounds reopened... everything fades away. He drifts off to sleep without trouble.

***

Harry wakes him up the next morning brushing his hair from his face in a tender gesture. And Louis is afraid that he’s getting too used to this, waking up to Harry’s face and his slow, deep voice. In that first moment between sleeping and waking it feels like a dream—unlike any he’d had before, but better.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, raising himself up on one elbow.

Lying on his side, Louis tucks his arms against his chest, sleeves pulled down over his knuckles, feeling the chill as the duvet slips over his shoulders because of Harry moving.

“Hungry,” he replies truthfully, returning Harry’s smile.

Harry leans in, still smiling, and opens his mouth to speak, but Louis stops him before he can say anything. “Don’t you dare.”

Harry lets out a trill of laughter, and brings their mouths together without another word. The kiss is gentle and careful, Harry cradling his face in one hand. But Louis wants more. He wants something different. He loops an arm around Harry, clutching at his broad back, and tries to pull him closer, seeking the warmth of his body.

Harry resists a little, even as he nips at Louis’ chin. “Lou—”

Louis digs his blunt nails into Harry’s shoulder blade. “Harry, please.”

Harry doesn’t move for a long moment. Louis can’t see his face, but he can feel his warm breath on his neck.

“Harry—”

Louis gets cut off as Harry pushes him flat on his back and rolls on top of him in a smooth movement, holding himself up on his forearms. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ lips.

Louis can’t find the words to respond to something like that, so he grips the back of Harry’s neck and seeks out his mouth again.

His body reacts to Harry with almost embarrassing speed. As the kisses turn deeper, Louis gives in to his desire to touch, exploring the breadth of Harry’s back and shoulders with both hands, sliding down his spine to the dip of his lower back.

He can feel the heat of Harry’s cock where it’s swelling against his upper thigh, and it makes his own cock throb where it’s trapped against Harry’s lower stomach.

With a rush of determination, he hooks his fingers around the waistband of Harry’s pants and tries to tug down, but he can’t in their position. “Want—Let me—” he pants against Harry’s jaw.

Harry raises himself up on his knees, one on each side of Louis’ left thigh. His cock is tenting his pants, and Louis reaches out to trace the outline of it, so clear through the thin material of his pants, with two fingers.

Harry hums low in his throat at that, and groans when Louis gives him a squeeze.

“I’m going to—” Louis curls his fingers around the waistband of his pants again, bunching it up and tugging down until he can see the thick base of Harry’s cock, his crotch devoid of any hair. “Shit.”

He gathers more of the material between his fingers, revealing another inch of Harry’s cock, and swears under his breath again.

He startles when Harry gives a whistling tweet of breathless laughter above him, then wraps his own hand around Louis’ and pulls his pants down to his thighs so that his cock springs free.

Louis stares, heat rising up his body. It was impossible not to notice Harry was well endowed with the tightness of the trousers he wore, and wandering around in pants as he did, but it was different seeing him flushed and aroused.

The angle is awkward, but Louis can’t resist wrapping his fingers around Harry’s cock. “Fuck,” he breathes, as Harry pushes into his fist, the slide easy with precome. After a bit, he glances up at Harry: he’s breathing hard through parted lips as he moves his hips in a slow, smooth waves, while looking down at Louis from beneath heavy eyelids.

He lets out a loud moan when Louis thumbs at the head, and his hand finds Louis’ thigh, fingers spread, covering the expanse of it, digging into the flesh. He lifts his leg over Louis’ removing his pants in the process, then bends down again to kiss him, holding himself up with one arm. Louis falters in stroking Harry’s cock, distracted by his lips and struggling with the awkward angle, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He gives Louis’ thigh another squeeze, then slips his fingers through the leg opening of his pants.

Louis stiffens involuntarily when they brush the crease of his groin.

Harry pulls back so he can look into his face, but doesn’t move his hand from Louis’ thigh. “Lou, what you said last night...” He sits back on his knees and removes Louis’ hand from his cock, stroking the thin skin of his inner wrist. “That means you’ve never...”

Louis tries to hide behind his forearm. Eyes squeezed shut, he shakes his head. “No.”

When he peeks out again after the silence that ensues, Harry looks a bit dazed, looking down at Louis, running his tip of his tongue over his lips. Louis actually sees his cock twitch, blurting a drop of clear, light blue precome.

But when he raises his eyes to meet Louis’ again he’s completely focused. “Do you want to?” he asks, both serious and gentle. “With me?”

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He’s nervous, but he’s tired of letting fear dictate his life. The first time he wanked and realised what happened when he was aroused, he’d known he wouldn’t be able to be intimate with just anyone—no human glimmered when aroused. And there had been times when his forced abstinence had been a source of frustration, but he’d never wanted to be with someone as much as he did right now. Because he’d never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Harry. “I want you.”

“Louis.” Harry lies half on top of him, and holds his jaw in place as he kisses him: sharp, biting kisses with an edge of desperation, that make Louis whimper and buck his hips unconsciously.

“Shit, Harry.”

Harry nuzzles his neck and settles on his side next to Louis, raised on one elbow. Louis holds his breath as Harry reaches down with his free hand to cup Louis’ cock through his pants, rubbing with the heel of his palm.

Harry alternates between pressing soft kisses to Louis’ cheek and looking down at where his hand is working Louis’ cock over his pants, keeps going until the material is damp with precome.

Louis can’t help the moans slipping through his lips. And he can’t look away from Harry’s hand on his cock either. He’s only ever had one other person’s hands on him like this, and it had been in such different circumstances. The two don’t even seem to be connected, thoughts of that fateful night with the science officer gone in a flash.

“Can we take these off?” Harry asks, breathless. He lets go of his cock to smooth his palm up Louis’ glittering belly and chest under the jumper, which is bunched up over his navel. “I want to see how far down it goes.” His tone is light, teasing, even though his voice is roughened with arousal.

Louis nods with a breathless, nervous giggle. And lifts his hips so that Harry, who moves to kneel between his legs, can take his pants off, leaving him bare from the waist down. His hard cock curves toward his hip, flushed and shimmering, gold dust and glitter in his blood.

Harry licks his lips, settling between Louis’ spread legs before he has a chance to close them. The expression on his face is nothing like the shock and disgust on the science officer’s.

“Gorgeous,” he moans.

Louis’ breath stutters when Harry spreads his legs wider, pushing at the inside of his thighs. One hand slides to the crook of his knee, pushing his right leg up toward his chest.

“Can I—” Harry breaks off in a strangled swear in his language that Louis has heard before.

“Harry,” Louis whines, gripping the bunched up jumper pushed up to his armpits with both hands, knuckles brushing his throat.

Harry shuffles forward on his knees, reaching down to cup Louis’ arse with both hands, fingers digging in, making Louis moan. He hooks his left leg over Harry’s hip and plants the heel of his right on the bed, slipping on the sheets once before gaining purchase, lifting his pelvis. Louis throws his head back in pleasure when their cocks slide against each other, slick with precome, Harry sparing a hand to guide the movement.

“Is that good? You like that, Lou?” Harry pants.

“Harry. Harry, please,” Louis gasps. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

Harry groans and his hand speeds up, . “Let go, akenui. Come on, Lou.”

And Louis comes, seizing up—squeezing his eyes shut because Harry’s watching him: eyes wide and mouth pink and wet, his hair a mess—before he goes limp.

Harry keeps stroking, drawing out the pleasure, gradually slowing down the movement up and down his cock. Before it can get uncomfortable, he lets go and wraps his hand around his own cock. He starts working himself quickly, knuckles sliding in the hollow of Louis’ hip.

“Let me. Let me do it, Harry, please,” Louis breathes, gripping Harry’s wrist.

Harry nods, and with a fumbling movement he takes Louis’ hand and leads it to his cock. He wraps his hand around Louis’ hand and continues where he left off with just the few seconds’ glitch, his jerks jostling Louis, who’s limp and entranced by the sight of Harry, like a wet dream over him.

It doesn’t take more than a tugs before he’s coming, spilling, wet and aquamarine blue, all over Louis’ belly.

Harry pushes his curls away from his face, breathing hard, as he comes down from his orgasm. Louis flexes his hand with a wince when Harry lets go. He doesn’t expect Harry to notice, but he does.

“Lou, did I hurt you?” he gasps.

Louis shakes his head, then bites his lip. “Cuddle?” he says quietly, looking up at Harry with wide eyes. He’s a mess, but he really wants a hug.

Harry nods eagerly, smiling. “Yes, please.”

He untangles their legs and moves to lie next to Louis, helping him out of the jumper first. He uses his own pants to wipe Louis mostly clean, then opens his arms.

Louis wraps an arm tight around Harry, resting his chin over his shoulder. Harry holds him just as close, even throwing a leg over Louis’. It’s heavy, but it only makes Louis feel anchored.

Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, working out a tangle as gently as possible. “Thank you,” Louis whispers after a few minutes.

Harry gives him a squeeze. “What for?”

“Everything.”

Harry pulls back to look at his face, his own twisted in a comically bewildered expression. “Do you know how gorgeous you are? I should be thanking you.”

Louis rolls his eyes, pressing his lips tight trying to hold back his smile. “It was really good for me. Was it... for you, too?” he asks hesitantly.

Harry reaches for Louis’ hand between them. “It was perfect for me.” He notices the lingering redness where he’d been holding onto him, and he frowns, pulling back farther, eyes roving over Louis’ body. “Was I too rough?” he asks, fingertips reaching out to touch the red fingerprints on Louis’ hips.

Louis traces the blue lines and dots already blooming on Harry’s skin where Louis had scratched and clutched at him. “I’ve left marks on you,” he points out.

Harry kisses his knuckles. “But mine don’t hurt, and they’ll be gone in a few minutes.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I know I have to watch my strength with humans—Niall would complain so much when we first met—and I’m even more careful with you because you’re t—”

Louis claps a hand over Harry’s mouth. “Don’t say it!”

Harry giggles, opens his mouth wider so that Louis can feel it on his palm.

“Don’t!” Louis warns, unable to contain his laughter.

“Tiny,” Harry says, muffled but intelligible, eyes scrunched up happily.

Louis groans and pinches his side, but he can’t hold back his own grin. “Shut up.”

He lets himself fall back on the bed, head pounding as it hits the pillow. He turns his head to squint at Harry, who hasn’t moved, raised up on an elbow, watching him with a small, soft smile on his face.

“Can we get room service?” Louis asks after a moment. It had been easy to ignore while in the moment, but after the exertion, he’s really feeling his usual morning blood sugar low.

Harry winces. “Yes, of course. I forgot you need to eat. Sorry, Lou.”

—

They order everything Louis can think of for breakfast from room service and wait in bed, cuddling. Louis’ eyelids droop as he looks out at the sun rising over the cityscape, lulled into a bit of a stupor by Harry’s rhythmic breathing.

He’s jarred from his drowse by an alarm clock going off, lighting up the border of the bed canopy in  cadence with the loud beeping.

Harry starts as well. “Shit, sorry.” He groans, stretching. “I have a meeting in a couple of hours, actually. I should probably start getting ready.”

The representatives from the other four planets set to join the UFP were getting together at Helios’ Parliament House before heading over to Starfleet’s headquarters in the city for the final conference before the signing ceremony in the evening.

“Oh. Should I—?” Louis starts to sit up, but Harry pushes him back down against the pillows.  

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll shower, we’ll have breakfast, and you can stay and sleep in.”

As Harry rolls out of bed, Louis scoots over to where he had been lying down, chasing after the warmth left by his body. The sheets feel a bit damp with sweat, but Louis is languid and lazy. Maybe after breakfast he’ll feel more inclined to move, but—“It is a very comfortable bed. Big.”

Harry beams at him, then his mouth curls playfully. “It must seem even bigger to you, considering you’re ti—”

Louis whacks him with the pants he’d used to wipe them down, having it smack his belly, with an indignant ‘oi’. Harry clutches at his stomach like he’s hurt, making Louis giggle, before heading over to the bathroom.

Louis can’t resist watching him as he walks the short stretch to the bathroom: his long legs and pigeon-toed feet, small, pert arse, and broad back. A hint of arousal and even more fondness creeps up his chest.

When Harry turns around to shoot him a grin, dimples out, Louis smiles back automatically—utterly besotted, he realizes at that moment. It was bad enough before without knowing what it was like to have Harry touch him like he had, before he touching Harry like he had.

Harry has just closed the bathroom door behind him when there’s a knock and a robotic call of room service.

Louis scrambles to pull on the jumper and pants, his head spinning for a moment as he jumps from the bed and stumbles to the door.

A robotic service helper rolls inside, bringing with it a mouthwatering scent of eggs and sausage, and the distinctive smell of Martian porridge. The robot sets out the food on the table in a flash, intones a quaint, old fashioned ‘bon appetite’ and is out in a matter of two minutes.

Louis uncovers a few dishes, but opts for a glass of juice first, as liquids get his blood sugar up higher and he’s feeling groggy.

He fills the glass and takes a sip. It’s almost cloyingly sweet, but it’s also a fruit he doesn’t know—Harry had asked for it, insisting it was delicious. Louis sips at it as he circles the table, checking out the rest of the food.

It’s not a minute before the sound of the shower in the en suite is cut off and the door slides open, Harry stepping out in the nude.

“I changed by mind, I’ll eat first,” he says, inhaling deeply. “It smells so good. I’m starving.”

Louis smiles. “Can’t let it get cold.”

“Did you like the juice?” Harry asks, motioning with his chin at the glass in Louis’ hand.

“Mm. Very sweet.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You regularly drink sugar water.”

Louis sticks his tongue out, then downs the rest of the juice and sets the glass down on the table.

Harry doesn’t bother putting on any clothes, sitting down and dragging the plate of porridge toward him. “Let me try this.”

Louis passes him a spoon, taking a seat as well. “I don’t know why I ordered that. It’s actually quite nasty,” he muses.

Harry freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Louis nods, holding back laughter. “It kind of tastes like feet.”

Harry sets his spoon down theatrically, face set in a comical frown. He shakes his head at Louis before bursting into trumpeting laughter. He stands up and reaches for the plate of eggs and Tellarite greens. “Tell me when,” he says, ladling some onto Louis’ plate.

“That’s enough,” Louis says quickly.

Harry frowns, this time for real. “Weren’t you hungry, akenui?” He puts down the eggs and reaches for the plate of sausages, spearing one and transferring it to Louis’ plate.

Louis eyes the food, but his appetite has taken a sudden plunge. His stomach feels a little funny, and his headache has only got worse. “I was,” he admits. He licks his lips with a quizzical frown: his mouth is tingling. “I’m not… anymore.”

Harry peers at him intently, still holding the plate aloft.

Louis squints at him. His head feels heavy so he rests his whole cheek on his palm. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Harry finally puts the plate down, but he doesn’t look away from Louis, forehead furrowed. “Because I’m very concerned about why you aren’t.”

Louis rubs his temple and makes an effort to straighten in his chair. “I don’t—” He wrinkles his nose. Or he thinks he does. “I’m not hungry.” He pokes himself in the eye making sure his nose is still in place.

Louis goes cross eyed following Harry’s movements as he moves toward him, eyes refusing to focus properly.

“Louis—” Harry kneels in front of him and cups his face in both hands.

Louis pouts his lips for a kiss—because Harry’s lips are so pink and full, and he likes kissing Harry a lot. Harry lets out a huff of laughter, but it sounds wrong. His fingers circle one of Louis’ wrists, though his gaze is still on Louis' face.

“You're so pretty,” Louis slurs; his mouth doesn't seem to want to cooperate. “Why are you...” He can't think of the word, so he touches his fingertips clumsily to Harry's frown.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Because I think you've been poisoned.”

Chapter Text

Harry thinks he might be sick. If it wasn’t because he hadn’t got around to eating anything, he would think he’d been poisoned too, he’s so nauseated.

“Oh,” Louis replies, blinking slowly. His hand drops, dragging briefly over Harry’s nose and catching on his lip before falling on his lap. “I do... feel...” He scrunches up his face. “Not good.”

A small part of Harry almost wants to laugh, because Louis is acting as if he were drunk. Except something more sinister is taking place, and Harry is actually terrified, paralyzed with fear. For a minute he does nothing but take in deep, tremulous breaths, while Louis’ head lolls, eyelashes fluttering.

With a small sound of discomfort, Louis raises a hand to his mouth, movements sluggish and clumsy. Harry mechanically wipes the drool from his chin that he didn’t reach.

Then, with a sudden spike of panic, he lurches to his feet. He needs to get help. He hurries to fetch his communicator to contact Niall. He sends out a distress signal, over and over again, not lifting his finger from the button.

A few minutes pass before there’s a pounding on the door. Harry rushes to open it, revealing Niall: bug-eyed and flushed. But already dressed for business—the conference Harry’s supposed to attend had slipped his mind entirely.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Niall gasps. His room is two floors down, and he had obviously run from there.

“Yes. No.” Harry grabs Niall’s arm and drags him inside. He leads him over to Louis, who has slumped over, resting his head in his arms on the table, half on the plate, his hair in the food. “Help,” Harry chokes out.

Niall, to his credit, doesn’t panic. He clears his throat and shakes Louis’ shoulder gently. Louis opens his eyes, but his gaze takes a long time to focus on Niall’s face. “Neil,” he murmurs, drooling onto his forearm. “What are you doing here?”

Niall turns to Harry. “Is he drunk?” he asks, bewildered.

Harry shakes his head impatiently. “He can’t—” He picks up the glass with its tiny residue of juice in it and thrusts it at Niall. “He’s been poisoned.”

“What?” Niall takes the glass and smells it. “Are you sure?”

Harry waves a trembling hand at Louis. “Yes! Look at him!”

Niall studies Louis, biting his nails. Then his head whips around to Harry. “Well, he needs a doctor.”

“Steve,” Harry gasps. He wants to hit himself for being so useless. “We need to get him to Steve.”

Niall’s eyebrows pinch together. “But there are doctors on call at the hotel—”

Harry cuts him off. “It has to be Steve,” he says impatiently.

Louis won’t process the poison like a human or any other being, and he needs a doctor who knows how to deal with that. Steve has been looking after Louis for years and knows his unique hybrid metabolism well. Besides the fact that taking him to a random doctor would mean exposing him.

Niall pulls out his communicator instead of arguing. “I saw him last night, after you and Louis disappeared. I think he might have spent the night around here.”
After a moment Niall brightens. “Yes. He’s here. He’s coming.”

Harry struggles to take a deep breath. He looks at Louis, who is completely limp, one arm hanging down.

“Fuck!” he shouts in a burst of anger and frustration, pushing at the chair in his way so that it topples to the floor with a crash, making Niall jump.

“Shit, H. Keep it together.”

Harry is about to give him a furious retort, but Louis stirs, turning his face into the crook of his elbow. “Head hurts,” he moans, almost inaudible.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it. “This can’t be happening.”

“Stop panicking.” Niall says firmly. He rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you put on some clothes?”

Harry had forgotten he was naked. “Yeah. Sorry.” He keeps glancing at Louis as he throws on the first clothes he can get his hands on: a light yellow shirt and black trousers. He’s slipping into the white boots he was wearing the night before when Steve comes in, Niall having left the door open. Steve’s hair is tangled and he’s wearing his jacket inside out.

He doesn’t say a word before he’s running to Louis’ side. He places two fingers on his neck, taking his pulse.

Louis opens one eye. “Steve? You’re here, too?” he mumbles.

Steve gives him a pat. “Yeah, it’s me, bro.” The gentle expression on his face morphs into a concentrated frown as he studies his breathing rate.

“Can you squeeze my hand, Louis?” he says, reaching to hold Louis’ hand. “As hard as you can.”

Louis hums, but Harry can’t tell if he does it or not. He walks over to stand behind Steve, who looks up at him, placing Louis’ limp hand on his lap again. “He’s been poisoned.”

“We already knew that!” Harry replies in a barely contained scream. “You’re supposed to help him.”

Steve ignores him, getting to his feet after checking the time. “I don’t have anything with me here.” He starts pulling Louis up. “We need to get him up to the ship. One of my assistants should be up there checking on some stuff for me, she can beam us up.”

Louis protests, hands flailing, as Steve tries to help him up.

“Come on, every moment that passes his body is absorbing and breaking down more of the poison,” Steve says impatiently.

Harry hoists Louis up with one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. Louis settles, burrowing against Harry’s chest with a groan. “Stop—Dizzy—” he whines.

Steve gives Louis’ shoulder a soothing rub, then addresses Harry. “Let’s go.”

Niall scurries after him as they rush down the hall toward the lifts. “Harry—”

“Which floor is the transporter room?”

“Harry, what about the meeting?”

“Which floor?” Harry repeats, glaring.

Niall raises his hands up in defeat. “Fifth floor.” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I’ll contact Zayn.”

Harry knows it’s selfish, but he couldn’t care less about the meeting right now.

—

Harry has his elbows on his knees, gripping his hair, staring a hole into the blue PVC floor. The waiting room is narrow and sparse: a row of white, hard plastic seats facing each other against either wall and a beverage replicator against the wall opposite the door.

Once he’d set Louis down on the hospital bed, Steve had shooed him out and left Harry to wait. That had been over an hour ago.

Niall had thought to call Liam after half an hour, and Harry had lost it with him for asking questions when he arrived. Harry glances at him now, but he doesn’t notice, staring at the wall while sipping on his cup of water.

Harry turns toward the door at the sound of rapid footsteps. The next moment it slides open and Niall walks in, looking harried, communicator still in hand. “Zayn is pissed.”

“How can you tell?” Liam pipes up.

It’s the first time he’s spoken since he’d arrived and Harry had gone off on him. In the time waiting for news about Louis, Harry had shouted at Liam, pulled out some of his hair, and broken his communicator after throwing it against the wall.

Niall laughs nervously. “I can tell. And that means he’s seriously mad.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry snarls. “I’m not going to leave Louis.”

He flushes with embarrassment at his outburst, but Liam just shoots him a faint smile. And Niall comes over to pull him into an awkward hug. “Zayn’s just stressing out because he’s out of his comfort zone, using his imagination. He’ll forgive you.”

Liam gives a weak chuckle. “I never thought he’d have it in him to make up excuses.”

Harry can’t summon more than a twitch of his lips, hands clasped tightly between his thighs. The waiting room falls silent again, except for their breathing and Niall’s nervous nail biting.

Then the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside reaches him again. He jumps to his feet when Steve walks in, wearing his scrubs and with his hair in a tangled mess of a ponytail.

Harry holds his breath, hands in fists, every muscle in his body tense.

Steve looks at the three of them with a tired smile. “He’s going to be OK.”

Liam releases his breath in an audible puff. “Thank fuck!”

Niall cheers.

