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When the new crop of freshly-graduated cadets—ensigns, now—lines up on the loading bay, Even does his best to school his face to “chilly indifference.” You know, like he’s not surveying his ship’s newest residents with barely-concealed interest and an eagerly roving eye.
Nope. He’s cool as a damn cucumber.
Earlier that day, he had said as much to Elias—Lieutenant Bakkoush, Even grudgingly corrects himself...shoreleave is officially over and he needs to actually try to offer a good example to the newbies, this time—and the bastard had laughed right in his face. There had been spittle. Even had very nearly pulled rank and chastised him, right there on the bridge, but, well. It’s not like his friend doesn’t have a point.
Even kind of loves this time of year. When he and his crew make course for Earth—for home—and a gaggle of clear-eyed, full-hearted, nervous-as-hell graduates descend on his ship and provide the place with a much-needed shake-up.
Not to mention ample opportunity to...try new things. Fun, tension-relieving things. The beast with two backs, as Mikael, his First Officer, likes to call it. Which Even thinks is somewhat limiting, if he’s being honest—after all, there are more than a few recorded species that, when engaged in their version of intercourse, have decidedly more than two backs.
Even may have even had sex with a couple of them, at some point. Who’s keeping track? He’s one of the most well-traveled captains in the fleet, and he’ll try just about anything once. Or any one.
The point is, his ship is about to get some fresh meat, and as the youngest member of Starfleet to ever make captain, Even’s well-positioned to...pursue multiple options, as it were. He hears there’s an Andorian on his roster this year, and he’s particularly excited to see if certain intriguing rumors about their stamina (and their antennae) are true.
He’s searching the lineup for a glimpse of an Andorian’s telltale blue skin, when someone else catches his eye. Someone whose skin is decidedly not blue.
No...this guy’s skin is pale, with a delicate pink pallor that matches Even’s own. His hair is equally soft-looking and fair, his mouth wet and red and bow-shaped, his eyes a deep, earthy green. He’s tall—nearly as tall as Even—and he’s lean, though he fills out his Science blues rather...enticingly.
He’s beautiful.
He’s also, if Even’s not mistaken...human. Most likely, anyway, though Even knows well that looks can be deceiving.
He gets mistaken for a human all the time...a full-blooded human, that is. That he—not to mention a full squadron of Starfleet’s top geneticists—have no fucking idea what else he is usually doesn’t factor into people’s perceptions of him. But his own messed up lineage has little bearing on the fact that this ensign his hotter than Earth’s fucking sun—or any sun that Even’s come across, for that matter.
He can’t say that bedding yet another human is the exciting kickoff to their new mission that Even had been hoping for, exactly. Maybe he’s losing his edge.
But the dick wants what the dick wants, and Even’s never been one to question it.
He pulls out the PADD that Lieutenant Commander Acar had handed to him earlier and scrolls down the list of photos until he lands on a headshot that matches the striking countenance of Super Hot Ensign. Even his Fleet-issued ID photo is pretty, and Even has always suspected that there’s a Starfleet regulation somewhere that dictates that no one can ever look good in those things. It’s probably written in teeny tiny print, somewhere under the Prime Directive.
Name: Valtersen, Isak. Species: Human. Place of Birth: Oslo, Norway, Earth. (Even feels a warmth in the pit of his stomach when he sees they share a hometown.) Academy Status: Graduate, Science. Ship Assignment: SS Nissen. Rank: Lieutenant Junior Grade.
So...not an ensign, after all, it would seem. Even raises his eyebrows, impressed. It’s not often that he receives graduates distinguished enough to jump rank right out of the Academy. And a Science officer, no less? Sana—Commander Bakkoush, get it together, Even—will undoubtedly be smug as hell about this new development. Fuck, she probably orchestrated it herself.
He’s caught up in helpless appreciation of the sharpness of Isak’s features, the handsome cleft in his chin, when he feels Yousef’s elbow suddenly dig into his side, jerking him unceremoniously into the present.
