Andersson wakes with a groan, his senses sluggish and dulled, the morning sunlight piercing through the window like a personal attack.

Urgh. My head. What was in that drink?

He exhales slowly, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his skull, but as he shifts slightly, something warm brushes against him. His muscles tense, his heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Shit.

With a creeping sense of dread, Andersson's brain lurches into wakefulness with the feeling that something is wrong. His body aches in ways he doesn't want to examine too closely, the sheets feel too warm, too tangled. His muscles tense, instincts kicking in.

Then he turns his head.

And sees Reece.

Naked.

Oh, hell.

A bolt of panic shoots through him as he realizes he's also naked, the sheets barely covering his lower half. His chest tightens, mind racing to make sense of it.

Great. My first night on an alien planet, and I get drunk and fuck my XO.

He drags a hand down his face, inhaling sharply as the memories start coming back—not in clear, coherent detail, but in flashes. Reece's laughter, the warmth of his touch, the weight of him pressed against Andersson, the way it had felt so damn right.

Andersson's eyes linger on him for a moment, unable to help himself. Even in the haze of the morning, Reece looks… peaceful. Relaxed. His dark hair is a mess, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look younger. His usually sharp, cocky expression is softer, unguarded in sleep.

His eyes linger, unwilling to look away. Damn, just look at him.

Andersson swallows hard. He needs to move. Needs to get up. Needs to figure out how the hell he's supposed to handle this.

But before he can do anything, Reece stirs beside him, shifting slightly before blinking open sleepy, dark eyes. For a moment, he just looks at Andersson, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

Then, his lips curl into a slow, lazy smirk.

"Morning... Captain." His voice is thick with sleep, amused.

Andersson lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. The tension that had coiled in his chest eases—just a little—as they hold each other's gaze. The awkwardness he was expecting doesn't come. Instead, there's an ease between them. Familiar. Uncomplicated.

That throws him more than anything.

"Morning, XO," Andersson finally says, his voice rough, a ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His heart is still hammering, but the mood between them feels… light. Natural. Almost like nothing happened at all.

Almost.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, stretching muscles that feel far too used for a diplomatic mission. His body remembers last night in ways he's absolutely not ready to unpack. "I need a shower," he mutters, mostly to himself.

"Hope you're not trying to wash away some regret," Reece calls lazily from behind him, voice still thick with sleep and mischief.

Andersson smirks over his shoulder. "Not yet."

"Well, good luck with that."

Andersson pauses, halfway to the bathroom. "What do you mean?"

Reece doesn't even open his eyes. "The shower looks…different."

Of course it does.

Andersson steps into the adjoining room, where a sleek, cylindrical contraption waits like something that might dispense coffee… or vaporize him.

The shower—or what he assumes is a shower—sits in the center, polished metal and smooth panels etched with glowing blue lines that pulse gently like a heartbeat. No faucets. No buttons. Just an ominously silent monument to alien hygiene.

He eyes it warily.

Behind him, Reece appears in the doorway, gloriously unbothered and completely naked.

"Go on then," he says, leaning against the frame like he owns the whole damn galaxy. "I'd offer to join you, but who knows what that thing might do. Could be a teleporter. Or a skin peeler."

Andersson exhales through his nose, jaw tightening just slightly. "Great. Naked roulette."

With a reluctant step forward, he presses his palm to one of the glowing panels.

The door hisses open without a sound, sliding aside to reveal an interior so pristine it feels hostile. The air inside is warm, faintly misted, and shimmers under the same soft blue light. There's still no clue how it works.

He mutters under his breath. "If I disappear, tell Hale it was your fault."

"Noted," Reece says, voice far too cheerful. "But if you come out with extra limbs, we're definitely trying it together."

The second Andersson steps inside, the door seals shut behind him with a whisper of displaced air.

He tenses automatically—instinct overriding logic. No handle. No controls. No way out.

Then, without warning, a soft mist rises from the floor, curling around his legs, cool and fine. It climbs higher, enveloping him completely. The temperature shifts—cool giving way to comforting warmth. Not just water—energy, like the bath last night. It's doing all the work. He just has to stand there and let it.

The walls around him begin to glow, cycling slowly from deep ocean blue to warm golden amber. A soft hum pulses through the chamber, steady and low, like the ship's core or the beat of something alive. The mist thickens, flowing across his skin in gentle, rhythmic waves that feel… disturbingly good. Like it's reading his muscles. Learning his aches.

Andersson exhales, tilting his head back, eyes slipping closed.

"Alright," he mutters. "That's… different."

When the mist fades, it takes every trace of grime, sweat, and sleep with it.

The same golden energy that followed his bath sweeps over him in a final, whispering pass—warm, clean, impossibly thorough.

The hum quiets. The light dims. A moment later, the door slides open.

Andersson steps out, completely dry. Skin clean and moisturized, muscles relaxed, hair inexplicably neat.

He pauses in the doorway, blinking once.