Harry takes a step forward, heart still pounding in his chest. “I need to see him,” he says, staring unflinching into Steve’s eyes. He’s not backing down from this.
Steve nods in silence, and waves a hand for Harry to follow him.

Harry’s grateful when Steve starts explaining without him having to ask while they walk down the corridor to the hospitalisation area. “There was antifreeze in the juice. Not a lethal dose given your weight and physiological characteristics, but it was definitely intended to be incapacitating.”

“But for Louis—?”

Steve scrubs his face with one palm, expression somber. “It could have killed him. His accelerated metabolism lowers his resistance to toxins, and he’s smaller than you.”

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat, eyes stinging. He hangs his head, trying to compose himself. He almost got Louis killed. The poison was meant for him. It’s bad enough trying to wrap his head around a concerted attempt to poison him, but the thought that it could have caused Louis’ death makes his head spin.

Steve claps his back. “But he’s going to be fine. A couple of hours on hemodialysis and the antidote pump and he’ll be as good as ever.”

Harry takes in a shaky breath. “Promise?”

Steve smiles, patting his back. “Yes. Now get in there. Don’t you have places to be?”

Harry is late to the meeting he had scheduled, but all he can think about right now is Louis.

He walks into the hospitalisation room with hunched shoulders, wringing his hands. It feels odd not to be wearing any of his rings, but he’d taken them off before bed the night before and the thought of them hadn’t even crossed his mind until right now.

The room is vacant save for Louis, who is in the bed closest to the door, where Harry had left him. Except now he’s in a hospital gown and hooked up to a hulking machine through a tangle of tubing that’s red with his blood. Harry is surprised to find him awake.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, edging closer.

Louis squints at him, looking wan, but very much alive. “I told you you needed a food taster.”

Harry lets out a strangled laugh. “I guess you were right.”

Louis nods, satisfied. “I was right.”

But he looks so small on the chunky hospital bed—and tired—and Harry is so mad at himself. “But you said you weren’t going to do it,” he says, voice choked. “You said you wouldn’t be my food taster.”

Louis makes a face, chuckling. “I guess I was wrong there.”

Harry’s breath hitches in a sob before he can stop it. “You weren’t supposed to do it.”

“Harry—”

Harry gives Louis’ hand a squeeze. “This is my fault. I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“How is it your fault that someone tried to murder you?” Louis says exasperatedly, but his smile is fond and he rearranges their hands so that their fingers are interlaced.

Harry shakes his head hard, fighting the urge to cry. “I should have known something like this would happen. I should have—”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“No. Louis, this is my fault,” Harry says in a hushed voice, bile burning his throat. But he needs to come clean. “I told you I chose your ship, but I... I didn’t tell you everything.”

Louis’ eyebrows pinch in confusion.

“I’m the one who’s not supposed to be here. My mum appointed a representative to come to the summit in my stead—”

“Why? You said you’d handled most of the negotiations.”

Harry bites his lip until it hurts.“Because she’s one of those Anorans who doesn’t really trust humans. She was afraid I’d be vulnerable to an attack from the Saraghavan here.”

“Oh.” Louis’ forehead remains crinkled as he gives it some thought. “So you contacted Starfleet behind her back?”

“No,” Harry says quietly. “The Starfleet transmission with orders to take me on you received was fake. A friend of mine jammed your signal and sent the false message.” He raises his head, forcing himself to meet Louis’ eyes. “I told you I chose your ship.”

Louis doesn’t have any visible reaction, his face blank, which makes Harry more anxious than ever. It’s a full minute before he speaks. “Impressive,” he says finally, in a tone that suggests he’s far from impressed.

Harry’s face crumples. “I’m sorry. I never thought anything like this would happen. I needed a ride, that’s all. But I never expected to meet you. And that we’d—”

Louis raises his eyebrows, unsmiling. “So you picked a random ship—”

“Not random, I told you—” Harry protests.

Louis rolls his eyes impatiently. “You picked a ship at random and... hijacked it because your mum wouldn’t let you go to a party?”

Harry frowns, eyes burning. “It’s not like that. This is important. What kind of message does it send refusing to have the prince oversee the signing? What kind of start is it for this union? I wanted to prove to my mum and to everyone that doubts humans that they’re wrong.”

Louis considers him for a long moment, the expression on his face difficult to read. “You still used other people for your own purposes, Harry. We had finished our mission. That’s a crew of fifty who were looking forward to going back to Earth after a year and a half in space, and because of you had to delay it further.”

Harry tightens his jaw. “I’m sorry. But it was the only thing I could think of. It’s what I thought was right.”

Louis rubs two fingers between his eyebrows with a sigh. “I’m not—Honestly, I’m not even mad about that anymore. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me before.”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” Harry admits, stammering.

Louis pulls his hand out from under Harry’s and wraps his arm around his middle—he starts to cross the other one but has to stop because of the IV attached to his hand, administering the antidote. “You could have told me when you said you chose this ship... Or at any other time!” His voice goes shrill toward the end.

Harry swallows a sob. “I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t want you to get mad at me.”

“So you lied and then you kept lying. I trusted you. I told you... everything. And you couldn’t even tell me this?” Louis’ voice is trembling, tight with contained emotion, and that makes it even worse than if he were shouting.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats hoarsely.

Louis doesn’t answer, head angled away from Harry, so that all Harry can see is the tight clench of his jaw and the agitated flutter of his eyelashes.

Harry vacillates between giving Louis time and continuing to apologise, standing with one hand still on the bed, curled into a loose fist, left with the phantom impression of how it felt to have Louis’ hand in his.

Louis whips his head around to face him abruptly. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a meeting?”

Harry grimaces. “Uh—”

Louis gives him another unimpressed look. “After all the trouble you went to in order to get here and you’re going to screw it up now?”

Harry shifts his hand closer, fingertips brushing against Louis’ thigh. “I couldn’t leave without knowing you were going to be alright.”

Louis’ doesn’t say anything, lips pressed tight together. The next moment Harry jumps when Louis slaps at his hand and even kicks his feet under the sheet. “I’m fine,” he says shortly. “So get going.”

Harry takes an automatic step back. “But we’re—”

Louis gives a vexed sigh. He taps at his chest, where a subclavian catheter for the hemodialysis peeks out of his hospital gown, eyebrows raised meaningfully. “I’m not going anywhere. And, you’re right, this is important. Go secure peace between two planets and then come back so I can be mad at you some more for being such an idiot.”

Harry still hesitates.

“Go!” Louis makes a shooing motion with one hand. “You’re disturbing my rest!”

But Harry hates to leave like this, the tension between them unresolved and Louis in a hospital bed. He moves closer, eyes wide and pleading. “Can I...” Louis looks drained and dishevelled, but as beautiful as ever to Harry. He’d been smitten from the very first moment he saw him: his petite frame and his sharp angled face—and the most beautiful blue eyes Harry had ever encountered. And it had quickly—so quickly—developed into much more than physical attraction, despite how they had clashed at the beginning. He felt drawn to Louis in a way he didn’t understand and was powerless to resist. And had no desire to resist. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers. “Just once before I leave. Please, Lou?”

Louis looks taken aback, and Harry thinks for a moment he’s going to agree, but then he shakes his head. “Not now. Get out of here already. You’re late!”

Harry heaves a sigh. Rationally he knows it’s for a few hours, that with a bit of time Louis seems inclined to forgive him. But there’s an inexplicable ache and trepidation in him upon leaving Louis, turning back to look at him only to have Louis shoo him away again snappishly.

—

Harry drags his feet as he walks down the corridor, his stomach in knots. He’s crashing after the burst of adrenaline, and all he wants is to go back to his hotel room and get back in the bed he’d shared with Louis: a few hours of sweet sleep with him in his arms and the most incredible morning.

His mind is a whirlwind at the strength of his feelings for Louis. He’s known him for two weeks, but he’s gotten under his skin. He’s had dalliances that have lasted longer and meant less to him.

Niall intercepts him as he’s heading toward the transporter room, running up to him and grabbing his arm to turn him around. “Are you ready to go? There’s a shuttle leaving in five minutes.”

Harry stumbles after him before finding his footing with his arm still in Niall’s grip. “What? Why would we take a shuttle?”

“I thought you could use the time to clear your head,” Niall explains, giving Harry’s elbow a squeeze. “And Ben’s arranged for a cab to take us straight to Parliament from the connecting station. He managed to get the meeting pushed back a bit.”

Harry wants to appreciate Niall’s thoughtfulness, but he can’t help but frown at the news about Ben. “What did you tell him?”

Niall falters. “Uh. The truth?”

“I can’t believe a Vulcan is better than you at lying,” Harry says with a huff.

Niall scratches his ear, tittering nervously, as they exit the ship. “Sorry. But why would you want to lie to Ben anyway. I know he’s a little... pompous, but he’s not all bad. And he’s really in charge of all this—”

Harry flails his arms about, disentangling himself from Niall. “That’s exactly the problem, Niall. He’s not supposed to be in charge. And yet he keeps trying to shut me out.”

Niall winces. “Sorry, H.”

Harry shakes his head, quickens his step toward the shuttle departure area. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”

He knows Ben is going to be unbearable. He and Harry had never got on all that well at Jokaimor, and since his arrival at Dawbell Ben had been relentless in his campaign to disparage and undermine Harry’s authority—all through a mask of friendliness and paternal concern.

He’d taken every opportunity to point out Harry’s inexperience, and this would be the perfect excuse to make a big deal of his supposed immaturity and unprofessionalism. The fact that Harry was the target of a would-be assassination attempt won’t make him hold back. In fact, it will be the perfect ammunition to reinforce the delegation’s doubts about the union. If they change their minds Harry will be on his own. And he’s not sure the union will pull through in those conditions.

Which means he needs to get his head in the game. He reminds himself that Louis is out of danger and will be fine—and even though they’re not quite fine, he can focus on that once the signing is done. He doesn’t have a choice. Jokaimor depends on him.

Niall gives him some space during the short trip in the shuttle down to the planet’s surface, but speaks up again as they approach the hovercar waiting for them.

“Zayn picked up a change of clothes for you from your hotel room.” He grimaces. “Although... you could use a shower.”

Harry runs a hand through his tangled hair and gives himself a sniff. He’s definitely a little more pungent than usual, after having sex with Louis and the stress after he was poisoned. At least his clothes were clean. “I’ll freshen up in the bathroom,” he agrees.

Niall stands aside to let Harry get into the hovercar first. It’s a simple model: white, with sleek, curved lines and a panoramic windshield.

Harry greets their driver, a placid-faced Klingon who grunts in response behind a thick glass partition, and settles in for the drive, looking out the window. Not a minute has passed before Niall is kicking his ankle.

“So. You gonna tell me why you and Louis ditched me last night?”

Harry turns his head to look at him, wincing. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ni. We should have let you know we were leaving.”

Niall waves his apology away. “Thanks. But I wasn’t asking for an apology, I was asking for an explanation.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You two finally hooked up, didn’t you?”

Harry covers his face with his hands and groans. “Niall.”

Niall bounces in his seat. “You slept together! Finally. It’s been sad watching you pine over him.”

Harry lets out a breath of laughter in spite of himself. It takes him back to when they first started hooking up with people and Niall would pester him until he talked.

“We’re not thirteen anymore, Niall.”

Niall scoffs. “Fine. You don’t need to tell me. I can put two and two together.”

And considering he walked into Harry’s hotel room at seven in the morning, with Louis in a jumper and his pants and Harry in the nude, it’s not a stretch to imagine something might have happened. But Harry likes messing with Niall, so he pats his knee and says, “Remember math was never your best subject.”

Niall gives him an deadpan look. “You’re such an idiot.”

A small grin makes its way onto Harry’s face, but flickers when he looks out the window. He’s not all that familiar with Helios, but the area they are going through is definitely not the city center. The houses are squat, multicoloured, and there are none of the imported trees and vegetation of downtown.

He glances back at Niall, who’s sitting up, tense and alert. Harry uses his chin to point at Niall’s communicator on his belt. But when Niall tries to make a call or send a message it fails, reporting an error.

“Sorry, friends, but communications have been disabled.” The driver speaks up in faltering English, startling them both.

“Why?” Harry asks with forced calm. He checks the doors, but they’re locked.

“Orders. Special request.” He shoots them a half-apologetic look, shrugging. “Big reward.”

Harry holds his fists over his thighs, breathing hard, stomach churning.  

He had never imagined when he set off for Helios against his mum’s wishes that it would be like this. He could never have imagined something as good as Louis, but he also hadn’t believed the opposition would be so strong. The delegation members, however, encouraged by Ben, had been stubborn or indifferent to Harry’s attempts at convincing them of the trustworthiness of humans and the true value of the union.  And, despite his mother’s concern—which he had viewed as paranoia—he never would have thought his life would be at risk. The attempt to poison him—even if it hadn’t meant to kill him—hadn’t really sunk in because of the pressing fear for Louis, but now his mind is reeling trying to make sense of everything.

“Who paid you for this?” Niall demands.

The driver shrugs again, beating a drum with his hands on the dashboard. “Offer big reward, not ask questions.”

Harry exchanges a glance with Niall. Harry would consider the idea that he was being kidnapped in order to ask for a ransom, but the morning’s events make him think it’s something more than that. Especially today of all days. Someone wants him out the picture.

“What are you thinking?” Niall asks him in an undertone.

Harry curls his hands into fists, watching the scenery zoom past. They’re leaving the city, heading out into the rock desert. “That someone doesn’t want me to get to the signing.”

They go on for another hour. In that time they keep trying to get a transmission through, and Harry tries banging the glass—making the cab swerve as he startles the driver—but the glass is unbreakable.

They come to a stop after leaving behind the residential area, cutting into wild terrain: flying a few feet above a wide expanse of dirt, littered with rough, purple brush and sprawling rock formations. Harry hears the driver mutter ‘big reward’ as though to remind himself when the hover car screeches as it cuts a corner too close and rock drags along the metal. Finally they come to a stop before a small, isolated house. Dome shaped, made of pale stone, it looks abandoned.

“You wait here,” the driver says.

Harry hears the click of the lock as the door closes behind him. The Klingon walks up to the house, raising dust with his steps, and knocks on the door.

Harry can’t see who is at the other side of the door when it opens because of the angle, but the driver talks to them for a minute, pointing back at the hover car.
Everything is muted inside the cab, but they have full view of the burst of red light and crackling energy that makes the Klingon drop flat on his back.

Niall yells, then stuffs his fist in his mouth. “Did they just—? Is he—?” he gasps after a second, voice hoarse.

Harry doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on the lifeless form of the Klingon on the ground. Then he sees booted feet stepping over the body, and his eyes trail upward. Beneonahe of Winston House walks out of the building.

Chapter Text

Louis refuses to feel guilty for denying Harry a kiss. He’s still mad that Harry lied, but it’s the fact that he was keeping secrets while Louis bared his soul out to him that hurts the most.

Nonetheless, he can’t get out of his head that the juice was meant for Harry. Steve had said it wasn’t a lethal dose for an Anoran of Harry’s height and weight, but he can’t help but imagine the worst. And the simple fact that someone out there was willing to poison his breakfast makes Louis a lot more sympathetic to Harry’s subterfuge and his reticence to share.

Louis has been threatened with ostracism and exile, but not death, and the attempt to poison Harry and the danger he himself had been in has shaken him.

“Hey. How’re you holding up?” Steve walks in with Liam in tow, all round eyes and inverted eyebrows.

Louis pokes at his cheek. “Well, I can feel my face again,” he says. “My head still hurts, though.”

Steve checks the machine and its output of information, nodding. “It’ll pass in a few hours. But in the mean time we can—” He presses a few buttons on the machine. “—do this.”

Louis feels a wave of relief as the throbbing pressure in his head immediately starts to let up. “Oh, that’s better,” he says with a sigh.

Steve grips his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You burn through the painkillers pretty fast. Gotta tell me if it starts hurting, yeah?”

Louis shoots him and Liam a quick grin. “Got to keep me hooked on the good stuff.”

Instead of laughing, Liam makes a low, strangled sound. “Can’t believe you were poisoned,” he says in a strained voice.

Louis lets out a huff of laughter. “Caught me by surprise, too.”

Steve rubs his upper arm, chuckling, a hint of wetness in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re OK, Louis, brother.”

Louis finds Steve’s hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Only have yourself to thank for that.”

Steve shakes his head. “It all would have been useless if I hadn’t got to you in time.”

Liam hums in agreement. “Look at that ambassador. She might have lasting damage, if she even wakes up from the coma.”

Louis’ head whips to Liam, eyes wide. “What ambassador?”

Liam shrugs. “I’m not sure they mentioned the name? She was poisoned, too. Last night, apparently. But they only found her this morning. There’s a bit of an uproar, as you can imagine.”

“What?” Louis gasps. It can’t be a coincidence.

Steve reaches for his PADD and starts browsing. “Let’s see if we can find out more.”

It doesn’t take long. It’s everywhere. Ambassador Maliakamea of the Anoran delegation is in critical condition following what is believed to be an assassination attempt through the use of poison.

The machine starts beeping as Louis’ heart rate speeds up.

“Call Harry,” Louis says immediately. “Call him.”

Liam winces. “He broke his communicator. But Niall left with him and he had his.”

Louis paws at Steve. “Call Niall!”

Steve smooths his moustache as he waits for the call to connect. “It’s not going through,” he says after a minute.

“Maybe they’re going through a tunnel,” Liam suggests.

“What are you talking about, Liam? This isn’t the twenty first century! Communications don’t just drop because you go through a tunnel!” Louis is sitting up now, breathing fast and irregular. “Call Zayn,” he says urgently.

Steve holds his communicator out to Liam, and places a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before you even know if anything’s happened. Calm down.”

Louis forces himself to take a deep breath, eyes fixed on Liam as he greets Zayn.

“Hey, mate, we heard about the ambassador—” Liam begins.

“That was to be expected. The news has spread quickly,” Zayn interrupts, his voice as monotone as usual.

“Right. So what’s happening?”

There’s a short silence. “Please be more specific.”

Liam sighs. “With the signing? Is it still going forward?”

“Everyone from the delegation is at the ambassador’s side, which is illogical, as her condition will be unaffected by their presence or absence, and the matter of the signing is infinitely more pressing.”

“Harry is there, too?” Liam asks.

“Not as far as I am aware.”

“So where is he?”

“I have no way of answering that question with any degree of certainty. Are you asking me to guess?” The hint of disapproval in Zayn’s voice is noticeable.

“You don’t know where he is?”

“That is what I said a moment ago.”

“Shit,” Steve mutters.

Louis fists his hands in the sheet on his lap. “Zayn,” he says. “We can’t reach Harry and Niall. They set out to meet with you—”

“A half hour ago,” Steve fills in for him.

“They should have arrived by now if that is the case,” Zayn replies after a short pause. “This is irregular.”

“Do you know what poison was used against the ambassador?” Steve asks suddenly.

“The tests have revealed it was antifreeze.”

“Is that what you drank, Louis?” Liam asks.

Louis’ ears are ringing. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Liam looks from Louis to Steve, who nods.

“It’s a common poison. And one to which Anorans are especially susceptible to.”

“But... it’s not a coincidence,” Liam says slowly. His brow is furrowed, obviously thinking hard. He isn’t well informed on the internal politics of Jokaimor and the problems with the union, and he has to piece it together.

For Louis, however, it’s very clear. It’s absolutely no coincidence that the two mayor players in the signing ceremony to consolidate Jokaimor’s union to the Federation have been targeted.

Steve clears his throat. “No,” he agrees.

All Louis is certain of at this point is that this is a matter that involves the United Federation of Planets, who know that there’s been attempt on the Anoran ambassador but don’t know there was one against Harry as well. Harry who is missing.

Louis speaks up. “We need to talk to Starfleet.”

*

“He’s not dead, Harry,” Ben says with a simper. “Do you really think I’m capable of such a thing?”

Harry would never have thought so before, despite his differences with Ben. But after seeing the cabbie drop as he had, and the phaser gun in Ben’s hand, he wasn’t so certain.

Five hulking Torps had escorted Harry and Niall from the cab into the house, while Ben supervised—all smiles, but with the phaser gun still in his hand.

The house inside consists of a single, whitewashed room, bare of furniture except for a stone bench that runs along the wall, interrupted by two doors: the front door, and another that leads to an adjoined smaller dome. The windows are too narrow for Harry to fit through, but the Torps position themselves so as to block them as well as the doors, smacking fists the size of pomegranates into their palms and grinning.

Although Harry and Niall have not been restrained, there is no doubt they aren’t allowed to leave.

“Then where is he?” Harry demands. “And why are we being kept here?”

Ben puts his palms together in an apologetic gesture. “It’s all for your own protection, I promise.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “How’s that?”

Ben’s eyes widen in an exaggerated show of surprise. “You haven’t heard. Of course. You’ve been... busy.”

“Heard what?” Niall pipes up. He’s been sitting on the bench, biting his nails, eyes flicking from one guard to another since they were ushered into the room.

“I’m sorry to tell you there’s been an attempt on Ambassador Maliakamea’s life.”

Harry falters, caught by surprise. “What?”

Ben nods, expression mournful. “She was poisoned. She’s out of danger, but in a very serious condition.” There’s something in his eyes that has Harry stiffening further. “You were very lucky, Ha’rialualaha, that your little friend drank your juice.”

Harry can see out of the corner of his eye Niall’s head whipping to face him, eyes wide. He doesn’t understand what’s the matter. Niall hisses his name, but Harry is focused on the time, and the fact that this was obviously all orchestrated to delay the signing and stop the union.

“What about the signing?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice.

“Well. Ambassador Maliakamea is out of commission, I’m afraid, and we can’t risk putting you into further danger when an attempt has already been made on your life and there’s no way to guarantee your safety.”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “Have you contacted Starfleet? They can assign security. It’s what they do.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “There were security measures in place when this happened. Clearly, they are not very good at what they do.”

Harry takes a step forward, resisting the urge to make a lunge at Ben. “I don’t care. I’ll take my chances.”

Ben doesn’t move from where he’s standing, but Harry sees him make a sign to the guards. “I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t allow that?” Harry scoffs.

Ben shakes his head from side to side slowly. “No. I have given word to the delegation to remain at Maliakamea’s side. I’m afraid we will have to postpone the signing. Indefinitely.”

Harry’s hands ball into fists. “You can’t do that. You don’t have the authority. I am your prince.”

Ben’s smile is a grimace. “Your mother, the queen, assigned a delegation to oversee and execute the union to the Federation. A delegation whose second in command, now that the ambassador is, most unfortunately, incapacitated, I am. You, my prince, are not supposed to even be here.”

Harry stands his ground. “I wasn’t going to let my mother and the council’s prejudices jeopardize this union. Humans can be trusted—”

Ben chuckles, looking at Harry condescendingly. “You think the problem is she doesn’t trust humans?”

