In Principio: The Shape of Devotion Part 1

Posted on Tue Jul 7th, 2026 @ 4:26pm by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

3,028 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Murmansk
Timeline: 2372

USS Murmansk, 2372

Julian had stopped knocking months ago. He still pressed the chime when he knew Nico was asleep, changing or likely to be on a call with his family, but most evenings he simply approached the door and let the quarters recognise his biometrics, the lock releasing with a soft chirp because Nico had added him to the authorised access list months ago. He stepped inside as though the quarters belonged partly to him. Which they did not. Technically. They belonged to Nico, who had lived in them longer, chosen the blanket folded across the back of the sofa and the framed image of a crowded family gathering on the narrow shelf beside the viewport. He had selected the warm amber lighting instead of the standard white, convinced the replicator to produce coffee which did not taste entirely like regret and placed a small silver medallion of Saint Luke near the bed because wearing it during duty irritated the skin beneath his collar.

Still, Julian had a shirt in the second drawer, a razor beside Nico’s and a pair of boots tucked beneath the chair in the corner. There was a tin of black tea in the cupboard which Nico disliked but replaced whenever it ran low, and an old-fashioned replicated book Julian had begun three months ago still sat face down beside the sofa because Nico kept threatening to finish it for him if he did not.

The quarters smelled of roasted peppers and something warm with cumin when Julian entered, which was how he knew Nico had used actual ingredients rather than asking the replicator for an approximation. A pan sat on the compact counter, steam catching the light as Nico moved between it and the table with his sleeves pushed to his elbows. He had changed out of uniform but not yet showered, dark hair still flattened slightly at the sides from a long shift, and there was a tiredness around his eyes which deepened when he concentrated.

Julian leant against the doorframe and watched him for a moment before allowing the doors to close behind him. “You know, there are machines aboard this vessel specifically designed to prevent this sort of suffering,” he said, his attention moving from Nico to the pan as though the whole thing represented an unnecessary personal hardship.

Nico looked over his shoulder, one hand holding a wooden spoon which had no practical advantage over the utensils Starfleet provided but which had belonged to his grandmother and therefore outranked the entire Federation. “You say that every time,” he pointed out, his mouth moving at one corner before he turned back towards the food and scraped the spoon slowly across the bottom of the pan.

“And yet you continue,” Julian said as he pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room, watching Nico stir with the quiet concentration of someone who genuinely found comfort in the process.

“I like cooking,” Nico replied, breathing in the steam as he added a pinch of something from a small dish beside the hob. He glanced at Julian again, tiredness easing around his eyes. “It relaxes me.”

Julian considered that for half a second before deciding it was less honest than Nico believed. “You like proving that you can do things the difficult way,” he corrected, and Nico gave him a brief smile over his shoulder before nudging the heat lower.

“You like eating the results,” he pointed out with affection, his eyes resting on Julian for a moment before returning to the pan.

“That is entirely separate.” Julian set the PADD he had been carrying on the edge of the table and reached towards the food, but Nico caught his wrist without looking, his grip warm and firm enough to stop him before his fingers got anywhere near it.

“You can wait,” Nico told him, finally turning his head enough to give Julian a warning look, though his thumb brushed once across the pulse in Julian’s wrist before he let go.

“I’ve been waiting since midday,” Julian protested, allowing Nico to guide his hand away rather than making any serious attempt to escape.

“You ate at midday,” Nico said with a laugh, giving Julian’s arm a small push before returning his attention to the pan.

“I consumed something shaped like a sandwich that came out of a replicator. It tasted like sad,” Julian corrected with a small pout, watching Nico’s shoulders move with another suppressed laugh before he sighed. “That is not necessarily the same thing.”

Nico pointed the wooden spoon towards the cupboard with the authority of a man who had decided the discussion was over. “Tea. Now.”

Julian raised an eyebrow as he moved towards it. “You’re very commanding in your own quarters,” he said, a chuckle roughening his voice as he glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s sexy.”

“They are my quarters,” Nico reminded him, checking the heat beneath the pan before shaking his head. “And I can be sexy in my quarters.”

“Yes, but I’m here so often I feel there should be some form of shared governance…” Julian said as he took down the tin, humming under his breath while he opened it and breathed in the scent.

“There is,” Nico said, glancing at him while Julian began filling the kettle, because he had once insisted that it needed to be real and Nico had eventually replicated one for him to keep. “I govern. You complain. Deal with it.”

Julian smiled despite himself and turned his attention to the tea. It had become easy. That was the problem, although Julian had not yet recognised it as one. He knew the exact point where Nico became too hungry to be reasonable, the difference between the silence which meant he needed company and the silence which meant Julian should leave him alone for ten minutes. Nico knew that Julian hated sleeping with his back to the door and pretended not to notice when he rearranged himself during the night. They had developed an argument about music which had lasted almost a year, neither of them willing to admit that the playlists now contained equal parts of both.

