In principio: The Man Who Stayed Interesting Part 2

Posted on Sun Jul 5th, 2026 @ 5:42am by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

1,955 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Murmansk
Timeline: 2370

USS Murmansk, Crew Lounge, Four Days Later

The Murmansk’s crew lounge was trying very hard not to look like every other shipboard bar Julian had ever seen. Warm lighting had been set low over small clusters of chairs, polished wood-effect panels covered part of the walls and somebody had mounted a collection of musical instruments behind the bar as if none of them had spent their lives being replicated for decorative purposes. It was an admirable effort. The place still smelled faintly of recycled air, synthehol and too many people pretending they were not talking about work.

Julian had spent the first half of the evening with three people from Tactical, learning which senior officers were competent, which ones were merely loud and which replicator on the deck produced the least offensive coffee during night shift.

“The one outside the secondary armoury,” Petty Officer Daram said, leaning forward over the table as though sharing classified intelligence. He lowered his voice despite the music and surrounding conversation making secrecy unnecessary. “Do not use it after oh-two-hundred. It starts adding cinnamon.”

Julian stopped turning his glass between his fingers and stared at him. “Cinnamon?”

“Without being asked,” Daram confirmed gravely.

Julian frowned, taking a moment to consider the scale of the offence. “That feels hostile if you have an allergy. I don’t, but…you know, it seems a bit dodgy. I feel there is a backstory here for the replicator.”

Across from him, Crewman Patel laughed and pointed towards Daram with the neck of her bottle. “He still drinks it, with or without the cinnamon.”

“I’m tired,” Daram said, drawing himself up with as much dignity as a man could while defending unwanted cinnamon. “Not principled.”

The information had been useful. The company had been pleasant. By the time Patel began recounting a shuttle-combat training exercise Julian had already heard about twice, his attention started drifting across the room and found the medical technician almost immediately.

He was sitting alone at a small table near the viewport with one hand curled around a low glass and the other resting beside a PADD he did not appear to be reading. Out of uniform, he looked warmer somehow, dressed in a dark knitted shirt that fit close enough to show the shape of his shoulders without seeming chosen for that purpose. The sleeves had been pushed halfway up his forearms, and his hair was less controlled than it had been in Sickbay, softened where he had clearly run a hand through it at some point during the evening. The quiet suited him. So did the glass.

Julian watched long enough to make sure he was not interrupting anyone expected, but before he could decide whether the empty chair opposite meant the man was alone or merely waiting, the technician looked up. Their eyes met across the lounge, and Julian saw the recognition happen. No surprise, not really. Just a small shift in expression, followed by a smile that was more open than the one in Sickbay. He did not wave or gesture Julian over. He simply held the look for a second, then returned his attention to the glass as if leaving the decision where it belonged.

“Lost you,” Patel said, drawing Julian’s attention back to the table. She followed the direction he had been looking, then gave a small hum as understanding settled over her face. “Ah.”

Julian picked up his drink and stood. “You hadn’t lost me. You had merely reached the point in the story where the shuttle lost power for the second time.”

Patel leant back in her chair and lifted one finger in correction. “It was the third time.”

“Even worse,” Julian said, giving the table a small salute with his glass before crossing the room at an unhurried pace.

He stopped beside the empty chair opposite the technician, one hand resting against its back as he looked down at him. “You’re the man who diagnosed me with an inability to tolerate being ignored,” he said, letting his smile settle into something warm and familiar. “I’ve come for a second opinion.”

The technician looked up at him, then glanced deliberately around the table as if checking for missing instruments. “I don’t see a doctor.”

“Neither did I during most of my intake,” Julian replied, and the technician’s mouth twitched before Julian added, “but apparently standards vary.”

The smile returned, clearer this time and softening the man’s whole face. “You’re persistent,” he observed, his fingers remaining loosely curled around his glass.

“I prefer memorable,” Julian said, shifting his hand slightly against the chair as he waited to see whether the invitation would come.

“I remembered you,” the technician replied, holding Julian’s eyes, and the satisfaction Julian felt landed a little more sharply than he expected. “But not for the reasons you might think.”

Julian pulled out the chair but paused before sitting, giving the man time to object. When he did not, Julian settled opposite him and placed his drink on the table. “There. We’ve established I’m memorable, and you are playing coy. Now we can proceed to the important part.”

The man’s fingers moved idly against the side of his glass. “Which is?”

“Your name,” Julian said, giving him a look which suggested the answer ought to have been obvious.

For a moment the technician considered him, not coyly and not as a game, but with the calm attention of someone deciding whether the exchange felt genuine. Then he gave a small nod. “Nico.”

Julian repeated it quietly, testing the sound before offering his own. “Julian.”

“I know,” Nico said, and the smile in his eyes deepened as Julian’s eyebrows lifted.

