Chapter Text
Laira
Shutting her eyes keeps the shuttle from spinning, but Laira would trade this, in an instant, for the meetings.
She can't.
She chose the Federation: stability, peace for everyone, not her own wants.
Laira didn't know it felt this way to be pregnant. She had no idea how much she could feel for a hypothetical being who isn't part of her life.
That she doesn't— She wants this, nausea and all, and that realization stings enough to keep her eyes closed.
Michael signals her return by touching her cheek. Water comes next, gently offered from another emergency ration pouch. Even Laira's sense of taste is scrambled and it's metallic and sweet, but she swallows.
The tricorder hums in Michael's hands and she offers it up. "Do you want to...?"
"If it's some kind of quantum-variance-phasing-matter-dark-forces-thing, I won't understand it." Opening her eyes will make the nausea return. Even reading a tricorder sounds like hell, but it's kind of Michael to worry about her privacy.
"I don't think dark forces are involved, ma'am." Michael's so committed to making her comfortable that a hint of humor makes Laira smile.
"At least there's that, Captain."
The tricorder finishes its cycle, going silent as Michael reads the information.
"The embryo's healthy, strong vital signs, about six weeks old."
"I was negotiating with Ni'Var six weeks ago."
"This you must have made some time, I think the procedure is quick." Michael's smile carries in her voice and her optimism is so bright Laira can hear it.
Laira sighs, tentatively opening her eyes. "I'm not president here."
Sitting back, Michael tilts her head. "Why do you think that?"
"How could I do this in office?"
Smirking, Michael hands over the rest of the water. "Your office must have a great bathroom."
"It's not—" Laira rolls her eyes, and drinks. She's met very few people as stubborn as Michael.
"If you want a baby, you should have a baby, it doesn't matter what your position is." Michael's so sincere that her eyes glow in the weak light. She grew up in another time, when the promise of the Federation meant stability. It hasn't been like that. She doesn't understand. She can't.
Laira lifts her head a little, testing her control. "I couldn't do this by myself, not as president."
"I wouldn't want to either, but maybe you're not by yourself." Michael runs another scan, setting the tricorder aside to help Laira sit up. Her hands are so warm.
"Then why am I in a shuttle with you?"
"Maybe we're meeting your partner wherever we're going." Michael touches her cheek, ever gentle.
"Your optimism about my personal life is astounding."
Michael waits for her to finish the water, then offers her hands again to get Laira to her feet. "There's a bed in the back. You can lie down while I try to get the computer to tell me what anti-nausea medication might work on you."
"None of them," Laira replies, taking Michael's hands. Standing up seems like a foolish prospect but Michael's strong and stable. "Perhaps one, badly."
"Mixed heritage does a number on medication, I know."
"Your brother?"
"When he had a sore throat, as a child, he could take one thing, and it didn't always work. Five different things worked on me."
"It's so easy being human."
"So boring, isn't it?"
"Yes, Michael, dull is how everyone describes you."
That gets a little chuckle, and Michael's feet are steady, as she guides Laira to sit on the bed.
"This isn't the normal configuration." Shuttles often have bunks. This one has a much larger bed.
Michael leaves the tricorder running on the shelf by the bed, searching the database for dosages and options. "It's not, they - the other us I mean - might be on a longer trip."
"Or they were planning for nauseated passengers." It's odd there's only one bed though, surely they'd want two? Laira's too tired to follow the logic of that thought.
"Yeah, that's possible." Michael's very gentle smile is too kind. "Maybe you were supposed to sleep and I'm meant to fly."
"I wonder if I - she - goes through this every day."
"Likely not every day. This evening was a shock, so it's probably worse than usual. You also don't know how to manage it and the other you probably does." More optimism; she really can't help herself. Michael touches her hair once more, then cleans her face with a soft cloth. "You have a beautiful earring here."
"Oh?" Laira's felt so awful she hadn't noticed it. Following Michael's hand up, she touches the metal in her left ear.
"Is it Bajoran?"
"I have several, I don't often wear them." Laira can't recognize this one by feel. The shapes are different, and she doesn't know the stones. "Maybe here I do."
"Vacation you does, anyway."
Michael crouches down to remove her shoes. Falling into bed is so welcoming that Laira's eyes close almost immediately.
