Scented Lunar Flowers

(A/N: Slightly longer, just because i'm at work this weekend and am finding it hard to pump out chapters. Happy late May bank holiday to anyone else in the UK)

Word Count : 3374

Chapter 4

(Y/N) stepped away before the silence between them could become any stranger.

The suite’s open window overlooked glowing gardens several stories below, silver-blue lanterns drifting lazily through the evening air. Somewhere in the distance, soft music echoed through the city.

Under different circumstances, it probably would have been beautiful.

Instead, she dropped heavily into the chair beside the window and rubbed both hands over her eyes.

“This is just lovely,” she said dryly.

Leonard snorted behind her.

(Y/N) leaned her elbows onto the table with exhausted defeat.

“Why did I even come on this mission?” she muttered. “Oh, wait. Jim ordered me to.”

Leonard rolled his eyes immediately.

“Oh, you think you’ve got it bad?”

She looked up just in time to catch him setting the untouched tray of ceremonial fruit down with visible resentment.

“This is a diplomatic summit,” he continued. “There is absolutely no reason the Chief Medical Officer needed to leave the Enterprise for this nonsense.”

“You were there to represent Starfleet medical outreach.”

“That is bureaucratic code for ‘Jim didn’t wanna suffer alone.’”

(Y/N) sighed deeply.

“That does sound like him.”

Leonard pointed accusingly toward the ceiling as though Kirk might somehow hear him through several floors.

“I could be on the ship right now doing my actual job.”

“And I could be in records organizing supply manifests.”

“Instead,” Leonard said grimly, “we’re in… whatever this is.”

(Y/N) stared blankly ahead.

“Purgatory.”

“Worse.”

He gestured sharply between them.

“Pucker-tary.”

That startled an involuntary laugh out of her before she could stop it.

The sound seemed to catch Leonard off guard too.

For a second, his expression softened in quiet satisfaction—like making her laugh had briefly improved the situation.

Then he remembered the situation.

His face returned to deep offense.

“This whole planet is insane,” he muttered, pacing once across the room. “Who sees somebody helpin’ a woman down a staircase and decides that means marriage?”

(Y/N) rested her chin against her hand.

“In fairness,” she said tiredly, “you did catch me rather dramatically.”

He whipped around immediately.

“You almost fell.”

“I stumbled.”

“You tilted at a dangerous angle.”

“I was wearing diplomatic shoes designed by sadists.”

“That platform was a death trap.”

Despite herself, (Y/N) smiled faintly.

Leonard noticed Which was unfortunate because something in his expression warmed again.

Dangerously so.

The soft lighting in the room wasn’t helping matters. Neither was the fact that he’d loosened the collar of his uniform in irritation, exposing the strong line of his throat. Or that his sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms now.

Domestic details.

That was the problem.

The room was turning him into something distressingly domestic.

(Y/N) looked away immediately.

Outside, a warm breeze stirred the hanging fabric around the window.

Behind her, Leonard sighed heavily and finally dropped into the chair opposite hers.

For the first time since the ceremony, neither of them spoke for a while.

The quiet settled oddly easily between them.

Not awkward.

Just… tired.

Shared suffering.

Leonard leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face.

“You know the worst part?” he asked eventually.

(Y/N) looked at him over her folded arms.

“The bed?”

“That too.” He pointed vaguely toward the floral monstrosity behind them. “No, the worst part is Jim’s never gonna let this go.”

She groaned immediately.

“Oh god.”

“He’s going to tell Uhura.”

“He’s absolutely gonna tell Uhura.”

“And Scotty.”

“Scotty’s going to toast to our ‘beautiful union,’ isn’t he?”

Leonard looked haunted.

“Probably while drunk.”

(Y/N) dropped her forehead lightly against the table.

“I need to fake my death.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of Leonard before he could stop it.

The sound was warm. Rich.

Far too attractive for current circumstances.

(Y/N) looked up despite herself.

And found him already watching her.

Not laughing now.

Just looking.

The air shifted quietly between them.

Slower.

Closer.

Then Leonard cleared his throat and leaned back again.

“Well,” he muttered gruffly, “if it makes you feel any better…”

“It won’t.”

“…I suppose there are worse people in the galaxy to be fake married to.”

(Y/N) blinked once.

And because she was exhausted, emotionally compromised, and trapped in accidental alien matrimony she answered honestly.

“…Yeah,” she admitted softly. “I suppose there are.”

Leonard’s expression fell immediately.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just a slow, dawning look of horror settling across his face as the reality finally finished catching up with him.

(Y/N) sat back in her chair, arms folded tightly now as she stared out the open window into the glowing night beyond.

“But we aren’t fake married,” she said quietly.

The humour drained from the room.

“That’s the thing.”

Leonard frowned.

“Darlin’…”

“From what Spock explained,” she continued, rubbing tiredly at her temple, “we’re legally married, Doctor. By this society’s standards anyway.”

The title sounded oddly formal now.

Dangerously formal.

“And seeing as we’re here to welcome them into the Federation…” She exhaled slowly. “That’s binding.”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Outside, distant music drifted through the gardens below.

Leonard stared at her for a long moment before leaning forward in his chair.

“No,” he said firmly. “Now hold on just a minute…”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He pointed sharply toward the door as though the entire planet personally offended him.

“We are not actually married because I caught you before you busted your head open.”

“That’s not how they see it.”

“I don’t care how they see it!”

(Y/N) finally looked at him fully.

“That matters, though.”

Annoyingly she was right.

Leonard knew it, which was why he stopped arguing so suddenly.

The Federation’s relationship with Kalaris depended heavily on mutual cultural respect. Dismissing one of their oldest marital rites as meaningless could damage negotiations before they’d even begun.

Worse, the ceremony had witnesses.

Government officials.

Religious leaders.

Half the diplomatic court.

As far as this planet was concerned, the union already existed.

Leonard leaned back slowly, looking deeply betrayed by reality itself.

“Well,” he muttered after a long silence, “that’s deeply upsetting.”

(Y/N) huffed a tired laugh despite herself.

“That’s your response?”

“What else do you want from me? I’m processin’.”

“You’re processing very calmly.”

“Oh no, internally I’m screaming.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Leonard noticed immediately.

His gaze lingered on her a moment too long before he looked away again.

The room softened into quiet once more.

Then (Y/N) spoke again, more carefully this time.

“I don’t think they understand temporary relationships here.”

Leonard frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“The minister.” She glanced toward the closed doors. “Did you notice the way he talked about it? Like marriage wasn’t just romantic. It’s… sacred to them.”

She folded her arms tighter.

“I think as far as they’re concerned, we stood in front of their community and promised ourselves to each other.”

Leonard was quiet for a long moment after that, long enough that she finally looked back at him.

His expression had changed.

Less irritated now.

More thoughtful.

More serious and somehow that was infinitely worse.

“Darlin’,” he said slowly, “you know I’d never let anybody force you into somethin’ you didn’t want.” The gentleness in his voice caught her off guard.

(Y/N) swallowed once.

“I know.”

“And once this mission’s over,” he continued carefully, “Starfleet lawyers’ll probably untangle the whole mess in five minutes.”

“Probably.”

“But until then…”

He gestured vaguely around the room.

The bed.

The flowers.

The impossible intimacy of it all.

“We survive the next three days without causin’ an interplanetary incident.”

(Y/N) let out a long breath through her nose.

“Wonderful.”

Leonard’s mouth twitched faintly.

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

He considered that.

Then, “Well… at least you didn’t accidentally marry Jim.”

(Y/N) stared at him for one stunned second before a laugh escaped her so suddenly, she nearly choked on it.

Leonard grinned triumphantly like he’d personally defeated despair itself.

“There she is.”

And for one brief, dangerous moment the room stopped feeling like punishment.

“I admire the captain for his leadership, truly a man for the heart of space travel but yes, you’re right. James Tiberius Kirk is probably the last person I would want to be forcefully married to.” (Y/N) said leaning in slightly “Between you and I, he comes off like a bit of a man whore to me. At least, the records I go through suggest so.”

Leonard choked on his drink.

He coughed violently into his hand while (Y/N) blinked at him in mild alarm.

“Bones…”

“You cannot,” he wheezed, pointing at her accusingly between coughs, “call the captain a man whore while we are trapped in diplomatic marriage prison.”

(Y/N)’s expression remained perfectly composed.

“I said it quietly.”

“That does not improve the situation!”

“It’s an observation.”

“It’s mutiny-adjacent.”

She leaned back in her chair, entirely unapologetic now.

“I work in records, Doctor. I see mission reports.”

Leonard pressed his lips together hard, visibly fighting laughter.

“That is classified information.”

“I’m not leaking state secrets. I’m saying the captain appears romantically enthusiastic.”

“That is somehow worse phrasing.”

A reluctant grin finally broke across his face anyway.

(Y/N) noticed immediately how much younger it made him look.

Less burdened.

Less tired.

The sharpness around his eyes softened whenever he genuinely laughed, and it was deeply unfair of the universe to make Leonard McCoy attractive while stranded in accidental matrimony.

She firmly ignored that realization.

Across from her, Leonard shook his head slowly.

“Lord help me, if Jim ever hears you say that…”

“He’ll flirt with me just to annoy you.”

Leonard opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Why would he be annoyin’ me?”

(Y/N) froze for half a second too long.

“…Because we’re apparently married.”

His gaze sharpened immediately.

There it was again.

That strange little shift between them.

Tiny.

Quiet.

Dangerous.

The warm air drifting through the open windows suddenly felt heavier somehow.

(Y/N) cleared her throat and looked away first.

Leonard leaned back slowly in his chair, studying her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher now. Amusement still lingered there, but beneath it was something else.

Something softer.

“Well,” he said after a moment, voice lower now, “for the record…”

She glanced back at him cautiously.

“I appreciate rankin’ above Jim Kirk on somebody’s husband list.”

That startled another laugh out of her.

“Congratulations. You win by default.”

“I’ll take it.”

He sounded entirely too pleased about that.

(Y/N) shook her head faintly, smiling despite herself.

“This is absurd.”

“Extremely.”

“We’re sitting in a romantic suite discussing the captain’s dating habits while legally married under alien law.”

Leonard sighed heavily.

“When you say it out loud it somehow gets worse.”

Outside, the floating lanterns drifted slowly through the darkening sky.

Inside, the tension in the room had shifted again.

Still awkward.

Still surreal.

But warmer now.

Easier.

(Y/N) hated how quickly she was adapting to Leonard’s presence in the room. Most people exhausted her after prolonged proximity. But with him, silence never seemed demanding.

He filled space comfortably.

Even his grumbling had become oddly reassuring.

Leonard watched her quietly for another moment before speaking again.

“You really read all those records?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That means you’ve probably seen every terrible thing I’ve ever signed off on.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He groaned.

“(Y/N)…”

“You once submitted a medical report that simply said ‘patient was stupid and suffered consequences accordingly.’”

“That was clinically accurate.”

“You spelled ‘accordingly’ wrong.”

Leonard looked personally attacked.

“That report was written at three in the mornin’ after Jim swallowed alien pollen.”

“That’s not better.”

“It was a difficult week.”

(Y/N) laughed again, softer this time.

And Leonard found himself staring at her a little too long afterward, because that sound was becoming dangerously easy to like.

(Y/N) reached absently toward the untouched plate of ceremonial fruit between them.

The pieces gleamed softly beneath the warm lantern light. Deep violet slices, pale silver crescents, and small golden spheres dusted with sparkling sugar-like crystals.

At this point, if the fruit accidentally bound her soul to another alien custom, she supposed it hardly mattered.

