My Star Trek One-Shots

Captain Gabriel Lorca - Deceptive Affection

The dim lighting casted warm shadows across the room. A uniform laid crumpled over the arm of a chair. The faint sound of a heartbeat monitor hummed from a PADD on the desk—hers, from that morning's sparring exercise in Tactical.

Wrapped in a blanket, Lieutenant Elira Thorne laid curled up on Lorca's bed, her dark curls spread across his pillow. Her eyes fluttered open when she heard the soft hiss of the doors and saw Gabriel Lorca walking in, bathed in the glow of a starfield behind him.

"Couldn't sleep?" she murmured with a sleepy smile.

He paused. A slow, practiced smile curved his mouth as he crossed the room. "Had reports to review. You were out cold."

She reached for his hand, tugging him to sit on the edge of the bed. "I dreamed we were on a ship of our own. Small, fast. Just us."

Lorca leaned in and kissed her forehead with a calculated tenderness.

"We could make that happen one day," he whispered. "If you're loyal."

She beamed—utterly trusting, completely unaware. "You know I am."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Then keep our little arrangement between us. It's better that way. You know how command is."

"I don't mind hiding," she said softly. "As long as I have you."

That quiet admission gutted her later. The way she'd laid her heart bare. The way he had touched her as if it mattered. The way he'd pulled her closer in the dark, like he needed her.

Elira snuck down the corridor in socks and rumpled hair, clutching her boots to her chest. She had done it enough to know which shift rotations would keep her unnoticed. The turbolift hummed quietly as she rode it alone, heart still thrumming with the memory of his touch.

She didn't see the wary glances others shared when they caught her coming and going. Didn't know that Stamets suspected something. Or that Saru had noticed a change in her demeanor. Or that Burnham, sharp and observant, had begun to watch her a little too closely.

Because Elira was in love. And she had no idea that the man she's sharing her bed with was not the man she believed him to be.

The next day, the door hissed closed behind Lieutenant Elira Thorne, her expression puzzled as she faced Commander Saru and Specialist Michael Burnham, both standing stiffly near the observation window.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Saru's tone was gentle but grave. "Lieutenant Thorne. Please, have a seat."

Elira glanced between them, sensing the gravity but not the reason. She sat slowly.

Burnham didn't wait. "We need to talk about Captain Lorca."

Elira stiffened. "Why?"

Saru folded his hands. "There have been . . . inconsistencies. In his behavior. His choices. He is not the man we once knew."

"I don't understand," she said carefully. "He's been through a lot. We all have."

"We believe," Burnham said evenly, "that this man is not our Lorca."

Elira laughed once—a short, incredulous sound. "What? That's absurd."

"His biometric signature," Saru added. "His reactions to things he should remember. His knowledge gaps. His command style. None of it aligns."

"And how does this involve me?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

Burnham held her gaze. "We know you've been seeing him."