Nico cooked, which had built up Julian’s spice tolerance over the last two years. Julian washed up the items which mattered, those handmade or handed down, and recycled the rest. Sometimes the way Julian washed the clay pot Nico loved caused arguments, and Nico usually redid it later when he thought Julian was not looking.

They spoke about work without breaching confidentiality, told each other things which had annoyed them and fell into bed when the talking became less interesting than touching. Sometimes Julian stayed the night. Most of the time, now. They had never discussed when that changed.

The kettle chimed, and Julian poured the water over the tea while Nico moved the pan from the heat. “You were in the lounge earlier,” Nico said as he divided the food between two bowls, keeping his attention on the portions rather than looking at Julian.

Julian added milk and carried the mug towards the table, registering the slight change in Nico’s voice before he had decided whether it mattered. “I pass through many rooms during the course of a day,” he replied as he sat, curling both hands around the mug.

“With Lieutenant Baret,” Nico clarified, setting one bowl down a little more carefully than necessary before taking the chair opposite.

Julian paused before settling properly. Not because of the name, but because Nico’s tone had changed. It remained calm, but the warmth had pulled inwards. “Was I?” he asked as he lowered himself into the chair, although he remembered the conversation perfectly. Baret had joined him after shift, bought him a drink and spent twenty minutes making it clear that the drink had not been the point.

Nico placed the second bowl in front of himself and wrapped one hand around his fork without lifting it. “You were,” he confirmed, his thumb moving once along the handle.

“She wanted advice about the tactical drills,” Julian said, letting the lie remain technically true because she had begun there.

“She touched your leg.” Nico looked at him across the table then, and although his expression barely changed, Julian knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers had curled more tightly around the fork.

“That may have been part of the tactical demonstration,” Julian said lightly, giving a small shrug as though the touch had been beneath notice.

Nico held his eyes for a moment, unimpressed, then lowered his gaze to the bowl without eating. “Did she ask you to go back to her quarters?”

Julian lifted the mug and took a slow drink, giving himself time to decide whether honesty would make the conversation simpler or more complicated. “Yes,” he admitted, lowering the cup but keeping both hands around it.

“And?” Nico asked, the single word careful enough to reveal how much effort he was putting into sounding indifferent. His eyes remained on the food, but his fork had gone entirely still.

“And I said no,” Julian said with a small smile, raising an eyebrow as though the answer should have ended the matter.

Something passed over Nico’s face. Relief, immediate and unwanted, followed by irritation that the relief had been visible at all. He lowered his eyes to the food and picked up his fork. “You didn’t have to,” he said, pushing a piece of pepper to one side without eating it.

“I’m aware,” Julian whispered, somewhat confused as he watched him. Nico usually said grace, a habit from childhood, but he had made no attempt to begin. That alone was enough to make the room feel subtly wrong.

Nico nodded, though his shoulders remained too still. “We never said you couldn’t,” he added, the fork scraping softly against the bowl.

“No,” Julian agreed, and the answer sat between them with more weight than the word deserved.

Nico saw that Julian had not picked up his fork and looked down at his own hand as though only then remembering what he had missed. He set the utensil aside, folded both hands together and closed his eyes. His lips moved quickly, the prayer rushed through as though it were another task to complete rather than something lived in. “Amen,” he said after barely a few seconds, opening his eyes and reaching immediately for the fork again.

Julian tasted the food, partly because it smelled excellent and partly because eating gave him something to do while he watched Nico pretend the subject had ended. Nico pushed peppers around his bowl without taking a bite, his mouth set in a line which made Julian increasingly certain that something was wrong.

“You’re doing that thing,” Julian said after a moment, resting his fork lightly against the edge of the bowl and watching Nico over the steam.

Nico looked up too quickly. “What thing?” he asked, his voice sharper than intended. The immediate grimace which crossed his face showed he had heard it too.

“The one where you say something doesn’t matter in a tone which suggests it may, in fact, matter quite a lot,” Julian observed as he reached for the tea and took a measured sip. He wished it were scotch, or anything stronger. Not tequila. Life was too short to have tequila.

“I didn’t say it didn’t matter,” Nico replied, his brows drawing together as he placed the fork beside the bowl.

“No, you merely behaved as though I had disappointed you by declining an invitation.” Julian set the mug down carefully, keeping his voice light even as the tension began to sharpen beneath his ribs.

“I’m not disappointed,” Nico said, though his eyes slid away for half a second.