She picked up one of the golden pieces and popped it into her mouth.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

“…Not bad.”

Leonard watched her with immediate suspicion.

“You cannot possibly still trust food on this planet.”

She swallowed.

“Tastes sort of like a peach.”

“That sentence has killed people before.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes faintly and nudged the plate toward him across the table.

“Want some? Might as well eat it.”

Leonard eyed the fruit like it might attack him personally.

Then, with the exhausted resignation of a man who had already accidentally gotten married today, he grabbed one.

“If this turns out to be another ceremony,” he warned, “I’m leavin’ you here.”

“You’d miss me.”

“I absolutely would not.”

“You caught me very dramatically for someone who wouldn’t miss me.”

He pointed at her immediately.

“You are never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not for the next seventy-two hours.”

He sighed the sigh of a deeply burdened man before finally taking a bite.

“…Alright, that is annoyingly good.”

(Y/N) smiled into her hand.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The face you make when you like something.”

He looked offended. “I do not have a face for that.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Nope.”

“It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You spend too much time observin’ people.”

“I work in records. Observation is my entire job.”

“That sounds unsettling.”

“It should.”

Another small silence settled between them as they picked idly at the fruit plate.

Strangely domestic.

Dangerously so.

The open windows let in cool night air that stirred the sheer curtains around them. Somewhere below, distant laughter echoed through the city streets.

(Y/N) curled slightly deeper into her chair, exhaustion finally beginning to creep visibly into her posture now that the adrenaline had faded.

Leonard noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“You’re tired,” he said.

She huffed softly.

“We’ve been accidentally married for less than four hours, and I already need a nap.”

“That’s fair.”

“My brain has simply stopped processing information.”

Leonard leaned back, watching her carefully.

“You eaten anything besides diplomatic fruit today?”

(Y/N) blinked slowly.

“…Maybe.”

“That means no.”

“I was busy.”

“You are literally describin’ every overworked officer on this ship right before they end up in my sickbay.”

There was no judgment in his voice.

Only familiarity.

Comfort.

(Y/N) looked down at the plate again, suddenly oddly touched by the concern.

Which was ridiculous.

Leonard McCoy worried about everyone.

It was practically pathological.

Still, something about having all that attention focused solely on her felt different tonight.

More intimate.

Maybe because they were alone.

Maybe because the room itself seemed designed for closeness.

Or maybe because every time she looked up, Leonard was already looking back.

As if he couldn’t quite stop checking on her.

(Y/N) quickly grabbed another piece of fruit just to have something to do with her hands.

“You know,” she said lightly, “for a man who claims this mission is torture, you’re adapting surprisingly well.”

Leonard barked a laugh.

“Darlin’, this is not adaptation. This is survival instinct.”

“Mm.”

“I am deeply uncomfortable.”

“You seem comfortable.”

“That’s because I’m distractingly handsome.”

The words came out so automatically that (Y/N) nearly choked laughing.

Leonard blinked once.

Then groaned.

“Oh no.”

“You did not just say that out loud.”

“I’ve spent too much time around Jim.”

(Y/N) laughed harder now, shoulders shaking as she covered her face with one hand.

Leonard found himself staring again, completely helpless against it this time.

Because seeing (Y/N) (Y/S/N) relaxed enough to laugh openly in front of him might actually be the most dangerous part of this entire situation.

Eventually, the exhaustion won.

(Y/N) pushed back from the table with a quiet sigh and stood, smoothing absent wrinkles from her uniform as she glanced toward the enormous bed occupying the centre of the room like an active threat.

“Well,” she said. “We should probably get some rest.”

Leonard looked immediately distrustful of that suggestion.

“Rest implies I’m ever gonna mentally recover from today.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

(Y/N) smiled faintly and started toward the bed before pausing halfway there.

“Oh,” she added casually over her shoulder, “just so you know, I’m taking the right side of the bed.”

Leonard blinked.

(Y/N) folded her arms with mock dignity.

“First rule as your wife.”

The silence that followed was catastrophic.

Leonard stared at her.

(Y/N) stared back with infuriating composure.

Then his entire face collapsed into helpless disbelief.

“Oh, you think you’re funny now.”

“A little.”

“A little?” He pointed at her dramatically. “Woman, you cannot casually say things like that while I’m already psychologically vulnerable.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

Despite his complaining, though, there was laughter buried beneath his voice now. Warmth too.

Dangerously warm.

(Y/N) crossed to the far side of the room and picked up the folded ceremonial robes one of the attendants had left earlier.

The fabric shimmered silver in the low light.

“Well,” she muttered, holding them up sceptically, “at least space marriage comes with nice pyjamas.”

Leonard looked up just in time to choke on air again.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You cannot say ‘space marriage’ like it’s normal.”

“It’s our reality now.”

“It absolutely is not.”

“It legally is.”

Leonard groaned so deeply it sounded genuinely painful.

“You are enjoyin’ this way too much.”

“I’m coping through humor.”

“That’s my coping mechanism.”

“Well apparently we’re sharing that too, husband.”

He pointed at her again.

“There you go sayin’ things.”

(Y/N) laughed softly under her breath before disappearing behind a carved privacy screen near the washroom alcove.

A moment later her voice drifted back out, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never shared a bed with anyone before.”

Leonard froze mid-motion.

“…What?”

There was a pause.

Then, “I mean overnight sleeping arrangements, obviously,” she clarified quickly. “Not ever-ever. I just…” She sighed. “I like my personal space.”

Something unexpectedly gentle settled across Leonard’s expression.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

The honesty in his voice softened the room again.

(Y/N) emerged a minute later wearing the ceremonial sleep clothes, the silver fabric loose and flowing around her frame. Her hair had come down slightly from the formal style she’d worn earlier, softening her appearance in a way Leonard found immediately hazardous to his wellbeing.

He looked away almost instantly.

Which, unfortunately, meant he missed the exact second (Y/N) noticed he’d looked at all.

“You okay there, Bones?”

“Mmhm.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“I’m survivin’.”

(Y/N) smiled tiredly and climbed carefully onto the right side of the massive bed, pulling one of the blankets toward herself.

The mattress dipped slightly beneath her weight.

Leonard eyed the remaining space like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” (Y/N) said, already lying down. “I don’t bite.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You’re being dramatic again.”

“I am a Southern man trapped in fake matrimony on an alien planet. Drama is culturally appropriate.”

Despite herself, she laughed quietly into the pillow.

Leonard disappeared briefly behind the privacy screen to change, and when he emerged a few minutes later in a simple black undershirt and sleep pants.

(Y/N) immediately regretted having eyes.

The man looked unfairly comfortable.

Barefoot.

Hair slightly mussed.

Broad shoulders visible beneath the low golden light.

Domestic.

Again, with the domestic. It was becoming a problem.

Leonard stopped when he noticed her staring.

(Y/N) immediately looked at the ceiling.

“…This is weird.”

“Extremely,” he agreed.

Still muttering under his breath, Leonard finally climbed into the opposite side of the bed with the caution of a man entering hostile territory.

The mattress shifted again.

Too close.

Even with space between them, she could feel his warmth beside her.

The room quieted.

Outside, the lanterns drifted silently through the dark.

For several long moments, neither moved.

Then Leonard sighed into the darkness.

“You know,” he murmured sleepily, “this is probably gonna sound strange.”

(Y/N) looked toward him.

“But I’m kind of glad it’s you.”

The words settled softly between them.

Honest.

Unplanned.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

In the dim light, she could just make out the shape of him staring up at the ceiling, looking equally surprised by his own confession.

After a moment, she smiled faintly into the dark.

Word Count: 953

Chapter 3

The disaster fully settled in approximately twenty-three minutes later.

That was how long it took for the diplomatic celebration to conclude, for the ministers to stop blessing them, and for Captain Kirk to finally regain enough self-control to attempt actual problem solving.

Unfortunately, the problem only became worse.

“Let me make sure I understand this correctly,” Leonard said flatly as the four officers walked through the glowing corridor toward the guest quarters. “We cannot tell them this was an accident because it’d insult half the planet.”

“Correct,” said Spock.

“We cannot undo the marriage until after the summit concludes.”

“Correct.”

“And now they expect us to behave like a married couple for three days.”

“Also correct.”

(Y/N) looked like she wanted to walk directly into traffic.

“This is a nightmare.”

Jim, infuriatingly, still appeared delighted.

“Oh, come on. It’s only seventy-two hours.”

Leonard shot him a venomous glare.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not accidentally married.”

Kirk grinned.

“Not today.”

(Y/N) groaned quietly into her hands.

The corridors of the diplomatic residence curved elegantly around indoor gardens and floating lanterns, every surface glowing with soft ambient light. Alien attendants bowed respectfully as they passed.

Every single one addressed (Y/N) and Leonard together.

Which somehow made things increasingly horrifying.

One attendant pressed a tray of fruit and wine into Leonard’s hands with a smile so earnest he physically didn’t know how to respond.

Another handed (Y/N) folded sleeping robes embroidered with intricate silver threading.

“For the honoured union,” Spock translated helpfully.

“I’m going to throw myself out an airlock,” (Y/N) whispered.

Leonard, carrying the tray like it had personally offended him, muttered: “I’ll join you.”

At the end of the corridor, a pair of attendants stopped before an enormous carved door.

The attendants bowed deeply.

Then opened it.

(Y/N) walked in first.

And stopped dead.

Leonard nearly collided with her back.

The room was beautiful.

Warm gold lighting illuminated polished stone walls draped in sheer fabric. A fireplace flickered softly near a curved seating area piled with cushions. Flowers floated slowly in shallow bowls of water.

At the centre of the room one bed.

One enormous bed.

Decorated with flowers.

Silence.

Then Bones recoiled. “Oh, hell no.” his echoed through the chamber.

(Y/N) turned slowly toward Spock with the expression of a woman being personally betrayed by the universe.

“There’s only one bed.”

“Yes,” Spock replied calmly.

Jim immediately looked away before either of them could murder him.

Leonard pointed furiously at the room.

“No. No, we are not doin’ this.”

“The hosts refuse to separate bonded couples,” Spock explained. “Providing separate quarters would be considered both disrespectful and deeply concerning.”

“Concerning?” (Y/N) repeated faintly.

“They would likely assume there is instability within your union.”

“There is instability within our union!” Leonard snapped.

Spock considered that.

“Nevertheless, appearances must be maintained until negotiations conclude.”

(Y/N) stared at the bed like it was a tactical threat.

The attendants smiled at them both one final time before closing the doors behind them.

With a very final sounding click.

Silence descended.

Jim lasted exactly three seconds before breaking.

“I am so sorry,” he said, visibly not sorry at all. “But this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Leonard looked ready to commit mutiny.

“You get out.”

“Bones …”

“Out.”

Still laughing under his breath, Jim backed toward the doorway.

“I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”

“You do that and I’ll poison you.”

“That’s the spirit.” Kirk grinned toward (Y/N) sympathetically. “Good luck.”

Then he disappeared into the corridor.

Spock lingered a moment longer.

“There is one additional cultural expectation you should be aware of.”

Both looked immediately exhausted.

“What now?” (Y/N) asked weakly.

“Bonded couples on Kalaris are expected to maintain close physical proximity in public settings.”

Leonard blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“To walk together, dine together, and remain within arm’s reach whenever possible.”

(Y/N) stared at him.

“You’re joking.”

“I am not capable of joking in this context.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Spock inclined his head politely.

“I trust the two of you can behave convincingly.”

Leonard made an offended noise. Then the door slid shut behind Spock and suddenly it was quiet.

Too quiet.

(Y/N) slowly turned toward Leonard.

