On the sofa opposite the Ambassador, Blaine settles and refills his coffee. Waking to a sunrise—even a simulation—has refreshed him in a way sleep rarely does. Mornings in space are indistinguishable from evenings, midday from midnight. He turns his gaze out to the stars, smeared by the ships warp field into spectral streaks, but he rejects asking the Ambassador if he may change the view to something more day-like and stimulating. She prefers the calm of space to illusions of elsewhere.

So Blaine turns his mind to the immediate task: working with the Ambassador on drafting editorial pieces and press releases to send to their media department back home on Apathea. The Defense office has a preliminary strategy proposal for sending a limited force in support of the Elyssian planetary evacuations. Public opinion remains an impediment to the First Ministers decision to authorize any greater military intervention.

"Did you see the internal polling results Wes sent in with the reports this morning?" the Ambassador asks. Wes is the Diplomatic Offices Director of Communications.

"I did," Blaine says, and he brings the document to focus on his AR display. "Im reluctant to critique the polling methods, its not my forte, but..." Blaine presses his lips together. "I think we could get better numbers with different questions."

The Ambassadors lips curve minutely. "Im listening."

"Wess questions are very dry. Factual and Hypothetical. If we rework some of them—make an appeal to emotion and morality as well, then I believe we could get numbers more like we need to, ah, encourage the First Minister to authorize the Defense Offices proposal."

"Tell me what youre thinking, Blaine."

Blaine retracts his eye piece to give the Ambassador his full attention and direct gaze. "No one at home wants a war of choice with the Charn, and thats what it looks like were asking for right now." Blaine says. "Why would anyone choose that? Its not enough to ask citizens if they believe Apatheas interests will eventually come under threat if we dont intervene. The time frame is too abstract to convey a sense of either urgency or inevitability. Even if the argument is true, its not persuasive."

"I agree."

"Our problem is the public image of Elyssia as a distant, decadent society that has little to offer us. They appear weak and ripe for the Charn conquest. Many would, behind closed doors, say Elyssia has brought this upon themselves. Better them than us, some would say. Wouldnt they?"

"But only behind closed doors," the Ambassador acknowledges, and her eyes narrow. She lifts her chin and studies Blaine.

"Exactly, " he says, "and that wont be part of the public conversation, because our people would be too ashamed to make such an argument out loud and on the record. We think better of ourselves than that."

The Ambassador nods.

"So the argument shouldnt be primarily about logic and logistics, no matter how good a case we have there. The opposition will spin that however works best for them. But I remember what you said the first day, about the Elyssians being our friends. We make a case—even if only in implication—that to not help would be immoral. A sin of omission."

"We make an appeal to friendship then?"

"Not exactly," Blaine says, and more slowly he continues, for its a risk to say the words out loud. The Ambassador may scoff. Blaine speaks anyway: "More than that, we make an appeal to our common humanity."

The Ambassador blinks calmly, unfazed. Its as if she expected it.

Blaine takes that as tacit encouragement. "Thats why you took this mission, isnt it?" he asks, and its bold enough she may think him impertinent.

But she inclines her head in agreement once more. "I have long believed this. But there remains a need to convince our public of the truth of it."

"Thats why were going to the museum to see the Colombia and its computers, isnt it?"

"That was meant to be a surprise," she says, somewhat wry now. "I didnt want any chatter among you boys in advance of seeing it. Youll understand the sensitivity of the issue, I trust. But Im curious, how did you come to this knowledge, Blaine?"

"Kurt... um." Blaine casts his gaze down for a moment, catches himself. "That is, Master Hummel told me about it, he was surprised I didnt know. He said they have records from the Colombia, details about the Aurelia and the other ships."

"Isabelle assures me they do. The preserved records are very complete, she tells me. It may not be enough on its own for those back home, and we havent had the opportunity to evaluate them ourselves yet."

"What about genetics?" Blaine asks. "Not just us, but the plants, the food, the animals. And culture? We share all this ancient music, literature, and art. The girl from Lima Ive befriended? Tina Cohen-Chang? She could be the twin of my great aunt Cecilia when she was young. She could be my distant cousin for all I know. Ambassador, were all from Earth."

"Yes."

"Then thats the narrative we use to persuade the people back home. Its a compelling story, and its true. Apathea and Elyssia, were more than friends, were family. We have a responsibility."

"People will be skeptical. Youre asking for a large leap of faith. And there are many in government who do not wish for this to become accepted knowledge. Stories are one thing, truth is another."

"But if it is true, then why not acknowledge it?"