...where two dozen of his new subordinates are staring at him expectantly.
Whoops.
He tucks away the PADD and, unable to help it, sneaks a quick glance over at real-life Isak—only to find shrewd green eyes looking right back. For a moment, anyway...as soon as their eyes meet, Isak quickly directs his gaze to the floor. Even’s standing too far away to tell if Isak’s ears are red, but he really, really hopes they are.
“At ease, officers,” Even says with a casual grin—too casual, if Sana’s eye roll is anything to go by. As he expected, not a single one of the newbies relaxes a single iota.
“In just a few minutes’ time, you’ll be settling into your home for the next two years,” he says, pausing for impact because there’s an art to this, okay, and Even’s a perfectionist. “Treat my ship well, and she’ll be good to you right back. Treat each other well, and you’ll finish those two years with brothers and sisters you didn’t know you had.” He scans his audience, and sees that they’re hanging onto his every word. Good. “Treat every planet, every being, every creature we encounter with respect, and we might even manage to do some good out there.”
At that, Isak raises his eyes again, and Even has to fight their pull so he doesn’t lose track of his speech. Or, you know, say fuck the speech and press Isak up against the nearest console.
“I trust they made this clear at the Academy, but if you’re here to shoot phasers and fuck up some aliens and win personal glory, I suggest you stay right here on Earth,” he continues, trying to forget about the intensity of Isak’s gaze—this is pretty damn important, after all. “This isn’t some macho military fantasyland. We’re here to protect the innocent, to keep the peace, to learn all we can, to be diplomats. That sound good to you?”
There’s a disjointed chorus of “yes, sir,” which sounds a little pathetic. But that’s okay. They’ll get better at it.
“Oh, and I’m Captain Even Bech Næsheim,” he adds with grin—and another glance at Isak, whose mouth lifts at the corners, just a fraction. “But you already knew that.”
###
In the weeks that follow their departure from Earth, instead of immediately making a move like he might have in the past, Even takes it upon himself to learn all that he can about Junior Lieutenant Isak Valtersen.
He learns that Isak’s Academy grades were near impeccable, and that he specialized his studies in xenobotany—particularly poisonous plantlife and the development of antidotes. No wonder Sana wanted him onboard.
He learns that, when they’re not working, Isak is joined at the hip to that new guy with the eyebrows—Ensign Vasquez—and two other ensigns who work the beta shift.
He learns that Isak drinks a lot of coffee and that he takes it sweet—he always gets three sugars from the replicator, and he stirs them in one at a time.
He learns that Isak is quiet, maybe even a little withdrawn...but when he thinks he’s right and someone is challenging his expertise, his voice grows biting and harsh and he speaks with a conviction that’s admirable and, frankly, a little arousing.
He learns that Isak loves music and that, like Even, he has a particular fondness for the classics. He overhears Isak chatting to Ensign Disi about N.W.A. and nearly swoons right there in the mess hall like an Orion damsel from one of those novels Adam pretends he doesn’t read.
He learns to be exceedingly grateful that Isak chose a career in the sciences, because blue is really his color. And then, when a bout of Talaxian flu leaves half the Engineering department down for the count and they need people to fill in, Even learns that every color is Isak’s color. Including Operations red. Especially Operations red. (Whether he’s scheming ways to get Isak in Command gold, if only for a day...well, he can neither confirm nor deny it.)
He learns that Isak laughs with his whole body, and that when he smiles, his face crinkles with gorgeous laugh lines that turn Even’s stomach into a pretzel and make his palms sweat uncomfortably every time Isak stops by the bridge to drop off a report or visit Ensign Fossbakken.
He learns that...he doesn’t want to hook up with Isak. Or, well, he does, he absolutely does, he’s 100 percent on board with that idea...it’s just not all he wants. Not anymore.
He learns a lot. But it isn’t enough.