Leonard slowly turned toward (Y/N).

The bed loomed between them like a diplomatic crisis, for several long seconds neither of them spoke. Then (Y/N) sighed deeply and dropped her overnight case onto the floor.

“Well,” she muttered, “this is intimate in a way I did not consent to.”

Leonard scrubbed both hands down his face.

“Darlin’, I don’t even like sharing elevators.”

Despite herself, her mouth twitched.

Unfortunately, that made him smile too.

A tired, crooked little thing that softened the hard edges of his irritation and suddenly the room felt smaller than before. Warmer.

Dangerously domestic.

(Y/N) immediately looked away.

“That side is yours,” she said quickly, pointing toward the far half of the bed.

Leonard stared at the enormous mattress.

“You realize this thing is bigger than my apartment on Earth.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sleepin’ on the floor.”

“You absolutely are not.”

He looked genuinely startled.

(Y/N) crossed her arms.

“You’re forty-eight years old and your back already sounds like a tricorder malfunction every time you stand up.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You made three separate noises getting out of a shuttle yesterday.”

“That shuttle was built by sadists.”

Despite himself, Leonard barked out a laugh and just like that, some of the tension cracked. Not all of it because they were still trapped in a romantic diplomatic suite.

Still accidentally married.

Still standing far too close in the soft golden light.

Word Count: 1175

Chapter 2

(Y/N)’s smile vanished almost instantly.

The warmth in the room had shifted into something else entirely, something intimate. Emotional. Several of the alien guests looked genuinely moved. One elderly woman near the front was dabbing at her eyes.

That was never a good sign.

Still caught against Leonard’s side, (Y/N) stared at the crowd in growing alarm.

“What did we do?”

The applause only intensified.

“Oh, that can’t possibly be good,” she muttered.

Leonard reluctantly released her waist, though his hand lingered at her elbow another second longer than necessary as she regained her footing. His expression had settled into deep suspicion.

“I don’t like this,” he said flatly. “I don’t like any civilization that applauds this much.”

Captain Kirk, meanwhile, looked dangerously entertained.

Spock stepped forward through the crowd with calm precision while one of the ministers continued speaking rapidly in the alien language, gesturing enthusiastically toward (Y/N) and Leonard every few words.

(Y/N) turned immediately toward the Vulcan.

“Commander,” she said, with the strained politeness of someone moments away from a diplomatic incident, “would you please be so kind as to translate this mess? I am not at all comfortable with these smiles.”

Spock inclined his head.

“Of course.”

There was a brief pause.

Far too brief.

“The presiding ministers,” Spock began evenly, “are offering their congratulations on your public bond ceremony.”

Silence.

(Y/N) blinked once.

Leonard stared at him.

Kirk made a strangled noise suspiciously close to laughter.

(Y/N) spoke first.

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “Their what?”

“Bond ceremony.”

“No.”

Spock folded his hands behind his back. “Doctor McCoy assisting you from the ceremonial elevation platform appears to have fulfilled the final requirement of a traditional marital rite.”

Leonard’s face went utterly blank. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Several nearby dignitaries smiled wider, apparently delighted by his reaction.

Spock, entirely unhelpful, continued.

“The act symbolizes one partner physically guiding the other into a shared life path.”

(Y/N) stared at him in horror.

Leonard looked ready to request orbital bombardment.

“That little staircase thing married us?” he demanded.

“In conjunction with the preceding ceremonial acknowledgments, shared positioning before witnesses, and public physical support…” Spock paused delicately. “Yes.”

Jim lost the battle entirely and doubled over laughing.

“Oh, Bones,” he wheezed. “You accidentally got space married.”

“I did not get space married!”

The minister approached them then, smiling radiantly as attendants moved forward carrying shimmering fabric garlands and what looked disturbingly like ceremonial jewellery.

(Y/N) took one immediate step backward.

“Oh no.”

Leonard pointed sharply at the approaching objects.

“Don’t you put that on me.”

The minister spoke warmly to them both before offering one of the garlands toward (Y/N).

Spock translated smoothly, “He says the joining was particularly moving because the physician’s devotion appeared instinctive and sincere.”

(Y/N) turned slowly toward Leonard.

Leonard looked personally betrayed by the universe.

“I was keeping you from falling!”

Spock raised a brow.

“The symbolism of protective support is considered one of the highest forms of courtship on this planet.”

Jim was openly crying with laughter now.

“This,” he declared, “is the greatest diplomatic mission of my career.”

Leonard pointed at him furiously.

“You shut your mouth right now, Jim.”

But (Y/N) barely heard them.

Because the room was still watching her and Leonard with unmistakable affection.

And worse the aliens genuinely believed it.

Not as some amusing misunderstanding or as an accident. They looked at Leonard McCoy like a man hopelessly devoted to the woman beside him.

And to (Y/N)’s growing horror…the doctor was still standing close enough that their shoulders brushed.

(Y/N) backed away from Leonard so fast one would think he had suddenly burst into flames.

The movement finally broke whatever stunned paralysis had settled over her.

“No,” she said immediately. “Nope. I’m not space married.”

Several nearby dignitaries looked confused by her tone.

“I did not agree to that when I came down here.”

Leonard, still visibly offended by the entire concept, threw his hands upward.

“You think I did?”

(Y/N) pointed at him accusingly.

“Bones, respectfully, you should have let me fall on my face.”

Spock raised a single eyebrow.

Captain Kirk made a choking sound so violent he had to physically turn away from them.

His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Leonard looked deeply wounded.

“Well excuse me for possessing basic reflexes!”

“You practically caught me.”

“You were falling!”

“I was wobbling.”

“You were one second away from crackin’ your skull open on diplomatic architecture!”

(Y/N) pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Oh my God!”

The minister stepped closer again, smiling fondly as though witnessing a beloved married couple engaging in playful disagreement, which somehow made everything worse.

Spock, unfortunately, continued to translate.

“The minister says your spirited exchange is considered an excellent omen for a long and passionate union.”

Jim completely lost composure.

A loud snort escaped him before he dissolved into helpless coughing behind his hand.

Leonard rounded on him instantly.

“You are enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jim managed between breaths. “This is incredible.”

“You’re the captain!” (Y/N) hissed. “Fix it!”

Jim straightened with visible effort, though amusement still danced shamelessly across his face.

“Right. Of course. Serious diplomatic situation.”

He looked at Spock.

“Can they undo it?”

Spock tilted his head slightly.

“There are dissolution procedures, yes.”

(Y/N) sagged with relief.

“Thank God.”

“However,” Spock continued, “to reject the union publicly and immediately after the bonding would constitute a severe social humiliation for the hosting families.”

The relief vanished instantly.

Leonard narrowed his eyes.

“How severe are we talkin’ here?”

“The closest human equivalent,” Spock said thoughtfully, “would likely involve publicly declaring someone unworthy of love before their entire extended family and governmental leadership.”

(Y/N) went pale.

Jim winced sympathetically.

“Ouch.”

The minister was still smiling at them warmly, entirely unaware of the crisis currently unfolding among the Starfleet officers.

One of the attendants stepped forward and draped a shimmering silver-and-gold sash carefully over (Y/N)’s shoulders.

Another immediately attempted to place a matching one on Leonard.

He recoiled like it was venomous.

“Absolutely not.”

The attendant froze in alarm.

Spock spoke quickly in the alien language, likely attempting damage control.

(Y/N) lowered her voice sharply toward Leonard.

“Do not start an interplanetary incident.”

“They’re accessorizing me against my will.”

“You are a Starfleet officer. Endure the sash.”

“I survived neural parasites for this?”

Jim looked moments away from collapsing again.

Then the minister said something longer, softer this time.

The room quieted around him.

Spock listened carefully before turning back toward them.

“He says,” Spock translated, “‘it is rare to witness devotion so immediate that one partner instinctively risks himself to catch the other before she falls.’”

Leonard opened his mouth then closed it again.

(Y/N) suddenly became very aware that everyone in the room was looking at them with genuine admiration.

Not mockery. Not amusement. Something warmer. Something sincere and standing a few feet away, Leonard McCoy looked unexpectedly thrown by it too.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

A/N: Third Person. This will be a series but I don't know how long yet. Enjoy.

Word Count: 843

Chapter 1

The reception hall shimmered gold beneath suspended lanterns, every polished surface reflecting warm light across flowing ceremonial fabrics and rows of low crystal tables. Music drifted through the air in soft, chiming waves. Beautiful, delicate, and entirely too formal for Leonard McCoy’s patience.

Which was already hanging by a thread.

“This is torture,” he muttered under his breath, tugging at the high collar of his dress uniform for what had to be the fiftieth time that evening.

Beside him, (Y/N) (Y/S/N) hid a smile behind her glass.

“You’ve said that six times in the last ten minutes.”

“And I meant it every single one of ‘em.”

(Y/N) glanced sideways at him, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re the Chief Medical Officer of the flagship of Starfleet. Try behaving with dignity.”

Leonard snorted. “Darlin’, dignity left the building when they put me in this uniform.”

That finally earned a quiet laugh from her, soft enough that he almost missed it beneath the music.

Almost.

His expression eased despite himself.

That was the trouble with (Y/N) (Y/S/N).

She never did anything dramatic. Never demanded attention the way some officers aboard the Enterprise seemed born to do. She simply slipped into a room and somehow made it steadier. Quieter. Better.

Even now, standing among alien diplomats and Starfleet officials, she looked perfectly composed in her yellow dress uniform, hands folded neatly behind her back as though she belonged in royal receptions on distant worlds.

Which she probably did.

As Records Officer, (Y/N) spent most of her life buried beneath mission logs, diplomatic archives, and enough classified paperwork to make lesser people cry. She was organized to a frightening degree, unfailingly calm under pressure, and entirely unimpressed by Leonard’s habitual grumbling.

He found that deeply attractive.

Unfortunately.

Across the hall, Captain Kirk was engaged in animated conversation with the planetary ministers while Spock stood nearby with his usual unreadable composure. The diplomatic summit appeared to be going smoothly, which meant Leonard’s presence here was currently unnecessary.

A fact he deeply resented.

“You know,” (Y/N) said lightly, sipping from her drink, “if you scowl any harder, these people may think Starfleet has declared war.”

“I’m a doctor, not a diplomat.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Against my will.”

“Mm.” Her mouth twitched. “Tragic.”

Before Leonard could reply, one of the alien attendants approached, bowing respectfully toward (Y/N).

The woman spoke rapidly in her native language before gesturing toward a raised crystalline platform near the centre of the hall.

(Y/N) blinked. “I think she wants me to stand up there.”

“Why?”

“She said something about honoured guests.”

“That’s never led to anything good.”

Ignoring him, (Y/N) handed him her glass and stepped carefully toward the platform.

The structure itself was elegant but absurdly impractical. Smooth crystal steps leading to a narrow-elevated dais surrounded by floating lights. The hem of her uniform caught slightly as she climbed.

Leonard watched with immediate suspicion.

“You’re gonna break your neck on that thing,” he called.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Your confidence in me is touching.”

“It’s not confidence in you I lack. It’s confidence in architects.”

A few nearby diplomats turned curiously toward them, their expressions bright with interest.

(Y/N) reached the top of the platform successfully and gave him a pointed look that clearly said, see?

Leonard rolled his eyes.

A moment later, the attendant made some kind of ceremonial announcement to the room. Applause echoed through the hall. (Y/N), looking increasingly uncertain, offered an awkward polite nod to the crowd.

Then the music shifted.

The floating lights brightened.

And suddenly every single person in the room turned to look directly at her.

“Oh no,” Leonard muttered.