"You know why. The threat to Apathean society is considered significant. Many fear chaos."

"So youre telling me that others know and keep it a secret?"

"Others strongly suspect. Im not alone in this view. But the credible presentation to the public remains an obstacle."

"But its all so obvious," Blaine says. "Who could deny it?"

"You assume too much good faith, Blaine. The usual suspects will resist, and you know they dont care about the truth. You said yourself, its not about the facts, but the emotion. Its only obvious to you now that youre here. What about before we came, before you met Tina and Kurt and the others? Would you have believed it, if youd been sitting at home in the evening and saw it being reported and debated on the political shows? Would your parents?"

Its a valid point. "Probably not," Blaine concedes. "I would assume it was sensationalism to distract from a more immediate and serious topic of the day."

"Quite," the Ambassador says. "So what persuaded you that Master Hummel spoke the truth?"

Even with the discussion of emotion and faith, an explanation involving shared intimacy in the afterglow is the wrong answer to give. Blaine says instead, "You told me of Elyssian honesty, and he has no reason to lie."

The Ambassador huffs a soft chuckle. "Major Clarington may differ."

"Major Clarington worries too much."

"Its his job to worry too much."

Blaine shakes his head, but he smiles too. He thinks he understands why now: why Hunter and why Nick. If they can be persuaded on this trip, then many more may be as well.

"What convinced you, Blaine?" the Ambassador asks. "Not a piece of information or a pattern of logic, those are clear enough and easily demonstrated, but something convinced you beyond reason: you havent seen the Colombias records or a gene sequence of a familiar looking flower here. Whatever convinced your heart, thats what we need to be able to share with the others."

Blaine nods, but he doesnt offer any answer. How does he explain his own heart to another? Its a sufficient mystery to himself.

"Well," the Ambassador says, setting her cup and saucer on the table and leaning back in her seat. She straightens her skirt over her knees. "Think about it. Your instincts are good here, but we need to find a way to lay the groundwork, we cant lob information this significant out there until we have a better idea of how itll land. We cant even give all of it to Wes yet, as good as he is, this is—as they once would say—a bombshell."

"Ill do my best," Blaine says.

The Ambassador nods. "I know you will. Now, please, call Master Hummel and tell him were ready for breakfast."

.

Shortly, Kurt comes in, and he strikes Blaine as even more beautiful than when Blaine left him this morning. Its like a blow to his belly to knock the air from his lungs—and all the clarity of language from his mind. Kurt is— Blaine has neither the mental breath nor the vocabulary for what Kurt is to him, for what they are to each other. It seems as if a tether is between them now, more than the simple compulsion of desire, but a sense of belonging. When Blaine looks at Kurt, he feels as if hes looking at part of himself. Hes not sure how to make sense of that. Theyve only known each other for days.

More than that, Blaine knows hes blushing; he can feel the heat in his cheeks, and he struggles to keep his gaze from returning to Kurt, from lingering, from slipping down the length of him, to enjoy the line of his legs, his slim hips and trim waist, the hard planes of his chest. Blaine looks at Kurts mouth, and he is powerless not to remember how its been on his body. Viscerally, Blaine recalls the sweetness of Kurts lips upon his skin, the enveloping hot slide around him, the wrench of ecstasy.

He catches Kurt looking back, a warm glance of interest. Blaine sees the answering color on his cheeks, and sees how well Kurt is filling out his trousers—would swear Kurts partially erect from the way the swollen shape of his cock is so distinct behind the thin white of his trousers. And that makes Blaines imagination and memory collide in a way that makes his stomach clench and his head swim. Hes definitely growing aroused himself.

Blaine tries to concentrate on sipping his coffee, but his gaze keeps tracking to Kurts groin, and each time Blaines attention gets snagged there. He wonders what it would be like to put his mouth on Kurt there. The idea of it comes so vividly in his imagination, opening his mouth and pressing himself down over the thick column of Kurts penis.

How would it taste? How would it feel? What would Kurt say to him?

"Mr. Anderson?" Kurt asks, and Blaine blinks back to reality and looks up. His cheeks burn, and Kurts smile is both affectionate and something else—knowing. Kurt twitches an eyebrow up as his own gaze ticks down to Blaines mouth and he angles his hips toward Blaine as if offering a better view. But his voice betrays nothing. He stands poised with a platter balanced on one hand. "Would you like eggs this morning?"

The Ambassador clears her throat. Blaine sits up straight, swallows the phantom flavor of his curiosity, and says, "Yes, please."

