“Oh, my place tonight huh?” Mac asked as the door to his quarters swished shut behind him, isolating him and his guest from the madness that was the rest of the ship.

As he usually found her when she’d invited herself in, Blake was stretched out on the couch, feet hanging over one end, head propped up by a collection of pillows and idly flicking through something on a padd in hand. The only saving grace this afternoon was she wasn’t blasting music at full volume.

Music which had more in common with Breen torture methodology than anything he recognised as music and to which he’d discovered his executive officer had similar taste in.

“Eventually,” she replied, looking away from the padd to offer a lovely smile, a blown kiss and then a nod to the bedroom. “Get out of that uniform, put something comfortable on.”

“I am comfortable?” he asked, weathered the storm that was Blake’s disapproving glare and marched off to do as he had been told. And truth be told he was going to do anyway. Uniform boots might be perfectly serviceable for hours on end, or weeks of survival if required, but sometimes feet demanded slippers.

“Hun, where are my slippers?” he asked a few minutes later. “And my hoodie?”

“Hiding,” Blake answered from the door, leaning against the frame. A jumper in one hand, shoes hanging from fingers on the other. “I did say eventually.”

He sighed and sat down on the bed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” she countered as she pushed away from the door and closed on him.

“Arrange some party in the Agora for the whole crew. I really, really just want to sit down, have a drink, curl up with you and I don’t know,” he said, throwing up his arms, “watch a movie or something?”

“I can truthfully say I didn’t arrange a party for the crew in the Agora.” The smile she added at the end wasn’t reassuring. Nor was her dropping of the shoes and tossing the jumper over his head. “Get dressed. I’ve got something of a treat for you.”

He sighed. Once, twice, three times, before pulling the jumper on and donning the shoes at his feet. Yes, he could have stood his ground, or more sat it. Yes, he could have said he wasn’t going anywhere. But he knew when Blake had put something into motion and he knew when he had a viable escape.

This wasn’t one of those instances.

To say no would incur wrath and to acquiesce would hopefully deliver him back here, in the quiet, away from everyone else as quickly as possible.

Emerging from his bedroom, he gave a defeated smile. “Shall we?”

“You look exhausted,” she stated. “What’s up?”

“I’ve had Matt and Willow both chasing me about doing command training courses the last two days. I’ve had Sidda running around doing departmental inspections, which meant a bit more bridge duty for me. I’ve barely seen my…” He hesitated on using a label.

Their relationship was still a very firm, but comfortable and stable, not-a-thing-thing. Labelling it always felt like it might be a bit of pressure it might not handle well.

“Doctor? Friend?” Blake teased, hooking a hand in the crook of his arm as she led him out the door. “Girlfriend?”

Blake using the label stunned him. Not completely, but enough to go along with her without any question. “Wait, what?” was all he managed to get out before they were out the door and down the corridor.

“Hmm,” she’d answered and noting more.

Not but a few minutes later they were much deeper in the bowels of Republic, normally far removed from where most of the ship’s officers ventured. At least not those wearing yellow of some variety. His fears of the Agora had disappeared. He’s never feared the Pnyx becoming a party location by dint of regular visits or it serving as an unofficial second conference room. But now he was standing in front of one of the Engineering lounges in the secondary hull.

It was a common space for engineering staff to unwind on breaks, or for those with quarters nearby to socially interact. But as they approached there was no one else in the corridor. There was in fact only the sound of the life support systems pushing air around the ship.

“Blake?” he asked, suspicion returning.

“I said I can truthfully state I didn’t arrange a party for the whole crew in the Agora.”

“Blake.”

“It’s not a surprise party,” she said, her tone edging on a question, probing to see if that was an acceptable option. “Well, it was going to be, but we got decent actionable intelligence that wasn’t a good idea.”

“Actionable intelligence?” he inquired.

“You’ll see,” she answered and tapped at the door control, parting the doors and allowing the noise within to spill out, filling the hallway.

“Birthday boy is here!” came an immediate shout – from Sidda of all people – and conversations quietened or stopped. Not that there had been much from the small number of people within. “Took you long enough,” Sidda continued as she sauntered over, collected a couple of wine glasses off a table and approached to offer one to Mac and Blake. “Happy birthday boss.”

“Please tell me no one is going to sing.” He was prepared to down the entire glass of wine in a single go if he had to.

“Not until we’ve had more to drink.” Sidda winked, offering an indication she’d already started on that particular journey. “No banners, no silly hats, no presents. Just a bunch of people gathered around for a good time.”

“Almost no presents,” Blake corrected. “I couldn’t resist myself and it was before we learned you weren’t fussed on presents.” She waved and Trid appeared in quick order with a small gift bag, the top packed with tissue paper. “Happy birthday Mac.”

As the evening progressed revelations became clear. ‘Actionable intelligence’ became clear Revin produced the second-best lemon cake Mac had ever tasted in his life and reinforced when a message was played from his parents wishing him a happy birthday. There was after all something special about a mother’s cooking.

Preparations and secrecy were credited to Selu and Evan, the latter of which seemed surly even with the celebrations going on around him. Evan couldn’t even be bothered to put on a good show for a single night. Disappointing, but a modicum of respect for sticking to his defining character trait.

He hadn’t wanted a party, never really did since his mid-teens. But a gathering of his senior staff, to hear the very short little trials and tribulations they’d gone through to keep it all a secret or to just see them conversing and socialising (even catching Sidda and Evan having a civil conversation for a few minutes until Evan’s patience wore then) was it turned out just what the doctor ordered.

And hours later they finally made it back to his quarters. The whiskey bottle was admired once more and then locked away in a very small liquor collection before he turned to face Blake. “So…”

“So what?”

“This a thing now?”

“Oh…you would like that wouldn’t you?” she teased as she approached him. “For us to put a label on this?”

“If you want to that is,” he answered.

“I don’t think there’s any avoiding it any more, do you?” she asked. He merely nodded. “Good. Now, I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. Popcorn and a movie?”

He rolled his head back in a laugh. An honest, heartfelt laugh.

She got him. She really got him.

Blake waited for him to settle down before rising up on the balls of her feet and kissing him gently.

“Happy birthday Mac.”