(Y/N) looked down toward him with growing alarm.

“Doctor McCoy,” she called carefully, “I think I may have accidentally agreed to something.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly, already moving toward the platform. “That’s usually how these things start.”

He reached the base of the dais just as she attempted to descend.

The polished crystal step slipped slightly beneath her foot.

Instinct took over immediately.

Leonard caught her hand firmly in his, steadying her before she could stumble, his other hand settling automatically at her waist as he guided her carefully down from the platform.

“Easy there,” he murmured. “I got you.”

For one brief second, (Y/N)’s balance shifted entirely against him.

Close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her perfume beneath the sharp cleanliness of Enterprise uniforms.

Close enough for her startled eyes to meet his.

The room fell silent.

Leonard frowned.

Slowly, he looked up.

Every alien in the hall was staring at them.

Not just staring.

Beaming.

The elderly minister at the centre of the room pressed both hands dramatically to his chest and spoke something in an emotional rush.

Applause exploded around them. Warm. Enthusiastic. Celebratory.

(Y/N) blinked.

Leonard still had one arm around her waist.

“…Why are they clapping?” she asked carefully.

Spock’s voice drifted across the room with impeccable timing.

“Fascinating.”

Leonard closed his eyes briefly.

Captain Ed Mercer had never intended to make ‘questionable decisions during emotional vulnerability’ part of his leadership style but lately, the universe seemed determined to test that boundary.

Ed Mercer x Female!Reader Fanfic.

Total Word Count: 16,887

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,

Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12,

Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17,

Word Count:

Chapter 18

Ed didn’t go looking for Kelly right away.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because, for once, he didn’t want to walk into the conversation already knowing how it would go.

Except he kind of did.

He found her on the bridge at the end of shift.

The hum of the ship quieter now. Fewer crew. Less movement.

“Hey,” he said.

Kelly turned.

And for the first time in a long while there was no tension in her expression.

“Hey.”

That alone told him something had changed.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

They moved to the observation lounge. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, “I talked to Claire,” Ed said.

Kelly huffed softly. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Figures.”

A small pause.

“She said I needed to stop pretending I wasn’t part of the problem,” Ed added.

Kelly nodded. “She told me I needed to let go.”

Ed glanced at her. “Did you?”

Kelly met his gaze and there it was again, that clarity.

“Yes,” she said. No hesitation.

Just, yes.

Ed studied her for a moment because if this had been a week ago there would’ve been something else there. A caveat, a maybe, a we’ll see.

But now?

Nothing.

“…with Cassius?” he asked.

Kelly smiled faintly. “With Cassius.”

That settled it. Really settled it.

Ed exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” he said.

It wasn’t dramatic. Didn’t need to be.

Just…Closure.

Kelly tilted her head slightly. “You, okay?”

Ed considered that. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.” and he meant it.

Not because it didn’t matter but because now it didn’t linger. There was no what if left between them.

Just…what was. Kelly watched him for a moment.

Then, “I’m sorry,” she said.

Ed frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For dragging things out,” she admitted. “For not letting you move forward cleanly.”

Ed shook his head lightly. “We both did that,” he said.

Kelly nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed.

There was a brief pause.

“…she’s good for you,” Kelly added quietly.

Ed blinked.

“(Y/N).”

That caught him off guard. “You think so?”

Kelly gave a small, knowing look. “She doesn’t need anything from you,” she said. “That’s new.”

Ed huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

“But she also doesn’t bend,” Kelly added. “Not for you. Not for me. Not for the situation.”

Another beat.

“You need that,” she said.

Ed didn’t respond right away, because she wasn’t wrong.

Again.

“…yeah,” he said quietly and just like that the last piece fell into place.

They stood there a moment longer. Then Kelly stepped back.

“I should get back,” she said.

Ed nodded.

“Yeah.”

She paused at the door.

“For what it’s worth,” she added, “I hope you figure it out.”

Ed gave a small smile. “Me too.”

 And then she left.

Ed stayed. Alone, and for the first time in a long time, there was nothing pulling him in two directions.

No past.

No expectation.

No orbit.

Just forward.

“…okay,” he muttered.

And then his communicator chirped.

“Malloy to Captain.”

Ed closed his eyes briefly. “…go ahead”

“Hey, quick question—how do you feel about competition?”

Ed frowned. “That’s not a quick question, Gordon.”

“Hypothetically,” Gordon continued, “if a certain morale officer—who shall remain nameless but whose name rhymes with ‘(Y/N) (Y/S/N)’—was being… approached… by a certain science officer—”

Ed straightened. “…what?”

“Oh yeah,” Gordon said. “Very subtle. Lots of ‘accidental’ run-ins. Asking about her work. Laughing at things that are not that funny.”

Ed’s jaw tightened slightly.

“…who?”

“Lieutenant Arlen,” Gordon said. “Astrophysics division. Nice guy. Good hair. Big fan of morale.”

Ed exhaled slowly because of course. Of course this would happen now.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ed asked.

“Because I care about your emotional well-being,” Gordon said.

“…and?”

“…and because if you don’t do something, this is going to turn into a whole thing.”

Ed rubbed his face. “This is not a ‘whole thing,’ Gordon.”

“Right now it’s not,” Gordon agreed. “But give it a week.”

Ed didn’t respond.

Because now it mattered.

Not in a jealous, territorial way.

Not like before.

But in a very clear, very grounded way.

He wanted something.

And for the first time, he knew exactly what it was.

“…I’ll handle it,” he said.

Gordon grinned—audibly. “That’s my captain.”

The line cut.

Ed stood there for a moment.

Because this was different.

No confusion.

No emotional spillover from something unresolved.

Just choice.

Across the ship—

Kelly sat in her quarters, staring at nothing in particular.

Thinking.

Because now she could see it clearly. What she had almost disrupted. What she had delayed.

(Y/N) wasn’t complicated.

She was steady.

Clear.

Grounded in a way that Ed needed and Kelly had nearly pulled her into something messy and unfair.

“…that would’ve been a disaster,” she murmured.

A beat.

“…for him.”

And that sat heavier than she expected, because for the first time this wasn’t about what she felt.

It was about what he deserved and if she had interfered just a little longer, He might’ve lost it.

Kelly exhaled slowly. “…don’t do that again,” she told herself, because this time She was going to mean it; and somewhere else on the ship (Y/N) (Y/S/N) remained completely unaware that for the first time since stepping aboard, Ed Mercer was about to approach her

Not from a place of confusion.

Not from a place of reaction.

But with intent.

Clear.

Steady.

And entirely his own.

Word Count: 813

Chapter 17

Kelly Grayson didn’t go to the observation lounge. Not this time. She went to her quarters, closed the door and sat in the quiet without trying to fill it. For once she didn’t replay the argument. Didn’t dissect (Y/N)’s words. Didn’t try to reframe Ed’s reactions into something easier to carry.

She just…Let it sit and when she did the answer wasn’t loud.

It was simple.

She had already made her choice. She had made it when she walked away from Ed.

More than once.

Not impulsively.

Not carelessly.

Deliberately.

And each time it had been for a reason.

Because what they had what they were, wasn’t stable. Wasn’t healthy in the long term.

It was history, chemistry, comfort.

But not…peace.

Cassius was.

The thought didn’t come with hesitation. That was new.

Cassius was steady, kind and resent in a way that didn’t require negotiation or emotional recalibration every time something shifted.

With him there were no unfinished sentences.

Kelly leaned back slightly, exhaling.

“…things have a season,” she murmured to herself.

And hers with Ed had passed.

That didn’t make it meaningless. Didn’t erase what they had been to each other; but it also didn’t entitle her to hold onto it indefinitely, or worse to keep him in place while she figured herself out.

(Y/N)’s words echoed back.

You wanted him to stay the same.

Kelly closed her eyes briefly. “…yeah,” she said quietly.

She had.

And that wasn’t fair.

Not to Ed.

And definitely not to Cassius, because Cassius had done nothing wrong.

He had been patient and understanding. Open in a way that made it easy for her to lean into something stable without feeling like she was losing anything, and yet she had still been holding a piece of herself somewhere else.

Not intentionally but undeniably.

“That stops now,” she said, more firmly this time.

Because if she stayed with Cassius, If she chose Cassius.

Then she needed to actually choose him.

Not halfway.

Not with conditions.

Fully.

And that meant something else too.

It meant letting Ed go. Not just in action. But in expectation.

No more quiet comparisons.

No more emotional fallback.

No more assumption that he would always be—

There.

She sat with that.

It hurt.

But it also…Felt right.

Later, she opened a channel.

Cassius appeared on screen a moment later, expression softening when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said.

Kelly smiled. This time it reached her eyes. “Hey.”

He studied her for a second. “You look like you’ve been thinking.”

“I have.”

That got his attention. “…should I be worried?” he asked gently.

Kelly shook her head. “No,” she said. “Actually… the opposite.”

A pause.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” she added.

Cassius frowned slightly. “Kelly—”

“No,” she said, not harsh, but firm. “Let me say it.”

He nodded.

“I’ve been… distracted,” she admitted. “Not because I don’t care about you. But because I didn’t fully let go of something I should have.”

Cassius didn’t interrupt.

“And that’s not your fault,” she continued. “And it’s not something you should have had to navigate.”

Theres a pause before she speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

Then Cassius exhaled softly. “Thank you for saying that,” he said.

Kelly nodded. “But I also know what I want now,” she added.

That changed the air. Cassius leaned forward slightly.

“And what’s that?”

Kelly didn’t hesitate. “You,” she said.

Simple.

Clear.

No qualifiers.

Cassius searched her face. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Kelly smiled. “Yes.” and for the first time she was.

“I don’t want something complicated,” she continued. “I don’t want something I have to keep redefining every time circumstances change.”

Cassius nodded slowly.

“I want something steady,” she said. “Something I can actually build on. I want you.”

Silence followed.

Then Cassius smiled.

Not relieved.

Not surprised.

Just…Warm.

“Okay,” he said.

And just like that something settled.

Not dramatically or explosively. It was, just right.

Later, on the bridge Kelly stood at her station, posture steady, expression composed.

(Y/N) gave her a report. “Crew fatigue levels are improving,” she said. “Adjusted rotations are having the intended effect.”

Kelly nodded. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

(Y/N) inclined her head. “Thank you, Commander.” That was it. No edge. No undercurrent and this time Kelly meant it, because she wasn’t holding anything behind it anymore.

Next to her in his command chair, Ed glanced between them.

Noticing, because something had changed.

Not in what was said, but in what wasn’t and for the first time in a while there was no tension coming from Kelly.

None.

Ed frowned slightly because that was new and somewhere beneath that realization. Something else shifted.

Quiet.

Unspoken.

But real.

Because now for the first time there was nothing left between him and Kelly.

No expectation.

No pull.

No unfinished orbit.

Just…Space.

And what he chose to do with that space, was entirely up to him.

Previous

Word Count:

Chapter 16

Claire Finn had not scheduled either of these conversations. She had, however, absolutely expected them.

Kelly arrived first.

“Commander,” Claire said, setting aside her padd. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Kelly leaned lightly against the doorway instead of sitting.

A mistake.

Claire noticed immediately.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Kelly said.

Claire gestured to the chair. “Then you should probably sit.”

Kelly hesitated, then did.

That was answer number one.

“What’s going on?” Claire asked.

Kelly exhaled slowly, “I misjudged something.”

Claire tilted her head slightly. “That’s refreshingly vague.”

Kelly gave a small, humourless smile.

“I thought I understood my situation with Ed,” she said. “Where we stood. What we were… and weren’t.”

Claire didn’t interrupt.