Julian set the fork down properly and watched him. “Jealous, then?”

Nico went still, his hand resting against the edge of the table.

Julian smiled because that was the expected next move. It was the tool he reached for whenever a room shifted beneath his feet. “You are,” he said, warmth and amusement curling into his voice as though that could make the moment harmless. “That’s almost sweet.”

“No.” Nico’s voice cut through the smile before Julian could sharpen it into something lighter. He placed his fork down with enough force that the metal struck ceramic, then pressed his palm against the table as though steadying himself. “Don’t do that.”

Julian’s expression remained in place, but something colder moved beneath it. “Do what?” he asked, folding one arm loosely across his chest and leaning back in the chair.

“Turn it into a joke before I can say anything real.” Nico leant back from the table and looked directly at him, colour rising beneath the warm brown of his skin. There it was. Not the calm medic’s voice, not the patient warmth he used with frightened patients and difficult officers. His eyes had darkened, and the tension in his shoulders had finally become impossible to disguise.

Julian held his stare. “You could simply say what you mean.”

“I have been trying,” Nico replied, the words clipped by frustration as his fingers flexed against his thigh.

“Have you?” Julian asked, one eyebrow lifting despite the unease moving through him.

Nico stood so suddenly that the chair shifted backwards against the deck. “Yes, Jules. I have,” he said, one hand catching the chair before it could strike the wall.

He moved away from the table, both hands lifting before falling again at his sides. Nico talked with his hands when the feeling became too large to hold inside the words, a habit inherited from a family where eight people could disagree at once and nobody mistook volume for hatred. Julian had seen it during stories about his brothers, during arguments with his mother over subspace and once when a senior doctor had tried to dismiss a nurse’s concern. He had never been on the receiving end of it.

Until now.

“I have spent months telling myself this was fine,” Nico said as he turned back towards him, one hand cutting through the air between them. “That we never agreed to anything, that you were free to sleep with whoever you wanted and I had no right to ask for more because that was not how this started.”

Julian’s jaw tightened, and he pushed his bowl slightly away. “I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

“I know,” Nico said so quickly that Julian paused, surprise breaking through his defensive posture. Nico laughed once, but there was no humour in it. He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck and looked towards the viewport before forcing himself to turn back. “Of course I know. You think I don’t notice when you are here every night? You think I don’t know where you sleep, or when you leave, or that you stopped disappearing after a shift and coming back two days later with some story you thought was charming?”

“Most of them were charming,” Julian said on instinct, but the line felt weaker than usual before it had even left him. His mouth tightened when Nico’s expression did not soften.

“Julian.” Nico said his name without raising his voice, and the single word hit harder than shouting might have. Not Jules. Julian. Serious, pinning him down with it.

Julian looked away, his eyes finding the small silver medallion resting on the shelf near the bedroom. Saint Luke, physician and patron of healers. Nico had explained it once, late at night, Julian’s fingers tracing the stamped figure while Nico spoke about his grandmother and the church in Guadalajara where she had lit candles for each of her children. Julian knew the history of saints, the doctrine of intercession and the difference between veneration and worship. He understood it all.

He simply did not believe any of it.

“I know what we said,” Nico continued, quieter now but no less intense. He came closer to the table but did not sit, one hand resting briefly against the back of the chair while the other remained loose at his side. “I know what you told me from the beginning. No promises. No expectations. Nothing that could become a cage.”

“That was honest,” Julian said, forcing himself to look back at him. His voice had lost some of its lightness.

“Yes, it was.” Nico’s fingers tightened against the chair. “And I was honest when I said I understood. I thought I could be the kind of man who did not care. I thought being open-minded meant I had to be indifferent.”

Julian watched him carefully, suddenly aware of how much the answer mattered. “And you’re not,” he said, the words quieter than before.

“No.” The word came with heat, Nico’s hand pressing briefly against his own chest as though the truth had weight there. “I am not indifferent. I hate it when people touch you and think they have a chance. I hate wondering whether you are going to leave with someone else because you are bored, or restless, or because they say the right thing at the right moment.”

“Nico…” Julian began, uncertain whether he meant to reassure or defend himself, but Nico cut across him before he could decide.

“I know you have not done anything wrong,” Nico said, shaking his head as though that fact made the whole thing harder rather than easier. “That is what makes this so difficult. You have broken no promise because I was too afraid to ask for one.”

The anger in his face shifted then, something raw showing beneath it. Not accusation. Fear. Julian hated it immediately and pushed back from the table, closing some of the distance between them. “You could have asked,” he said, though the words sounded thinner once they were in the room.

Nico stared at him, hurt and frustration colliding in his expression. “I am asking now.”

To be continued in part 2

 

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