Harry falters—that’s not what he had expected Ben to say. His mother had told him she didn’t want him to go because she couldn’t risk his safety. “What are you talking about?”

Ben tilts his head to the side, his lips twisted into a pitying smile. “Hotheaded, gullible, simple, little prince ‘Harry’. I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but it’s you she didn’t trust to oversee something so important.”

“That’s not true,” Harry snaps back automatically.

“And she was right not to,” Ben goes on as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “Look at the mess you’ve made of it all. Everything’s in chaos.”

“I... I didn’t do this.”

“Didn’t you? It was all going so well until you arrived.”

All going well for Ben’s plan to put a stop the union, perhaps. If they had a common purpose he wouldn’t have been fighting Harry every step of the way. And yet Harry can’t help the rush of uncertainty. Could it be true? He’d begged his mother to come for months. Begged her to send more security if she didn’t trust Starfleet. He’d argued his case, that he’d been in closest contact to the human diplomats, that he could handle it. But she had still refused.

Harry staggers back and sinks down onto the bench, deflating. For all his good intentions and his drive, he had achieved nothing. All he’d done was antagonize the delegation and almost get Louis killed. He’d been so set on the idea of leading the union himself, making excuses that no one else was interested or capable of doing it. Was it his pride speaking all along?

“Harry. I never told him the poison was in the juice,” Niall hisses at him in an audible whisper.

Both Harry and Ben stiffen.

Harry stares at Niall who looks back at him, wide-eyed. “I never told him that.”

Harry turns to Ben who looks caught in the headlights for a few seconds, before a smile spreads across his face and he shrugs, hands out. “Lucky guess?”

“Did you...” Harry’s blood is pounding in his temples. “Did you do this?” He gets back on his feet, eyes blazing. Ben is taller than him, and broader in the chest. But Harry wants to tear him apart. For his vile sabotage of an union meant to secure peace for their people. For putting Louis’ life in danger.

The smile drops from Ben’s face. “No, Harry. This is on you. You forced our hand. If it weren’t for you showing up, there would have been no need to poison Ambassador Maliakamea. I had almost persuaded her and the rest of the delegation to renege on the signing. But you just wouldn’t leave it alone.”

His mother and the High Council at home, being ambivalent on the union, had sent the delegation almost on a trial basis—which meant the delegation would have had no opposition if they decided to renege on the alliance.

But to Harry that was courting war. The ambassador refusing to sign would have been a grave insult to the United Federation of Planets. And the Saraghavan would have seen the sudden withdrawal of Jokaimor as a personal affront, considering all the bad blood between them. It would be simple for the Saraghavan to push for open hostilities against the Anorans, with the entire Federation to back them up.

“So instead you were willing to kill her!?” Harry replies in a contained scream. He’s having trouble processing this. As much as he’d disliked Ben through the years, he’d never imagined he would go this far. An assassination attempt could lead to Jokaimor declaring war on whoever was framed as the culprit.

“Of course not,” Ben says indignantly. “It’s a non lethal dose. We don’t murder our own kind. We’re not monsters.”

“Who’s we? Why are you doing this?” Harry demands.

Ben takes a deep breath, as though preparing for a long speech. “This union is a mistake—”

“This union will guarantee peace for Jokaimor. Without it there will be no stopping a war with the Saraghavan!” Harry interrupts, furious and desperate.

“War is inevitable, Ha’rialualaha,” Ben says simply. “I’m securing victory.” He makes an sign to the guards who start crowding in around Harry. “There will be a few casualties along the way. But the reward will be worth it.”

One of the Torps is enough to overpower Niall, but Harry can hold his own against the three trying to subdue him—the fourth guarding the front door. Although the Torps are much larger than him, Anorans are strong, and Harry is fit and young.

“I think it’s time to go,” Ben says after checking the time. “We’re expected elsewhere. Everything should be ready by now.”

“You can’t do this!” Harry shouts, gritting his teeth at a painful yank on his arm.

Ben clucks his tongue. “You know, I’m almost glad you showed up, after all. The end game would have been the same, but it’s much more exciting like this.” He hoists his phaser gun and points it at Harry’s forehead.

Harry goes still, which allows the guards to finally get his hands behind his back.

“And I can’t deny...” Ben smiles, cocking the phaser gun teasingly. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”

*

Louis sits, bouncing his knees, full of nervous, contained energy. Although he still feels sick enough that he’s sitting down instead of pacing the waiting room. The morning sunlight streaming in through the high, slanted windows fills the room with a pleasant warmth, but the brightness is threatening to bring Louis’ headache back in force.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Liam asks, peering at him sympathetically.

“I’m fine,” Louis replies mechanically.

They’ve been waiting for a quarter of an hour and he’s a minute away from barging through the doors—he’s also a minute away from running off to the nearest bathroom and throwing up the meal Steve had forced on him before letting him leave sickbay. Beaming down from the ship had upset his stomach, and exhaustion was weighing him down, despite his anxiety. He would have preferred a shower—no one has said anything, but Louis can smell himself: a mix of sweat and that distinctive hospital smell.

“You’re fine,” Liam echoes, with skepticism.

Louis slaps him backhanded on the arm. “How can I be fine when Harry is missing!?” he hisses.

“Given your apparent strong emotional attachment, that does seem unlikely,” Zayn agrees. They had met up with him at Starfleet headquarters, Zayn looking as unruffled as ever, though he had given Louis’ elbow a squeeze when they greeted each other.

Liam throws his arms up. “Right. My bad.”

Louis would normally be amused, but he’s too nervous. And what Zayn had said about his strong emotional attachment is filtering into his consciousness. He is emotionally attached. Stupidly, insanely emotionally attached. There’s no doubt about it, when he’s willing to face Simon and Jones again after the night before.

They had left the ship the minute Louis' treatment was done, less than two hours after Harry and Niall, and found Dawbell in contained chaos. With the union falling through last minute, and an assassination attempt on an ambassador, even the planets who were set on signing were having doubts. The signing ceremony had been officially postponed.

It was apparent, however, that no one was yet aware that Harry was missing. For whatever reason the Jokaimor delegation had barricaded themselves in the clinic with their ambassador, and no one was talking. All they had communicated to Starfleet was their grave disappointment in their security measures, and their need for more time to reconsider their alliance. All this meant to Louis, in essence, was that no one was looking for Harry.

Louis tenses, half out of his chair as the door opens. Wootton, a snide aide Louis is all too familiar with since his own hearing, walks out, smirking. He tucks his pass card in the pocket of his jacket, looking at Louis all the while, before approaching.

“Look who it is. Yappy little mutt Tomlinson,” he says in an unpleasant nasal voice.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, flushing with anger. He notices out of the corner of his eye Zayn tilt his head toward Wootton, still expressionless, but with a stiffness in the movement that belies his apparent indifference. Liam frowns openly.

“I have nothing to discuss with you. I requested an audience with Simon,” Louis tells Wootton curtly.

“Yes, about that… It’s not happening,” Wootton says with a gleeful grin. “Simon and Jones won’t be receiving you, after all.”

“But—”

“Shush. I see you still haven’t learned to keep your muzzle shut.”

Louis flinches at Wootton’s words.

His attitude is what Louis had expected to receive from everyone around him as a child. What he still fears would be the response from everyone he knows if they were to find out about his heritage. It’s unfair and wrong... and yet it feels right to him in an awful way. It reminds him that Harry and Steve are exceptions. It reminds him why he has to hide. But, for all that, another part of him rebels, wants to scream and punch Wootton in his smug, ugly face.

Louis is caught by surprise by Liam’s outburst.

“What the—” Liam mutters. “Who do you think you are to talk to him like that?”

“Dan Wootton, Simon’s assistant,” Louis tells him, though what he wants to say is ‘lapdog’. “Not who we’re here to see.”

Wootton sneers. “Simon sent me. With a message.”

“Relay the message, in that case,” Zayn says, which is positively snappish for him.

Wootton’s mouth twists in a grimace, but doesn’t lash out. He seems somewhat intimidated by Zayn, perhaps because he’s a Vulcan.

“‘I have no interest in what you have to say. Prince Hariluluaha,” he says, butchering the pronunciation of Harry’s name. “whatever you might think you’re doing with him, is none of your concern. And such a delicate matter as the Anoran union is the last thing for someone like you to get involved in.’”

“Someone like—” Liam asks, confused.

Louis tenses. “Don’t!” he yelps at Wootton, shaking his head jerkily.

Wootton’s mouth curls. “Oh, the things I could reveal…” He laughs at Louis, then shakes his head contemptuously. “If it had been up to me I would have sent you back where you belong.”

Louis almost wants to laugh. Because he’d very much like to know where that is. Where he belongs. Perhaps his mother’s womb.

He considers for a moment if he could convince Zayn to Vulcan pinch Wootton so he can get in to see Simon—but it’s pointless. Whatever he tells him he won’t listen, and he’s more than capable of retaining Louis as a suspect. Then no one will look for Harry. Someone has to search for Harry, Louis is adamant on that.

“If it were up to me, you’d crawl back into whatever hole it is you came from,” Louis replies, getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Zayn stares at Wootton as they step around him to leave. “I will not forget your face, or your name,” he tells him, quiet and unemotional, but Wootton gulps, fearful.

Liam hesitates, but makes to follow. “Is that it? Are we giving up?” he whispers as they walk out, once they’re out of earshot.

Louis shoots him a glare. “Of course not.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Liam asks.

Zayn blinks at him. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to talk to the Jokaimor delegation.”

“They haven’t let anyone in.” Liam points out. “What makes you think they’ll agree to see us?”

“I don’t think they will.” Louis takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders. “We’re going to sneak in.”

*

When he’s dragged out of the hovercar Harry stumbles and falls headlong—with his hands tied behind his back he’s unable to stop his fall. On the ground, he can feel through his clothes the hot, rough sand of the desert. But he has nothing else to go on to hint at their location. All he can hear is the wind and the Torps’ loud breathing. He can’t hear any sign of Niall, who had been taken out of the car first, despite Harry’s smothered yelling.

The cloth bag over his head remains in place as they lead him out of the sun, into what Harry guesses is a deep cave, as the temperature immediately drops. Harry calculates it had taken them about an hour to get to the caves from the house, but the blind walk through the narrow, uneven passages inside the caves—escorted by two Torps who push and laugh at him—seems interminable.

At some point it ends, however, and the cloth bag is yanked from over his head, the gag removed, and the electromagnetic ties around his wrists deactivated—before he’s shoved into a cell. One of the Torps remains behind to guard him, although the cell has a laser beam door set up which prevents any direct attempt of escape.

But Harry isn’t above trying different means to get out of the cramped, damp cell.

“I know Beneonahe means to kill me,” he says musingly, getting the attention of the guard. “But in the meantime...” He gives the Torp a winning smile. “Do you think I could get something to eat? I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning and I’m starving.”

The guard gapes at him. “Eat... you?” he asks brokenly.

The Torps are combative and violent, but they are also slow, easily confused. And the language barrier helps.

Harry can barely hold back his laughter. He thinks he might be a tad hysterical, impending death and mounting concern about Niall and the future of his planet getting to him.

“Please don’t,” he quips.

Although he has no idea what Beneonahe has planned—for all he knows, he might end up as someone’s dinner, after all.

*

Sneaking in to speak to the Anoran delegation is easier said than done. The Dawbell General Hospital is built in the shape of a spiral with six tiered stories; they make it as far as the third floor, skirting lurking journalists, before they meet a wall of Starfleet security personnel which makes it impossible to continue. The Anorans have barricaded themselves in the ambassador’s private room, but the whole hospitalisation area has been closed off except for the patients already admitted there and verified family members.

“Can’t you go in and convince someone to see us?” Liam asks Zayn, while they loiter in front of the lifts, trying to look inconspicuous.

“If that were the case I would already have done it,” Zayn says with a touch of impatience, the growing shortness of his temper revealing his concern. “I am Harry’s advisor, not a part of their delegation, and not even of their species. Although the Anoran-Vulcan relationship is a good one, they consider Vulcans to have a soft spot for humans, as illogical as that is, so I would not be trusted regardless.”

“Oh.” Liam deflates. “If only there were some way to get them a message...”

And it hits Louis. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. “We’ll talk to a reporter from the Federation News Service. Then everyone will know!”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “But is it in our and Ha’ri’s best interests for everyone to know?”

Louis pouts. “It means everyone will be looking for him, won’t it? Right now no one even knows he’s missing besides us.”

Zayn remains immobile and inexpressive for a few seconds as he thinks it over. “I am not convinced it is worth the risk. It could precipitate a greater rift between Jokaimor and the Federation.”

Louis considers this carefully. Bypassing the Starfleet chain of command could be seen as an insult on the part of the Anoran delegation. And to Jokaimor, Starfleet’s failure to get involved before would confirm their purported incompetence and unreliability. 

“Besides, what makes you think anyone will believe you?” Liam asks. “You can’t prove anything.”

Louis rubs his forehead with a frustrated sigh. “All I want is to know Harry is alright. And Niall.” He moves to a side automatically as the lift doors open to allow a hospital attendant pushing a food serving cart to pass.

The orderly, a burly male Orion, flashes Louis a quick smile. “Thanks.”

Louis’ eyes follow him absently as he starts to wheel down the hall—heading toward the hospitalisation area.

“I’ve got it,” Louis says, slapping Liam’s arm.

Liam looks over his shoulder at the retreating Orion and back to Louis with a doubtful frown. “Are you going bribe him?” he asks, then widens his eyes comically. “Seduce him?”

Louis snorts with laughter, shaking his head. “I was thinking something a little more radical,” he says, turning to Zayn, who raises an eyebrow.

“What are you thinking?”

*

“I’m not dressed for this kind of environment,” Harry tells the guard.

He’s not cold—Anorans’ bodies are built to withstand low temperatures—but he is a bit chilled in a chiffon shirt. Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, he can feel the damp sticking to his shirt and making his hair frizz. “Ben said he wanted to watch me die, but hypothermia might kill me before he gets a chance.”

The guard stares at him, but his gormless face suggests he hasn’t understood much of what Harry just said. Harry makes a show of shivering. “Cold.”

The Torp echoes him, face scrunched up in thought. “Need fire,” he says finally.

Harry’s lips twitch. “It’s a little too wet for a fire.” He runs a palm over the wall and shows the droplets clinging to it to the Torp, whose heavy brow furrows once again.

“How about a cuddle?” Harry says, opening his arms wide to mime a hug.

He’s gratified to see the Torp has a sense of humour, as he makes a gruff sound and bares his teeth in a grin.

Harry raises himself into a crouch. “Or we could wrestle?” he says.

The guard releases a growling laugh.

“I bet I could beat you,” Harry insists. “One on one like this. Or are you afraid to fight me?”

The Torp’s grin morphs into a slight frown. “Fight?” he grunts.

Harry raises his fists. “Fight.”

Torps are pugnacious, and proud, and after a few seconds the guard nods in acquiescence. Harry shifts his balance, tensing in preparation as the Torp moves to deactivate the laser door system. The moment the beams are down Harry launches himself toward the exit.

The Torp makes a grab for him, but Harry is faster. He ducks under his arm, crossing the threshold, and takes hold of the Torp’s wrist, twisting his arm behind his back as he tries to push him into the cell. The guard digs his heels in and takes swipes at Harry with his clawed hand, growling. Harry kicks at one of his ankles as hard as he can, destabilizing him, and shoves with all his strength behind him. The guard stumbles into the cell, the momentum pushing him forward so that he hits the wall with his face before he can stop himself.

With a gasp, Harry scrambles to activate the door again, fumbling to find the right switch. He lets out a triumphant shout when the laser beam door buzzes and flickers into being.

The guard throws himself against it, but the result is just a loud crackle and a howl of pain from the Torp.

“You trick.” Sullen, he glares at Harry through the thin laser beams.

Harry shrugs. “Sorry.” And a small part of him kind of is: he looks positively pathetic, green blood dripping from his nose from where he’d hit the wall, cradling his wrist to his chest. But he has more pressing matters at hand.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you anymore. So I’m going to need you to answer two questions.”

The guard glowers. “No—” He seems to be searching for the right word, but can’t find it. “You trick.”

Harry runs a hand through his tangled hair and shakes his head. “I won’t hurt you if you answer me, I promise. How do I get out of here? And where’s Niall?”

“Ni-all?” The Torp tries out the word, mouthing the sounds carefully.

“My friend. The human who was with me.”

The guard shrugs. “Go with others. Not know.”

Harry smacks a hand against the cave wall with a frustrated sigh. “How about the exit? How do I get out of here?”

To his shock the guard’s lips stretch to reveal his fangs. Any sympathy Harry had entertained for him vanishes. There’s a sinister look in his eyes as he licks the blood that had dripped over his lips. “You die, you leave.”

Harry had been right thinking he had a sense of humour, but he hadn’t expected such a twisted one.

*

To Louis’ relief and surprise, Zayn doesn’t make any objections to his plan.

The three of them follow the Orion down the hall, sprinting to catch up with him while there is no one around. He turns at the sound of their footsteps and stops, a slight frown of confusion on his face.

“Can I help you?” he asks, sounding quite amiable.

Zayn steps forward. “Yes, you can.”

“Oh—?” Before the Orion can say anything further, Zayn reaches out to pinch the flesh between his neck and shoulder. The Orion jolts. His eyes widen in surprise then roll back in his head, and he drops, Liam rushing to catch him before he hits the ground.

Louis had heard about the Vulcan nerve pinch, which rendered a being unconscious through the manipulation of pressure points, but had never seen it in action.

“Now what?” Liam asks, holding up the unconscious orderly.

They hide his body in a generator closet, knowing he’ll be out for a while. The Orion is too broad for Louis to take his clothes without it looking suspicious, so Liam dons the bright blue uniform.

They unload the delivery cart, stacking the covered food trays into the closet with the orderly. Even so it’s a tight fit in the cart with a little more than four feet in height and three feet in length, with a depth of about two feet. Louis manages to fold himself inside, knees to his chest and head between his knees.

“All right?” Liam asks, bending down to check on Louis. “You sure you won’t suffocate in there?”

Louis isn’t a hundred percent sure, but this is the best plan he’s got. “Yes. Now hurry up before my legs fall asleep,” he says.

Liam closes the doors and Louis is thrown into darkness except for the tiniest slivers of light filtering in from the outline of the doors. The supports to hold up the trays dig into his back, and the smell of food—Plomeek soup and Bajoran chicken, it would seem—is intense. He can breathe fine, at least.

It’s disconcerting when they start moving, Liam pushing the cart down the hall. They had decided Zayn would stay behind as a look out as he’s the most equipped to handle any opposition with his Vulcan strength and fighting techniques.

Louis concentrates on his breathing, fighting the tension in his body both from being cramped in a tight space and from nerves. After all, he doesn’t know what kind of reaction the Anoran delegation will have to the news that Harry’s gone missing—kill the messenger and all that. And Ben, the only Anoran he’s met other than Harry, had been less than warm.

Louis is fighting the urge to bang on the doors and tell Liam to turn back, when they come to a stop.

“Uh. Hello. I bring lunch?”

Louis hears Liam say, voice higher than usual.

A thump against the side of the cart makes Louis’ stomach jump to his throat, but no attempt is made to open the doors.

“A food taster was requested for the Anoran delegation. Are you going to do it?” An unfamiliar voice addresses Liam: the Starfleet Security official assigned to stand guard over the hospitalisation area, presumably.

There’s a beat of silence. “Yes?”

After a moment the sound of doors sliding open reaches Louis, and then they are moving again. Liam’s pace picks up and he hurries down to the end of the hall.

Louis bites his lip, breathing shallow, when they stop again. A minute passes before the sound of another set of doors sliding open reaches him.

“Has everyone else on the floor eaten?” The Anoran speaks with an accent, but her voice is melodic and she sounds amiable. “You are going to be here for some time.”

The Anorans might have had no choice but to have food delivered to them, but they were taking no chances. They expected Liam to try the food and meant to keep him there in case it was a poison that didn’t have an immediate effect.

“Yes. I’ll just pull the trays out,” Liam says, sounding remarkably composed. “How many are you?”

“Ten. Thank you.”

Louis realises in that moment that he should have given some more though to his entrance. Crawling out of a box on wheels won’t lend him much credibility... but it will have to do.

There are shocked gasps as he straightens, getting to his feet, followed by a flurry of movement.  They all move to stand in a protective circle around the ambassador’s bed, blocking her from his view. And two of them point phaser guns at both him and Liam.

Louis raises his hands to show he’s unarmed. “I just want to talk! About Harry!”

The delegation is rather intimidating. Every single one of them taller and bigger than Louis, and stronger than Liam, who’s standing still at the head of the cart, his hands up as well.

The room is not that big either, and it feels oppressive to Louis, in spite of the glass wall looking out to the corridor and the window on the far wall.

“What do you know about our prince?” One of them speaks up, stepping forward.

He examines Louis from head to toe with a curious expression on his face, nostrils flaring. And Louis remembers suddenly that Anorans can see auras. That just like Harry had been able to tell that he’s not full human, so can all these people. He forces himself to straighten his back instead of hunching his shoulders and shying away from his gaze like he wants to.

“Harry is missing.” Louis is grateful that his voice barely shakes. “He might be in danger. You need to find him!”

There are murmurs and more staring.

The one who had stepped forward considers him for a long moment before speaking. “You are mistaken.”

“No, no. He was on his way to a meeting and he never made it. He must have been taken on the way—”

The Anoran raises a large, long fingered hand. “That is correct. But he was taken to a secure location for his safety.”

Louis gapes, taken aback. He shakes his head. “But—”

The Anoran brings his palms together, hands in front of his chest. “Your... concern... is appreciated. But unnecessary. Prince Ha’rialualaha is safe and well,” he says firmly, though not unkindly.

Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brow furrowed. “Harry would never agree to that,” he says after a moment. “He was going to that meeting and then to the signing. He wouldn’t—”

The Anoran’s expression sours. “How do you presume to know the mind of our prince?” he says scornfully.

Louis falters. “He’s... my friend. We—”

The Anoran studies him for a long moment, lips pressed tight together, nose wrinkling. “Councilor Winston spoke of you. The prince has a regrettable fondness for humans, and he might have been willing to overlook whatever else it is you are—” He waves an indifferent hand in Louis’ direction. “—to bed you. But sharing his bed does not mean sharing his mind.”

There’s tittering and several of them raise a long fingered hand to their nose. Louis flushes and then pales when he realises Liam is just behind him and what the Anoran had just said: ‘whatever else it is you are’.  

“You’re wrong,” he chokes out.

The Anoran’s face actually softens. “Thank you. Truly. It is obvious you care about the prince,” he says in a gentler voice. “But there is really nothing to worry about.”