###
Even’s catches a major break in the form of one Ensign Vilde Hellerud Lien, a particularly effusive new navigator who works the Gamma shift. She’s apparently become fast friends with Sana—which kind of blows Even’s mind, since Sana is not usually one to spend so much time with junior crewmembers, even if she’s the same age as most of them—and the two of them have organized some kind of icebreaker event to better integrate the old hats and the newbies.
Something Even would gladly pull rank to skip, in normal times. But he knows Sana will make sure the entire Science department shows up, and Sana can be legitimately terrifying when she wants to be (which is most of the time, when work is involved), which means Isak will almost certainly be there. Even can’t pass up a golden opportunity like that, so he resolves to make an appearance.
He’s completely expecting it when Isak trudges through the door that evening, looking for all the world like he’s being dragged to his own gruesome dismembering. Still, one glimpse of him sends Even’s pulse racing in a way it hasn’t since he was fifteen and a fumbling virgin trying to play it cool in the hopes that Sonja would kiss him.
“Captain!”
It’s Vilde’s high-pitched, warbling register, and when Even pulls his gaze from Isak to look at her, her eyes are wide and surprised.
“Hey there,” he says, just a smidgen of awkwardness coming through in his voice, which is inevitable in the face of her special brand of intensity. “Thanks for organizing this—it’s great.”
She smiles wide at him, her cheeks pink and pleased. “So nice that you’re engaging,” she trills, and Even’s about to pull together some bullshit reply about team cohesion and effectiveness when he spots Isak looking at him curiously in his periphery, that damn blue shirt stretched tight across his chest. And again, the very moment that Isak realizes Even’s looking back, he immediately drops his eyes to the floor.
Even’s heart leaps. Score.
Sana and Vilde eventually bring everyone to order, and Even, with some deft and determined maneuvering, manages to snag a spot behind Isak. He stands there the entire time the girls are introducing themselves, just far enough away from Isak not to be weird, eyeing him up pathetically.
The back of his neck is so attractive—how is that even possible?
He’s paying such close attention to Isak’s every move that he notices the exact nanosecond that Isak’s shoulders stiffen in horror after Vilde says the words, “love exercise.”
Heh. Can’t really blame him for that one.
But holy shit, this is amazing. Even hasn’t seen any sign of Isak’s three friends, which means he’s going to need a partner. A service that Even is magnanimously willing to provide, for the very reasonable fee of being able to stare at Isak’s eyelashes and bask in the sweet sound of his voice without it being creepy.
Not that creepy, anyway.
But when everyone moves to pair up—somewhat reluctantly, Even can’t help but notice—Isak peels away from the group in one swift move, surreptitiously keying in his officer code and slipping from the room with commendable stealth.
This definitely puts a damper on Even’s plans, a little bit...but no matter, he’s flexible. In more ways than one, and he fully intends to provide Isak with a tactical demonstration of each and every one of them, if he’s up for it.
It takes several minutes of hanging back from the crowd, but he waits until he’s reasonably certain that no one is paying him any mind, and quickly follows Isak out the door. For someone who’s at least seventy percent leg, he can be pretty damn nimble when he puts the effort into it.
Even sees no sign of Isak in the hallway when he emerges, which seems like a particularly anticlimactic way to have his plan blow up in his face. But after a moment of thought, he realizes that he’s not far from the observation deck. Not knowing where else to go, he follows his funny little hunch (which usually pays dividends for Even, historically speaking) and ducks his head in there.
It’s Even’s favorite place on the ship, after all, so maybe…
Bingo.
Sure enough, when the door slides open Isak is there, facing away from Even, his hands pressed against the glass and his lanky frame silhouetted by the vastness of space, darkness and light all at once. Even feels something inside him ignite at the picture Isak makes, completely surrounded by stars as the Nissen warps across the galaxy—at the sight of Isak so at peace in the spot that Even often visits to forget, to clear his head, to find himself again.
The door slides closed and seals with a soft snick, and it’s enough to startle Isak out of whatever reverie he was in and make him spin on his heel.
He stares for a moment, like he’s having a hard time figuring out if Even’s actually there, before he seems to remember himself and shakes his head.