Kurt finishes serving their meal, and prepares to leave. Blaine tries to keep his attention on his food, the bright green flecks of some fresh herb within the gold of the scrambled eggs, the tickle of fresh pepper in his nose, the way the pat of butter melts under his knife upon the fresh toasted bread. Blaine doesnt even risk a look up at Kurt as he maneuvers the dining cart toward the door.

But then the Ambassador speaks. "Master Hummel," she addresses Kurt directly. It startles Blaine, for she hasnt done that before. "I wonder if you could do me a service?" she asks.

Blaine worries its going to be something about him, and he dares to look back up. Kurts attentive and professional as he turns, clasping his hands behind his back. "Im happy to assist you, Ambassador," he replies.

"I have a letter for the Councilor that Id like hand delivered directly to her, without delay."

Blaine is relieved, but only a personal level. A handwritten letter? Whose attention is she trying to avoid—or whose is she trying to attract? Kurts not among the usual pages and couriers used on the ship for such things.

"It will be my pleasure," Kurt says. "Ill take it to her now."

"Please do. One moment." The Ambassador stands and then goes to her study. She returns with a square envelope. Blaine recognizes a biometric seal on it. She hands it to Kurt. "Thank you."

Kurt bows, slides Blaine a glance and a promising smile, and then he departs.

Once Kurts gone the Ambassador sits, smooths her napkin back over her lap, and speaks to Blaine without looking at him. "You must be more discreet. And so, for your sake, must your friend. Please save us both the embarrassment and speak to him for me. I dont need to see that at breakfast. No one does."

"Maam, yes," Blaine says, and a chill prickles across his skin, for shes not gently teasing him. Its no mild admonishment, but a reminder and a warning.

.

After breakfast, Blaine goes to his room to work. This morning, Major Clarington is touring the ships engineering room and weapons systems with Nick. Trent has accompanied the Ambassador to a casual one-on-one meeting with Isabelle, and Blaine is surplus to her immediate requirements. So he tasks himself with revising the correspondence and documents to send to Wes as per the mornings conversations with the Ambassador. But between the marks of punctuation, Blaines mind is a jumble of sense memory.

The taste of sugar on Kurts lips the first time they kissed.

The frictionless glide of Kurts semen between his thighs this morning.

Kurts soft spoken, "I want you." from last night—

—and Blaines desperate, fumbling return, "Please, have me.".

Over and over again, Blaine turns his attention back to communication strategies. He wants to add a more informal note to Wes at the beginning, describing his own experience of friendship and unexpected kinship here. The Elyssian people are warm, generous, and honest: worthy of not only Apatheas assistance, but also their alliance. They have much to learn from each other. Elyssian technology is striking and innovative, their culture rich and complementary.

He writes and rewrites it to be personal without being revealing, and to avoid mention of any sensitive or controversial conclusions. He tries to map logic to his feelings, to find a way to share his insight and intuition. Its what the Ambassador asked of him.

And in the pauses between thoughts, he thinks of Kurt. he feels the ghost of their lovemaking still lingering hot beneath his skin. The potential of their next allotment of private time together gathers bright in his mind: all the things they may do again, and all the new things he hasnt yet dreamed of.

A girl brings his lunch directly to the door of his private quarters. The food is cold, light, and simple. Blaine thanks her. He rereads his mornings work while he eats. He checks the infotab for any messages from Kurt, and finds he has one waiting. Its an hour old and brief:

"Id like to spoil you this evening. Tina tells me you have a passion for music. Well dine first, then go to the auditorium for the evening show. Its relaxing. Im confident youll enjoy it with me, and well have ample opportunity to enjoy each other after. Ill meet you at your quarters once the days work is done."

Its enough for Blaines blood to surge hot and low. And he chastises himself for the persistent and immediate physicality of his response, for it seems his body would be content to skip both food and music tonight and simply slake its carnal desires with Kurts body. But Blaine, no matter how powerful his physical urges, will learn to manage this. He will be discreet, and he will conduct himself with decorum and grace. He will enjoy all of the time he has with Kurt, and all of the activities that time may entail.

That doesnt stop Blaine from indulging the pleasurable rush of anticipation of being with Kurt again. He considers how best to word his reply to Kurt; he wishes to flirt, to both signal and promise his interest in exploring more intimate pleasures with Kurt tonight, but he must also be mindful of the Ambassadors warning to him. Even in private correspondence, he cannot afford to be careless. "Then I shall apply myself diligently to my work this afternoon so that the time may pass swiftly," Blaine writes. "Ive longed to return to your embrace since the moment I left you this morning." It reads to him like a note he may write were he courting Kurt, a too formal expression of his desire, though the sentiment is sincere. He hopes Kurt will find it endearing.