*

Harry creeps along the passage, squinting in the gloom. It’s so low he has to walk bent over and even then he keeps scraping his back and bumping his head. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat in spite of the cold because of the exertion—but also because of the apprehension which has his stomach in knots and his heart pounding.

Logically, it can’t have been more than a half hour since he left his cell, but it feels like hours. He’s starving and consumed with anxiety for Niall and the fate of Jokaimor.

He hears noises coming from up ahead and his heart beat speeds up even further, but it’s also a bit of a relief. He’s not claustrophobic, but walking without any sense of direction is unnerving.

Carefully, he pushes on until he comes to an abrupt bend of the passage. It opens into a cavern with a low, undulating ceiling with short, sharp stalactites. It’s more or less circular with rough walls and a series of natural, irregular columns. What sets the cavern apart is the deep pit in the center, which gives the effect of a natural amphitheater.

Across the pit Harry can see Ben and another Anoran Harry doesn’t recognize occupied with some kind of machine propped up against a column. Their voices reach him as nothing more than an indistinct murmur, and Harry recognizes now the sounds he heard from the passage as snarling and yelping.

The lighting in the cavern is dim, although there are openings in the ceiling through which shine in beams of brighter sunlight. And Harry can see now that his sight has adapted that the cavern is not a circular chamber, rather it continues on the far side and leads out to several passages.

Harry inches forward, dreading the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Although the noises—of pain or aggression, he can’t quite tell—he becomes certain are coming from one of the passages ahead. As he advances, he can’t resist peering over the edge into the pit: ten or twelve feet deep with a shallow pool of turbid water at the bottom that dries out into mud toward the edges.

“There was no need for your daring escape. I was coming to fetch you soon.”

Harry’s heart shoots straight to his throat when Ben speaks, loud and clear. He whirls around even as his eyes scan the ground, hoping to see a rock or anything that he can use as a weapon and gain some leverage over Ben, who despite being older probably matches him in strength. “Where’s Niall?” Harry demands.

“We’ll bring him out in a bit. He’s safe. For now.”

Harry hears movement behind him and glancing back over his shoulder sees two of the guards are approaching from the other side, smacking short, thick sticks in their hands.

“Why are you doing this, Beneonahe?” Harry asks desperately.

“It’s the right thing.”

“For who?” Harry yells.

“Jokaimor and our people.”

Harry studies him through narrowed eyes: Ben has always been a business man first, a politician taking advantage of his position for money. “There’s something more in this for you.”

Ben smiles and shrugs. “Well. I won’t deny war can be good for business.”

Harry shakes his head, teeth bared. “You think you can get away with this? All fingers point to you if I’m killed.”

Ben’s eyes flick to focus on something over Harry’s shoulder for a split second. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Harry can argue, he feels a sharp, burning pain in the middle of his back, spreading outward. He spins around, off-balance, limbs feeling disconnected from his body, ears ringing. One of the guards is still holding the cattle prod he’d just used on Harry.

Blackness creeps on the edges of Harry’s vision and he feels himself falling before losing consciousness.

Chapter Text

Louis doesn’t know what to do.

After the dead end at the hospital they go back to Harry’s room for lack of any better ideas. And Louis flinches at the sight of their would-be breakfast on the table: the fruit brown and dried up, and the grease from the sausages and bacon a congealed mess.

However, the breakfast table is the only thing left intact. The rest of the room has been ransacked. The bed has been stripped down to the mattress, and Harry’s clothes are missing. Though his jewellery box hasn’t been touched.

Louis flops onto the bed on his back, arms spread like a cross and feet hanging off the edge, while Zayn does a circuit of the room, looking for clues.

Liam hovers by the door. He hasn’t made any mention about what Wootton or the Anoran had said to Louis, and Louis isn’t sure if he hasn’t pieced it together yet or what is going on in his head. But even if Liam hasn’t said anything, he hasn’t left either, which Louis is going to take as a good sign.

He can’t devote much mental energy to Liam at the moment, though. His thoughts focused on Harry and Niall. No one is looking for them. No one cares to know or will believe that Harry is missing.

And whatever the Anoran might have said, Louis knows without a doubt that Harry would never agree to be secreted away and leave the union in such a precarious situation. Despite Harry keeping secret how he had arranged to have The Rogue escort him to the summit, Louis doesn’t distrust him, doesn’t doubt that Harry had been honest with him in all other regards. And Louis trusts his perception of Harry, which tells him that the union of Jokaimor to the Federation is the most important thing to Harry and he would risk anything, including his own life, to have it go forward.

Louis thinks back on everything Harry had told him about the opposition to the union, and his thoughts turn to the unpleasant chat with Ben at the party. Ben, who was the only Anoran not at the ambassador’s side. But even if it is Ben behind Harry’s disappearance, Louis still has no idea what to do. Doesn’t even know where to begin looking for them. He’s not familiar with Dawbell, and within and outside the city there are countless places for them to be hiding.

His communicator vibrates against his hip, breaking him out of his glum pondering. With a pinched brow he holds it up, accepting the call.

“Any luck?” Steve asks.

Louis sighs. They’d left Steve behind to see if he could find out anything about what had happened to Harry and Niall after taking the shuttle down to the planet’s surface. Although all they had to go on was what Niall had told Liam about a cab picking them up at the connecting station.

“Talked to a few workers who saw them get into the cab. A normal hover car, nothing suspicious about it. Impossible to track unless we had the serial number and could hack into the system,” Steve informs him.

“Which we can’t,” Louis replies dully.

“No, but it gave me an idea.”

Louis sits up, alert, gathering the attention of both Liam and Zayn, who approach curiously. “Wait, Steve. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

Steve chuckles. “It’s not that great of an idea. I was just thinking that Anorans have a very distinctive, individual smell, and maybe we could track him down like that. Follow his scent instead of the hover car.”

“With a dog?” Liam asks, confused. “Like in story books?”

“No, if they’ve left the city a dog would never be able to find them.”

“Then what?” Louis asks.

“I must remind you that we no longer have anything of Ha’ri’s to teach the scent to any creature,” Zayn interrupts. He waves a hand, encompassing the room. “This room has been wiped. It seems plausible that it was done for this very reason.”

“Oh.” Liam sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, thinking, then turns to Louis. “You don’t have anything of his?”

Louis shakes his head, though he’s thinking back, wondering if there’s a chance Harry might have left something on the ship. “Harry doesn’t even like to wear clothes,” he says miserably.

“That’s... a bit of a problem,” Steve says from the other end of the line.

“Shit.” Louis rubs his stinging eyes roughly. When he lowers his hands he finds Zayn staring at him intently. “What?” he asks blankly.

Zayn tilts his head thoughtfully. “You smell like Harry.”

“What?”

“Ha’ri has been scenting you.”

Liam makes a noise of confusion, while Steve makes an ‘ah’ of excited understanding. “Has he? That could work!”

“What are you talking about?” Liam asks.

“Anorans use head butting and cheek rubbing to spread their scent to comfort and stake claim over objects of affection,” Zayn explains, matter-of-fact.

Louis blushes at Liam’s goggling. But a few seconds later Liam nods and shrugs. “So he’s like a cat,” he says. “That’s... cool.”

Louis lets out a small snort of amusement at Liam’s obvious attempt at nonchalance.

“A creature with a potent enough sense of smell would be able to isolate Harry’s scent from yours on your body, Louis,” Steve pipes up.

Louis blinks at the sudden realisation. “I know who can do that, actually.”

—

Finding the Golgons is not a problem, despite not knowing their names. From delta quadrant, they are a rarity, and immediately recognizable. Louis had been afraid communication might be a problem, but Zayn knows some Romulan.

Louis stands in place, one eye peeking open as the two Golgons look him—and smell him—over. Their trunks flap and they paw at each other excitedly, then turn to Zayn. He, Liam, and Steve, who had joined them, stand around waiting while they chatter to Zayn, whose face gives nothing away as to how the conversation is going.

Louis notices that Steve’s forehead is wrinkled as he listens intently.

“Do you speak Romulan?” Liam asks him.

Steve puffs out his cheeks and releases his breath in a huff. “Apparently less than I thought.”

Zayn nods at the Golgons as they finish speaking. “They say you smell stronger now than last night. I told them it was consistent with you engaging in sexual activities with Harry, if I am drawing the correct conclusions from the evidence.”

Louis splutters, face heating up. Liam does a very poor job at stifling his laughter, and Steve gives him a questioning look and a tentative smile.

Zayn blinks at him, unconcerned by Louis’ reaction. “Given that Harry, as Niall informed me, did not perform his morning ablutions, his smell must be at a peak. They assure me there should be no problem tracking Harry down.”

Louis pushes back his embarrassment and focuses on that. “That’s fantastic.” He holds out his hand toward the Golgons. “Thank you.”

The Golgons nod, smiling, and one of them cautiously offers his clawed hand to Louis’ and gives him a small, tentative shake. The other Golgon follows suit.

They talk to Zayn for few more minutes before handing him a card key. Then the pair do another round of nods at all of them and start walking away.

Louis starts, and Liam asks what he’s thinking. “Where are they going? Aren’t they going to—”

Zayn shoots him an impatient look. “They are not search dogs, Liam.” And then he sighs and explains. “They have a lizard-hound.”

“Oh,” says Liam, though he looks just as confused as Louis, who doesn’t know what that is.

“Nice,” Steve says, looking impressed.

—

The lizard-hound is big. Definitely bigger than any dog. The size of a rhinoceros, though it does resemble a dog, albeit with dull green scales. Its head is more nose and muzzle than anything, however, with tiny slits for eyes like a mole.

Louis stands very still, but can’t help but twitch when the creature nuzzles, quite roughly, at his middle. Louis remembers all too vividly that Harry had come all over his stomach, and how all the clean up Louis had done in the end was a cursory wipe with Harry’s pants.

“Stay still. He has to gather the scent,” Zayn instructs lazily, leaning on the front of his hover bike. It’s hard to tell, but Louis suspects Zayn is amused. Steve makes no effort to hide his hilarity, a grin on his face.

“We’ll return them after, right?” Liam asks, looking doubtfully at his own hover bike. All curved lines for maximum aerodynamic potential, and compact like a seven hundred pound bee. They had rented them under false names, because they didn’t dare alert Starfleet in case they thought to stop them, especially as Simon didn’t want Louis getting involved.

“Yes, Liam. If we all make it out alive, we’ll return them,” Louis says, voice going high pitched at the end when the creature snorts, catching him by surprise. He turns his face to a side, nose scrunched up, as the creature breathes on him, warm and wet.

Then it turns around in a smooth, slithering movement—surprising given its size—and stretches its body, nose pointed up.

Zayn straightens and tucks his robes around his legs. “It has picked up the scent. The Golgons described that it would assume that position when ready to start tracking.”

Louis climbs onto the bike and turns on the engine so that it hovers a few inches above the ground in neutral gear.

Steve rests a hand on Louis’ forearm, and to Louis’ surprise, he pulls a phaser gun out of his bag, which Louis had thought contained only his tricorder.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, taking it gingerly.

Steve chuckles. “It’s yours. I had to dig around all your drawers, but I found it.”

The phaser guns are regular issue for Starfleet officials on a mission, but they haven’t had any need for them, and Louis’ has been sitting in a drawer the entire eighteen months of his assignment. “Oh. Right.”

“Here’s yours, Liam.” Steve tosses another phaser gun at Liam, who catches it and gives Steve a thumbs up. “Yours was easy to find. Right where you said it was.”

Louis makes a face. “I could have told you were mine was if you’d asked,” he says grumpily.

“It was no trouble,” Steve says with a bark of laughter. “Though you might have to reorganize your sock drawer when you get back.”

“Hardy har har.” Louis bats at him half-heartedly when Steve reaches out to pat him on the back.

The laughter dies from Steve’s face abruptly, and he grips Louis’ shoulder tightly.  “Be careful,” he says quietly.

They had decided it would be best to have someone remain behind, just in case. Steve wasn’t happy to be the one to stay, but it made the most sense, as he was personable and smart, and knew a surprising amount of people. There was some hope he could find help through his contacts.

“You too. Don’t get arrested.” Louis swallows with some difficulty. “If I die, tell my mum I love her. And my sisters.”

Steve gives his arm a squeeze. “Don’t die.” But he nods solemnly, before calling out for Zayn and Liam to hear, as well: “And don’t lose your communicators!”

—

The lizard-hound is faster than Louis had expected, and he bends down over the front of the hover bike, gripping the handles painfully tight, as they pick up speed.

He doesn’t have a lot of experience flying hover bikes, and he isn’t dressed for it, either, in his Starfleet uniform. His eyes water in the wind, and his hands are frozen in a short time.

They had started off near the connecting station, and the creature had led them out of the city until they were traversing rock desert, casting long shadows in the afternoon sun.

Louis has no idea what they are heading toward, except that it's bound to be dangerous. But the thought of not making any attempt to rescue Harry and Niall never even crosses his mind.

*

“This is how it’s going to go.”

Ben’s voice filters through the fog in Harry’s brain. The first thing he becomes aware of is the sharp smell of the water around him, which burns the inside of his nose when he breathes in. There’s an unfamiliar, deep ache in his bones, and his body feels sluggish, slow to respond. His head is heavy as he struggles to lift it from the ground, mud sticking to his cheek and chin. His clothes are all wet down the front, and his hands sink and slip in the mud as he lifts himself up to his knees.

“Are you listening, Harry?” Ben snaps. “This is important.”

Harry squints. All he can see at first is the towering rock walls around him, rough and damp. Then he looks higher up to where Ben is standing at the edge of the pit.

“How did you even find this place?” Harry blurts out, bewildered and curious. He can tell at a glance that the walls of the pit would be hard to scale, with crumbling walls that offer no handholds.

“Spelunking trip,” Ben answers promptly. “I’m a person, Harry. Not a monster. I have interests outside of—”

“Regicide and war profiteering?” Harry fills in, glaring.

Ben actually chuckles. “Indeed.” Then the grin drops from his face. “Now pay attention, this is important. We’re going live in a few minutes.”

“What?”

Ben shushes him, a finger over his lips. “Do you hear that?”

And now that he mentions it, Harry can hear it. The same snarling from before, but a lot closer.

Harry wipes the mud from his face with the back of his hand. “Is this supposed to be a public execution?”

Ben shakes his head. “Close. It’s a public murder. A terrible violation of peace. A veritable act of war.”

Harry closes his eyes, breathing in deep through his nose. “How is being eaten by some kind of beast an act of war?”

Ben opens his eyes wide in a pretense of innocence. “That’s not a beast. Well... In any case, I don’t think he’ll eat you.”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on?” Harry snarls, the volume of his voice rising into a shout.

Ben doesn’t flinch. “It’s like this: you’re going to fight... and lose. And with your death everyone will see that the Saraghavan are horrible, monstrous people. Imagine, they took the Anoran prince and threw him into a gladiator pit to humiliate him and kill him.”

Harry’s face twists as he struggles to comprehend what it is Ben has planned.

“The people of Jokaimor will see that humans are weak and useless as allies. They couldn’t protect the prince, and can’t control the Saraghavan savages.”

“That’s not—”

“The union will be called off and war will be declared on the Saraghavan once and for all.”

Harry rises to his feet, standing straight, shoulders thrown back. He’s disgusted by Ben, not intimidated by him, despite his current situation. “What if we refuse to fight? I’m sure that Saraghavan you’ve abducted wants this as much as I do.”

If neither of them play along, considering Ben means to broadcast their fight, it could throw the whole thing off. The whole story Ben has concocted depends on their cooperation.

Ben gives him a pitying look. “The Saraghavan will fight. He’s eager to start, didn’t you hear him? Because he knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“What’s that?”

“He’ll pay a high price. And if you refuse to fight...” He signals at someone outside of Harry’s line of sight. Then sounds of a struggle and muffled protests reach Harry. His chest clenches when Niall is dragged forward to the edge of the pit: tied up and dishevelled, in the grip of a Torp guard. “So will you.”

*

The cave is nondescript from the outside. In fact, if it hadn’t been because the lizard-hound had led them straight to the entrance, they wouldn’t have thought it was anything more than one of the countless, straggling rock formations that populated the area. It had taken them less than two hours to get there, but it had seemed interminable.

In a crouch behind a pile of rocks, Louis pulls out his communicator, intending to send Steve word that they had reached their destination. He tries, again and again, but the message doesn’t go through. “It’s not working.”

Zayn pulls out his own communicator, as does Liam. “There appears to be some kind of interference with the signal,” he declares after a minute.

Liam snaps his communicator closed, blowing out air audibly. “Now what?”

“We go in and rescue Harry and Niall,” Louis replies. “It was the plan, regardless.”

“But what about back-up?”

Louis puts away his communicator and adjusts his headband, his hair damp with cold sweat. He’s anxious and tense, and his blood sugar levels are probably low, as he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since he left sickbay. Even Steve had been too preoccupied when they had met up to speak with the Golgons to remind him to have something. “We can’t wait for something which we’re not even certain is coming. Harry and Niall are in danger right now. And we have weapons,” he says.

“We do not know their numbers, however, and we can suppose they too are armed,” Zayn counters.

“Well.” Louis flounders for a moment. “It is what it is,” he says finally, impatiently. “I’m going in.”

He stands up and enters the cave, hoping they’ll follow. He hasn’t taken three steps before he hears their footsteps behind him, and his breath rushes out in a relieved sigh.

*

Harry’s whole body is shaking. He had been forced to strip and change into a white tunic with short sleeves, belted at the waist, and cutting off mid-thigh—the outfit of a Saraghavan slave of old. The Saraghavan no longer kept slaves of any sort, as slavery is outlawed in the Federation, but Jokaimor derided their history and still used it as grounds to remain hostile against them. Ben is playing on all the known prejudices of the Anorans in his effort to instigate war.

Harry is furious, but also scared. The Saraghavan are a military society and receive intensive physical training from a young age. And the male before him is at the peak of physical fitness, as well as having a set of short but sharp claws, and thick, rough skin like a toad’s.

Mud oozes around his bare toes as Harry adjusts his stance, heart hammering in his chest to the point of pain. The heaviness in his limbs has lessened, but he’s running on nothing but adrenaline, his mouth parched because he’s had nothing to drink but a few drops of moisture from his cell.

“Are you ready?” Ben calls out. There are a series of camera pods placed around the pit, pointing inside. Out of view and unable to make more noise than muffled screaming is Niall. And the Saraghavan’s sister—his own motivating force to participate in Ben’s farce.

The Saraghavan settles into a crouch, one knee and one hand on the ground as though he’s about to start a race.

“Go.”

The Saraghavan doesn’t hesitate, immediately charging at Harry with his head forward. Harry slips as he hurries to dodge him, scrambling to retain his footing. A clawed hand swipes at him, raking down his shoulder. Harry’s accelerated healing means it won’t cause any lasting harm, but it still hurts in that moment, still makes him cry out in surprise.

The Saraghavan throws a punch aimed at Harry’s jaw, but Harry ducks and uses the momentum to kick his legs out from under him. The Saraghavan drops to his knees with a faint splash, and Harry kicks him in the face, heel first, causing the Saraghavan’s head to bounce back with a yowl.

“If neither of us fight, he loses!” Harry shouts, taking a step back, keeping his defensive stance. He wants to tell him that Ben doesn’t have the guts to murder his sister, but he can’t, because he’s not convinced Ben’s not above ordering one of the Torps to do it for him. And because the Saraghavan doesn’t give him the chance, lunging at Harry again with a snarl.

He grabs hold of Harry’s hair and yanks hard enough that Harry loses his balance and falls on one knee. Before he can recover, the Saraghavan knees him in the face. Harry’s ears ring and spots dance in front of his eyes.

The Saraghavan uses his disorientation to jam his elbow over Harry’s back so that Harry collapses onto his front, biting down on his tongue as his chin hits the ground. Water splashes on his face, burning and disgusting, and Harry scrambles to raise himself up, but the Saraghavan kicks him back down. Then he twists Harry’s hair around one hand and lifts him up to smash Harry’s head, hard, against his knee.

Harry fights to free himself from his grip, grasping around the back of the Saraghavan’s supporting leg and pulling, making him fall backward. Harry throws himself over him, grabbing one of his arms and twisting it over his head, as well as hooking his elbow around his neck, forearm pressed against his throat.

“Now what?” Harry pants, voice congested because of the blood in his nose, as the Saraghavan wheezes and claws at him ineffectually.

Then something hits him on the back, startling him and making his grip loosen, allowing the Saraghavan to twist out of his hold and shove him back. In that moment something else is thrown into the pit, falling a few feet from them with a splash.

The Saraghavan lunges for it, pulling out of the shallow water a short, jagged piece of flat metal. Harry glances back to see what it was that had hit him: it’s a rock, about half the size of his head. He whirls around and picks it up, his large hand allowing him to hold it more or less comfortably despite its size and weight.

Nonetheless, it’s nothing but a rock, while the Saraghavan wields a makeshift sword, glinting in the sunlight filtering in through the cavern’s ceiling.

“Hardly seems fair,” Harry mutters as the Saraghavan wields the makeshift sword before him.

He struggles to swallow, his throat is so dry. “Please,” he tries again, meeting the Saraghavan’s eyes straight on. “We can end this.”

For a moment he thinks he might have got through, but then his eyes flick up to where Harry knows he can see his sister being held hostage. His expression hardens and he readjusts his grip on the sword.

Harry spreads his stance, preparing himself for the attack.

*

The three of them are quiet as they advance down the cramped passage inside the cave. The damp and chill have Louis walking with his hands tucked under his armpits whenever possible, though at times they need to use their hands for support.

It doesn’t take long before Louis is trembling, from a mixture of cold and nerves. The passage twists as it goes deeper, but still the only sound is the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and a distant dripping of water.

Zayn holds out an arm, stopping them from continuing; he’d taken the lead because of his Vulcan sight and hearing. “There is some life form up ahead. I can hear it,” he says quietly.

Liam pulls out his phaser gun. “Best be prepared,” he says, matter-of-fact, when Louis raises his eyebrows at him. “We’re three against we don’t know how many.”

“That is very logical,” Zayn praises him, some warmth detectable in his voice.

Louis pulls out his own gun, carefully making sure that it’s set to stun.

The passage widens as a bend looms up ahead. And now Louis can hear it, too: footsteps and loud breathing. It is matched to its source just a few seconds after as a Torp rounds the corner, clearly on patrol.

He seems comically surprised to see them, and hesitates for long enough that Liam steps forward and shoots him, stunning him. He falls back, his massive body hitting the ground with a dull thud, and the electric shock prod he was holding clatters when he drops it.

Louis blinks, his own phaser gun still pointing at the floor. It’s kind of jarring to see the phaser guns used as a real weapon instead of an accessory.

“Come on.” Liam gives Louis a gentle nudge, and they keep moving forward after Zayn stoops to pick up the cattle prod.