“Oh, I...Captain,” he says, and even though it’s not his name, exactly, Even feels a small thrill shoot up his spine at hearing the word on Isak’s tongue. “Sorry, I...I can leave, if you need to—”
“No!” Even hurriedly cuts in, momentarily panicked at the idea of Isak leaving before Even’s even had the chance to talk to him for real. “No, you...you’re welcome to stay. If you want to... do that. That is...I’d like you to stay. You know, if you want.”
Very smooth.
A bit of tension seems to bleed out of Isak, and luckily, he doesn’t see fit to laugh directly in Even’s face. “Oh, uh...cool,” he says, expelling an awkward little laugh. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence descends, and the pain of it finally forces Even’s brain to get with the program. Just don’t do anything stupid, like declare your love or talk about dicks or something, you moron.
“No ‘love exercise’ for you, huh?” he asks, with what he hopes is a teasing lilt that’ll rev their flirtation engines—a worthy goal, since flirting is the one thing that Even knows how to do well, aside from captaining a starship.
And considering his...particular foibles...he’s not even that great at that, to be honest. Not that Isak needs to know that.
For his part, Isak looks momentarily alarmed, like he thinks he’s actually being called out by his commanding officer for flaking out on some hellish team-building exercise...but his expression quickly melts into mild amusement when he realizes that Even is only teasing.
“I couldn’t deal with that stuff,” he says, shrugging sheepishly, but not meeting Even’s eyeline. He looks embarrassed and it’s adorable and Even kind of wants to kiss the embarrassment right off his face. “I had to bail. What happened?”
It’s like his brain knows what he’s about to say is an egregious mistake—but either his mouth is two steps behind, or it just doesn’t give a fuck.
“She made us walk around and feel each other up in a dark room,” Even says, smirking conspiratorially. “And if you touched a dick, you had to suck it.”
Isak’s wide eyes and stunned silence say it all, really.
So much for not talking about dicks. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t file an official complaint with Starfleet, you utter—
But just as soon as Even’s preparing to offer hasty apologies, Isak’s face dawns in realization, and he huffs out a self-conscious laugh and looks away.
“Do you mess with all your junior officers like this?” he asks, and his smile is small, maybe a little timid...but Even thinks it’s probably genuine.
He suddenly feels out of breath, like he’s just run ten miles, like he’s been hit in the solar plexus by a fucking Gorn. Which definitely happened to him once, so he thinks he’s got a pretty solid frame of reference.
He swallows, and he’s pretty sure Isak can hear it over the muted buzz of the deck’s light panels and the hum of the air filtration system.
“No,” he says, and if it comes out a little hoarse, he hopes Isak doesn’t notice. “I don’t.”
###
“So how are you liking things, so far?” he asks, because that’s pretty normal, right? No weirdness here, no sir.
They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the deck now, bodies turned towards the window and watching the stars and nebulas whoosh past. They’re about one and a half Earth days from their next destination, and whoever’s currently handling the ship’s warp—Even thinks it’s Ensign Fossbakken, Isak’s friend—is making for a very smooth ride. Even will have to offer him a pat on the back next time he sees him.
He sneaks a quick glance over at Isak and finds him smiling.
“Yeah, it’s been great,” Isak says, reclining back on his hands. “I’ve learned a lot already. I, uh...I was a little worried that I’d be stuck getting people coffee, at least for the first year.”
Even snorts, but he can’t fault Isak for the assumption. Some ships are run like that, with some misplaced idea of hierarchy and “earning your place” and all that shit. But Even sure as hell has never subscribed to that philosophy—he wouldn’t be a captain right now, if he had—and Sana would never allow an obvious talent like Isak’s to go to waste, even for a minute.
“Well,” Even says loftily, only just managing to hold back a wink. “It helps if you’re a science genius.” Which Isak totally is, if his performance record at the Academy and the quality of his reports so far are anything to go by.