"I'll be right back," Michael says, touching her shoulder.
Laira's thoughts drift, and she's not really asleep, at least she thought she wasn't until Michael's pulling a blanket over her. Michael hovers for a moment, standing over the bed.
"What time is it?"
"Discovery time? Just after oh three hundred. we should have been on Caldos many hours ago. They're probably looking for us now."
"You can join me." Laira pats the bed before Michael does something silly like offer to sleep on the floor.
"I didn't want to presume-"
"What happens in a quantum pocket reality stays there."
"Reality doesn't really have pockets." Michael takes off her boots and climbs into bed, lying on her side, facing Laira in the darkness. "Though its a little like an eddy in space. From the very limited sensors I was able to get back online, we passed through some kind of quantum event, potentially even a warp bubble, which I think means this is an alternate reality. Our quantum variances are off by a minuscule amount, so this reality isn't far off from what we know. You and I know each other, we'd take the same shuttle."
"Your shuttle or mine?"
"Yours, it's a Starfleet HQ registry."
"Diplomatic?"
"Official, Madam President, you're still the Federation here."
Opening her eyes, Laira slowly focuses on Michael's face. Even in the darkness, she's radiant. "Truly?" That's a surprise. She didn't think having a child was compatible with the highest office in the galaxy, but maybe this her is braver.
Michael's smile has a superior air, that's both charming, and cocky. "I asked the computer, you're nearly a year into your first term, and we've stopped the DMA here too."
"And you?"
"Still captain, still Discovery." Michael fidgets with something under her sweater, toying with a necklace of some kind.
Laira hums but doesn't speak. Michael doesn't seem to mind her silence. In fact, Michael's one of the most pleasant companions she's had in a long while.
"The other version of us was also going to Caldos. It'll be almost ten hours before we have warp again, but shuttle's automated systems can repair the damage to the nacelles."
Wincing at the thought of crawling on the shuttle's hull, she winces. "I hate space walks."
"If you're already nauseated—"
"Don't." If she doesn't move, it's not bad. If she doesn't think about it, it's tolerable. Laira can keep telling herself that.
The conference they were meant to attend sounds like a lifetime ago, before she knew about things like sneezing fits and tiny sparks of life.
"We should be able to apply a broad spectrum warp field and shift back to our reality, we might emerge a few days off, but we should be in the same part of space."
"What about...?" Laira doesn't have words for the baby, probably couldn't say it unless there was a phaser held to her head, but Michael knows what she means.
"If the baby is from an alternate reality, the baby seamlessly switches back to her mother."
"No more sneezing."
"Not for you, anyway." Michael touches her hand, gentle again. Time stretches out around them, heavy and still. Michael's smile softens, then blooms and whatever she is going to say will sting so much that Laira wants to shut her eyes. "You know, it's okay to want things for yourself."
"Thank you."
"I mean it, Vance has a family."
Laira sighs. "He's not elected." Vance earned his position through decades of hard work. Laira's is much more precarious.
Michael shakes her head, rubbing her fingers. "We're all seeking connection, we don't need our leaders to be islands."
"I'm so busy."
"I get overwhelmed with just a starship, I can't imagine keeping track of what you need to."
"I have aides."
"But you are the Federation."
Laira has to shut her eyes because they sting, and she can't blame sneezing or nausea this time if she starts crying. Vance insisting she's the Federation is one thing, Michael saying it has so much weight. "So is she."
"Maybe she has someone."
"I doubt it."
"Why?"
Laira's breath shudders, and Michael shifts a little closer.
"Anyone I was with would be second to the Federation, it would inevitably happen, multiple times a day, it's a terrible thing to ask someone to put up with." None of her previous relationships had managed to balance this, no matter how much anyone involved had tried.
"There are people who would understand that."
"Do you know many?" Laira opens her eyes again, curious.
"No." Michael sighs, and her eyes are very bright and very soft across from Laira's. "It wasn't working with Book and I, even before he went with Tarka. I had to pick Starfleet, more than a few times, and that wasn't what he wanted in a relationship."
"The Federation is bigger than Starfleet."
"I know, but, this version of you has found a way to have her life and the Federation. She's having a baby."