Two minutes later they start hearing the sounds of a struggle, inarticulate and muffled shouting, and erratic splashes and grunts.

“We might need a plan,” Liam whispers.

Louis’ face scrunches up in thought. “There are bound to be more Torp guards, though we can’t know how many without a motion or thermal scanner.”

Liam rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. “Shit, I should have told Steve to fetch my tricorder, too.”

A tricorder—a multifunction hand-held device used for sensor scanning, data analysis, and recording data—is issued by Starfleet to medical and engineering officers, as well as science and command officers when on an exploration mission. As Louis is banned from those he doesn’t qualify to get one.

He shakes his head dismissively. “We’ve got the phaser guns thanks to you, don’t apologise.”

“Wish we could have got one for you,” Liam tells Zayn.

Zayn shrugs and inspects the electro shock prod he’d taken from the Torp. “I am significantly stronger than both of you, and trained in combat. Do not concern yourself over me.”

Louis rubs his temples trying to soothe his headache and concentrate on forming a plan. “No time to check alternative routes. No idea of the layout or the the enemy forces, or what the hell is going on in there,” Louis mutters to himself. “Can’t come up with much of a plan when going in blind.”

Neither Liam nor Zayn say anything, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to think. “We can assume the Torp guards have those cattle prods. And there must be at least four—” One for Niall, at least two to guard Harry, and one on patrol? And then there’s Ben, who Louis is convinced is behind this.

He opens his mouth to continue when a loud, strangled cry of pain echoes through the passage. Louis knows that cry of pain. He’s heard a lesser version of it before. And he has the same reaction he had then: he runs toward it.

Jumping up from his crouch, Louis dashes down the passage, ignoring Liam’s ‘Louis, no!’ and Zayn’s attempt to grab him.

The passage opens into a wide cavern with a natural depression in the middle, forming a pit. Louis catches sight of Niall in the hold of a Torp guard, as well as a Saraghavan in the same position, but his eyes seek out Harry.

Zayn and Liam enter the cavern behind him as Louis rushes forward to look over the edge into the pit—where he finds Harry. Harry, hunched over and face drawn in pain, chest heaving, circling a huge Saraghavan who keeps making lunges at him with something sharp.

Louis doesn’t think twice about it. He crouches to steady his aim and shoots to stun the Saraghavan. His aim is true and the blue beam of energy hits him in the back, but he doesn’t go stiff and drop like the Torp had done. Louis shoots a second time, to the same result. Despairing, he shoots again, and again, but the Saraghavan doesn’t appear to even feel it. He does nothing but shrug his shoulders like he’s shaking off a bothersome fly at every hit.

Then he throws himself at Harry, brandishing the makeshift sword. Harry blocks the blow with the rock in his hand, knocking the blade off course, but losing his grip on the rock in the process. The two of them lock in a scuffle, spinning and stumbling as they struggle to gain leverage.

Louis frets, pointing his gun but not pressing down on the trigger, afraid of hitting Harry. He can hear sounds of fighting around him, but all he can focus on is Harry’s long fingers scrabbling to grab hold of the Saraghavan, to stop the fierce thrusts and slashes of the blade—and failing. His green eyes are wide with panic, dark red blood trickling down his nose, as he’s forced down onto one knee.

Gulping, Louis rotates the barrel of the phaser gun, setting it to kill. With a deep, tremulous, breath, he braces himself and shoots. For a second he can’t tell if he hit either of them, and he leans forward, almost falling over, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. The grappling comes to a sudden stop.

“Harry!” Louis chokes out, almost inaudible.

Then, as though in slow motion, the Saraghavan slides down the ground in a limp heap, while Harry is left upright. Relief rushes through Louis so fast it makes him lightheaded, though it’s coupled with horror as his eyes flick to the immobile Saraghavan.

But then Harry drops, his body sagging so that he’s sitting on his knees rather than kneeling. And there’s blood. Blood seeping down his front, visible even though the fabric is wet and caked with mud.

“No!” Louis shouts. He scans the edge of the pit frantically, searching for a way down. There’s an area that’s a little lower and he runs toward it, then lowers himself down into the pit, rolling to break his fall. He still hurts his ankle, but the vague throb of pain barely registers as he splashes over to Harry.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, kneeling down next to him.

Harry squints at him, face scrunched up in pain and fatigue. “Louis—” he mumbles even as he lists to a side.

Louis helps him lie down on his back, propped up with his head on his lap, wincing with every one of Harry’s groans and whimpers of pain.

“Ow.” Harry says with a quirk of his lips when he’s settled, though his face is still contorted in pain and his breathing is coming hard and fast.

A faint ‘Harry’ is all Louis can get out as he takes him in: his hair matted with mud and water, his skin littered with huge, dark bruises and bleeding cuts. Louis carefully brushes back a bit of hair from his face, stroking over his cheek and ear.

“Hey.” Harry gropes for a moment before finding Louis’ wrist and wrapping his fingers around it. “Wasn’t expecting you,” he says, looking up at Louis through bleary eyes.

Louis covers Harry’s hand with his own, or as much as he can with the size difference. He fights back nausea at the state of Harry’s hands. His knuckles are scraped raw and his pinkie finger is purple, clearly broken. “Someone had to save your arse,” he manages to get out with something between a laugh and a sob. For long seconds the only sound is Harry’s strained panting, eyes shut tight.

“Thank you,” he says finally, softly, opening his eyes again. “Are you alright?”

Louis can’t help but glance back at the Saraghavan a few feet away. “I killed him,” he says, and there’s an edge of hysteria in his voice even he can hear.

Harry gives his wrist a weak squeeze. “You saved me.”

Louis nods, lips pressed tight together. Harry’s alive. That’s what matters most. But there’s… there’s so much blood staining the front of Harry’s tunic, seeping between his fingers where he has his hand over the wound on his abdomen. “There’s a lot of blood,” he whispers, swallowing convulsively.

Harry hums, and his fingers twitch where they are wrapped around Louis’ wrists. “Is Niall all right?”

Louis’ head snaps up, looking around him with wild eyes. He had forgotten about everything and everyone else.

“I’m fine!” Niall’s voice reaches them, magnified through a microphone. Louis can’t see them, but he does suddenly notice the camera pods pointing down into the pit. “Better after giving Ben a good kick, the bastard.”

“We have subdued him and his assistants.” Zayn’s voice informs them.

“Can you open communications with Steve or… anyone?” Louis asks, voice breaking at the end. Harry won’t stop bleeding, and his fingers are cool in stark contrast to the usual warmth of his skin.

“We’re trying,” Liam replies.

Louis shifts a little so he can reach to put pressure on Harry’s wound, making him grunt in pain. “Why does it keep bleeding?” he moans, panicked.

Harry shushes him, head lolling and eyelashes fluttering. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

Louis has a lump stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you kiss me before you left.”

Harry’s breath comes out in a little huff of pained laughter. “I deserved it.”

Louis sniffles, slips his wrist out of Harry’s slack grip to hold his hand instead, interlacing their fingers. “No.”

“Kiss me now?”

Louis bends down to brush their lips together, tear drops catching in his eyelashes.

Harry’s lips curve into a small smile when Louis pulls back, but he keeps his eyes closed. He looks beatific, but Louis has never been so terrified in his life.

“Why aren’t you healing yourself?” he cries. “Why?”

“Trying,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Louis forces back the scream lodged in his chest. “We need to get you help. Back to the city.”

Harry hums vaguely, weakly. 

“Harry, please,” Louis whimpers. Please don’t leave me.

Words get stuck in his throat, and he wrenches his gaze from Harry to look out of the pit, vision blurred with tears. “Liam,” he chokes out. “Could you reach Steve? Liam?” His voice is clogged and faint, so he’s not sure if he’s been heard. There’s no answer.“Zayn?”

“Even better.” The voice is familiar and dear to him, and the one he wants to hear the most right now, even if doesn’t understand how it’s possible.

“Steve,” Louis gasps, taking in a rattling breath. “Steve, you have to help him.”

“I’ll do everything I can.” Steve is gentle as he lifts Louis’ hand from Harry’s abdomen so he can press a square of thick fabric on the wound. It immediately soaks up the blood, swelling slightly.

“Why isn’t he healing quicker?” Louis demands, voice shaking, while Steve prepares a hypo spray injection and jabs it into Harry’s thigh, making him grunt and his brow furrow. “Steve—”

“He’s bleeding out faster than his body can regenerate tissue,” Steve explains absently, preparing another hypo.

“But—” Louis is trembling, squeezing Harry’s hand too hard between his own, but Harry’s not responsive. “But he’ll be fine. Right? You can—” His breath hitches and he breaks off, wheezing. 

Steve signals at someone and some uniformed humans Louis doesn’t know approach with a stretcher. They lift Harry onto it, but when one of them tries to make Louis let go of his hand, Louis resists.

“No!” he cries.

“Louis—” Steve attempts to calm him, a hand on his shoulder, but Louis can’t let them separate him from Harry again. Someone grabs hold of his upper arms from behind, actually lifting him from the ground. He tries to hold on to Harry, but their hands are wrenched apart.

Louis rams his elbow back into the person behind him. “Let me go!” He fights hard to free himself to no avail. Harry is taken out of the pit, and Louis can’t really see much because he’s crying so hard. But he doesn’t stop squirming, breathing erratic, until a stinging jab on his neck makes his limbs grow heavy, unresponsive, and then blackness close in.

Chapter Text

Louis wakes up in his own ship. He recognizes it immediately—he’s spent enough time hanging out with Steve in medical bay that just the smell of it is almost enough to situate him.

His head feels like its filled with cotton and his body languid. It all comes back like a lightning bolt, and he goes from zero to full alert in a matter of seconds, shooting up to a sitting position so fast the room spins. Liam, who was sitting at his bedside, jumps to his feet with a startled yelp at Louis’ sudden movement.

“Where’s Harry?” Louis demands, struggling to kick off the sheets where they’ve tangled around his legs.

Liam pushes him back with a hand on his chest. “He’s alive. He’s healing.”

Louis studies Liam through narrowed eyes. Liam can be oblivious and a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he can also be a rather good liar when he wants to be.

“I’m not lying, Louis.”

Louis nods after a moment, and Liam’s shadow of a smile turns into an actual one. “The Saraghavan Harry was fighting is also alive, by the way.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “He is?” he gasps. “How? I... I shot him.”

Louis is surprised when Liam’s smile doesn’t dim. “You did... With a phaser gun that was almost out of power. You know they require upkeep, right?”

Louis gapes at him, dazed. Harry is alive. And he didn’t kill that Saraghavan. “That’s... good,” he says. “That’s really good.”

Liam grips his shoulder, chuckling. “Are you calm now? Not going to go all crazy again?”

“I never—” Louis begins to protest automatically.

“They had to sedate you,” Liam cuts him off with stifled laughter.

Louis glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest, cheeks flaming. “Shut up.”

“In your defense, according to Steve, your blood sugar was really low, so it’s normal that you were a tad deranged.”

“Well, there you go.” Louis sticks his nose in the air. “It was all biology.”

Liam’s expression morphs from laughter into something hesitant and serious. “Yeah, about that…”

Louis stiffens, feels his heart beat pick up speed in his chest again.

“It’s not… entirely… human biology, is it?” he goes on, very carefully.

Louis clenches his jaw, unable to meet Liam’s eyes.

“Cowell’s assistant, he kept calling you names like you’re not… all human. And ‘whatever you are’ was what that Anoran said. So... what are you?” Liam asks after a minute when Louis makes no reply.

Louis can’t bring himself to look at Liam. He doesn’t want to see the disgust, or the fear, or the hatred in one of his best friend’s eyes.

“Louis.” Liam squeezes his shoulder. “It’s fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. I don’t care.”

Louis glances up at him, eyebrows pinched. “You don’t care?” he says. And there’s an undercurrent of anger inside him that he doesn’t understand.

“I mean. I was curious, but if you don’t want to talk about it...” Liam shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

But it does. Louis can’t just wave it away like that. It does matter. All his life it’s mattered. And Liam’s dismissive attitude, however well-intentioned, makes him furious. “Not even if I told you I was half Mellion?” he snaps.

Liam’s mouth falls open. “Serious?” he says after a moment.

Louis bites his bottom lip hard, fingers twisting in the sheets, the anger evaporating as quickly as it had come and being replaced by the familiar terror. He should have just taken Liam’s out. He doesn’t know what he was thinking.

Liam scratches the back of his neck. “I'd considered maybe you had some alien blood before all this. But a Mellion... wow.”

“I was conceived before they defected,” Louis clarifies quickly. Liam’s strong point isn’t history, and he wouldn’t want him thinking his mum was some sort of traitor to Earth.

Liam chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Where would your mum meet a Mellion afterwards? They're hundreds of light years away.”

Louis hums in agreement, watching Liam nervously. Liam studies Louis with a thoughtful look on his face for a few seconds that feel like minutes.

“That's quite far,” he says at last, still with that pensive frown on his face.

Louis has no idea where that came from. “Yes? But my father didn’t exactly ask for shared custody, you know?” He can’t help the breath of laughter that escape him.

Liam doesn’t smile, rather the corners of his lips pull down. “Right. ‘course not. Can I ask you a question?”

Louis eyes him warily. “Yeah...”

“Is that why you didn't get an exploration and diplomatic mission assignment?” Liam asks slowly.

Liam keeps jumping from one thing to another and Louis is having trouble following his train of thought. “What?”

“Only you always seemed interested in that. And you were at the top of every class. I thought I'd be following you to delta quadrant, you know? It was unexpected when we got this gig and that wanker James Arthur got the XF19 mission instead.”

Louis nods, expression rueful. It had all turned to nothing when he was found out, but Louis had heard the rumours that he was the top choice for that mission, too. Instructors had winked at him when mentioning it. Delving into the exotic delta quadrant of the galaxy where there was still so much to discover was a dream assignment.

Liam’s words replay in his head, and it suddenly hits him. “What do you mean follow me?” he asks, frowning in confusion.

Liam’s face relaxes into a smile, though he looks a bit sheepish.

“Did you... did you ask to serve with me?” Louis goggles at him.

Liam gives a slow nod. “There's no other captain I'd rather serve under,” he says simply.

Louis tucks a bit of hair behind his ear, and grips the back of his neck, chin to his chest. He thinks he might cry. “Still? Now that you know?” He glances up at Liam with baited breath.

“Of course. You're my friend. And my captain,” Liam says, eyes soft. Then he shrugs, matter of fact, and adds, “Who's half Mellion.”

Louis’ smile is tremulous. “Thank you. For everything. There’s no one I'd rather have as my second in command.”

They salute each other, half-jokingly, and burst into tearful laughter as they embrace.

They break apart at the sound of the doors sliding open. An ensign walks in, bearing a tray of food.

“Steve said can see your cat prince of a boyfriend after you eat,” Liam informs him with a chuckle, wiping the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand.

Louis pokes him in the side in retaliation.

While he’s eating, Liam explains how Steve had got in touch with the government officials of Dawbell through some people he had met at a party, and convinced them to deploy a unit from the city’s police force. As the lizard-hound had a tracker, it was easy to follow, and they set off shortly after Louis, Zayn, and Liam had left.

Louis recalled the uniformed people who had arrived with Steve. He’d been too distracted at the time to realise he’d seen those uniforms—white jumpsuit with a yellow and red band—before, at the docks and the connecting station. He has no idea how he can ever thank Steve for following them and showing up in time. There’s no way Harry would have made it back to the city in a hover bike, if they even managed to get out of the pit.

—

Once he’s done eating, Louis is taken to a separate room in the hospitalisation area by one of Steve’s assistants. The room is small and dominated by the hyperbaric chamber, a tubular structure with glass walls above a base with a monitor and the system controls. Running along the length of the sides of the base structure are two light bars that light up in a sequence of neon colours, which cast a faint glow inside the tube. It’s Steve’s neon cave, which hadn’t seen any actual use until now.

“Can I go inside?” Louis asks in a hushed voice, eyes on Harry drowsing in the bed inside the hyperbaric chamber.

Steve’s assistant nods. “Dr Aoki said it was fine.”

She leads him into the room, and opens the round compartment door at the end of the tubular structure. Grabbing hold of the handles at the head of the bed, she pulls it out so that Harry is out of the chamber to his knees. Louis climbs onto the bed next to Harry. It’s a tight fit, especially when the assistant slides the bed back into the chamber, so that they are encased by the glass tube. If he held himself up with his arms extended the top of his head would hit the glass.

He lies on his side pressed tight to Harry, raised up on one elbow so he can look into Harry’s face, though he’s very tempted to snuggle under his arm and rest his head on his chest instead.

But then he wouldn’t get to see the slow smile that spreads across Harry’s face when he opens his eyes a minute later.

“I love waking up and seeing your face,” Harry says, voice rough with sleep.

Louis smiles with his lips pressed together, feeling shy all of a sudden. He’s quiet as he examines Harry, from his feet raising up the sheet to his face. His arms are over the sheets and bare in the short sleeved hospital gown, so that Louis can see that all the bruises and cuts are gone. He pets his hair, brushing a few curls carefully over his shoulders, and finally meets Harry’s eyes again. “How are you?”

Harry nudges his hand with his cheek. “How do I look?” he asks with an eyebrow waggle.

Louis can’t resist stroking his cheek, soft and warm, with a reassuring flush to the skin. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Harry’s smile grows, both dimples popping out. “Not bad for someone who almost bled out, hm?”

Louis tugs on one of his curls, mouth tightening in concern. “Don’t,” he says, choked, letting his hand drop. It’s too soon to joke about how Harry might have died. Much too soon, when he’s still lying in a hospital bed.

Harry raises a hand to cups the side of Louis’ neck, long fingers burying themselves in the hair at the base of his head. “Sorry,” he says softly. “But I’m going to be fine, akenui. I’ve got two hours left in this thing, and after that I’ll be—what’s the phrase—right as rain.”

Louis releases a small breath of laughter, curling his fingers around the collar of Harry’s hospital gown. “Well, your awful sense of humour seems to be intact, in any case.”

Harry sticks out his tongue, trilling with laughter. And it feels like an age since Louis heard that sound, though it was only the morning before. It makes his chest warm and his eyes prickle a little.  “I didn’t want to get out of this neon cave, and now that you’re here I really don’t want to. Can we just stay here forever?” Harry says.

That startles a confused chuckle out of Louis. “What? How come?”

Harry heaves a breath and smooths his hand from its position on Louis’ neck down his arm, ticklish over the inside of his elbow. “This is political nightmare. I’m not looking forward to having to deal with it,” he explains. “I’m especially not looking forward to dealing with my mum. She sent word she’ll arrive in about a week... and she’s not happy.”

Louis rubs his palm over Harry’s chest soothingly. “Maybe it won’t be that bad,” he says lightly. “Liam took my mutt status better than I expected.”

Harry pinches his arm. “Don’t say it like that.” Then he raises himself up higher against the pillow, eyes wide. “You told him?”

Louis shakes his head, tucking his hand against the warm skin at the crook of Harry’s neck. “He found out.”

He tells Harry about what happened with Wootton and the delegation from Jokaimor, and about his conversation with Liam a while ago.

“Liam’s your friend, Lou,” Harry says simply when Louis is done.

“I know.” Louis ducks his head, fiddling with little curls at Harry’s nape. “Can’t say the same about Cowell. I don’t... I don’t know what’ll happen with Starfleet. I technically disobeyed orders.”

Harry tilts his chin up with a gentle hand on his jaw. “We can always elope,” he says, looking half serious about it.

Louis breaks into a grin. “Escape to a whole other quadrant?”

Harry nods. “Anywhere with you,” he says, looking at Louis with an intensity and earnestness that makes Louis feel a little overwhelmed. But it’s a good overwhelmed, a rush of warmth and positive feelings, not something that makes him want to run.

Louis leans in close, and looks at Harry in the eyes when he asks, “Can I kiss you, please?”

Harry gives him a brilliant grin, his eyes sparkling. Then he bites his lip bashfully. “Yes, please,” he says softly.

They kiss. Tentative at first, then surer, but still soft and slow. Louis is convinced they are on the same page, both seeking and giving reassurance with this kiss. The moment is intimate instead of sterile despite the hospital setting because of the shifting rainbow of colours surrounding them. And it feels right, like something has fallen into place inside Louis. He wonders if it’s what coming home feels like.

***

The days that follow are peaceful for Louis and Harry, in spite—or perhaps because—of the limbo they find themselves in. After having their statement taken by Starfleet and the Dawbell police force, they are left alone. Though forbidden from leaving the city or the planet, they are free to roam the city at their will. And in each other’s company they are able to set all worries aside and enjoy their time together.

Louis plays xylopiano for Harry, while Harry reads him some of his poetry. And they spend hours putting both together into songs for just for the two of them. There’s sightseeing, and football, and games on the holodeck—a simulated reality facility—while Starfleet makes investigations, reviews the video evidence, and gathers statements and confessions from the Anoran delegation, as well as from Ben and his cohorts. There’s even an internal investigation taking place, if what Perrie and Steve, who know a lot of people and always seem to know what’s going on, say is true.

—

And then Harry’s mother arrives.

Harry is eager to see her, because he almost died and he wants a hug from his mum. But he’s also dreading the lecture he knows is coming.

A call from his mother’s most trusted advisor wakes him up in the morning with word of her arrival.  Fifteen minutes later there’s a pair of Anoran bodyguards waiting to escort him to her room.

Queen Annehualani has brought a whole entourage with her, and a lot of security. Harry has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at her renting out a whole three floors of the hotel, but he can’t blame her. He did get poisoned and almost killed. Although it was one of their own people who did it.

When Harry is shown into the room, Anne rushes to him and immediately pulls him into a hug before Harry can get a single word out. She hugs him, pulls back with her hands on his upper arms to look into his face, shakes him hard enough to make his teeth clack, then hugs him again.

“I will never forgive you,” Anne says tearfully. She cups his face between her hands. “You could have died. You almost died!” She makes a sound of frustration and pulls him into another tight hug. “And for what?”

Harry gently disentangles himself. “For peace? Beneonahe was set on having Jokaimor go to war, mum. The union wouldn't have taken place if I hadn't come.” He breaks off with a frown, his heart sinking. In the last week with Louis he hadn’t really allowed himself to think about any of this, but now it was hitting him. “Not that... it did. But I never expected they'd try to kill me.”

He’s been aware of the opposition, had expected some political interference, but definitely not treason and attempted regicide.

“That was my fear!” Anne cries. Then heaves a sigh. “Admittedly I mistrusted the Saraghavan and humans, not our own people. How could I have been so blind?”

Harry hesitates as they move to sit on the couch. “Is that really why you didn't want me to come?”

“Hm?” Anne asks, distracted.

Harry bites his lip and runs a palm over the burnt orange velvet of the couch. “Beneonahe said you didn’t trust me to head the delegation for the union,” he says quietly.