Isak’s cheeks go pink in a most satisfying way, and Even mentally high-fives himself.
“I’m not a genius,” Isak mumbles, looking at his Fleet-issued boots like they’re the most interesting things he’s ever seen.
Even smirks. “That’s not what I hear,” he says. “San—uh, Commander Bakkoush—has had a lot of good things to say about you.”
And she has, in her way. She’s not one to gush about anything, but Even’s gotta admit, the stuff she’s said about Isak has come close, on occasion. She even used the phrase “more than adequate” at one point, and Even had nearly fallen over in shock.
Isak plays it cool, but he’s clearly pleased. “I find that hard to believe,” he says.
“Don’t be so modest,” Even pushes, knowing full well he’s veering into “pathetic” territory, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I’ve read your file. You’ve been training for this your whole life...you know you’re good.”
Even bets there are a lot of things Isak’s good at, but he wisely keeps those particular thoughts to himself.
Instead of blushing more, which is what Even was going for, Isak peers at him curiously. “And what about you, Captain?” Isak asks. “Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?”
The question catches Even off guard—way off guard—and he does his best to hide it. No one really...asks him about stuff like this. They usually assume, quite understandably, that of course Even has always wanted to captain a starship, because who wouldn’t?
He’s not quite sure what it is about Isak, but he finds he doesn’t want to lie to him.
“Uh, no...not really,” Even says, voice dropping a bit like the admission is a secret. It isn’t, really, so he’s not quite sure why it feels like one. “When I was growing up, I always wanted to be a director.”
Isak can’t quite mask his surprise. “A director?” he parrots back, eyebrows raised. “Like, of holovids?”
Actually, Even’s always maintained a passion for the old ways of filming—he enjoys the warm and cozy feelings those ancient technologies manage to evoke in him, and deeply respects the artistry required to tell good stories in a simpler medium. But he doesn’t bother correcting Isak now.
“Yup. Weird, right?”
Isak is silent for a moment, tilting his head back thoughtfully. “Not weird, exactly,” he says slowly. “Just not what I expected. But I can see it.”
He doesn’t sound too weirded out—or disappointed in his captain, which would be far worse—and it makes Even feel vaguely giddy, for some reason.
“Yeah?” he asks, a little weak.
Isak smiles—a touch shy, a touch smug. “Yeah,” he says. “I met a lot of different captains, when I graduated.” The because they were all trying to recruit me goes unsaid. “But you’re…different from the others,” he continues, and Even tries not to wince at that. “You’re...reachable. You keep us happy.”
He finally lifts his gaze and meets Even’s, dead on.
“You make people feel good—and that’s what a holovid does, right?” he asks. “Makes people forget about the shitty stuff.” Isak pauses for a moment, looks like he’s thinking about looking out the deck window again, before ultimately deciding against it. Even’s almost disappointed, because Isak makes a beautiful profile...but he’d rather have those green eyes on him, any day. “I imagine it’ll be helpful, when we’ve been out here longer and it starts to wear on us.”
If Even was feeling like a lovesick teenager before, it’s nothing compared to the heart-fluttering, pulse-jacking feelings zipping through him now.
He clears his throat, having difficulty finding the words for the first time in a long time. “I’m, uh...glad you feel that way,” he says softly. “But you should probably know now that it...won’t always be this way.” And even though it fucking hurts to say it out loud, hurts exponentially more to be saying it to Isak, of all people...Isak deserves to hear it from him, or he’ll no doubt catch wind of it from some nosy ensign, who will probably explain it far less delicately.
God, Even was a fool to think this could ever work. This is why he’s spent the better part of his captaincy fucking his way through Federation space (and even beyond Federation space, not that the admirals need to know about that)—when it comes to striking up something for the long haul, it’s just not tenable.
Isak deserves better. More.
“Captain?” Isak asks, clearly confused.
Even sighs. He hates this part. “I’m bipolar,” he says.