.

Blaine goes to the gym after lunch. Its been an easy habit to adopt, and the predictable routine of it helps him reorient and refresh himself for the afternoon. On his way back to his quarters, he gets an alert from Nick. With a frown, Blaine accepts the communication. "I need to talk to you in private," Nick says.

"Ill come to your rooms," Blaine replies.

Nick meets him at the door with a sour expression. Blaine goes in and sits at the table where they ate dinner and played cards last night. "How may I help?" Blaine asks, and he remembers to smile.

"Im not the one who needs help," Nick says, He sits opposite Blaine and leans his elbows on the table. "What are you up to, Blaine? The major was grilling me this morning about what I knew about you and your recent behavioral aberrations."

"Behavioral aberrations?" Blaine raises an eyebrow and maintains his smile, careful to keep it natural, not too fixed.

"His words," Nick says. "Not mine."

"Its nothing to worry about," Blaine says. "Im sorry hes bothered you—"

"No, its not nothing. You dont understand. He thinks youre helping the Ambassador with something clandestine. Shes been protecting you, and hes suspicious. And, honestly, Blaine, hes getting very intense about it. "

"Im not going to discuss what I do in my personal time with Major Clarington, or, for that matter, with you," Blaine says, and he moves to stand. "Perhaps the major needs his rig adjusted. This is a peaceful mission of friendship. The Elyssia are not our enemies."

But Nick speaks quickly, "Hunter showed me your medical data log from last night."

Blaine sits back down. Its not a surprise, but he had hoped it would go unnoticed. "And?"

Nick rubs both hands over his face and speaks from behind them. "I... I think I know what youre doing. But I didnt want to tell him in case I was wrong—or in case I was right."

"What do you think Im doing?" Blaine asks neutrally. He wont show any concern, doesnt want to give Nick anything to work with—or to take back to Hunter.

"I saw you walking with her in the Garden yesterday. I dont remember her name."

"Tina." Blaine provides calmly. "Shes a representative from Lima, one of the worlds pending evacuation."

"Yeah, Ive seen you talking with her a few times now. Are you..." Nick lowers his voice, and he appears sincerely concerned. "Are you and she—? Gods, Blaine, dont make me say it."

"Tinas a friend. Whatever youre thinking, youre mistaken."

Nick looks skeptical. "Okay, look, if you dont want to tell me, I understand completely. I know whats at stake for you. Just be careful, please? Its not worth it."

"Im doing my job," Blaine says, and it comes out more defensive than he intends. "That involves meeting the Elyssians on their own terms. You should understand that better than most. Given your background and your presence on this mission, I dont understand your hostility."

"Its good that you dont," Nick says, and his lips pinch into a line of unexpected misery. "I wouldnt want you to."

"What happened to you?" Blaine asks, gently now. He frowns. This may be more than casual bigotry. But Nick hesitates to answer, and Blaine begins to understand. "I wont betray your confidence, Nick," he adds.

"Ive never told anyone. There were some who knew at the time, but we kept each others secrets. You kind of have to here, just to get through."

"I can understand that," Blaine says. "We cant afford to impose the moral standards of home too rigidly in the field, certainly not on the cultures we encounter—often not on ourselves either. Flexibility isnt a failure. Its smart."

With a short nod, Nick continues softly. "So when I was at the consulate here, I met an Elyssian girl. I wont give you the details, but I believed she loved me, and she broke my heart. Ill never be able to undo what she did to me. I courted her, and she didnt... get it. Not at all. She thought it was some kind of joke." Nick blinks back the shine from his eyes, but his voice doesnt break. "So please believe me when I say you should be careful."

"I appreciate your concern, Nick, and your trusting me. Im sorry for what you experienced. But, please believe me when I say Im confident that Im not in any danger here."

Nicks smile is less than encouraging, but theres some humor in it. "I dont know that youre safe if Hunter suspects youre doing some intelligence work for the Ambassador behind his back but are being double finessed by the guy who serves us breakfast."

Blaine lets himself laugh. "Hunters imagination is more creative than Id expect."

"He thinks she doesnt trust him."

"Thats his problem," Blaine says, and he stands up.

Nick stands with him, and he takes something from his pocket. "In case Im not wrong and these would help you. Here." He offers it to Blaine.

The pattern etched into the stainless steel bottle is familiar: blockers.