Anne blinks at him in surprise. “Oh, darling. Do you really have to ask?” she says softly. She clucks her tongue, shaking her head, and raises a hand to stroke his cheek. “All I wanted was to keep you safe.”

Harry hadn’t realised how much that fear had been weighing on him until it was gone. He nods with a small smile. “So you do trust me?”

Anne’s smile as she looks at him is soft and full of love. “Yes.” She leans in conspiratorially. “I've actually been talking to Starfleet about restarting negotiations toward Jokaimor joining the Federation. Negotiations with more openness on our part. I suppose they deserve it. It was three humans and the human police force of Dawbell who rescued you and Niall, wasn't it?” She sounds a little rueful, but not bitter. Harry knows she doesn’t like being wrong or having her prejudices exposed.

“We should offer them a title or something,” Harry suggests.

Anne hums. “I'll consider it. But I would like to meet them and thank them personally.”

“Oh.” Harry chokes and has to clear his throat. “Yeah. All right.”

Anne narrows her eyes, peering at him suspiciously. “What? What are you hiding now?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

—

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want his mother to meet Louis. He does. But he is not looking forward to the talk that will follow. Because Harry has been... somewhat... inappropriate. The liberal manner in which he’s been scenting Louis borders on indecent in Jokaimor except among married couples. Harry has been getting away with it because no one in Dawbell can tell—except the Golgons, and a few aliens who might have cast them a knowing glance while touring the city. But his mother, who is an Anoran, will know the moment she and Louis are in the same room.

Louis, Steve and Liam are brought in to have an audience with her after lunch. Harry notices the flicker of surprise when she notices Louis’ hybrid aura, and he cringes as he watches her nostrils flare when she steps in front of Louis to do the Anoran greeting, recognizing Harry’s scent. Her eyes snap to Harry, who flushes. But she moves on to greet Steve without saying anything.

His mother is charming—a lot of people have said Harry gets his charm from her—and warm. She makes sure to show an interest in Steve’s medical research, congratulates Liam on his fighting skills and quick reflexes which had enabled him to take down the Torp guards, and thanks Louis with glistening eyes for not giving up on looking for Harry.

When the audience is over, Harry hurries to follow Louis out of the room, ignoring his mother’s raised eyebrow as he jumps out of his seat.

“Lou, are you going back to your room?” he asks, catching up with him outside in the corridor. What he really wants was to ask is if Louis will come back to his room with him.

He and Louis had spent almost every night together, although, in unspoken agreement, they had kept it chaste. Some kissing and a lot of cuddling but no sex. Harry doesn’t mind. He found he liked sleeping with Louis, and all the last week had done was reinforce his opinion that waking up to Louis’ face is the best thing in the world. But now that his mother is here, he isn’t sure if Louis is still willing to share his bed.

Louis tucks a bit of hair behind one ear, hesitant, and tugs at the bottom of his shirt in a nervous gesture Harry is familiar with by now.

Louis is technically suspended and not allowed to wear his Starfleet uniform, but he’d dressed up to meet Anne, in a red, turtleneck shirt and smart trousers. Harry likes him just as much in the soft, oversized jumpers and jeans he’s been wearing throughout the week.

“We're leaving tomorrow morning,” Louis says finally. “We can't keep the ship docked any longer.”

Harry’s stomach clenches painfully. “Oh.”

“But this isn't goodbye.” Louis’ blue eyes are wide and fixed on Harry’s with a mix of despair and determination. “Not yet.”

“Promise?” Harry whispers.

“Promise.”

—

He has a meeting with his mother and some members of the High Council so he can relate in an official capacity what had happened with Ben. They had Starfleet’s account and his recorded statement, but they wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

It takes a few hours, and after that he joins his mother for dinner.

“So that boy. Louis.”

Harry devotes rather more attention that necessary to his shrimp. “Mm?”

“He seems... nice.”

Harry looks up from his plate. “He is. He’s so sweet, and really clever and brave, and funny, and—”

Anne’s laughter is like the chiming of bells. “All that, is he?”

Harry blushes, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah... he is.”

Anne studies him as she chews on her Anoran bread. She had even brought food and cooks from Jokaimor with her. “What else is he?” she asks with an obvious attempt at nonchalance. Or obvious to Harry, at least. He’s close enough to his mother to know her tells.

“Um.” Harry doesn’t like to tell without Louis’ permission... but it’s his mum, and he’s never been good at keeping things from her. Sneaking off to Helios had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. “He’s half Mellion.”

Anne tries to keep her face neutral, but Harry catches the fleeting grimace at his words. He slams his fork down on the table, scowling. “What?”

Anne shakes her head, the gold beads in her coils of black braids catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Nothing. Only... well.” She breathes a small, embarrassed tinkle of a laugh. “I’m sorry, love. But you had to fall for the least convenient person possible: a human hybrid with blood from an enemy to the Federation you’re so keen on us joining.”

Harry makes a face, not quite finding the humour in the situation. “You always said love doesn’t have to be convenient.”

His mother’s smile is rueful. “Oh, definitely not. In fact, it’s frequently very inconvenient indeed.”

Harry pouts and pushes his food around on the plate. It doesn’t feel inconvenient. It feels right. Being with Louis... loving Louis.

Anne reaches across the table to give his hand a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Ha’ri. If it weren’t for that boy you... you wouldn’t be here. I am thankful you two met, whatever else might come of it.”

Harry nods, abstracted. He hasn’t really allowed himself to think beyond the moment when it comes to Louis. Since their first meeting Harry got swept up in the magnetic attraction and connection he felt toward him.

Even though Harry isn’t normally impulsive—he’s quick with a retort or a joke, and not averse to a spontaneous adventure—but for the things that matter he’s a thinker. An overthinker according to Niall. But falling for Louis wasn’t something he planned, or that he could have stopped even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t, because it felt right in a way it never had with anyone else before.

And he knows this is something he’s going to have to think of coming forward—because Louis is leaving and his job is on the line, and Harry still has an union to make happen, and their home planets are light years away, and—But with the future so uncertain, all he has is the present.

A last night that he’s determined to spend with Louis.

—

After dinner, he dashes to his room. intending to change and freshen up in a flash and then take a cab down to the hotel where Louis’ crew is staying and Louis has a room he hasn’t really used.

Except when he opens the door to his hotel room, he’s startled to find someone in his bed. Someone whose body has the faintest—almost imperceptible in the dark room—golden glow.

“Louis?”

“No. It’s the ghost of Christmas past.”

Harry flicks the lights on. “Niall taught me about Christmas,” he says absently. He can’t concentrate on much other than the fact that Louis is lying in his bed, his upper half bare, the duvet down past his waist.

Harry turns off the lights again.  He takes in the faint shimmer on Louis’ face and neck, running down his exposed chest. He turns the lights on, licking his lips.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, bewildered.

Harry flicks them off and on again in quick succession. “You’re—” He can feel arousal spreading through his own body,  and he takes a tentative step toward the bed.

“Waiting for you,” Louis fills in.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, blood rushing between his legs.

“Well, that’s the idea,” Louis says with a breathy, tremulous laugh, looking at him from beneath his eyelashes. “If you get over here.”

Harry stares at Louis, frozen in place for a split second. Then jolts into movement, wrenching off his clothes. He hears his silk shirt rip, and he gets tangled in his trousers, almost falling headlong, before emerging, naked, his hair a mess and face flushed.

“I'm dimming after that spectacle,” Louis teases, giggling into one of his hands.

Harry squawks indignantly and throws himself on the bed, holding himself over Louis on his hands and knees, caging him in, and kisses him, hard and eager.

Louis grips the back of Harry’s neck with an encouraging moan, tugging on his hair with both hands. His mouth tastes sweet, and his sharp teeth catch on Harry’s bottom lip: a minute, quick sting, that only makes Harry’s cock throb.

“You didn’t ask,” Louis remarks, breathless, when they break apart.

Harry laughs and bends down again to nuzzle his cheek. “Sorry.” He noses along his jaw until he reaches his ear. “Can I kiss you, Lou?” he says, letting his lips brush against his ear, and following the question with a roll of his hips, pushing down, making Louis arch up against him with a soft, surprised sound.

“You bastard,” Louis gasps, and pulls at Harry’s hair to kiss him while rutting up against him. With the duvet still between them, Harry can’t feel much, so he gives it a pull. It slips down to Louis’ hips, but Harry stops himself from giving it another tug as he remembers that he and Louis haven’t done anything since the morning he was poisoned... and this is the most Louis has done ever.

“Why’d you stop?” Louis asks, running both hands over Harry’s chest, pinching at one of his nipples. He slides down the mattress to slip  another of Harry’s nipples into his mouth, sucking on it.

“Didn’t want to... presume?” Harry replies, breath stuttering.

Louis gives his nipple a half painful tug with his teeth before answering. “I literally stole into your room and was waiting for you naked in bed. It’s not presumption, it’s logic. Hasn’t Zayn taught you anything?”

Harry flops onto his back, laughing in loud trills, holding his belly. Louis kicks off the duvet and rolls on top of him, nuzzling the crook of Harry’s neck, pressing random wet, biting kisses.

“Are you scenting me?” Harry asks, giggling, both at the action and because of the ticklish sensation.

He smooths his hands down Louis’ body from his trim waist down to his arse, giving it a squeeze, his large hands fitting perfectly. It makes Louis’ breath hiccup, body jerking so that Harry can feel the heat of his hard cock against his lower stomach.

“I want... I want everyone to know you’re mine, too,” Louis says.

“I’m yours,” Harry assures him, then rolls them so that Louis is underneath him, ignoring his squeak of protest. He holds him down against the mattress with his hands on his wrists at either side of his head. “You’re mine?” he asks hoarsely.

Louis blinks up at Harry, thick eyelashes fluttering as he tries Harry’s hold on his wrists, but makes no move to break free. “Only yours,” he replies, voice soft and breathless.

The rush at Louis’ words—at having Louis like this: shimmering gold with arousal, pliant, and hazy eyed—makes Harry almost lightheaded. He groans and dips down to nip at his chin and jaw, then down his neck. “What do you want?”

“This.” Louis’ abdominal muscles twitch when Harry lets go of his wrists to spread a hand low on his stomach. “You. Want you.”

Harry runs his hands down Louis’ sides, over his hips to the top of his thighs. “Want you so much. You have no idea, Louis,” he says as he kisses down his chest.

Louis brushes Harry’s hair out of his face, fingers briefly getting caught in the tangles, in response.

“What do you want me to do, hm?” Harry asks, voice low and rough, looking up, delighting in Louis’ hitching breath when Harry breathes on his cock.

“Anything. Everything. Please—”

Harry can feel him trembling. “I want to touch you. Taste you.”

Louis whimpers. “Yes, yes, please.”

Harry moans, bottom lip caught between his teeth, as he spreads Louis’ thighs a little, and settles between his legs. He flicks the tip of his tongue at the head of his cock, then traces the shimmering glimmer down to the base of the shaft.

It’s different to what Harry’s used to with his Anoran partners, but he finds it hot, and even more so given that it’s Louis.

He takes Louis’ cock in his mouth, easing into taking more and more each time he slides back down. Louis is tense, legs jerking spasmodically, so that Harry has to use both hands to keep him still while he sucks him.

He pulls back after a bit, when Louis pulls at his hair especially hard with a broken ‘Harry’.

Harry licks his lips, savouring the surprisingly sweet taste of Louis’ precome, and slides one of his hands to grip the inside of his thigh, fingers digging into the flesh. “Turn around, akenui?”

Louis had said he wanted everything, and Harry wants to give it to him.

Louis stares at him for a moment, lips parted, then nods and turns onto his stomach, knees up against his chest. Harry smooths a hand over the curve of his spine and palms his arse, riveted at the sight. The shimmering gold is fainter down his back, but intensifies when Harry squeezes at his arse. It’s like a thin coating of liquid glitter over his perineum and hole, and it makes Harry’s mouth water.

When he runs his tongue over his taint, Louis cries out, sounding almost shocked. Harry gives his own cock a few tugs as he starts licking at Louis’ hole in earnest, wet and messy.

“You like that?” he asks, unable to keep the smirk off his face, when he pulls back. After two minutes Louis had collapsed, head pillowed in his forearms, moaning with every ragged breath.

“Yes,” he whines after a moment, trying to push his arse back.

Harry presses a sucking kiss to the crease of his arse at the back of his thigh. “Good. Me too.” He dives back in until Louis’ breathing is choked and he’s half sobbing.

“Can I get some fingers in you?” he asks, spreading his arse cheeks to look at his wet hole.

Louis turns onto his back, breathing hard, eyes glassy. He doesn’t answer at first, reaching for one of Harry’s hands and putting their palms together. The size difference is considerable. “Fuck.” His eyes slide to Harry’s cock, which is leaking copiously.

“Your cock too if you want,” Louis says hoarsely.

Harry breathes in sharply, cock jerking. “Do you want that?” he says carefully, seriously, even though he’s so hard it hurts.

Louis pushes Harry’s hair back from his sweaty forehead with a trembling hand. “Yeah.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ knee, nodding frantically. He scrambles to get the lube from the drawer in the side of the bed structure. For that he has to turn his back briefly on Louis, who scoots up to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his back, high up near his shoulder.

It’s such a sweet gesture. And for Harry it’s clearer than ever that it’s not just about the sex with Louis. It’s definitely not just about the sex. The thought that Louis is leaving tomorrow, that there’s nothing certain about how they proceed going forward, makes him desperate. It’s too soon to say the words echoing in his head out loud, but Harry will tell Louis without them.

He turns around and pulls him into an embrace, kisses him cradling his face in one hand, the other on his hip. Louis smiles into the kiss and runs a palm up Harry’s thigh to the crease of his groin, knuckles brushing against the base of his cock.

“Lie back,” Harry murmurs, pushing at him slightly.

Louis immediately does so, resting back against the pillows while Harry pours some lube onto his fingers. To Harry’s surprise and arousal, he spreads his legs without prompting for Harry to fit between them.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry reaches for the duvet and bunches it up underneath Louis’ lower back, raising his pelvis a little. He rolls Louis’ balls in his hand, then teases at his hole with two slick fingers. “I can’t believe I get to do this.”

Louis’ legs shake when Harry traces the rim of his hole before pushing in one finger. “I can’t believe I get to do this,” he says, voice wobbly. “Thought I’d never—” He breaks off with a whimper when Harry curls his finger as he draws out.

Harry shakes his head, and though a part of him bristles at the thought, he has to say it. “You would have found someone, Lou. Someone you could trust, to do this with you.”

Louis grips his wrist loosely and guides Harry’s hand back between his legs. “I’m glad it’s you.” His breath hitches when Harry pushes two fingers inside him. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Harry groans, overwhelmed: at Louis tight and hot around his fingers, at the thought of him being the only one who’s touched him like this, of Louis not wanting anyone else.

He gets onto his knees, leaning in so he can kiss him. “Louis.” He can’t say anything but his name, or else he’ll slip and tell him that he’s perfect and the most precious thing Harry has ever encountered. That he’s absurdly, ridiculously in love with him.

He takes his time fingering Louis, stretching him, careful and deliberate, making him tremble. Until Louis’ head is thrown back, his high pitched moans almost whines, rolling his hips following the movement of Harry’s hand. His cock curves over his belly, leaking and shimmering. “Harry, please.”

Harry is careful as he lets his fingers slip out, but he can’t resist bending down to lap at the precome on Louis’ cock.

Louis jerks and whimpers.

Harry shushes him softly and slicks up his cock, giving himself a firm squeeze at the base and taking a deep, calming breath. “Ready?” he asks, guiding Louis’ legs high around his waist and positioning himself, cock head nudging at his wet hole.

Louis shoots him a glare through bleary eyes, and kicks him with his heel on his back, even as he grasps at Harry’s sides, trying to draw him closer.

Harry holds him, a hand spread on his waist, as he guides his cock inside, slowly. When he’s halfway in he looks up and meets Louis’ eyes. Neither of them look away as Harry pushes all the way inside.

“Oh my God,” Louis cries out when Harry bottoms out. “Holy shit. Fuck.”

Half wincing at the tight, wet heat around his cock, Harry can’t help but laugh, struggling not to come. “Is that good?”

Louis clutches at his shoulders, panting. “I—It’s—” he gasps. “You’re so—”

Harry’s mouth curls, and he grabs Louis’ hips and slowly eases out a little, before pushing back in. Louis whimpers, short nails digging into Harry’s shoulders.

Harry does it again, and again, slowly easing into a rhythm. “Tell me if it’s good, Lou,” he begs, nudging Louis’ wrist with his chin.

Louis’ grip on his shoulder slips, and he goes limp, hand dropping onto the bed, moaning high in his throat.

“Lou,” Harry insists. He finds Louis’ wrists and pins them above his head. He holds the position, bodies pressed together, and works his hips fast, barely pulling out. He nuzzles the crook of Louis’ neck, panting wetly. “Louis, akenui, tell me—” he tries again.

“‘s good. So good. Fuck, Harry.” Louis cries out and Harry feels him spill between them, going tight around his cock.

Harry moans, long and low, holding himself still as Louis’ hole spasms, Louis making soft, wounded noises. Then he pushes himself up to his knees, and makes to pull out, but Louis tightens his legs around him. It’s weak, but a clear message.

“Want everything,” he murmurs, breathless.

Harry leans down to kiss him, sloppy, even as he starts thrusting again. “This isn’t the last time,” he says vehemently, pulling back to look into Louis’ face. “It’s... not.” He falters, upper lip snarling at his impending orgasm.

“Promise?” Louis whispers, fucked out and beautiful beneath him, arms still over his head.

Harry clenches his jaw, grunting as he comes, jerking, inside Louis. “Promise.”

After a few seconds, he pulls out carefully and flops onto the bed on his stomach next to Louis, arm thrown around his waist. Louis shuffles closer and kisses the top of his head. He’s still for a couple of minutes, then he starts squirming.

“Oh, I regret this,” Louis says after a moment. Despite the levity in his voice, Harry’s head snaps up in concern. He rolls onto his side, eyebrows furrowed.

Louis giggles, shoulders hunched, and buries his face in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. “I meant… you come a lot.”

“Oh.” A rush of heat travels down Harry’s body, and his hand slips down the curve of Louis’ spine and between his arse cheeks almost of its own volition. Louis exhales shakily at the touch of Harry’s fingers against his hole and the back of his thighs.

Louis squirms and Harry retracts his hand, wiping his fingers on the bed sheet. “Sorry.”

Louis tilts Harry’s chin up with a hand on his jaw and pecks his lips. “I’m not. But now you get to change the sheets while I clean up.” He’s out of bed before Harry can react.

He watches Louis waddle to the en suite, the faintest lingering glow in his buttocks, and the back of his thighs stained blue from Harry’s come dripping out of him.

“Fuck.” Harry presses the heel of his palm against his cock, takes a deep, calming breath, and gets up to change the bed.

—

After they’ve both cleaned up they snuggle up together on the freshly made bed. Lying side by side, facing each other. Louis cups Harry’s face, and Harry takes his time admiring every bit of him: his thick, long eyelashes, the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows, his long, thin lips... When he meets Louis’ eyes he thinks he can see some of the same feeling that fills his chest reflected there.

They both break into smiles at the same time, and breathe out shy giggles.

“So, did you like it?” Harry asks softly.

Louis rolls his eyes. “No, Harry, it was terrible. I was so disappointed, couldn’t you tell?”

Harry pouts and proceeds to tickle him mercilessly, ignoring Louis’ giggling protests. “Just making sure,” he argues.

He finds Louis’ wrists, where he can see a faint impression of his fingers, and presses kisses to the thin skin there. He’d been careful, even more than the first time, but Louis still feels delicate to him.

“It was perfect,” Louis says, and kisses him, so soft and gentle that Harry almost wants to cry.

But with Louis scratching at his scalp and stroking his hair, Harry soon finds himself dozing off. He keeps forcing himself to stay awake, startling as he slips in and out of a drowse.

Louis thumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Why won’t you let yourself fall asleep?” he whispers.

“Don’t want to stop looking at you,” Harry whines, feeling groggy. “Being with you.”

Louis just looks at him, his face full of fondness, and keeps stroking his hair, until Harry can barely keep his eyes open.

“If you sleep, you can wake up to my face.” He hears Louis say, quiet and far away.

“Promise?” Harry mumbles.

He doesn’t hear Louis’ answer.

***

When Harry wakes up, it’s to an empty bed.

He gropes around, head still buried in his pillow, but the sheets are cool, no lingering warmth from Louis’ body. He sits up, looking around the room with his hearts pounding and an uncomfortable lump in his throat. In the weak morning sunlight filtering in through the windows, it’s obvious that Louis is gone.

Louis is gone. Gone without saying goodbye. And Harry never should have fallen asleep, never should have wasted a moment of the time he had with him.

He hangs his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting of imminent tears. Then he throws himself back against the pillows, fighting back sobs. He grabs a pillow and smothers a scream into it before he starts crying.

Chapter Text

Louis stares moodily out at the great expanse of space, having dragged the chair right up to the window. He sits with his knees up to his chest and his hands tucked under his armpits, the sleeves of his black undershirt pulled down past his knuckles.

He’s been hiding out in the observation lounge again, because spending all his time in his room makes him feel like he might as well be in the brig. And he isn’t under arrest, is actually free to roam the ship—except for the main bridge. But he has little desire to leave the quiet solitude of the observation lounge. He’s uncomfortable standing out in his civilian clothes among the crew, and whenever he goes down to the mess hall he has to deal with either curious glances or questions about what had happened with Harry.

All the crew knows is that Louis is suspended for disobeying orders, Perrie appointed as captain of The Rogue for the return journey. Nothing about his heritage had leaked, thankfully. However, Harry’s abduction and attempted murder were public knowledge—though accredited to a rogue, treacherous Anoran, making no mention of any political dissension in Jokaimor. And Starfleet had recognized Steve and Liam’s role in Harry’s rescue.

But, although no news source mentioned Louis by name, images of him rushing to an injured Harry’s side had been broadcast, so that it was no secret to the crew that Louis had been involved in the whole thing.

For the most part Louis has received nothing but support from the crew regarding his suspension, setting aside their tactless curiosity. But he still isn’t in the mood to mingle. Not just because he’s worried about his future with Starfleet, but because of Harry.

Louis hadn’t wanted to leave Harry like he’d done. But he couldn’t bear a painful farewell where they would end up making promises neither of them were in any position to make or keep.

Being with Harry had been incredible. Every moment. Including that last night together. But now it was over.

And the pain of that loss is too raw for Louis to be around people who are happy to be going home while he feels like he’s leaving home behind.