“And I was fine with it,” Kelly continued. “Moving on. Letting him move on.”

A pause.

“I just didn’t expect it to actually happen.”

There it was.

Claire folded her hands. “You didn’t expect him to move on, or you didn’t expect to care when he did?”

Kelly didn’t answer immediately.

“…both,” she admitted.

Claire nodded once. “That’s honest.”

Kelly huffed softly. “It’s also inconvenient.”

Claire allowed a faint smile. “What part of it is bothering you?” she asked.

Kelly looked down at her hands.

“I don’t want him back,” she said.

Claire didn’t react.

“But I also—” Kelly stopped, frustrated. “I don’t like that he might not be… there anymore.”

Claire’s expression softened slightly. “You wanted him to remain available to you,” she said.

Kelly winced. “That sounds worse when you say it.”

“It is worse,” Claire replied gently. “But it’s also accurate.”

Kelly leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing,” she said.

Claire nodded. “Most people don’t, until something changes.”

“And now it has,” Kelly said.

“Yes.”

A beat.

“And you can’t undo that,” Claire added.

Kelly let out a quiet breath. “I know.”

Another pause. “I think I made it worse,” Kelly said.

Claire raised an eyebrow slightly. “How?”

Kelly hesitated.

“I pushed,” she admitted. “Subtly…maybe. Professionally. But I pushed.”

Claire didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Yes,” she said. “You did.”

Kelly closed her eyes briefly.

“And now she’s gone completely neutral,” she added. “And he’s trying to meet her there.”

Claire studied her. “And that bothers you,” she said.

Kelly nodded once.

“Why?”

Kelly swallowed. “Because now it’s not messy,” she said. “It’s not something I can point to and say, ‘this is a mistake.’”

There it was.

“It’s… intentional,” she finished.

Claire leaned back slightly. “That’s harder to interfere with,” she said.

Kelly let out a small, defeated laugh.

“I’m not trying to interfere anymore.”

“No,” Claire agreed. “But part of you still wants to.”

Kelly didn’t argue.

“…what do I do?” she asked.

Claire’s answer came without hesitation. “You let it go.”

Kelly’s jaw tightened slightly. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And if I don’t?”

Claire’s gaze held steady. “Then you risk damaging all three of you,” she said. “Including yourself.”

Silence.

Kelly nodded slowly. Not because it was easy but because it was true.

Ed arrived twenty minutes later.

Claire didn’t even look surprised. “Captain,” she said calmly. “Let me guess.”

Ed hesitated in the doorway. “…this is about to be uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Claire gestured to the chair. “Very.”

Ed sighed and sat down. “That obvious?” he asked. Claire folded her arms lightly.

“You’ve been hovering outside sickbay for the last three minutes.”

“…I was pacing.”

“Outside my office.”

“…strategically.”

Claire gave him a look. “Right,” Ed said. “Okay.”

He leaned forward slightly. “I messed this up,” he said.

Claire tilted her head. “Which part?”

“…all of it?”

Claire almost smiled. “That’s a good starting point.”

Ed exhaled.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he said. “What happened on the station. It was one night. No expectations.”

Claire nodded. “And then she showed up as your morale officer.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“And then Kelly reacted,” Ed added.

Claire didn’t interrupt.

“And then I reacted to Kelly reacting,” he continued. “And then (Y/N) reacted to both of us being idiots.”

Claire raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s… a surprisingly accurate summary.”

Ed leaned back. “She called me out,” he said. “About Kelly. About how I keep orbiting her.”

Claire watched him carefully. “And was she wrong?”

Ed didn’t answer right away. “…no,” he admitted.

There it was.

Claire nodded once.

“You’ve built a dynamic with Kelly over years,” she said. “That doesn’t just disappear.”

“I know,” Ed said. “But I thought I was handling it.”

Claire gave him a look. “You told Gordon.”

“…in my defence, I was spiralling.”

“That is not a defence.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“I like her,” Ed said.

Claire didn’t react immediately. Not surprised.

“(Y/N),” he clarified.

“I assumed.”

Ed rubbed the back of his neck.

“I like being around her,” he said. “It’s easy. Or it was. Before everything got complicated.”

Claire nodded. “And now?”

Ed exhaled. “Now I’m trying to do the right thing,” he said. “Respect her boundaries. Not drag her into… all of this.”

“And how is that going?”

Ed gave a small, humourless laugh.

“…I miss her.”

There it was.

Simple and unpolished.

Claire’s expression softened slightly. “That doesn’t mean you should act on it,” she said.

“I know.”

“But it also doesn’t mean you ignore it,” she added.

Ed frowned slightly. “So what, I just—sit with it?”

“Yes.”

Ed blinked. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Claire almost smiled. “It’s the only responsible one.”

A beat.

“If you want something real with her,” Claire continued, “it has to come from a place that’s not entangled with Kelly.”

Ed nodded slowly. “And if I can’t do that?”

Claire’s answer was steady. “Then you leave her alone.”

That landed.

Hard.

Ed looked down.

“…yeah,” he said quietly.

They didn’t see each other afterward. Not immediately but something had shifted.

Kelly walked out of sickbay with clarity she didn’t want. Ed walked out with responsibility he couldn’t ignore.

And somewhere else on the ship (Y/N) (Y/S/N) continued her work.

Unaware of the exact conversations.

But not unaware that something, finally was beginning to settle.

Previous

Word Count:

Chapter 15

The Orville did not descend into chaos. There were no rumours spread through the lower decks. No open gossip in the corridors and no one said a word they weren’t supposed to.

Which somehow made it worse because everyone knew, and everyone was being very professional about it.

“Captain,” Claire said the next morning in sickbay, handing Ed a report. “Your vitals from the last mission look stable.”

Ed nodded. “Good. Thanks.”

A beat.

“…if you require any additional support,” she added carefully, “I am available.”

Ed blinked. “…for medical reasons?”

Claire gave him a look. “Of course.”

Right.

Ed took the report and left immediately.

Strike one.

On the bridge, it wasn’t better. “Course plotted,” John said.

“Thank you,” Ed replied.

There was a lull before “…very efficient,” John added.

Ed frowned slightly. “That’s… your job.”

“Yep,” John said. “Just… acknowledging professionalism.”

Ed narrowed his eyes. Gordon, from the helm, didn’t even try.“So,” he said, “on a scale from ‘we’re all fine’ to ‘we need to jettison the conference room into space,’ where are we sitting?”

“Gordon.”

“What? I’m checking morale.”

“We have a morale officer for that.”

“Yeah,” Gordon said. “And she seems thriving.”

Ed exhaled slowly.

Strike two.

Kelly didn’t have it any easier. If anything, it was worse because she could feel it.

Not in what was said but in what wasn’t.

Respect hadn’t changed. Authority hadn’t changed. But there was a new layer now.

Awareness.

Bortus stood at tactical, posture rigid as always.

“Commander,” he said. “Enemy vessels remain outside engagement range.”

Kelly nodded. “Maintain position.”

A beat.

“…your previous assessment was… accurate,” Bortus added.

Kelly blinked. “My—assessment?”

Bortus inclined his head slightly. “Yes.” He said nothing else.

That was the problem.

Strike one.

In the corridor, two junior officers straightened as she approached.

“Commander,” one said quickly.

“Commander,” the other echoed.

Too quick and far too aware.

Kelly nodded, continuing past them.

Strike two.

It wasn’t humiliation.

No one was mocking them; no one was overstepping but the illusion the clean separation between personal and professional had cracked.

And unfortunately, everyone had seen what was underneath.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) (Y/S/N) was completely unaffected.

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N), crew fatigue levels?” Ed asked during briefing.

“Within acceptable parameters. Minor adjustments recommended for engineering rotation.”

“Approved.”

That was it.

No tension.

No hesitation.

No indication that anything had happened. She had said what she needed to say and then moved on.

Gordon watched her leave the room.

Then leaned toward Ed.

“I gotta say,” he murmured, “I aspire to that level of emotional detachment.”

Ed didn’t respond because it wasn’t detachment.

It was discipline and he was starting to realize just how much of it she had. Kelly noticed it too. Of course she did.

(Y/N) wasn’t avoiding them.

Wasn’t cold.

Wasn’t punishing.

She was exactly the same as she had been before, just without any allowance for their bullshit and complications.

Clean lines.

Clear boundaries and no investment beyond what her role required.

Kelly stood in the observation lounge again later that day. Not by habit this time, by necessity. Ed joined her a few moments later. Neither of them spoke right away.

“…this is bad,” Ed said finally.

Kelly huffed a quiet breath, “That depends on your definition of bad.”

Ed glanced at her. “I just got a wellness check from Claire that was not about my physical health.”

Kelly almost smiled.

Almost.

“Bortus told me my ‘assessment was accurate,’” she said.

Ed winced. “Oh, that’s worse.”

“It is.”

Silence settled between them. Not tense, just… tired.

“She’s fine,” Ed said after a moment. Kelly didn’t need clarification.

“I noticed,” she said.

Another pause.

“I think that might be the part that’s bothering everyone,” Ed added.

Kelly glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

Ed shrugged slightly. “We’re the ones dealing with fallout. She just… said her piece and moved on.”

Kelly considered that. “She doesn’t need anything from us,” she said.

There it was.

The difference.

Ed looked out at the stars. “…yeah.” Because that was new.

With Kelly, there had always been history.

Gravity.

Pull.

With (Y/N)?

There was none of that.

She wasn’t waiting, wasn’t hoping, wasn’t holding space for something unresolved.

She had drawn a line and meant it. “I think she meant what she said,” Ed said quietly. Kelly nodded.

“She always does.”

Another silence.

“…we deserved that,” Ed added.

Kelly didn’t argue.

“Yeah,” she said. “We did.”

And that was the hardest part because there was no one to push back against.

No misunderstanding to correct or emotional overreaction to dismiss. Just truth, delivered cleanly and left to sit with them.

Across the ship (Y/N) (Y/S/N) reviewed her next report.

Calm.

Focused.

Unbothered.

Because from her perspective nothing had changed.

She had simply stopped accommodating something that was never hers to manage and if the rest of them were still adjusting?

That wasn’t her responsibility.

Previous

Word Count: 872

Chapter 14

What Ed Mercer and Kelly Grayson did not know. What they did not even consider in the aftermath of that conversation was that they hadn’t been alone.

Not entirely.

The conference room door hadn’t been fully sealed.

Not intentionally just slightly misaligned. A fraction of a second delay in the lock cycle.

More than enough.

Because on the other side of that door standing just close enough to hear, and just far enough to pretend they hadn’t meant to—

Were half the senior staff of the Orville.

Gordon Malloy.

John LaMarr.

Claire Finn.

Even Bortus.

Talla Keyali.

They hadn’t arrived together. That would’ve implied planning.

They had just… gathered. One by one. Pulled in by raised voices that weren’t quite raised—but carried.

“…we should leave,” Claire whispered at one point.

“Nope,” Gordon whispered back. “Too late. We’re committed now.”

“This is a violation of multiple ethical standards,” Claire muttered.

“And yet,” Gordon said, “you’re still here.”

Inside (Y/N) was dismantling both of their commanding officers with surgical precision.

Outside, the audience stood very, very still.

John leaned slightly toward Gordon. “Are we… witnessing a disciplinary action?”

“I don’t think so,” Gordon whispered. “I think we’re witnessing a reckoning.”

Bortus folded his arms. “This is… uncomfortable.”

Gordon nodded. “Yes. But also, kind of incredible.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “We should not be hearing this.”

“No,” Gordon agreed. “But now that we are, I feel like it would be disrespectful to leave before the conclusion.”