Reece is still leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, like he's been waiting for commentary.

Andersson lifts an eyebrow. "It's... efficient."

Reece grins. "So, do you feel spiritually exfoliated, or just mildly reborn?"

Andersson exhales, tugging at the collar of his jumpsuit. "They've certainly got personal hygiene tech figured out."

Reece tilts his head, amused. "How's it compare to the bath?"

Andersson nods once, thoughtful. "Same sensation. Just… quicker. Less existential."

Reece leans against the doorway, watching him with that familiar glint. "I think I could get used to it here."

Reece smirks, gaze trailing up and down with unapologetic appreciation. "I have to say, Captain, you look pretty damn sexy stepping out of that shower."

Andersson says nothing. He just steps to the cabinet beside the bath, opens it, and retrieves his clean, neatly folded jumpsuit.

He fixes Reece with a flat stare. "Commander, if you keep talking, I'll be forced to test the lethal capabilities of that contraption." He said gesturing towards the shower.

Reece leans back against the pillows, utterly unfazed. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say I already tested how lethal your weapon is." His grin widens, eyes gleaming. "Extensively."

Heat flares across Andersson's face before he can stop it. Damn it. He knows that look—cocky, smug, and very, very satisfied. It's the same look Reece had last night, right before Andersson stopped pretending he had any self-control.

His throat is dry. His brain is fried. Shut it down, Andersson. Right now.

Andersson pulls on his jumpsuit, the motion sharp and practiced, like routine might help him rebuild the wall he let down. "Don't push your luck, Commander."

Reece lifts his arms with a lazy, exaggerated stretch, gloriously unbothered and completely naked. The movement is theatrical, every line of his body framed by the morning light. "Oh, I think I pushed it plenty last night," he says, voice rough with sleep and smug as hell.

Andersson swears his brain short-circuits.

Andersson glares at Reece, more for his own self-preservation than any real reprimand. "Get dressed," he says, voice edged with forced authority.

Reece stretches like a cat, all smug ease. "Mmm, I love it when you order me around," he drawls. "Guess I'd better jump in the shower too, then."

Andersson opens his mouth—probably to tell him to behave, definitely to fail at it—when Reece steps closer. Before he can react, Reece catches him by the collar and pulls him in for a long, lingering kiss. It's warm and slow and maddeningly confident, like they didn't just cross a massive line last night. Like this is something they've done a hundred times.

When he finally pulls back, Reece's grin is nothing short of criminal. "Be right out, Captain."

And with that, he turns and strolls into the cubicle, completely unbothered and still very, very naked.

Andersson steps back into the bedroom, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips—until he hears movement from the other room.

Andersson freezes, heart lurching into his throat.

Shit. Hale's awake.

He can hear her—mug clinking, footsteps soft in the central room. Probably nursing a hot drink and a smug sense of early-riser superiority. Which means the second Kyle walks out of this room, she's going to see him. And there'll be no mistaking it. Not a sleepover. Not a friendly chat. Not at this hour, just Kyle emerging freshly showered from his quarters.

His mind scrambles. Maybe—maybe he could get Kyle sneak out through the balcony and climb back to his own room?

He looks out.

Nothing but a gap too wide to climb across, with a sheer drop yawning below. No ledge. No bridge. Just the open air and the endless sprawl of Thedas in all its scenic, gravity-defying glory. Andersson grimaced, suddenly imagining how it must look to the locals—one of their honored guests attempting to scale a balcony in his underwear. Real dignified.

"Of course," he mutters under his breath. "Alien palaces. Zero regard for plausible deniability."

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing toward the bathroom just as he hears it: the unmistakable sound of Kyle knocking something over. A dull thud, followed by the rustle of fabric and a low, confused grumble.

"What the…?"

Andersson calls out, trying not to sound too amused. "You okay in there?"

A moment later, Reece appears in the doorway, holding up his jumpsuit like it just materialized out of thin air—and might still be radioactive.

"I left this in the cabinet in the bathroom in my room," Reece says, holding it up. "And it just appeared here. Folded. Fresh. Like new. Like a teleporting tailor with boundary issues."

Andersson stares at the uniform, then at Reece. "That's… mildly terrifying."

Reece snorts, clearly not concerned. "Alien tech. Solves your laundry and your post-hookup shame."

The look on Andersson's face snapped back to panic. He started pacing, now fully dressed, his boots clacking against the floor.

Reece face was radiating smugness as he pulled his boxers and undershirt on, arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

Andersson spun. "Hale's up. She's out there. She's going to see you and me coming out of this room."

Reece blinked. "Okay… and?"

Andersson threw up his hands. "So, what are we supposed to do?"

Reece shrugged, utterly unconcerned as he stepped into his jumpsuit. "Style it out. You worry too much."

"It's against regulations," Andersson hissed. "And she's an admiral's daughter!"