*

Harry does up the last pearl button on his jacket. When he glances at himself in the mirror he sees Niall standing a few feet behind him, watching him. Before Niall can catch his eye, Harry looks down to dig through his pink wood jewellery box, carefully selecting the proper rings to match the midnight blue jacket he’s wearing. He slips a ring onto every finger except one.

“What’s that about?” Niall asks, straightforward as always.

Harry meets Niall’s eyes in the mirror. “My turquoise ring is missing.”

Niall cackles. “You’re kidding? Security really is lax around here. Not enough you almost got poisoned, you also got robbed?”

Harry blushes and busies himself closing the jewellery box’s four drawers, picking out a simple silver hair chain before closing the two side doors. “I think Louis took it,” he says quietly.

Niall stops laughing abruptly. “Oh.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back in a wave from his forehead and adjusting the silver chain over his curls. “Yeah...”

“That has to mean something, though. Right?”

Harry heaves a sigh and shrugs. He misses Louis more than he had even expected, although it had been less than a week. The ache of his absence was bad enough, but it was made worse by the fact that Harry has nothing of Louis’ to attach to his memory. Louis might have taken Harry’s turquoise ring, but Harry has nothing but memories.

“He probably thought it’d be easier, mate. Didn’t want to... drag it out...” Niall says when the silence draws out. He knows how upset Harry is about Louis leaving without saying goodbye.

Harry nods. He’s still upset, but when he thinks about having to let Louis slip out of his arms in the morning, how it would have hurt to watch him walk out of his life, he understands why Louis left like he did. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It was probably for the best.”

Niall goes over to him and links their arms together. “Come on. Your entourage awaits, my liege,” he says jokingly.

Harry rolls his eyes, but has to hold back a smile. “Keep that up and I’ll demote you.”

Niall laughs as he opens the door for them.

Niall is right, though. The original delegation is apologetic and abashed about having Ben in their midst and letting themselves be fooled, and are overcompensating for their guilt by fawning over Harry and following his lead without complaint.

While he appreciates how this speeds up the process for Jokaimor’s union to the Federation, it’s still a disconcerting contrast from the contempt he had been met with before. And their fluctuating allegiances make Harry uncomfortable, after struggling for so long with doubts about his ability to gain his people’s loyalty and respect. The whole situation has afforded him the opportunity to do both, while at the same time revealing just how little these are worth when they are subject to a price and dependent on private interests.

Something has shifted inside Harry, pieces shaken up and revealing a hole, an emptiness, that public service can’t fill.

*

Louis lingers for a bit at the docks,  taking a walk around the star ship that’s housed him for the last eighteen months, and which he named and captained. He has no idea if he will ever get on a space ship again as anything more than a passenger at this point.

In spite of the humdrum he had experienced throughout the assignment, his heart is in his throat as he bids The Rogue farewell. The terror at what the future will bring, with Cowell and Jones working against him, doesn’t help to calm him down.

“Want to take a picture?”

Louis startles at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks after clearing his throat when his voice comes out choked up.

“You can’t walk out on everyone without saying goodbye, Louis,” Steve replies, gentle but firm.

The corners of Louis’ mouth twist downwards. “It’s better like this,” he mutters.

Steve hums, noncommittal. “When’s your trial?”

Louis releases his breath in a whoosh. “In a week.”

Steve had received a slap on the wrist because of his previous involvement with Louis, but not a formal reprimand. And Liam had turned down an offer to be decorated. Technically it was only Louis who had disobeyed a direct order. Under the circumstances, if it were anyone else, he would have got away with it. But Louis stepping out of line is seen as tantamount to treason.

Steve slings an arm around his shoulders. “Whatever happens. I’ve got your back. We can… rent our own ship and go rogue.”

Louis chuckles. “Space pirates?”

Steve throws his head back, laughing. “Why not.”

Louis leans into Steve’s embrace. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

Steve shakes his head, giving him a squeeze. He keeps his arm around him as they start walking toward the exit. “Are you going to tell your mum?”

“Hm? About the trial?” Louis scrunches up his nose. “I think I'll wait till I have the verdict. No use in her stressing about it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I meant about Harry.”

Louis falters. “Oh. I... I don't know.”

A part of him wants to tell his mum, for sure. He wants to tell her about the full spectrum of emotions he’d gone through with Harry, and everything he had brought to Louis’ life. But he wants to share Harry with her, not the memory of him. He wants to share the discovery, not the loss.

He’s not sure if he can handle discussing the loss yet.

*

Harry holds the pen so tightly he fears it might break, but if he doesn’t the shaking of his hand will be too obvious. And there are almost a hundred people watching him from all sides. Different representatives from planets all across the galaxy, even a few from new additions from the delta quadrant, in ceremonial uniforms and smart outfits, positioned around a huge, round table. White sunlight streams in through the high glass ceiling, so bright that Harry has to squint to be able to see.

He glances back at his mum, standing some distance back, looking beautiful and imposing in a silk green gown. She nods and smiles at him, and Harry turns back to the paper in front of him.

The signing is purely ceremonial—all the provisions and details of the union digitalised. But it is customary to sign in ink and preserve a copy as a quaint memento.
Harry takes a deep breath and scrawls his signature, his hand finally steady. A round of applause and assorted alien sounds of cheering and congratulations follow.

“Welcome to the United Federation of Planets.” The President of the UFP performs the traditional Anoran greeting and shakes his hand, as do the councilors of the founding planets of the Federation.

Harry can’t believe it’s done: Jokaimor is officially a part of the United Federation of Planets. His mother had given him free reign, giving her approbation when needed, but letting him do most of the work. With Niall and Zayn at his side, and the diplomatic delegation following his lead, they had secured the union to the Federation, in a position of greater trust and communication.

When he looks around the room in a daze, he catches sight of the Saraghavan representative a few seats down. Harry gulps and inclines his head respectfully, and the Saraghavan does the same, offering their people’s own traditional salute drawing a cross over her face with two clawed fingers.

Harry allows himself to smile, breathing out shakily, overwhelmed and giddy from the weight off his shoulders: there will be peace. Even though a healthy relationship between Jokaimor and the Federation, and especially with the Saraghavan, needs to be fostered and protected, they are on the right path.

—

“You did it.” Niall finds Harry hiding outside after having ducked out of the celebratory dinner.

Harry leans against the metal and glass railing of the balcony, looking out at the velvet darkness of the rock desert in the distance, beyond the sea of lights of the city around them. “It wasn’t just me. Lots of people, including you, were involved.”

Niall rolls his eyes and, coming to stand next to Harry, gives his shoulder a shove. “Mostly you.”

The night air is refreshing, and even with the faint noise of the celebration taking place inside, it feels peaceful. Harry savours the feeling.

“When are you going to tell your mum?” Nialls asks all of a sudden.

“Tomorrow, I guess. No use in delaying it.” Harry drums his long fingers on the balustrade, his rings flashing as they catch the light. There is still that notable absence on his fourth finger on his left hand. It doesn’t mean anything in Jokaimor, but Harry remembers when Niall told him about marriage practices on Earth. It’s a small gesture, but one that helps Harry keep that connection with Louis despite the distance between them without raising questions.

Niall gives a low whistle. “She’s not going to be happy.”

Harry chuckles weakly. “Probably not.” But whatever his mum’s reaction he is determined.

Niall peers into his face with a small frown. “But it’s what’s going to make you happy?” he asks, all careful earnestness and concern.

A smile spreads on Harry’s face. “Yeah. It is.”

He’s had doubts about many things throughout his life, but he’s sure about this.

*

The week in Doncaster is peaceful, if not quite restful in a house full of teenagers and a pair of toddlers. But Louis welcomes spending time with his family. He takes Lottie out for a pint to celebrate her coming of age that he'd missed, and forms an instant bond with the babies even though he’s meeting them for the first time. His mum catches him up on all the neighbourhood and hospital gossip, and cooks all his favourite dishes for him.

It’s almost enough to make him forget about the trial, his mind mercifully blanking out at any thought of it. But it’s not enough to forget about Harry, no matter how much he tries to push back the heartache of his absence.

However, all too soon it’s his last afternoon before he’s due to go back to San Francisco for his trial at Starfleet HQ.

Louis kisses Doris’ forehead as he sets her down in the crib for a nap, smiling when he has to uncurl her fingers from around two of his own. He leans down to press a kiss to Ernest’s nose, and watches them ease into sleep with a soft smile on his face.

“I can take it, you know?” His mum speaks up all of a sudden, her voice quiet. But there’s an edge of pain in it that makes Louis look up, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“What?”

“All of it. Whatever happened to you. You can tell me.”

Louis falters, and follows his mum out of the nursery with his stomach in knots. Jay leads them down to the kitchen, and Louis doesn’t need to be told to take a seat at the table.

Jay doesn’t sit down immediately. After a glance at the clock, she walks over to the refrigerator first and pulls out a bottle of Louis’ sugar water. It’s obvious she hasn’t forgotten what Louis had told her about Steve’s assessment of his metabolic requirements. Louis suspects she feels guilty, thinking she hadn’t known how to take care of him properly as a child.

She sets the bottle in front of him before taking a seat next to Louis but at the end of the table.

Louis dutifully takes a sip, then fiddles with the bottle, rubbing his thumb over the smooth, cool surface of it, while he waits for his mum to speak.

Jay watches him for a long moment, her face soft and pensive. Then she reaches across the table, holding her hand out to him.

Louis takes her hand, smiling slightly. “What’s going on, mum?” he asks finally.

Jay brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “My baby. It was always you and me. For so long just you and me.”

Louis scoots closer, the metal legs of the chair scraping the tiled floor. “Are you pregnant again?” he asks jokingly.

Jay breathes out a snorting laugh. “No. No, I think I’m quite done.”

Louis squeezes her hand, encouraging. “It’s not just you and me anymore.”

“No,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no ‘you and me’ anymore, either.”

“I know, mum.”

“Do you? Because you… you got so closed off all of a sudden, Louis. Right before you left for space. And if you’ve found other people to open up to, then that's wonderful, darling. But I’m your mum, and I can tell something’s bothering you. And I’m worried you're all alone when you don't have to be because I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you.”

“Mum.” Louis hurries out of his chair to kneel at her feet, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks even as tears spill down his own face. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close. Louis rests his head on her soft chest and closes his eyes to listen to her heartbeat, feeling like a child again.

“My perfect baby boy,” Jay murmurs, stroking his hair.

Louis burrows even closer, shaking his head with a faint, wet chuckle. “You’re the only one who would say that.”

Jay shushes him. “You’re absolutely perfect. I don't care what anyone else says, they're wrong.”

Louis finds himself giggling between sniffles. And he can’t help but remember what she used to tell him as a child whenever he felt bad for going to her when he felt sad: that the pain of a burden shared was halved. Louis had thought that he could spare her pain by keeping it all to himself, but it hadn’t worked like that at all. She had been suffering with him all this time, and by closing himself off all he had done was deprive them both of comfort.

He pulls back so he can look into her face. “I... I think I... found someone who might agree with you, actually.”

A bright smile spreads on Jay’s face. “Tell me all about him.”

Then her eyes widen. “Is it Liam?” she asks excitedly.

Louis snorts, wincing at the sting in his knees as he stands up. “No, mum. No.”

Jay laughs and Louis smiles as he sits down in the chair again. “But Liam’s… pretty great, too.”

He tells her everything. Some parts are hard—Jay stiffens and grips his hand so tight it hurts when Louis tells her about the science officer who had denounced him to Starfleet—but it’s a weight off his shoulders. And though it doesn’t erase all the pain or fear, it helps.

“So I don’t know what’s going to happen now.” The bit of sugar water left at the bottom of the bottle has long gone warm, but Louis holds onto the bottle as some kind of anchor. “This assignment was the most they were willing to give me then, and Simon already threatened me with taking it all away.”

Jay studies him. “I think you had it right from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Rogue. If Starfleet can’t give you what you want, what you deserve, then to hell with them!” she says, slapping a hand on the table.

Louis puts a hand to his chest in mocking, though somewhat genuine, surprise at his mum cursing. “Mother.”

Jay bites back laughter. “I’m serious, love. There’s more out there than Starfleet. Private charters and exploration missions funded by other organisations...”

Louis shakes his head. “Mum. You’re forgetting. Simon said they’d spread the word about me. And who’s going to want to hire a half-breed Mellion to captain their space ship?”

Jay frowns. “Don’t call yourself that,” she says sharply. Then she sighs. “I don’t know. But, darling, you’re not happy with how things are now. And if they aren’t going to change... What have you got to lose?”

Louis stares at her in shock. The whole of his childhood he’d had his mother reminding him of the possible consequences of discovery to urge caution in him.

Jay scrubs a hand over her face, expression grave. “When you were little I was scared, I admit it. And I passed all that fear onto you, and I’m so sorry, love.” She reaches across the table again for his hands. “But thing were different then. There are some people who will look down on you for being who you are, but not everyone. And you’re not alone, baby. You’ve got me. And Steve, and Liam... And an alien prince who seems to be head over heels for you.”

Louis’ lips twitch at the last part, but he has trouble swallowing with the lump in his throat. “It’s scary,” he whispers.

Jay gives his hands a squeeze. “I know, darling. But you’re so brave, Louis. And we’ve got your back, love, whatever happens.”

*

Louis travels back to California with a persistent low grade nausea, but underneath the anxious response of his body there’s a newfound tranquility. The talk with his mum had broadened his horizons and prompted a shift in perspective.

What Louis had always craved was an escape. And he’d seen Starfleet as the only route toward that escape. But he was wrong. Starfleet had the potential to be everything he dreamed of for himself, but it had been far from it. And maybe it was time to consider other dreams.

Opening up to Harry and Liam had shown him that the world is bigger than he thought. That people are bigger than he thought. Of course there are a lot of people like Simon and his friends, but Louis is so tired to making himself small and having to hide. He has no idea what the future will bring for him outside of Starfleet, but he won’t keep losing pieces of himself to fit into a box. There’s a freedom within himself that’s more important than any semblance of freedom Starfleet has been willing to offer him until now.

—

Once at Starfleet headquarters, Louis is made to wait alone outside the audience chamber in an echoing hall, spacious and cool. It’s open to the campus grounds, and Louis can see students milling about the concrete paths and lounging in the patches of green grass in the summer sun.

He remembers his days at the academy, full of hope and excitement. Though not without fear, there had been a balance, which had been upset after he had been exposed to the board and what was essentially a death sentence on his career passed. After so long without hope, overwhelmed by fear, he’s come around again. Not quite as hopeful, but not quite as fearful, either.

After a few minutes that feel like a lifetime, he is ushered inside by an aide, and led to a pulpit in the pit of the amphitheater. He feels small and alone, and for a split second he’s back at that first humiliating, crushing council meeting, even though it took place almost two years ago.

The main board of Starfleet Academy, as well as several members of different relevant Starfleet branches and divisions, are present. Louis recognizes the Head of Tactical, Admiral Azoff, as well as the Head of the Department of Internal Affairs, Admiral Corden, who had vouched for him the last time. He can also make out Cowell, Jones, and Wootton among the aides.

Louis’ jaw clenches, and he tilts his chin up and rests clasped hands on top of the stand.

A buzzer goes off and the Judge Advocate General, Stephanie Soterou, gives start to trial.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Louis is interrogated on the events since receiving the false transmission with orders to let Harry on board. There are scoffs and snide comments from Cowell and Jones about Louis falling for such a crude falsification when the video, extracted from the ship’s archives, is shown. He’s also asked to give a brief account of their voyage, which is quite straightforward when he omits any mention of his direct interactions with Harry. However, it doesn’t prevent the question that Louis was expecting, but dreading: ‘what is the nature of your relationship with Prince Ha’rialualaha of Jokaimor?'

Louis plays with Harry’s turquoise ring as he searches for the right words. He has to wear the ring on his thumb so that it won’t slip off, but it’s comforting, having that little piece of Harry with him. He really hopes Harry wasn’t mad when he found it missing. “Um. Mutual respect and... appreciation.”

Cowell’s nose wrinkles, and to Louis’ mortification, there are whispers and raised eyebrows. Then Azoff waves a dismissive, impatient hand, and the proceedings continue.

Finally, after two hours, when Louis is almost at the point of swallowing his pride and asking for a chair, Jones stands up to give his final address.

“Director Cowell explicitly instructed you, not once, but twice, to not get involved. Yet you went ahead and contacted the Jokaimor delegation, without regard to the possible consequences this could have on a diplomatic level, and then somehow arranged to have the Golgons allow you use of their sacred lizard-hounds while your pal and enabler, Aoki, demanded the Dawbell government to supply a rescue crew for you and your friends, at considerable expense and embarrassment to Starfleet. In summary, blatant disregard for authority, for maintaining the good name of Starfleet, to pursue personal ends. All in all an egregious offence and one for which strict punishment is due.”

Corden looks chagrined as Jones sits down, pompous and self-satisfied. “The jury will convene and reach a verdict.” He addresses Louis with a shadow of an encouraging smile. “Is there anything you would like to say in your defence as a closing statement?”

And this is it. Louis can make excuses for himself. After all, the bias in Jones’ summary is transparent. But in the end, they have heard and viewed the evidence, there is ample proof and documented reasons for his actions. He’s not on trial for going against a superior’s orders. He’s here for the reason that motivated that order in the first place.

Louis remains silent for a long moment, his gaze locked on his hands. He thinks about Harry. And Steve. And Liam. And his mum. And himself.

Louis straightens his back and lifts his head, looking up at the jury in the stands above him. “Let’s address the real reason I’m here, shall we? It’s not because I disregarded an order not to get involved—an order which, had I complied, would have resulted in the death of the prince of Jokaimor.”

Louis doesn’t lower his gaze despite the obvious hostility in Cowell and Jones’ faces.

“I’m here because my very existence is viewed as a threat. But who my father is, my blood, does not determine who I am. Who I can become. I’ve been punished by Starfleet for something I have no control over.” Louis frowns, not quite raising his voice, but speaking a little more forcefully. “But which also has no control over me. Not in what matters. In what I believe in and the values I swore to uphold and protect, just like everybody else in Starfleet. I was never given a chance to prove myself. Never given the same opportunities as others who had done no better than me at the academy. And I—”

Louis releases a long breath, shaking his head. When he speaks it’s in a calm, resolute voice. “I don’t deserve to be hidden away. I’m not a liability. I’m not a mistake. I have a right to exist, and to be afforded the same rights as all living beings. I have a right to be treated fairly. And... if Starfleet won’t see that... then I quit.”

The last bit comes out quieter than the rest, but he stands firm. His heart is pounding, and he’s holding his hands together so tight it hurts, the ring digging into the flesh. But he doesn’t take it back—doesn’t want to take it back.

A hush descends over the room.

Corden makes no secret of his shock. Azoff is hard to read, but his eyes are fixed on Louis. Simon is frozen with his mouth twisted in a grimace, while Jones’ face is contorted in anger.

Judge Soterou inclines her head at him when their eyes meet. She rises to her feet to address Louis. “If you’ll wait outside while the jury deliberates, please.”

A usher escorts Louis out to the hall again. The wait feels interminable as he sucks on a couple of glucose tablets, twisting Harry’s ring over and over until he’s called back inside.

Azoff stands up to speak. He clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his nose. “After reviewing the evidence, and past actions, one thing has become very clear to me: we were wrong. We were wrong in allowing prejudice and the desire to maintain an unfair status quo to take precedence over fairness and progress. Starfleet was built on ideals of justice, equality, inclusivity, and the idea that any living being has infinite potential. We  betrayed what we stand for when we declared you unfit for the exploration and diplomacy mission on the sole basis of your heritage. And your actions on Helios were nothing short of heroic, born from necessity and a desire to protect. As such, they should be celebrated and rewarded, not condemned.”

Louis stands frozen in place, mind reeling.

Azoff sits and Corden rises to his feet to deliver the final verdict. “It is the decision of this jury that you be awarded a Medal of Honour for your actions in Dawbell. And we would like to offer you the position of captain of one of the five starships on mission SBB28.”

Louis’ mouth falls open, and he looks around, half expecting someone to jump out and declare it all a joke. “What about... all the reasons you first had not to give me those missions? I don’t—” He gulps and takes a deep breath. “I refuse to lie to my crew anymore. I won’t... hide.”

Louis had been terrified of having his records made public like Simon had threatened. And no one has any right to put him in that position, but he’s come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to hide anymore. His choice.

“If anyone is uncomfortable serving under a decorated captain on a major exploratory mission. Then they should be asking themselves why, and sort out their priorities,” Corden says firmly.

“We are the ones who have to set an example. Starfleet supports you, and expects nothing less of its members,” Soterou adds.

Louis is torn between wanting to cry and bursting into delighted laughter. It’s a lot to wrap his head around.

“Well, do you accept?” Azoff asks, not unkindly.

Louis glances at Simon and Jones, who avoid catching his eye, their faces sour, and he almost laughs. A captain on an exploration mission, it’s a dream come true.

A beam of sunlight shines in through the ceiling windows, warm and bright, and Louis can’t help but smile.

***

Louis stands less than a foot from the glass window, hands in front of his chest, twisting his fingers in a nervous gesture. The observation deck is high above the working level, allowing a panoramic view of the star ship in the dock as it is built or undergoes repairs or maintenance. Before leaving on his last mission, Louis hadn’t been invited up to the San Francisco Yards— Starfleet’s biggest space dock installations—to watch the maintenance progress on his assigned ship. This time around, however, Louis has been up to the dock almost every day.

And yet he still can’t quite wrap his head around the ship in front of him being soon under his command, on a mission to deep space. It’s a much larger ship than The Rogue, which was a Durance Class cargo ship. This new ship is a Galaxy Class cruiser, a space exploration vessel, which comes with a crew almost ten times larger than Louis is used to dealing with.

“Changed your mind?” He startles at Liam’s voice behind him. The observation deck is a long balconied platform with a perforated metal floor on which every one of Liam’s footsteps as he comes to stand next to Louis rings out. But there is enough movement and noise going on around them, and enough going on in Louis’ head as well, that he didn’t hear him approach.

“No.” Louis clears his throat. “Just… lots of new people…”

Liam nudges his elbow. “Enough old people to keep them in line if anyone gets stupid.”

Louis gives him a skeptical, amused look. But he appreciates the sentiment; knowing that some of the crew have his back is comforting.

“Besides,” Liam goes on. “Everyone wants to serve under Captain Tomlinson, haven’t you heard?”

Louis does a double take at that. “What?”

Liam chuckles. “Yeah. You’re a pretty big deal.”

Louis shakes his head with an incredulous breath of laughter. “I think I’ll settle for not being mutinied.”

Liam raises an eyebrow, his face set in an exaggerated menacing expression. “Let anyone try.” He holds the pretense for a few seconds, then his face relaxes into a smile. “So what are you going to call her?” he asks after a moment, casually.