Laira sniffs, then sneezes. "I have no idea how." Another sneeze follows and then she's wrapped in Michael, sneezing into her shoulder, pressed against her chest.
"You choose a course, then follow it as bravely as you can."
Michael holds her close until the sneezing stops, then she doesn't let go. They lie there, wrapped in each other. "Are you going to throw up?"
Laira chuckles a little, shaking her head against Michael's chest. "No, not now at least."
"Good, I like this sweater."
"It's nice."
Michael toys with her hair, her fingers gently running over the chain in Laira's earring so it tickles her ear. "You know, the tricorder can tell you who the baby's other parent is."
"It'll be anonymous."
"What if it's not?" If you have someone here, maybe that means you're compatible."
"Genetically?"
Michael chuckles. "Someone gave you that earring."
"I thought you didn't know it was Bajoran."
"It's a betrothal earring, especially when worn on the left."
Laira smirks, impressed. "You didn't know that when you found it before. "
"You were asleep for awhile, I research." Shifting beside her, Michael reaches up and grabs the tricorder. "Someone proposed to you."
"It could have been years ago." Laira rolls to her back, staring up at the ceiling. The stars through the view port have seen everything, including how she made this baby, and who, if anyone, she made them with. "They could be dead."
"You wouldn't wear it on vacation if they were dead."
"Oh?"
"You don't carry your dead with you like that."
She's right, and it's almost annoying how well Michael's figured her out in the very short time they've known each other. The baby won't be her former partner's, she can't imagine a universe where he'd want children. This baby is most likely hers and hers alone, and that's still more than she'd ever dare in this universe. Who is this other her? What made her so brave?
Michael curls on her side, holding the tricorder close. "What if I look, and if it's no one, you're right, and I'll be even more impressed with you having a child on your own."
"I am very impressive."
Michael doesn't even hide her admiration, and it's terrifying to see on her face. She's Michael Burnham, the most heroic Starfleet captain across two centuries. She shouldn't be looking at Laira like that. "You are."
She's not going to drop it. Laira reaches up, caressing her earring while she tries to imagine anyone giving that to her. "Can you - ?"
With Michael's help they take it off and Laira studies it, stroking the stones and the Vulcan-like design. Did she marry a Vulcan? What stones are they?
"Whoever made that loves you." Michael pats her arm.
"Because they have good taste?"
"Yeah," Michael says, beaming. "I think the stones are agates. You can find them all over the beaches of the Pacific. Philippa had a dish of them in her ready room. Someone who proposed to you would know how much your mother loved the ocean. They could have even picked them up themselves."
"Are you helping them?"
Smirking, Michael reaches for the tricorder to read it. "I would, if they asked. Hopefully they did. I'd love to see you surprised like that."
Rolling her eyes, Laira folds her hands on her belly and waits for Michael to finish with the tricorder. It won't matter who this person is. They aren't someone. She just— But Laira doesn't have an explanation for the earring. She doesn't know why - how - any version of her got to this place. What could have happened to make her believe anything was possible?
At her side, Michael goes quiet, so does the tricorder. Shutting her eyes, Laira waits for Michael to explain that she has a dead lover, or some lovely person who died in their timeline decades ago, that she never met. She can't think of anyone who would possibly fit the person Michael's describing. No one is like that. No one she would date would ever spend that much time, she'd never let them; she couldn't.
Instead it's quiet, and remains quiet. Confused, Laira opens her eyes, and Michael's still staring at the tricorder. Her eyes are liquid, and she blinks, once, then again, and a tear runs down her cheek.
That doesn't make any sense at all, and Laira sits up, fighting through how her head spins. She reaches out, and Michael takes her hand, squeezing her fingers tight enough it stings.
"Who?"
Michael blinks again, but her tears are past that now and she turns the tricorder, tapping a flashing name.
Laira strokes one of Michael's tears away, then the other, ignoring the tricorder. "That bad?" What could possibly make Michael cry? Who?
"Fuck."
Laira laughing makes Michael smile, and finally Laira looks down in utter confusion.
Michael Burnham.
Laira's earring is wrapped in their fingers, leaving little red marks as they both squeeze too tightly. The little Vulcan symbols would be Michael's choice, Ni'Var was her home. Michael's careful enough to research the custom of betrothal earrings and thoughtful enough to design one herself. If the agates remind her of Philippa, of course they're part of the earring. Philippa lived on the ocean Laira's mother loved. They shared that with each other, centuries and light years apart. It's incredibly romantic, tying their pasts and futures together.