Of course he did. He had heard the doctor say it, seen the name on the display or perhaps remembered the transfer list. Julian liked all three possibilities. “That seems unfair,” he said, folding one arm along the edge of the table. “You’ve had four days to investigate me, and I’ve only just discovered you exist outside Sickbay.”

“I didn’t investigate you,” Nico said, taking a drink while Julian watched the movement of his throat.

“Shame. I’d have found that flattering,” Julian said with a smile as he sat back, relaxed, almost lazy in his pose.

Nico lowered the glass slowly, still looking at him over the rim, and there was nothing guarded in the way he did it. He did not seem to be measuring Julian for weakness or looking for the quickest route towards whatever came next. He was simply paying attention, and Julian found that more disarming than flirtation would have been.

“You transferred into Tactical,” Nico said, resting the glass against the table without releasing it. “Petty Officer Second Class.”

Julian lifted his eyebrows. “That sounds remarkably like investigation to me. I feel I should call you Detective…”

“I read the incoming personnel list,” Nico replied, his thumb moving absently through the condensation on the side of the glass. “Medical receives it so we know who still needs clearance.”

“Less romantic,” Julian decided, leaning back in his chair, “but I’m willing to work with it.”

Nico’s mouth curved as he studied him. “Do you flirt with everyone?”

Julian tilted his head, listening for judgement and finding none. Curiosity, perhaps, and something warmer beneath it. “Not everyone,” he said, letting his eyes move over Nico’s face before returning to meet his. “Only people I find attractive, interesting or useful.”

Nico did not blush, preen or pretend the answer had not pleased him. He simply leant back slightly, one hand resting near his glass. “Which am I?”

Julian considered him with exaggerated seriousness, letting the silence stretch while Nico waited without showing any impatience. “I’ve known you for perhaps five minutes outside a medical setting. It would be irresponsible to decide.”

“You’ve been trying to get my attention since your intake,” Nico reminded him, one eyebrow lifting as though the evidence had already been submitted.

“Yes,” Julian admitted, because lying would have spoiled the conversation. He turned his glass once between his fingers before adding, “You were attractive then.”

“And now?” Nico asked, the question quiet but direct.

“Still attractive,” Julian said, allowing his smile to sharpen a little. “More interesting.”

Nico accepted that without looking away, and something in Julian’s chest shifted. Not deeply, not dangerously, just enough to make him want to stay in the chair and see what happened next.

“And useful?” Nico prompted, touching one finger lightly against the side of his glass.

“You work in Medical,” Julian replied, lifting his own drink in acknowledgement. “Everyone becomes useful eventually.”

The humour in Nico’s expression settled into something quieter. His finger stopped moving against the glass, and he looked at Julian for a moment before asking, “Is that how you decide who stays around?”

The question was light enough that Julian could have ignored it, but it was not careless. Nico had not asked it to catch him out or to prove that he could see beneath the performance. He had simply followed the shape of Julian’s answer and found the thing underneath, and Julian’s fingers shifted around his glass before he could stop them.

He had expected flirting, perhaps a little sparring, perhaps the easy agreement that two attractive people might share a bed if the evening continued well. He had not expected Nico to ask a real question and then sit there without demanding a real answer.

Julian smiled because that was what he did when someone moved closer than expected. “People rarely require my assistance deciding whether to leave, so I just…take it as it comes.”

Nico held his eyes for another second. There was no pity in his face, no satisfaction at having uncovered something, and no urge to pry. He simply nodded once, took another drink and allowed the answer to remain incomplete.

The lack of pressure made something in Julian relax despite himself. Nico was not trying to win access, but neither was he pretending not to have noticed the boundary Julian had placed in front of him. He had heard the answer Julian was willing to give and respected the shape around the rest.

That was new enough to be interesting.

Julian looked towards the viewport, where the stars held steady beyond the glass while the Murmansk moved through them. Four days aboard. New quarters, new department, new names to remember. Another beginning that might last years if he was lucky, or weeks if Starfleet decided otherwise. When he looked back, Nico was still there, his hand resting loosely around his glass and his expression open and unhurried.

“So,” Nico said, leaning one forearm against the table as though their conversation had not briefly brushed against anything difficult. His voice was soft, warm…caramel and velvet and a hint of something that spoke of care. “What do you do when nobody’s examining you?”

Julian’s smile returned slowly because there it was, the invitation offered without being made cheap. He settled more comfortably into the chair and turned the glass between his fingers. “Are you asking professionally?”

“Not remotely,” Nico said, warmth spreading through his expression as he shook his head. “Just curious.”

“In that case,” Julian replied, lifting his drink and looking at Nico over the rim as the first real flicker of curiosity settled beneath the attraction, “you may need to be more specific.”

Nico smiled, slow and bright and entirely genuine, and Julian realised with a small flare of interest that he had no immediate desire to leave the table.

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