Predictably, Isak looks even more confused. “Oh,” he says, furrowing his brow. “But there are...medications, right? Therapies that can—”
“They don’t work on me,” Even cuts in, feeling as much like a freak as he always does.
He knows all about the therapies that Isak’s alluding to—knows that they were developed about a hundred years ago, and that even though they don’t serve as a formal cure, they often manage chemical imbalances in the brain so effectively that they might as well be considered one.
Cue Even’s weird-ass genetic code.
“I have some...anomalies in my DNA,” he clarifies when he sees Isak’s concerned face. “They don’t know what caused them...I’m probably not fully human, or at least that’s what they tell me.”
It had been a major source of strife between his parents when he was a kid—his father could never fully shake the suspicion that Even’s mother had been unfaithful, and it made it hard for her to even look Even in the eye, some days. They tried their best, but the moment Even had recovered from his first major episode, he booked the first flight from Oslo to San Francisco, took his entrance exams, and enrolled in the Academy. For someone so young with nowhere to go, the Academy was—and still is—the best possible hope for a promising future.
He had eventually learned the merits of being the lead in his own adventure story, rather than the storyteller.
Beside him, Isak seems to sense Even’s internal discomfort. “So you still…” he starts, trailing off.
Even just smiles ruefully. “Have episodes? Affirmative,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat. “Not too often. Some of the old meds still help, and Starfleet pays to have them synthesized.” It’s a pretty sweet deal, all things considered, especially because reviving old drugs is an expensive endeavor. “But every now and then, I have to...step away,” he says. “Give Mik—First Officer Boukhal—the conn, until I’m myself again.”
Isak nods slowly, taking it all in. Even supposes he should be happy the dude hasn’t run for the hills, yet. Or whatever the “hills” equivalent on a starship in the middle of space would be, anyway.
“That doesn’t make you any less of a captain,” Isak says finally, with enough force to take Even off guard. “I’m sure everyone on this ship understands.”
Sure, man. Whatever you say.
“...maybe,” Even concedes.
He doesn’t tell Isak about the health inquiries the Academy conducted—that he almost got kicked out, since he had purposely left his condition off his entry papers. That the admirals had to vote on whether to award him his captain’s chair, and that he had only secured it by a single vote—that of Sana’s father, who had always been fond of Even.
Even Sonja, his then-girlfriend of several years, had told him to forget about it. That he was compromised.
She wasn’t the first to use that word, and she wasn’t the last.
Isak shoots him a quick, nervous glance, like he’s gearing up for something. Here it comes.
Compromised compromised compromised—
“My...my mom,” he says quietly, and that’s not how Even expected this to start, not at all. “She’s sick, too. But she’s...worse, I think.” He’s muttering, blinking, shrugging like he’s trying to play it off. “She hears voices, has delusions, all that stuff. The, uh...the meds don’t help her, either.”
Even’s mind stutters to a halt. He’d heard of very rare cases, but...as long as he’s been alive, he’s never been faced with the evidence that they exist.
“I haven’t studied your DNA,” Isak continues, with a wistful quality to his voice that suggests that he’d really like to spend a few days studying it in the Nissen laboratories, which Even can’t help but find incredibly endearing. “But I think these things are more complicated than people say. We still don’t know how it all works...I’m not sure we ever will.”
Even can’t speak, feels strangely choked up at Isak’s words. Maybe they should make him feel kind of sad, but they don’t. They make him feel...lighter, maybe.
“It isn’t that simple,” Isak says, gaze once again fixed on the stars beyond. “But it doesn’t have to be everything. Like...bipolar or not, you’re still the youngest captain in the Fleet’s history, and it’s because you’re fucking awesome, right?”
A laugh bubbles up and out of Even before he can stop it, and if it’s a little thick with emotion, Isak doesn’t call him out on it.
“Fucking awesome, huh?”
Isak nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yup,” he confirms, feigning casual. “I’ve read your file, too, y’know. There’s, uh...plenty of awesome to be found in there.”