Inside (Y/N) reached the end of it.

“I am not here for your history.”

Silence.

And then footsteps.

The door opened. The group outside froze instantly.

(Y/N) stepped through and stopped, because of course she did.

Her gaze landed on them.

All of them.

Clustered just off to the side.

Very clearly not where they were supposed to be.

Gordon straightened slightly. John looked at the ceiling. Claire looked like she wanted to disappear into the bulkhead.

Bortus, did not move at all, as though doing so would render him invisible.

There was a beat.

A long one.

And in that moment (Y/N) understood everything.

How long they’d been there, what they’d heard how much of it had carried.

Her expression didn’t change not noticeably but something in her eyes sharpened.

Just briefly.

Acknowledgment.

Not embarrassment, not even angry.

Just awareness.

She looked at each of them in turn. Measured, calm and then she said nothing.

Not a word.

Just inclined her head slightly professional, composed and walked past them.

Like it didn’t matter. Like they didn’t matter. Like whatever had just happened inside that room wasn’t something she needed to explain.

That was worse than if she’d called them out.

“…well,” Gordon whispered after a beat.

“…we’re all fired, right?”

Claire exhaled sharply. “We’re lucky if we’re not.”

John glanced toward the still-open door.

“…do we go in there?”

No one moved.

Inside the conference room, Ed and Kelly were still standing exactly where (Y/N) had left them.

Unaware.

For about three more seconds.

Then Gordon, making what could generously be described as a terrible decision,

leaned into the doorway.

“…sooo,” he said.

Ed’s head snapped up.

Kelly turned sharply.

And in that moment, they saw them. All of them.

Standing there.

Listening.

Silence.

Pure.

Complete.

Devastating.

“…how long have you been standing there?” Ed asked slowly.

Gordon hesitated. “Define ‘standing,’” he said.

“Gordon.”

“…long enough to get the general narrative arc.”

Ed closed his eyes.

Kelly didn’t move.

Claire stepped forward slightly. “Captain, Commander, we…this was not intentional—”

“It absolutely was,” John muttered under his breath.

Claire shot him a look.

Bortus spoke, just to fill the awkward silence. “It was highly informative.”

Ed dropped his head into his hands. “Great,” he muttered. “That’s just…great.”

Kelly exhaled slowly.

Because this was the part she hadn’t anticipated. Not just being called out. But being heard.

Witnessed.

By the very people they worked with daily, that they were supposed to be leading.

“…no one repeats this,” she said, stepping back into command mode.

Gordon raised a hand. “Oh, absolutely not. This is…this is top-tier confidential emotional trauma.”

“Gordon.”

“Sealed vault. (Y/N) calling you out…Never leaving my brain.”

A beat.

“…except maybe as a heavily fictionalized anecdote.”

“Gordon.”

“Sealed. Vault. I am a fortress.”

Claire sighed. “We understand, Commander.”

Bortus nodded. “I will not speak of this.”

John hesitated. “…same.”

Ed looked up slowly because now it wasn’t just between him, Kelly, and (Y/N).

It had spread, not in gossip. Not yet.

But in awareness and the worst part?

(Y/N) had known. She had seen them and she had chosen to walk away anyway. Not explaining, not justifying, not softening a single word she’d said.

Just letting it stand.

“…we’re never recovering from this,” Ed muttered.

Gordon tilted his head“…I don’t know, man,” he said. “That was kind of clarifying.”

Ed stared at him.

“I’m not helping, am I?”

“No,” Ed said.

“Okay. I’ll stop.”

He didn’t.

And somewhere down the corridor (Y/N) (Y/S/N) kept walking. Back straight, steps steady.

Like she hadn’t just detonated the most emotionally loaded conversation on the ship—

In front of an audience, she hadn’t even needed to acknowledge.

Because to her it wasn’t about them.

It never had been.

Previous

Word Count: 908

Chapter 13

It happens because of timing. It always does.

A systems review. Routine, necessary, and unfortunately unavoidable. Ed, Kelly, and (Y/N) together in the same room for far too long. Too contained with too much left unsaid.

“Power fluctuations in sector four have stabilized,” (Y/N) said, standing near the console, padd in hand. “Crew fatigue levels are within acceptable range, though engineering is—”

“Define acceptable,” Kelly cut in. It wasn’t sharp not overtly, but it was enough.

(Y/N) paused just briefly. As if she was thinking ‘really?’.

“Within operational thresholds,” she replied evenly.

Kelly nodded. “And your margin for error on that?”

“Minimal.”

Ed shifted slightly. He had heard that tone before. “Because from what I’ve seen,” Kelly continued, “Engineering’s been running extended shifts for three days. That doesn’t read as minimal.”

(Y/N) met her gaze, still calm, still controlled. Just

“It’s being monitored.”

Another pause.

“And adjusted, if necessary,” (Y/N) added.

Kelly folded her arms. “Is it?”

That was it.

Small and precise but it landed like a strike. Ed stepped in. “Kelly—”

“I’m asking a valid question,” she said, not looking at him.

“And I’m answering it,” (Y/N) replied still hanging on to that calm. But something had shifted, because this wasn’t about engineering.

It hadn’t been for a while.

The silence stretched.

And for the first time (Y/N) didn’t smooth it over. She set the padd down.

Slowly… deliberately. “…are we done pretending this is about work?” she asked.

That—

That froze the room.

Kelly’s eyes snapped to her. Ed went very still. “Excuse me?” Kelly said.

(Y/N) didn’t raise her voice, didn’t step forward but the room changed around her. “I’ve accommodated this long enough,” she said. “I’ve adjusted my behaviour. Maintained distance. Stayed within every professional boundary expected of me.”

Her gaze moved between them, measured and direct.

“And yet, somehow, I’m still standing in the middle of something that has nothing to do with me.”

Ed opened his mouth. “(Y/N)—”

“No,” she said, not harsh, but final. “You don’t get to defuse this.”

That stopped him because that tone, he hadn’t heard it before.

(Y/N) looked back at Kelly. “You don’t trust me,” she said.

Kelly’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”

“It is,” (Y/N) cut in, still controlled. “You’ve questioned my judgment, my objectivity, my presence on this ship.”

Kelly didn’t deny it.

“And the problem isn’t me,” (Y/N) continued. “It’s that I represent something you don’t like and didn’t plan for.”

That hit.

Kelly straightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) held her gaze.

“You wanted him to stay the same,” she said.

Silence.

“You wanted him to be there,” she continued, “unchanged, available, predictable—while you moved on.”

Kelly flinched just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” (Y/N) agreed. “It isn’t.”

A beat.

“But it’s true and frankly I don’t care to soften that fact for you.”

The room felt smaller.

Ed stepped forward slightly. “Okay, maybe we should—”

Then (Y/N) turned on him and for the first time there was heat there. “And you,” she said.

Ed stopped.

“You keep acting like this is happening to you,” she continued. “Like you’re caught in the middle of something you didn’t choose.”

“That’s not—”

“You are choosing it,” she said.

Not loud, not even angry.

Just unavoidable.

“You orbit her,” (Y/N) added. “Even now. Even when you’re trying not to.” That landed harder than anything Kelly had said. “And that’s fine,” (Y/N) continued. “If that’s what you want, own it. But don’t pretend you’re not part of the dynamic you’re trying to fix.”

Ed didn’t respond because he couldn’t.

(Y/N) exhaled slowly reining it back in but not stepping away.

“And for the record,” she added, quieter now, “yes—we slept together.” The words hung there.

Clean.

Unapologetic.

“Before either of us knew what this would be,” she continued. “Before there were lines to cross or not cross.”

Kelly didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“And I fail to see why that’s such a catastrophic issue,” (Y/N) said. “We’re on a deep space vessel, not a monastery. People form connections. Sometimes temporary ones.”

Her tone wasn’t dismissive, just practical.

“But what I am not going to do,” she said, “is become a variable in a situation that neither of you is willing to resolve.”

Silence.

Heavy.

“If you want to be together,” she said plainly, “then figure it out.”

Kelly’s breath caught slightly.

“If you don’t,” (Y/N) continued, “then stop treating each other like unfinished business and let the rest of us exist without being pulled into it.”

Her gaze flicked between them one last time.

“I am not here for your history,” she said. “I am here to do my job.”

A beat.

“And I will not compromise that for either of you.”

The room stayed quiet because there was nothing left to say.(Y/N) picked up her padd.

Composed again, controlled. “Now, I said, Engineering is stable,” she said, voice back to neutral. “I’ll continue monitoring.”

And just like that she stepped out. The door closed behind her.

Silence lingered.

Ed stared at the floor processing.

Kelly stood very still because that hadn’t been an attack.

It had been a mirror.

And neither of them had particularly liked what they saw.

“…well,” Ed muttered after a long moment.

Kelly let out a slow breath, “…yeah.”

And for the first time there was no confusion. No misreading or ambiguity.

Just truth. Uncomfortable. Unavoidable.

And now impossible to ignore.

Previous

Word Count: 841

Chapter 12

Kelly Grayson had made a decision.

A real one this time.

She was going to step back.

No more subtle pressure. No more sharpened questions. No more watching (Y/N) (Y/S/N) like she was something that needed to be managed.

It wasn’t fair.

To (Y/N).

To Ed.

To herself.

So, Kelly stopped and for a while, it worked.

Her tone evened out. Her interactions with (Y/N) became exactly what they should have been: respectful, professional, neutral.

No edge.

No undercurrent.

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N), your latest report was thorough.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Let me know if you need additional support from command staff.”

“I will.”

Clean, appropriate, done.

(Y/N) noticed, of course she did. The tension that had once existed between them,

Sharp, unspoken, undeniable was gone or at least no longer directed.

And because (Y/N) was who she was, she didn’t question it. Didn’t push. Didn’t try to define it. She simply adjusted. Which meant, the ship settled.

Kelly should have felt better. She didn’t; Because stepping back didn’t remove the feeling.

It just made it quieter, harder to justify.

She noticed it in the moments she wasn’t supposed to notice.

On the bridge.

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N), can you coordinate with engineering on that fluctuation?” Ed asked.

“Already in progress.”

“Great. Thanks.”

That was it. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing lingering, yet Kelly felt it. Not in what was said but in what wasn’t.

There was ease there.

Not the kind Ed had before—the obvious, unfiltered kind.

This was different.

More deliberate…more restrained.

But still easy.

Kelly even as she stood back could see it. That was the problem.

Because now she wasn’t interfering, she wasn’t pushing, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and it was still happening.

Which meant this wasn’t something she could control. The realization sat uncomfortably in her chest.

Later, in the mess hall, it became harder to ignore.

Ed sat with Gordon and John, mid-conversation.

(Y/N) passed by their table.

Paused.

“Lieutenant,” Ed said.

“Captain.”

There was a pause, “There’s an update on the crew rotation schedule,” she said. “I sent it to your terminal.”

“Got it. I’ll take a look.”

Another pause.

“Let me know if anything needs adjusting,” she added.

“I will.”

And then she moved on.

That was it.

No lingering. No softness. No slip.

And yet Ed watched her go, just for a second. Then turned back to the conversation.

Kelly felt something twist in her chest. Not sharp or overwhelming. Just persistent.

Gordon noticed her watching. Of course he did.

“…you good?” he asked.

Kelly didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

John glanced between them. “Did I miss something?”

“Yes,” Gordon said. “Several somethings. It’s a whole emotional saga.”

“I hate emotional sagas.”

“Same, but this one’s got layers.”

Kelly stood, too quickly.

“I have work to do,” she said and left

Gordon watched her go and then looked at Ed.