For a ridiculous instant, Laira imagines them both, watching; smiling. Her mother always talked so wistfully of Laira finding someone she'd love as much as her parents loved each other. Even as a child, Laira had been unconvinced she was as luck.y
"When I first met you, on Discovery, I knew you'd change things for me," Laira starts, cupping Michael's cheek. "I thought you'd be a pain in my ass, but it turns out you just make me nauseated."
Michael laughs, her nose crinkling. "I'm sorry—"
"Sorry?"
"We're not, I'm not—"
"No, of course, but the you who made this?" Laira holds up the earring and smiles wearily, trying to help Michael regain her equilibrium. "She's incredibly romantic." It's utterly ridiculous that Michael's romantic side is directed towards her, but there's no reason to feel embarrassed about it. This is just a detour out of reality, none of it matters.
"I didn't know."
"It's a very strange reality, after all, we're wearing sweaters."
Michael rubs her eyes with her sleeve and laughs. "Guess now we know why we're in the shuttle together."
"It's our vacation."
Michael glances down, staring at Laira's belly. She won't reach for the baby, she's too gentle, so Laira takes her hand. Michael resists for a moment, then relaxes, letting Laira bring her hand in against her belly.
"So the hitchhiker here is our baby." Michael starts to tear up again.
Laira chuckles. "Fuck, right?"
"I'm so sorry you're sick."
"It's just genetics and hormones not mixing well."
"I—"
"But, now I know where this me got her optimism."
"I probably did give you that."
"That you can apologize for."
Michael leans in, touching their foreheads, and it's so intimate Laira aches from the touch. "I don't think I will." She relaxes her fingers, getting comfortable against Laira's belly. "I told myself someday, for kids, I mean. I'd find someone, someday. We'd do it together."
"I don't know how you found me."
"We spend so much time together."
"We don't know each other."
Michael shakes her head. "There's mutual respect, we've been working together well." Her thumb rubs across Laira's belly, soft and gentle. "It seems like it didn't take much to go further."
That optimism of Michael's applies to all situations, it seems. It's impossible to know how they met in this reality or how many dinner dates it took for them to become close. Did they take long walks on the observation decks of HQ? Is Discovery a second home now? How did Michael propose?
"Marriage came quick, I think, it's logical." Michael pauses, blinking too fast again. "And we made a baby."
Laira covers Michael's hand with hers, holding her tight. "You must have talked me into it."
Michael laughs, deep and warm, then she leans down. "Your mother is funny, isn't she?"
There is a child they can talk to. A being who doesn't have much for ears yet, but will, who is real to them already. The other them must be so happy. They have so much, and they're together. They have this shared experience. Laira wants to be jealous, even hate them, but she only longs for what they have. She can't say it, can't put words to it, but this other life has a beauty to it.
Her throat burns, and that has nothing to do with nausea. "You're their mother too."
"I'm clearly the logical one. You're funny." Michael says this so easily, as if parenting is divided into the logical and humorous sides and between the two of them Laira has to carry mirth.
She can barely breathe, let alone--
"You weren't going to do this with anyone." Michael's smile is so warm and delicate that it lingers like poetry.
"No."
Michael's slow realization softens her face even further. Michael rubs her damp eyes again with her sleeve, then leans across, touching their foreheads. "I never would have had a child alone. You're brave."
"Lonely, I think?"
Michael nods, her hand still firmly on Laira's belly in a way that seems to be recentering the galaxy around their hands. "Someone who grew into your life would be accustomed to it. They'll be ready for the travel and the meetings. Wouldn't miss a home planet."
"I told you, I'm terrible to date."
"Maybe you just needed someone to swing things around a little." Michael's lips brush her forehead, and it aches how much she enjoys that. "Seems like you wanted to be loved."
"I'm very accustomed to compromising what I want."
"Settling for a Starfleet Captain " Michael teases, scrunching up her nose into the most beautiful smile. "Luckily for you, I'm just that good."
"You are."