Technically, considering their respective ranks, there’s plenty of Even’s file that Isak doesn’t have access to—or shouldn’t have access to, anyway. Even suspects Isak is smart enough to bypass the encryptions, and the thought of him putting in that kind of effort is delightful.
“I’ve had some fun,” Even admits, and yeah, despite it all, he really has. But he may be starting to realize that his fun is just beginning.
Isak just hums in response.
After a few beats of companionable silence, Even lets out a breath. “Thank you,” he says softly, not even totally sure what he’s thanking Isak for, exactly. His words? His face? His existence? All of it? He just knows he needs to thank him. “My whole career, people have been telling me that captains aren’t supposed to...feel, the way I do. Think the way I do.” Compromised. He laughs humorlessly. “They think they know what I’m feeling better than I do.”
But it doesn’t matter if, deep down, Even knows he can get the job done. You hear that you can’t often enough, you start to believe it yourself.
He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he feels Isak shift closer on the floor, until there are only a few scant inches of space separating their bodies. Even can feel Isak’s warmth radiating outward, and he wants to touch him so badly he aches with it.
Isak’s voice is soft, but strong, when he says:
“Only you can feel what you feel, Captain.”
Their eyes lock like it’s inevitable, and when they do, Even knows with complete and utter certainty that these are the eyes he wants to see every goddamn day, for the rest of his goddamn life. A thought like that would have been insane, downright alien not an hour ago, but weirdly enough...he’s not afraid of it. Not even a little bit. More than anything, it feels right. Like coming home.
Okay, so maybe that was a little bit too sappy for comfort.
Eh...fuck it.
“Call me Even,” he says, and even though it comes out like a whisper, it sounds heart-stoppingly loud in the stillness of the room.
Isak’s eyes drop to Even’s mouth—Even holds his breath, not daring to believe that Isak would actually want to...but finally, Isak just smiles. “Even,” he murmurs like a promise, and on the floor between them, their fingers brush. Even’s not sure who instigated that particular act, but he’s very sure he doesn’t care.
They sit just like that, Isak’s hand covering Even’s, until the clock tells them that millions of light years away, the sun is rising over Oslo.
###
Much as Even might’ve liked them to, they don’t actually kiss on the observation deck.
No, their first kiss is a week later, when Even accidentally ingests a rare toxic plant during a diplomatic mission on Tellar Prime. Those hairy bastards had unknowingly included it in his fucking salad, of all things, and since Tellarites can apparently eat bushels of the stuff with no repercussions, they have no antidote anywhere on the planet.
That is, until Isak synthesizes one.
Sana commands him to leave it up to one of their more experienced Science officers, but according to versions of the story that Even hears much later, Isak straight up refuses to comply with her orders, barricading himself in the lab and emerging not twenty minutes later with a poison-fighting serum that cures Even within seconds.
He may have been out like a light while it was actually happening, but the story alone is enough to give Even a semi.
When Even regains consciousness, surrounded by white and the all-too-familiar smell of the medbay, Isak is there, hand warm and clammy in his.
“Hey there,” Even croaks, voice thick and scratchy with disuse, and Isak’s answering smile takes up his entire face.
He sighs, like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Asshole,” Isak murmurs, but it comes out sounding strangely content.
Even grins, feels his lip crack with a sting and can’t bring himself to give a fuck. “This is nice...I usually wake up alone when I do something stupid enough to land me in medbay.” He runs his thumb across the back of Isak’s hand, silky smooth and perfect, feeling the feather-light contact deep in his bones.
When he looks up, Isak is suddenly much closer than he thought, his gaze intense and his mouth set in a determined line.
He leans in, presses their foreheads together.
“You are not alone,” he whispers, and with that, he brushes his lips over Even’s dry ones, moves them slowly, cautiously, and it’s the best fucking thing Even’s ever felt. Better than flying at warp, better than sitting in the captain’s chair, better than successfully accomplishing a mission.
They don’t talk for a long time, nothing but the quickness of their breath and the soft sounds of kissing to break the comforting quiet of space.