Louis worries his bottom lip, turning back to look out at the star ship. “I haven’t decided yet,” he says truthfully. He has several names going through his mind, but can’t settle on one.

He doesn’t realize that he’s fidgeting with Harry’s ring until he notices Liam staring at his hands. He stops, but the movement is abrupt and only calls more attention to what he was doing.

Liam looks at him with a sympathetic, rueful expression, but doesn’t say anything, instead throwing an arm over his shoulder and pulling him close.

The problem is that time apart hasn’t made him miss Harry any less, quite the opposite. Whatever illusions he had entertained that the connection between them was a passing thing were proven to be false, through and through. Louis missed Harry’s laugh, his voice, his smile and eyes, his hands, his touch… his smell. Although Louis can’t tell, he knows that by now Harry’s scent must be gone from him. And the knowledge leaves him oddly bereft.

“You had to go and fall for an alien prince,” Liam says suddenly with an exasperated sigh. “You couldn’t fall for an average human ensign… though I think that would be against regulations, so it’s not much of an improvement.”

Louis gives a small huff of laughter, and Liam perseveres.“What about that Bajoran captain, though?” he says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “He was into you.”

Louis scrunches up his nose. “Not really my type.”

Liam raises his eyebrows comically. “Really?”

Louis rolls his eyes, amused at Liam’s shock. “Really.”

Ozo has been handsome, and companionable, but with Harry right there it had been like comparing a match to a bonfire.

“What’s your type then?” Liam insists. “I’m sure we can find you someone.”

Louis shoots him an unimpressed look, then ducks out from under his arm. “You need to get over your obsession with my dating life, mate.”

“I just don’t want you to be lonely,” Liam says with a pout.

“Thanks, Liam. Really, I appreciate it. But—”

Liam studies him with a small frown. “But your type is Harry.”

Louis ducks his head, blushing. For a minute neither of them speak, Louis pretending to be fascinated by the floor and Liam shuffling in place awkwardly.

“I heard they finalized the union with Jokaimor.”

“Mhm.”

Louis had heard the news, too. He'd hoped Harry would get in touch, and excused the fact that he hadn’t before with him being busy with the union. But he hadn’t. And when Louis had gathered his courage and arranged a transmission to the hotel, he was told the prince was no longer there. Which made sense. He had probably returned to his home planet and his life in which there was no room for Louis.

“So what now?” Liam asks carefully.

Louis contemplates the ring on his finger for a long moment, then looks up at Liam, shrugging. “Deep space exploration.”

“He might still show up.”

Louis gives him a rueful smile. Harry seems to have moved on, and Louis will have to learn to do the same. “Then he better hurry. We leave tomorrow.”

***

Niall squints in the bright sunlight, his whole face scrunched up. “This place is huge. No way we’re going to just bump into him.”

Harry scans the campus around him through his tinted glasses, which have a white frame and large, oval lenses. Starfleet’s headquarters in San Francisco consist of a series of buildings separated by sprawling stretches of green grass and connected by concrete paths on ground level and overhead bridges.

He doesn’t even know if Louis is still in San Francisco, or even on Earth, really. All he’d been able to ascertain from Jokaimor was that one Louis William Tomlinson remained in Starfleet’s captains register. This was his best lead to find Louis since communicator signal frequencies were different from one planet to another, which made it impossible to reach him.

“May I suggest inquiring at the Administration Department?” Zayn says, pointing down a path toward a squat, cement and glass building.

—

The reception area of the building has a long, white counter against the back wall which is a floor to ceiling frosted glass window. There are several people working behind the counter, and a small queue. Harry sidles up to the receptionist at the end of the counter, holding his palms together with an apologetic, ingratiating smile at the person he just cut in the queue.

He leans against the high counter, resting his crossed forearms on the countertop and shooting the Andorian receptionist a winsome grin, sunglasses perched atop his head, before launching into his request.

“Captain Louis Tomlinson?” The receptionist repeats after Harry, clearly recognizing the name.

“Yes. he's still in Starfleet, right?” Harry prompts.

“He is. And we're very proud of him.”

Harry’s eyebrows dip in confusion at her almost belligerent tone. “Right. Good? You should be.”

“Hm.”

“Could you maybe tell me where to find him?” he asks when she volunteers no further information. “Is he in the city?”

The receptionists studies him through narrowed eyes, her antenna vibrating, for a long moment. But he seems to pass the test, because she stops scowling. “He's here, yeah. But not for long.” She checks the time and bites her lip, almost apologetic. “Darcy should be leaving right about now.”

Harry doesn't let himself think about the name of the ship, focused on the fact that it's leaving. “What?” Harry gasps. “Where?”

“Hangar 19. But... you're going to have to run.”

—

His boots aren’t made for running. Every step rings out as he runs, pounding along the metal platform. He can hear Niall and Zayn some distance behind him, but Harry is focused on getting where he needs to go. Every moment waiting for the shuttle to take them up to the low orbiting docks had been agonizing, and Harry isn’t sure if he’s even made it on time.

He’s been running for ten minutes, watching the numbers go up: 15, 16, 17, each hangar connected to the main platform housing a different ship. When he reaches 19 his breath is rattling in his chest, he lost his sunglasses along the way, and the heel of his left boot feels like it might come off. But the ship is still there, dock workers still milling about. And Harry’s eyes blur with tears of acute, intense relief, that Louis still hasn’t left.

However, people are starting to disperse, and the ship is starting to light up, preparing to leave. A loud speaker announces the beginning of the countdown: T-15 minutes for launch. It’s organized chaos around him, and Harry feels like he’s caught in a whirlwind. He seeks out a familiar face desperately, still breathing hard.

Then he sees him. His hearts skip a beat, and Harry pushes down the lump in his throat and the urge to burst into tears.

Louis, in his captain’s uniform, with his hair somewhat shorter, but otherwise the same, looking tiny and animated as he speaks to one of the dock workers.

The two of them shake hands, and Louis starts going up the ramp to board the ship. Harry lurches forward, trips, twisting his ankle and catching himself on one hand. “Louis! Louis!” he shouts.

It feels like an age in the second it takes for Louis to turn around, body poised and alert, eyes wide.

Harry scrambles back to his feet, his breathing shallow and a scream lodged in his throat.

Louis takes one step toward him, then another. And then he’s sprinting toward Harry, smiling so wide his eyes are all crinkly. And Harry tears up again, because he can’t believe how beautiful Louis is and how close he was to losing him.

Harry doesn’t even think about it: when Louis reaches him, he picks him up and spins them around.  His feet hurt and his breathing is still labored, but his arms are strong enough to pick Louis up even if he didn’t weigh next to nothing for him as he does, with his small frame and light bird bones.

“Harry,” Louis breathes against his ear, giggling, arms thrown around Harry’s neck and legs around his waist.

Harry buries his face against the side of Louis’ neck, rubbing his cheek against it almost forcefully. He hears Louis laugh as he lets his legs down, searching for purchase on the floor on his tiptoes. Harry sets him down, but doesn’t let go of him, hugging him tight, before he remembers to ease up a little lest he hurt him.

Louis pulls back so they can look into each other’s faces, but no farther. He studies Harry, arms on his shoulders. “You’re here,” he says incredulously.

Harry leans down to rub their cheeks together, giving his waist a squeeze. “Of course I’m here.”

Louis pulls on one of Harry’s braids. “There’s nothing ‘of course’ about it. We didn’t—” He bites his lip and takes in a tremulous breath. “—make any promises.”

Harry nudges his cheek against Louis’ hand as it cups his face. “You didn’t give me the chance. If you had, I would have told you that...” He trails off and exhales in a loud puff through his nose, almost angry all of a sudden. Because he had been so close to not getting here on time. “I would have told you that I’d find you. No matter what, I’d find you again.”

Louis looks up at him with wide eyes and Harry can’t resist reaching up to touch his face: the rough texture of the slight stubble on his jaw, the constellation of freckles on his cheek, the round arch of his eyebrow. He takes a deep breath, braces himself, and says it: “Because I love you.”

Louis blinks, and Harry feels under the palm he has spread on his back how his chest goes still for a split second as his breath hitches.

“You love me,” Louis echoes.

Harry nods, lips pressed in a tight line as he fights back the urge to throw up. Because he’s terrified all of a sudden. What if he was wrong? What if Louis left because he wanted to get away from Harry? Or he was happy staying away from Harry. What if he didn’t feel the same?

He makes a small sound of surprise, startled, when Louis pushes up onto his tiptoes and brings Harry’s head down to kiss him, clasping his hands on the back of his neck. It’s a quick kiss, and Harry moans in protest when Louis starts to pull back.

But Louis doesn’t go far. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips. “So much, Harry. I love you so much.”

Harry’s chest fills with warmth at his words, and he feels weightless, like he could float. The peace he had felt after signing Jokaimor’s union to the Federation has nothing on this. He raises a hand to cradle Louis’ face as he explores the sweet taste of his mouth, the sharp edges of his teeth, the softness of his lips.

It’s been three months and it feels like the first time, but also like he’s been doing it his whole life and could continue doing it until he dies. Harry runs a hand down Louis’ spine, deepening the kiss, and Louis sags against Harry’s body with a tiny moan, pulling on one of his braids.

“Oi. Get a room!” Someone shouts, startling them both.

Louis rights himself, blushing, but shoots Harry a grin, wide and bright. Harry mirrors him—doesn’t think he could keep the grin off his face if he tried.

‘T-10 minutes. All personnel to stations. All personnel to stations.’ A voice rings through the hanger. Louis jumps, and Harry’s grip on his waist tightens instinctively.

Then Louis gives a small laugh. “We’re good. The ship’s not going to leave without me.”

Harry hazards a grin, biting his bottom lip. “Things worked out, then?”

Louis nods, smiling, and leads him to a side by the hand. For a moment they just look at each other, both of them smiling, and Harry can’t resist stealing another quick kiss and cheek rub, making Louis breathe out a giggle and squirm.

But after a second his expression sobers. He rests both hands on Harry’s chest and looks at him carefully. “You found me. What now?”

Harry covers Louis’ hands with his own. “Where are you headed?” he asks.

“Quadrant Delta.” Louis smooths a palm up Harry’s chest to his shoulder and back, and Harry isn’t sure if Louis is trying to comfort himself or Harry.

Harry shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then that’s where I’m headed. If you’ll have me on board.”

Louis bites his lip, looking both a little overwhelmed and impossibly soft. He catches Harry by surprise when he leans forward, on his tiptoes, to rub his cheek against Harry’s. It was what Harry was about to do himself.

“But what about—” Louis fingers the golden filigree of Harry’s patterned silk shirt. “Can you do that? Don’t you have to sit on a throne somewhere and pass judgement on livestock pasturage disputes?”

Harry lets out a honk of laughter. “That’s really not how it works. We’re not an agricultural society.”

Louis makes a face, but Harry can tell he’s serious. “You know what I mean.”

Harry tries to sober up. “I’m actually here on a diplomatic mission.” He can’t hold back a grin, laughter in his voice as he makes it go low and suggestive at the end. “I’ve been instructed to study humans at length and in depth.”

Louis gapes at him for a moment then bursts into giggles, pushing him playfully. “I can’t be your research subject, though. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m not entirely human.”

His tone is teasing, and there’s none of the discomfort Harry would have expected. He doesn’t know what happened in the last three months, but if this is the result, it must be good. They have a lot to talk about, and Harry can’t wait.

He shakes his head, making a show of his expression of disappointment. “Oh. That... that changes everything. I guess I’m going to have to pick out some other ship. Some other captain.”

Louis pinches his side.

“Ow. That’s going to bruise.”

Louis laughs again. And Harry is convinced yet again, that it’s the best thing in the world, making Louis laugh like that. “Good.”

“So you’ll have me?” Harry asks, only half joking.

Louis releases a put upon sigh but can’t stop smiling. “I guess I can sneak you in. You were supposed to report for duty and register hours ago, you know?”

He takes his hand again and Harry takes the first step toward the ship, even as he pulls an exaggerated face of contrition. “Sorry.”

Louis smiles at him, his breath coming out in a small giggle, and Harry can’t resist pulling him to his side again to kiss him.

'T-5 minutes.'

Louis laughs when he sees Niall and Zayn waiting by the entrance of the ship. “Come on. You two are holding us all up!”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, and Niall bursts out laughing, and Harry can’t believe how happy he is as he follows Louis into the ship heading out to deep space.

Chapter Text

epilogue

*

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Liam asks.

“Yeah. Why not,” Louis replies.

“Because…”

“A compelling argument.”

“I mean, is it even legal?”

“Sort of.”

“Are you going to do this everywhere we go?”

“This is just the third time, don’t exaggerate.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?”

Giggling, Louis turns around with his back to Liam, chin to his chest, holding onto the hemp string ends of the last necklace. “Give me a hand?”

Liam ties the ends in a knot after making sure the pieces that make up the necklace fall at the right height on Louis’ chest. “But why does it keep happening?” he asks with laughter in his voice.

Louis peers down at himself. He is wearing five different necklaces, but they complement each other and fit together. “They ask. It would be rude to refuse.” He fingers one of the small, pink tinted seashells from one of the necklaces. “And it’s not like it’s a hardship.”

Liam shakes his head, but helps him into the silk robes, light blue in colour, with long, billowing sleeves. It comes down to mid shin and opens in a vee down to his waist, so that the necklaces are on full display. “Fine. But next time it’s my turn to be your best man” he says. "That's twice Steve's done it now."

“Mhm.” Louis ties the sash around his waist, then peers up at Liam, biting back a grin. “Let’s hope there’s no human sacrifice involved.”

Liam sputters. “I thought that’s what they meant! It was a very confusing ceremony.”

Louis pats his arm. “Right.”

Liam gives him a light punch, which Louis returns. Before they can get any further in their play fighting, there’s a rap on the outside of the small hut.

“Are you ready? I want to eat!” Perrie calls from outside. “Everything smells delicious!”

Liam tilts his head toward the entrance. “Ready to get married? Again?”

Louis combs a hand through his damp hair and nods, smiling. “Yep.”

—

The wedding takes place outside, among an overflowing vegetation and flowers that sparkle like gemstones in the setting sun. The air smells like damp earth, but the light breeze carries the tang of the sea.

It’s a simple ceremony involving an exchange of handmade gifts, as is traditional for the Niim, as the people of the place—purple skinned humanoids in a tribal society—call themselves.

Harry bows his head so Louis can place a crown of twine and flowers on it. Louis had had some help with it, his Niim companion doing most of the crafting, but Louis had picked out the flowers and gemstone beads that he thought would look best on Harry.

Harry smiles at him as he straightens with the crown atop his head, and presents Louis with a bracelet, woven out of hemp string dyed in a rainbow of colours. It’s far from perfect, some strands loose and the pattern gone wrong at one point—but it’s perfect to Louis.

And Louis thinks about how they have wed twice before in the last two years, and how he wouldn’t mind doing it a hundred more times. Liam is probably right that it’s a little odd that three different alien communities they have encountered on different planets have recognised their connection and encouraged them to marry through their particular rituals. But a part of Louis thinks it makes sense. Their love and connection is there for all to see, and begs to be celebrated and shared.

After the ceremony there’s a sumptuous feast, with a wealth of seafood and fruit, and some form of alcoholic drink that has no effect on Louis but is delicious. They sit at low, long wood tables, he and Harry at the end of one, with their best friends around them and the leaders of the Niim tribe, Puna and Kalanie.

Two hours into the feast, Louis catches Harry looking at him with a heat in his eyes that makes Louis flush.

“Harry. Don’t look at me like that,” he whines.

“Why?” Harry asks in a low voice, his hand slipping beneath the folds of Louis’ robe to settle on his bare thigh.

“Because I promised Liam no human sacrifice or cannibalism.”

Harry gives a trumpeting laugh in response, and squeezes his thigh, his long fingers reaching the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. “I can’t help it. I always want you, but seeing you in these—” He fingers the necklaces around Louis’ neck. “So everyone knows you’re mine. And I’m yours...” He leans in closer, nuzzling Louis’ neck and pressing light, teasing kisses to the sensitive skin. “Want to touch you, taste you.”

Louis’ breath hitches, and he can’t help but tilt his head to give Harry more access.

“You look so beautiful,” Harry continues in a murmur. “Love you in blue. Love blue in you.”

It takes Louis a moment to realise what Harry is implying, and when he does, laughter bubbles up inside him and comes out in a strangled giggle, even as he feels heat rush down his chest and pool in his groin. Louis hurries to stop Harry’s hand from climbing any higher up his thigh before the flush of arousal turns into a very obvious erection.

“It’s out wedding night,” Harry whines, drawing back to look into his face with a pout that Louis knows is only half exaggerated.

Louis can’t resist bringing him in for a quick kiss with a hand on his jaw, intoxicated by his scent, which he can distinguish even among the strong smell of the feast and the flowers around them.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

“Louis!”

Louis, distracted by Harry’s lips and his wandering hands which have slipped out of Louis’ loose grip, takes a few seconds to register that his name is being called. 

“Hm. What?”

Harry looks up as well, but makes no move to disentangle from him, brushing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ pout, and brushing his knuckles where the necklace ends above Louis’ collarbones.

Kalanie and Puna stand up from the table, all smiles, and wave at them to follow.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks Niall.

Niall is especially good at picking up languages, and frequently functions as their interpreter. Before he can answer, Kalanie nudges Niall’s arm, tinkling with laughter, and says something to him in their melodic language. Niall, pink faced, grins and nods, then says something in response, making a ridiculous face, which makes her laugh harder.

Louis turns to Harry with a raised eyebrow, but Harry just chuckles and gives him a peck on the cheek.

“Niall, what am I paying you for? Care to explain?” Louis grumbles.

Niall wipes tears of laughter from his eyes before answering. “They’re taking you away so you two can get it on. They think you two need to get a room. ASAP.”

Harry lets out a loud honk of laughter, and Louis can’t help but laugh.

“What gave them the idea?” Harry jokes, already rising to his feet and offering Louis a hand, which he takes with a smile.

Their hosts lead down a dirt path, lined with pale stones that shine in the moonlight, to a hut on the beach, and after a few words that Louis can’t understand but sound kind and encouraging, they leave.

Bare feet buried in the black sand, Louis looks out at the sea, which is like liquid silver and shimmering with fluorescent algae.

Harry slips an arm around his waist and rubs their cheeks together, chin hooked over Louis’ shoulder. “You fit right in,” he teases.

Louis elbows him in the chest, but laughs. He interlaces their fingers and tugs Harry toward the hut. The hut has one room which is taken up almost entirely by the bed: a plush, feather mattress on a low wooden frame, and a pile of buckskin blankets. It’s comfortable, if a bit cool for Louis—as the hut doesn’t have a real ceiling, opening up to the night sky—but he’s certain Harry will keep him warm. The Niim have also left them fruit and two jugs of water, as well as a bottle of unscented oil.

They sit on the edge of the bed side by side and move to kiss each other at the same time, which results in both of them giggling and smiling too hard for a proper kiss. Louis carefully takes off Harry’s flower crown, making an apologetic sound when Harry winces as his hair gets briefly tangled in the twine.

Then Louis leans in to kiss Harry’s neck, slipping his hands in the opening of his green robe to thumb at his nipples. “I can’t believe we got banished from the feast because you can’t control yourself.”

He tugs at the sash of his robe so that it opens, leaving Harry bare, cock already hardening.

Harry pulls him back in with a hand on the back of his neck, the other fondling Louis’ cock over his robe as they kiss. “Hm. Not sorry,” he says when they break apart.

Louis breathes a quiet laugh, and lets Harry hoist him onto his lap, settling astride him. “Me neither.”

Harry unties the sash holding Louis’ robe closed, and Louis shrugs out of it so that it slips to the floor with a rustling sound. Then Harry just looks at him for a minute, smoothing his hands from Louis’ hips to the dip of his waist, his large hands spanning a good portion of it.

“So gorgeous,” he says, under his breath, almost to himself.

Harry doesn’t hold back his appreciation, especially while they are having sex. And Louis thinks he should be used to it by now, but it still makes him flush.

Looping his arms around Harry’s neck, Louis pulls blindly at the strings on his nape to untie the necklace he’s wearing. Harry had got just the one for the ceremony: a cascade of seashells and gemstones that proves to be heavier than all five of Louis’ combined when it comes loose.

“Do mine,” he tells Harry, dropping the necklace carefully on top of his robe on the floor.

Harry runs his hands up Louis’ spine, then bounces his knees, jostling Louis who is caught by surprise.

“Get closer,” Harry says, though he’s already working on one of the knots.

Louis shifts closer until their fronts are pressed together, his arms thrown over Harry’s shoulder and his face buried in the crook of his neck so that Harry can see over his shoulder to untie the necklaces.

Louis sucks a bruise on the side of Harry’s neck while he works, and rolls his hips a little, rubbing his cock against Harry’s stomach. The movement makes the necklaces that have slid down his chest jangle, and Louis reaches down to sweep them to the floor, hoping they won’t get too tangled but too distracted to do anything about it.

Harry’s fingers fumble with the strings, and he groans, his own cock nestled between Louis’ arse cheeks. “I love getting married to you,” he says as the last necklace comes free.

Louis trails a path of wet kisses up his neck before leaning back, gripping Harry’s hips with his thighs. “I love being married to you. Love exploring space with you.” He cups Harry’s face in his hands, thumbing at the dimples popping up as Harry smiles. “I love you. So much.”

Two years into their five year mission of deep space exploration on the delta quadrant, and Louis has never been happier. Hadn’t even considered that it was possible to be so content in every aspect of his life. His assignment with Starfleet is all he ever dreamed of. But Harry... Harry goes beyond his wildest dreams.

Harry lets out a soft sigh, turns his head to kiss the palm of Louis’ left hand, which still sports Harry’s turquoise ring. “Every promise I’ve made to you. To love you, and protect you, and support you, and cherish you. I meant them, Louis. Every time. And I mean to keep them. I promise.”

Louis exhales shakily, unable to look away from Harry’s gorgeous, earnest green eyes. “You just have a marriage kink,” he says finally, going for a joke because otherwise he might start to cry.

Harry trills with laughter, then rolls them onto the bed so he’s on top, and kisses him, quick and hard. “A kink for getting married to you—being married to you, akenui.”

Louis buries his hands in Harry’s hair, some petals still caught in his curls. He hooks a leg over Harry’s hip and arches his body, relishing in Harry’s stuttering exhalation. “You’re lucky it’s mutual,” he says with a smile.

There’s nothing joking about Harry’s tone when he replies: “I am lucky.”

For a moment they remain caught in each other’s eyes. Because of the glimmering of his skin, it looks like there are stars in the green of Harry’s eyes. But Louis doesn’t just see the stars, he sees a whole universe reflected in them. And he sees himself there, too. He’s found his place at last. He’s found home.

“So lucky,” he whispers.

And he means it.