The weight of the situation wasn’t lost on Captain Pike, though the slight tilt of his lips suggested he wasn’t overly burdened by it. He could feel the warmth of their body pressed against his torso as he carried them, their legs draped over his hips with an effortless ease borne of his training. He had always been one to look after his crew—particularly those who weren’t quite as resilient when it came to celebrating.

Margaritas, he thought with a small, amused chuckle to himself. They’d barely had time to finish their first round before their face was flushed and their steps were unsteady. Pike had seen it all before, but there was something about the lighthearted way they had tried to hold themselves together that made him smile.

“You’ve got to know your limits,” he muttered, voice gentle but firm. His eyes scanned the corridor, the lights of the ship softly reflecting off his polished uniform, but his focus remained on them—making sure they were comfortable in his arms, their head resting against his chest as he moved with purpose toward his quarters.

It wasn’t the first time he had to take charge of a situation, but he made a mental note to ask the bartender for some advice on serving lighter drinks for those who tended to overdo it.

“I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t worry,” he murmured softly, eyes flicking down to their face. There was an endearing vulnerability to the way they clung to him, even in their intoxicated state. It didn’t matter—he would make sure they were taken care of. A hot shower, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed. That’s all they needed.

His arms adjusted slightly to ensure their comfort, his heart lightening even as his protective instincts kicked in. One thing was certain: they’d be alright. He would see to it.

As much as he hated to admit it- they were rather cute when they were drunk.