“…you’re in trouble,” he said.

Ed frowned. “Why am I in trouble?”

“I don’t know yet,” Gordon admitted. “But you definitely are.”

Ed sighed. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s accurate.”

Across the ship Kelly found herself in the observation lounge again.

It was becoming a habit.

She stood at the viewport, arms folded, staring out at the stars. Trying to settle something that refused to settle, because she had done the right thing.

She had stepped back.

Let things be.

Stopped interfering and it hadn’t fixed anything.

If anything, it had made things clearer.

Ed wasn’t being pulled. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t stuck in something unresolved.

He was choosing.

Carefully.

Quietly.

But still— Choosing.

And (Y/N) was meeting him there. Not crossing lines. Not inviting anything inappropriate.

But not shutting it down either.

Just…Allowing space and that was harder to compete with than anything Kelly had faced before.

Because it wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a rebound, wasn’t emotional chaos.

It was intentional.

Kelly closed her eyes briefly. “…this is ridiculous,” she muttered.

Because she knew what this was.

Not love.

Not even necessarily the beginning of something concrete.

Just possibility and for the first time that possibility didn’t include her.

That was the part she couldn’t seem to accept. Not because she wanted Ed back.

Not really, but because she had always been part of that equation.

And now she wasn’t.

The doors slid open behind her.

Kelly didn’t turn. She already knew.

Ed.

“Hey,” he said.

She let out a quiet breath. “Hey.”

There was a small pause, then—

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Kelly almost laughed because that question. Wasn’t it?

That tone—

That was the Ed she knew.

The constant.

And for a moment she hated that she still relied on it. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Ed stepped up beside her. Not too close but not distant either.

Familiar.

And that was the contradiction.

Because he was still here. Still Ed, still steady.

Just not hers to orbit anymore and maybe that had never really been fair to expect in the first place.

Kelly stared out at the stars. Still trying to make peace with that and not quite succeeding.

Previous

Word Count 812

Chapter 11

By the time they returned to the Orville, the shift had already happened.

Subtle but undeniable.

Gordon noticed it first.

Of course he did.

He was leaning against the shuttle bay railing as Ed and (Y/N) disembarked, arms crossed, watching with the intensity of someone who had absolutely no business being this invested.

“…okay,” he muttered.

John LaMarr, standing beside him, glanced over. “What?”

Gordon tilted his head slightly. “That’s new.”

“What is?”

Gordon gestured vaguely. “The vibe.”

John frowned. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“It’s less ‘we accidentally created a workplace HR violation’ and more ‘we had a meaningful conversation in a confined space and now everything is worse but also better somehow.’”

John blinked. “You got all that from them walking off a shuttle?”

“I’m very perceptive.”

“You’re very bored.”

“Also true.”

Down below, Ed and (Y/N) walked side by side.

Not close.

Not distant.

Just… aligned.

“Good work down there,” Ed said.

(Y/N) nodded. “You too.”

That was it.

But it didn’t feel like before.

It wasn’t strained, wasn’t forced.

It was… careful.

Gordon squinted.

“…yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s definitely worse.”

Kelly noticed it too.

She just didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

Because this wasn’t the same tension she had pushed against before.

This wasn’t Ed trying too hard or (Y/N) pulling away completely.

This was something quieter.

More intentional.

And somehow that made it harder to read.

Ed noticed it as well because for the first time since all of this started (Y/N) wasn’t shutting him out but she also wasn’t letting him in.

It was… balanced.

And that gave him an idea.

A dangerous one but a better one than anything he’d tried before.

It started in the most unremarkable way possible.

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N),” Ed said, stepping into her office later that day.

(Y/N) looked up from her padd.

“Captain.”

No tension.

No immediate shutdown.

Just—

Neutral.

“Do you have a minute?”

“I do.”

Ed nodded, stepping inside.

Not lingering near the door.

Not closing the distance too much.

Measured.

“I wanted to follow up on your last report,” he said.

(Y/N)’s brow lifted slightly, “That’s… a first.”

Ed allowed a small smile. “Trying something new.”

She studied him for a moment.

Then nodded.

“Alright.”

They went over the report.

Actually, went over it.

Crew dynamics. Stress distribution. Minor interpersonal conflicts that needed monitoring.

Real work.

And Ed stayed there.

Didn’t drift.

Didn’t push.

Didn’t turn it into something else.

(Y/N) noticed.

Of course she did.

“You’re being very focused,” she said after a moment.

Ed glanced up. “That’s usually considered a good thing.”

“It is,” she agreed. “It’s just… different.”

Ed leaned back slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured I’d try meeting you where you are.”

That was new.

(Y/N)’s expression shifted, just slightly.

Not guarded.

Not open.

Just… considering.

“And where am I?” she asked.

Ed didn’t hesitate this time.

“Professional,” he said. “Clear. Not interested in getting pulled into anything complicated.”

Accurate.

Respectful.

(Y/N) held his gaze.

“…yes,” she said.

A beat.

“So,” Ed continued, “I can do that.”

No expectation.

No underlying push.

Just an offer.

(Y/N) exhaled slowly.

Not tension.

Not quite relief.

Something in between.

“That would make things easier,” she said.

Ed nodded.

“Yeah. That’s the goal.”

Silence settled between them.

But this time it wasn’t heavy.

It was… workable.

“And if it’s not?” (Y/N) asked.

Ed tilted his head slightly, “Then we reassess,” he said. “Like adults.”

A faint smile touched her lips, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Alright, Captain,” she said. “We’ll try it your way.”

Ed nodded once.

“Appreciate it.”

He stood.

Didn’t linger.

Didn’t stretch the moment into something else.

And when he left; He actually left.

(Y/N) sat there for a moment after the door closed.

Still, because that had been different.

Not avoidance.

Not tension.

Not pressure.

Just…respect.

Across the ship, Gordon leaned over the railing again as Ed passed by“…you did something,” he said immediately.

Ed didn’t stop walking. “I did nothing.”

“You did different nothing.”

“That’s the plan.”

Gordon watched him go, then looked at John.

“…he’s learning.”

John blinked. “Should we be worried?”

“Deeply.”

On the bridge, Kelly observed the next interaction carefully.

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N), status update,” Ed said.

“Systems are stable. Minor fluctuations in sector three but contained.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

That was it.

No hesitation.

No edge.

No undercurrent.

Kelly frowned slightly.

Because this wasn’t what she had expected.

(Y/N) hadn’t been pushed out.

Ed hadn’t moved on.

They had…adjusted.

And somehow that felt more permanent than anything that had come before.

Because this time it wasn’t reactive.

It was chosen.

And Kelly, standing there, watching it unfold realized something she hadn’t been prepared for.

This version?

This quiet, steady, intentional version of whatever this was, might be harder to disrupt than the mess she had tried to control before.

Previous

Word Count: 1053

Chapter 10

The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Which, in Ed Mercer’s experience, usually meant it absolutely would be.

A small research vessel had gone dark near a volatile ion field—communications scrambled, navigation systems unstable. Nothing immediately dangerous, but enough to warrant investigation.

A standard away mission.

Quick in, quick out.

“Commander Grayson, you have the bridge,” Ed said, already heading for the shuttle bay.

Kelly nodded. “Understood.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to the roster on the display.

Then—

“Lieutenant (Y/S/N) is on the team?”

Ed hesitated.

Just a fraction.

“Yeah,” he said. “Her skill set’s relevant.”

Which was true. Annoyingly true.

Kelly studied him for a moment.

Then nodded once.

“Be careful.”

It sounded routine. It wasn’t.

(Y/N) was already in the shuttle when Ed arrived.

Seated.

Harness secured.

Running through pre-flight checks with quiet efficiency.

“Lieutenant,” Ed said.

“Captain.”

That was it.

Gordon, already in the pilot’s seat, glanced between them.

“…wow,” he muttered. “The vibe in here could freeze a star.”

“Gordon,” Ed said.

“Just, making an observation. For morale purposes.”

(Y/N) didn’t react.

Didn’t even look up.

Ed sat down across from her.

Strapped in, focused and professional.

This was fine.

It was absolutely not fine.

The research vessel was worse than expected.

“Life support’s minimal,” Gordon reported. “Emergency reserves only.”

“Any signs of the crew?” Ed asked.

“Not on initial scan.”

“Alright,” Ed said. “We go in, assess, get out. Standard protocol.”

(Y/N) nodded once. “Understood.”

Still nothing extra.

Still…Distance.

They boarded the vessel together.

Dim lighting. Emergency systems flickering. The hum of unstable energy echoing faintly through the hull.

“Stay close,” Ed said.

(Y/N) moved beside him.

Not close.

Not far.

Just precisely within operational range.

The corridors were narrow.

Too narrow.

And when the first systems surge hit

The lights cut out.

For half a second, everything went dark.

Then, a jolt. Sharp, violent.

“Captain—!” Gordon’s voice crackled over comms. “Ion spike just hit the outer hull—systems are fluctuating!”

The deck shifted beneath them.

(Y/N) steadied herself instantly.

Ed reached for the wall—

Missed—

And in the next moment—

They were forced back.

Together.

The bulkhead door behind them slammed shut.

Silence.

Emergency lights flickered on.

Dim.

Red.

Ed pushed himself upright, “You okay?”

(Y/N) had already regained her footing. “Yes.”

She moved to the sealed door panel immediately.

Assessing.

Focused.

“Door’s locked down,” she said. “Manual override isn’t responding.”

Ed stepped beside her. Close. Too damn close.

The corridor wasn’t built for space.

There was no room to create distance without stepping away from the situation entirely.

And (Y/N) didn’t step back.

But she didn’t lean in either.

She just—

Adjusted.

Internally.

“We may be stuck here until systems stabilize,” Ed said.

(Y/N) nodded. “Then we conserve energy and maintain comms.”

Professional.

Clinical.

Ed exhaled slowly. “Right.”

A beat passed.

“(Y/N)—”

“No.”

The word came immediately.

Calm.

Firm.

Ed blinked. “I didn’t even…”

“I know what you were going to say.”

She didn’t look at him still focused on the panel. “This isn’t the time,” she continued. “Or the place.”

Ed frowned slightly. “We’re stuck in a corridor.”

“All the more reason to keep this straightforward.”

There it was.

The wall.

Ed ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to start anything.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then what—”

(Y/N) finally turned to face him.

And there it was.

Not cold.

Not angry.

Just resolved.

“I am not getting pulled into this,” she said.

Ed stilled “Into what?”

(Y/N) held his gaze.

“Something that doesn’t have clear boundaries.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” she said, not raising her voice. “Whether you intend it to be or not.”

The hum of the failing systems filled the space between them.

“I’ve seen this before,” she continued. “Not you, specifically. But this dynamic.”

Ed frowned. “What dynamic?”

(Y/N)’s expression didn’t shift.

“Unresolved history,” she said. “Lingering attachment. Emotional proximity that isn’t fully acknowledged.”

That landed.

“And someone new gets caught in the middle,” she added quietly.

Ed’s chest tightened. “That’s not what I want,” he said.

“I know,” (Y/N) replied.

And she meant it.

That was the problem.

“But intent doesn’t change outcome,” she continued. “Not if the conditions are already there.”

Ed shook his head slightly. “You’re acting like this is some kind of…pattern.”

“It is a pattern and I don’t step into patterns like that.”

Silence.

Not tense.

Not explosive.

Just clear.

Ed leaned back slightly against the wall.

Processing.

Because again, she wasn’t wrong.

“I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything,” he said, quieter now.

“I know,” (Y/N) said.

And again, she meant it.

“That’s why I adjusted,” she added.

Ed let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I noticed.”