Reece laughed, zipping up his front. "You're seriously worried she's gonna send a message to another galaxy telling her dad that you banged your XO?"

Andersson huffed—half a laugh, half a groan. "I mean… maybe."

He's the captain. The one who's supposed to be in control. But Reece? Reece is the one with the easy charm, the unshakable calm, the damn upper hand in every room—including this one.

Reece crossed the space between them, placing both hands on Andersson's shoulders. His thumbs kneaded gently, like he was soothing a stressed animal. Or a stressed captain. "She knew we were going to fuck before you did."

Andersson blinked. "What?"

Reece gave him a look. "After I came to see you in your quarters? It was obvious. I told her it was only a matter of time."

Andersson stared at him. Reece's confidence—the sheer audacity of it—was terrifying. And also, infuriatingly sexy.

"Trust me," Reece added, voice low and reassuring. "It's going to be fine."

Andersson sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "If you say so…"

He turned to leave—and then jumped slightly as Reece smacked him playfully on the ass.

Andersson spun, wide-eyed.

Reece, utterly unrepentant, just grinned. "Sorry, it's just so—you know." He made an exaggerated squeezing gesture with both hands, looking far too pleased with himself.

Andersson stared at him.

He should reprimand him. Should make a speech about professionalism and dignity. Should remind him they were on an alien world in a politically fragile situation and maybe groping the captain wasn't protocol.

Instead…

He shook his head and opened the door.

"Dead man walking," he muttered, and stepped into the hall.

Andersson should be pushing back, setting boundaries. But instead, all he can think about is how easy it had been. How natural.

He exhales, feeling way too warm for someone who just got dressed.

"Let's go," he says, voice steady—even if his pulse is anything but.

Reece steps back, his grin sliding back into place like nothing happened. "Aye, Captain."

And with that, they step out of the room, walking side by side—out of the privacy of last night and into whatever comes next.

As they leave the bedroom, Andersson's stomach tightens. Hale is already seated at the table, fully dressed and sipping from a cup. She glances up and fixes them with a look—dry, unamused, and entirely too perceptive.

Andersson doesn't feel the weight of her gaze.

He feels the precision of it—like a scalpel.

Hale doesn't even look up at first. She just sips from her cup, dragging the moment out before finally glancing their way with a knowing smirk.

"Morning," she says innocently—far too pleased with herself.

Andersson schools his expression. "Morning."

Reece grins. "Did you sleep well, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, very well," Hale replies, voice syrupy with amusement. "How about you two?"

Andersson resists the urge to rub his temples. This is going to be a long morning.

Reece, unfazed as ever, just flashes her a smile. "Yes, thank you, Lieutenant." His tone is maddeningly even, but the mischief in his eyes is impossible to miss.

Hale smirks, tilting her cup thoughtfully before taking a slow, deliberate sip. "Glad to hear it, sir," she says, every word dripping with playful glee.

A beat of silence follows—a flicker of something unspoken passing between Reece and Hale. Andersson doesn't quite catch it, but he feels it. It's more than teasing; it's the shorthand of two people who know each other too well, an entire conversation happening without saying a word.

Andersson exhales. He's standing squarely in the middle of it.

He rubs the back of his neck, searching for neutral ground. "So. What do we have?"

Hale stands, gesturing toward the table. "More weird food, sir," she says with a grin.

Reece raises an eyebrow, scanning the spread. "Any coffee?" he deadpans.

Hale picks up a strange-looking cup, the contents dark and steaming. "Closest thing I could find," she says, offering it.

Reece eyes the cup, then glances at Andersson. "That'll do," he says with a smirk, accepting it.

Andersson takes his own and lifts it to his lips, expecting something halfway familiar. Instead, the liquid is thick—almost syrupy, with a sweetness that feels like it's drilling straight into his bloodstream.

He exhales sharply, blinking as the taste lingers.

Reece peers at him over the rim of his cup. "Good?"

Andersson sets the cup down with a measured nod. "Strong."

He watches Reece take a sip, the tension between them still hovering, quieter now, but present. Andersson pushes back from the table slightly, his gaze drifting toward the balcony doors.

Beyond the glass, the morning light spills across the snowy mountaintops, the twin suns casting golden beams over the jagged peaks. The sky is a perfect, endless violet blue. For a fleeting moment, all the complexity and uncertainty melts away—replaced by awe.

It's beautiful. Vast. Real.

He exhales, then turns—and finds Reece watching him again, eyes soft over the rim of his cup.

Andersson takes another sip, unsure how to navigate the space between them.

Then, under the table, Reece's hand finds his knee—just a brief touch. Gentle. Grounding.

Andersson's breath catches before he swallows and straightens, masking the warmth rising in his chest.

Reece lifts his cup, voice soft but steady. "To new beginnings."

Hale chuckles and clinks her drink against his. "Well, that was possibly the most eventful shakedown cruise in Alliance history." She smirks. "What do you think our first full day in this new galaxy will bring?"