She wasn't supposed to agree. Michael was looking for a laugh, not a confession. They don't love each other, they're not married. The possibility of an intimate conversation was still in the distance, and now Laira sees it. She's acutely - painfully - aware of how easily she fell for Michael Burnham.
Is falling.
Will fall.
They're in a time rift, does tense matter?
Michael touches her chin, and her lips touch Laira's cheek before she pulls away, checking the tricorder that Laira's completely forgotten about.
Michael sighs, shaking her head at the readouts. "As the other half of this baby's DNA, I feel worse that I can't do anything for your symptoms."
"You might be able to alleviate one or two but the side effects will be frustrating."
"You've done this before."
"Some categories of medication work better than others," Laira pauses, shutting her eyes, trying to think. "I haven't taken anti-nausea medication before, so I doubt it's an easy one for the tricorder to work out."
Filling a hypospray, Michael lifts it to her neck, waiting for her to nod before it hisses. "Electrolytes, that's a start at least."
"Thank you."
"Hey, seems like it's my fault. Talked you into the whole thing." Michael's soft smile has a teasing side to it, as if she's recovered enough from the surprise to joke. She yawns, then settles back down, looking up at the ceiling. "What do you think it's like?"
"For them?"
Michael nods as Laira lies down beside her, not really touching, then their hands meet. Laira moves their hands back over her belly. They have so little time with the baby, why keep themselves from this? They can love them with the short time they have.
"You would have moved me into to Discovery, because it's more practical than HQ. You also would never leave your ship."
Michael chuckles up in the darkness. "Discovery is home. You'd love it. I bet your quarters on HQ are beautiful and empty, mine are lived in."
Laira hums and nods. It's both impressive and annoying how good Michael is at reading everything about her. "And she's your ship."
"She is. The crew's family. If we're married, they must be your family now too."
"Bet they lived getting a politician as a step-mother."
Michael laughs, squeezing her fingers again. "You earned their respect on the extra-galactic mission."
"You helped."
"That's what we do. We help each be our best selves."
Laira turns her head towards Michael, again trying to imagine what it's like to carry such optimism. "You do that well."
"People did it for me. Kept landing places where becoming a better me was almost unavoidable."
"Says one of the most extraordinary people in any century."
Michael fidgets with her necklace again, then pulls it out of her sweater. Holding it over towards Laira, she smiles again, this time almost shyly. "It seems I have a wedding ring, Earth traditional. It matches your earring, this is the same kind of agate."
These versions of them are almost painfully happy. It seems impossible, yet it's entirely possible. Too easy. They haven't had a hint of romantic feeling between them. Trust, eventually. Slow, almost painful mutual respect, but no romantic tension. Did she miss it? Read something wrong?
"I've been trying to determine why I don't wear it. We're on vacation. You have the earring—"
"You don't want to lose it." It's a guess, and Michael agrees.
"I'd want it safe."
"Aren't we romantic?"
Michael rolls to her side, facing Laira in the dark. She changes hands, resting the other on Laira's belly. " I can't access our logs, haven't even found our badges-"
Tilting her head towards Michael on the pillow, Laira shrugs. "I would have to leave mine or I'd never use my vacation."
"I was wondering about that."
"You might have left yours."
"Saru can run the ship, Caldos would have their own comm system. It's possible we could spend some time less reachable. The Vice President could run things for awhile again under less pressure, they might appreciate being in charge in a quieter time." Michael pauses, maybe Laira does, because she misses something else Michael says.
"Sleep," Michael says, touching her hair. "Maybe I can get more sensors back in the morning."
"Figure out where we are?"
"Make sure we get home all right." Michael snuggles in a little closer. "I'm speculating on the quantum fissure, we seem to be stable but not moving, but I don't have all the sensors back yet."
"Our sweater universe might not be as soft as it seems?"
"Logic follows one path, space can often demand another. Shuttle sensors aren't as accurate or detailed as Discovery's."
Even Michael's optimism stumbles a little in the middle of the night.
"Protocol says we've missed two check ins. Discovery or another capital ship should be on its.way to find us, even if we are on vacation."
Michael says something intelligent, perhaps something else about quantum rifts, but Laira's so tired she misses it. Michael can tell her again in the morning.
Michael's arms find their way around her, and sleep arrives as a precious gift, fleeting as this moment.