A faint flicker crossed her expression.

Not quite regret.

Not quite anything he could name.

“It was necessary.”

Ed nodded. “Doesn’t mean I like it,” he said.

(Y/N) didn’t respond to that because that wasn’t something she could fix.

Another surge rippled through the ship.

Lights flickered again.

Closer this time.

Gordon’s voice crackled back over comms.

“Hey! Good news, I can maybe get that door open in a minute—bad news, I have no idea if it’ll stay open—”

Ed tapped his communicator. “We’ll take ‘maybe’ at this point.”

“Working on it!”

The line cut again.

Silence returned.

Narrow space.

Dim light.

Too much awareness.

Ed glanced at (Y/N).

Still steady.

Still controlled.

Still—

Holding the line.

“…for what it’s worth,” he said after a moment, “I get it.”

(Y/N) didn’t look at him but she heard it. “I mean that,” he added. “You’re not wrong.”

A pause.

Then—

“I don’t want to be another complication either.”

That made her look at him.

Because that was the first thing he’d said that wasn’t trying to fix it.

Or push past it.

Or reframe it.

Just acknowledging it.

“…good,” she said quietly.

And for the first time since the shift the distance between them didn’t feel like a wall.

Just…

Space.

Temporary and unresolved but not closed.

The door behind them suddenly jerked, metal groaning.

“Okay! That’s your window!” Gordon’s voice burst through. “Move now or you live here forever!”

Ed straightened.

(Y/N) stepped back.

Distance re-established instantly.

Professional.

“After you, Lieutenant,” Ed said.

(Y/N) nodded once and moved forward.

And just like that the moment was over but not forgotten.

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Word Count: 903

Chapter 9

Kelly Grayson got what she wanted. That should have felt better.

The ship was stable.

Professional.

Orderly in the way command structures were supposed to be.

(Y/N) (Y/S/N) kept her distance; Precise, respectful, completely within the boundaries Kelly had silently demanded.

Ed Mercer had stopped— Whatever it was he’d been doing before.

Looking.

Lingering.

Trying.

Everything was exactly as it should be. So, why did it feel like something had been… diminished?

Kelly noticed it in pieces.

Small, almost insignificant things that didn’t register on a report but lingered in the margins.

Ed laughed less; Not in a dramatic way, he still joked, still bantered with Gordon, but there was a difference.

Less spontaneous.

More… measured.

“Wow,” Gordon said one afternoon on the bridge. “That was almost a genuine smile. We’re making progress.”

“I smile all the time,” Ed replied.

“That was a Level Two smile,” Gordon said. “Pre-incident, you were at least a Level Four.”

Kelly glanced over.

“Pre-what incident?”

Gordon froze.

“…I have said too much.”

Ed didn’t react. Didn’t even look at (Y/N). That was the part Kelly couldn’t ignore.

Because before even when he was trying not to, he noticed her.

Now?

Now he was actively not noticing her.

And somehow, that felt louder.

(Y/N), meanwhile, was exactly what Kelly had expected.

Professional.

Focused.

Uninvolved.

If anything, she was even better now. Cleaner in her interactions, less room for interpretation.

No ambiguity.

Kelly should have approved. She did.

And yet—

It felt like watching someone carefully erase something that had once existed.

Not messily.

Not regretfully.

Just… deliberately.

The realization didn’t hit all at once. It came quietly. The way most uncomfortable truths did.

It happened in the observation lounge.

Kelly stood near the viewport, arms folded loosely, staring out at the stars without really seeing them.

Behind her, the doors slid open.

Footsteps.

Familiar.

Ed.

She didn’t turn right away.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

He stepped up beside her.

Not too close.

Not distant either.

They stood in silence for a moment. Easy, familiar.

Once, this had been enough.

Kelly glanced at him and really looked at him.

He looked fine. Put together, functional even but there was something missing.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” she said.

Ed frowned slightly. “Doing what?”

“Keeping your distance.”

A beat.

Ed huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. I am.”

No deflection and no jokes, just honesty.

Kelly nodded slowly. “That’s… probably for the best.”

Ed didn’t answer immediately.

“Yeah,” he said finally.

Another silence.

Kelly shifted slightly, “(Y/N) seems… unaffected.”

Ed’s jaw tightened just a fraction. “She’s good at compartmentalizing.”

There was something in his tone.

Not bitterness.

Not quite.

Just… recognition.

Kelly hesitated.

Then—

“Do you miss it?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it.  Ed looked at her surprised.

“…what?”

Kelly exhaled softly. “This. Before things got… like this.”

Ed didn’t answer right away and that was the answer because if it had been nothing,

If (Y/N) had been nothing, he would’ve shrugged, deflected or made a joke.

Instead, “…yeah,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Wasn’t heavy.

Just, honest.

And that settled something in Kelly’s chest in a way she hadn’t been expecting.

Not relief, clarity, because suddenly everything lined up.

She had wanted control; Stability, the reassurance that Ed would always be there.

Unchanged.

Available in a way that didn’t require her to choose him.

And when something threatened that; When (Y/N) introduced the possibility that he might move on, even slightly, Kelly had pushed.

Subtly.

Professionally.

But deliberately.

And it had worked.

(Y/N) stepped back.

Ed followed.

Everything returned to order.

And now—

Now she was standing in the version of events she had shaped.

And it felt… Hollow.

“…I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she admitted.

Ed glanced at her.

“What did you think it would feel like?”

Kelly let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know. Easier.”

Ed gave a small, humourless huff. “Yeah. That would’ve been nice.”

They stood there for a moment.

The weight of it settling between them.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Kelly said finally.

Ed looked at her, something softer in his expression now. “I know.”

“But that’s not the only reason,” she added.

There it was.

The truth.

Ed didn’t interrupt, didn’t push. Just waited.

Kelly swallowed.

“I think I just… expected you to stay the same.”

Ed nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “You said that before.”

“I didn’t realize what that actually meant,” she said.

And now she did.

It meant asking him to stay still.

While she moved on.

It meant wanting the comfort of him without the responsibility of choosing him.

It meant, exactly what Cassius had implied.

Something she didn’t get to expect forever.

Ed looked away, back out at the stars. “I wasn’t planning on changing,” he said. “Not really.”

Kelly’s chest tightened slightly.

“But things do,” he added. “Whether you plan for it or not.”

Silence.

Not tense.

Not sharp.

Just… honest.

Kelly nodded once, “Yeah,” she said softly and for the first time since this all started,

she wasn’t trying to control the outcome.

Just… understand it.

Across the ship (Y/N) (Y/S/N) continued her work.

Unaware of the exact conversation but not unaware of the shift that had already begun.

Because distance, real distance—

Was never just one-sided.

And somewhere beneath all that professionalism there was still something unresolved.

Quiet.

Patient.

And waiting.

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Word Count: 875

Chapter 8

Ed Mercer had decided.

Which, historically, was always a dangerous moment.

But this one felt different.

He was going to respect the distance.

No more unnecessary conversations. No more lingering. No more trying to “fix” something that (Y/N) (Y/S/N) had very clearly, and very deliberately, put in place.

It was the right call; He knew it.

Logically, professionally, morally it was the right call.

That didn’t make it easy.

“Captain, we’ve received the updated navigation data.”

Ed didn’t look up right away.

“Send it to helm.”

“Already done.”

A beat.

“…anything else, Lieutenant (Y/S/N)?”

“No, Captain.”

Silence.

Ed nodded once. “Alright.”

And that was it.

Clean.

Efficient.

Exactly how it was supposed to be.

Gordon slowly turned in his chair.

“…are you two communicating exclusively in bullet points now, or…”

“Gordon,” Ed said.

“Just checking. Because that felt like a hostage negotiation.”

(Y/N) didn’t react. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even glance over.

Ed felt that more than he expected.

He kept his focus forward.

Professional.

Composed.

Absolutely not watching the way she moved across the bridge.

Okay, maybe a little.

But less than before.

Definitely less.

…probably less.

The real problem wasn’t the bridge.

It was everything else.

(Y/N) had been, unexpectedly, easy to be around.

Before.

Before things got complicated.

Before lines were drawn and carefully maintained.

Before every interaction felt like something being measured and corrected in real time.

Now?

Now every conversation felt like it came with invisible boundaries.

Predefined limits.

A quiet understanding of don’t step past this.

And Ed wasn’t used to that with her.

He noticed it most in the small moments.

The ones that used to happen without effort.

The mess hall.

She used to sit nearby sometimes. Not with him, not deliberately but close enough that conversation could happen naturally.

Now?

Different table. Different group or no group at all.

The observation lounge.

Once shared.

Now…not.

Even their evaluations had changed.

“Your stress levels have stabilized,” (Y/N) said, reviewing her padd.

Ed leaned back in his chair. “That’s because I’m repressing everything.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that as a long-term strategy.”

“Noted.”

A pause.

That used to be where something else slipped in.

A comment.

A shift in tone.

Something that made the space feel less clinical.

Now nothing.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

Professional, neutral.

Ed hesitated just for a second.

Because he wanted to say yes.

He wanted to say, ‘Stay’.

‘Talk to me like you used to. This didn’t have to become… this.’

But instead “No,” he said.

(Y/N) nodded once.

“Then we’re done here.”

And she left.

Ed sat there for a long moment after the door closed.

“…this is fine,” he muttered.

It wasn’t.

Because the truth, the one he hadn’t fully admitted to himself yet—was becoming harder to ignore.

He missed her.

Not in a dramatic, sweeping, I can’t function without you kind of way. Nothing that intense. Nothing that complicated.

Just, he liked talking to her. He liked the way she challenged him without pushing.

The way she saw things clearly without making him feel like he was being dissected.

The way being around her felt… easy.

And now it wasn’t.

Not because it couldn’t be.

But because it shouldn’t be.

That was the part that got him.

Across the ship, Kelly noticed the change too.

At first, it was subtle.

Ed pulling back.

Fewer interactions.

Less of that quiet, unintentional focus he used to have whenever (Y/N) was in the room.

Kelly should have felt reassured.

This was what she wanted.

Wasn’t it?

(Y/N) staying in her lane.

Ed regaining his composure.

Everything returning to normal.

Except it didn’t feel like normal.

It felt… off.

Ed was quieter. Not distracted. Not unfocused. Just contained.

And when (Y/N) spoke, he didn’t react the same way anymore.

Didn’t linger.

Didn’t engage.

Didn’t light up—not that Kelly had consciously noticed that before.

Now she did.

Because it was gone.

“Everything alright, Captain?” Kelly asked during a lull on the bridge.

Ed nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem… different.”

Ed shrugged lightly. “Just focusing on work.”

That sounded right. It should have sounded right.

Kelly studied him for a moment.

Then glanced toward (Y/N).

Still professional.

Still composed.

Still exactly where Kelly had wanted her to be.

So why did it feel like something had been… lost?

Gordon, meanwhile, was not subtle.

At all.

“You’re doing the thing,” he said quietly to Ed later.

Ed frowned. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m pretending I don’t care but I absolutely care’ thing.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Okay,” Gordon said. “Then you actually don’t care?”

Ed didn’t answer.

Gordon nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“It’s better this way,” Ed said after a moment.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Gordon tilted his head. “For whom?”

Ed exhaled.

Didn’t respond.

Because that was the question.

And he didn’t have a clean answer.

All he knew was (Y/N) had been right. From the beginning.

It didn’t have to be complicated.

So, she made sure it wasn’t.

Even if that meant removing the part of it that had actually mattered.

And Ed—

For once—

Was trying not to make it worse.

Even if it meant standing on the other side of a line he didn’t want there in the first place.

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