Blaine hesitates to take them. His first instinct is to recoil. But letting Nick believe hes having a secret romance with Tina may be better than other options. So Blaine takes them. "Thank you," Blaine says.

.

"Be discreet," the Ambassador told him, which is made vastly more difficult if hes got Hunter breathing down his neck and Nick taking him aside for difficult confessions and unwanted advice. So Blaine summons up his courage and goes to see her immediately after he leaves Nick. He knocks on the door of her study.

"Come in, Blaine," she says. She always knows when its him, can tell from the way he knocks.

He goes in. Shes seated at a desk with its top set at an angle. Dozens of documents are open across its display. She sweeps her hand across the surface, and they cascade into a single neat pile. "What is it?" Her walls are set to a mottled dark green texture.

"I have a favor to ask of you," he says. "And some information."

"All right." she says, and turns her chair to face Blaine where he stands. "Information first."

"I had an interesting conversation with Nick. He tells me Major Clarington suspects Im doing some kind of covert intelligence work for you, that you dont trust him, and that Master Hummel is—somehow—using me for his own intelligence gathering purposes."

She nods, her smile is small and enigmatic. "How interesting," she says. "And what favor do you wish to ask of me?"

"Its about my being discreet." Blaine asks.

"Yes?"

"I may need your help with that. The Major is keeping a close watch on all my logged data, and I dont have the clearance to change whats collected. But you do."

Shes amused, clearly enjoying herself. "Well," she says archly. "We certainly dont want a scandal, do we?"

Blaine blushes and looks down at his boots. "No."

"Tell me what you need."

"Privacy," Blaine says, and he lifts his head, rests his fingers at his temple.

"You dont wish for it to log your... night time exercise?"

"No."

"Insomnia is such a difficult thing to manage. Ill see what I can do," she says. "Of course theres always medication you can take. If you prefer a simpler solution."

"Nick already gave me some."

"Good, that was thoughtful of him. Use it if you need it," she says and turns back to the desk. "Ill adjust the parameters on your medical monitors reporting."

"Thank you," Blaine says. He turns to leave.

"Oh, and Blaine?" she calls over her shoulder.

Her tone—the lightness thats too light not to be artifice—roots Blaine to the spot. "Yes?" he asks.

"Please dont mistake my support for you as endorsement of your night time activities. All right?"

"I understand," Blaine says, though hes not entirely certain that he does.

.

Its abruptly too much to navigate. Blaine cannot simultaneously be Hunters prey, Nicks unexpected confidant, and the Ambassadors obedient drudge. (Though the last thought he censures himself for. Its uncharitable and wrong, but as much as he does trust June—as much as she cares for him and he for her, as much mutual respect as there is—there are times shes like a stranger, and its— No. Hes not going to think that way. )

He returns to his private rooms, determinedly trying to banish the bitter twist of resentment from his chest, ignoring the deeper taint of fear, and the salty taste of unshed tears gathering in his throat. Its childish. Hes an adult, but right now, hes so sick of smiling, of the pretense and politeness, of having to approach every day and every conversation like a tactical puzzle to analyze and solve. Hes tired of having to measure and manage his words and affect like strategic resources.

Except when hes with Kurt. The thought alone brings a sense of relief so deep, Blaine fears his knees will buckle. He sits, and reminds himself: hes seeing Kurt again this evening, a respite which is only a few hours away.

And yet, as he anticipates it, he grows even more desperate for Kurts company. Those hours between now and meeting Kurt draw into a gulf. Blaine stands again and paces from his sitting room to his bedroom, his arms wrapped around himself and his fingers pressing hard against his elbows. Tension still mounts inside him, for the things he wants now—the relief and release he experiences with Kurt are such a new thing, things he couldnt conceive of lacking until he had them. But their lack in this moment is like a void, and today its set so starkly against the things he has to be, and a version of himself that increasingly feels false or incomplete.

But he loves his life; his career is his vocation. Hes worked hard to get exactly where he is. Hes just having a bad day, thats all. Hes tired. And—June is right about one thing—hes not been getting enough sleep. Hes been neglecting other things too.

Blaine pulls a firm square pillow from the bed and sets it on the floor. He lowers himself to sit cross-legged upon it. He gazes out at the distorted field of stars: this is where he is. Blaine breathes slowly and deeply: in, then out, then in, maintaining a sedate rhythm to soothe his nerves and his mind. His shoulders relax, his heart slows, and he closes his eyes. But its nearly an hour before Blaine regains his sense of equilibrium.