Chapter Text
Michael
There isn't a standard protocol for you're trapped in a shuttle with mostly damaged instrumentation and the president of the Federation is suddenly carrying your child. As time - night - passes, Laira curls closer to her. When Michael wakes, Laira's curled into her chest.
Laira's body temperature is a few degrees cooler. Does she sense the heat of Michael's body? Is it pleasant for her? Is Michael feverishly warm to her touch?
Michael must feel good to her - she concludes - even in sleep, because Laira's arm is around her waist and they're wrapped together. Is she cold? Does pregnancy change her body temperature as well as everything else? She threw up her dinner, and Michael didn't get her to eat anything else. Maybe she's cold. Maybe she still feels slightly terrible.
The replicator should be back online by the time they get up. Michael always had to eat Vulcan food as a child when she was ill. Food from the high deserts of Vulcan is famously bland, so they can start with that. Plomeek soup is delicately spiced to some, entirely tasteless to others. Amanda feeding Michael toast was more human, but Laira's human too. That seems right.
It's just temporary, anyway. They have to get through the next several hours, then they go back the way they came. Laira's more likely to seek physical contact because she's been so unwell, and Michael has to admit it's pleasant enough she will miss it. They're not really married, no matter what their jewelry says, but the intimacy is pleasant.
Prior to the incident they'd been getting along. Even talked about art and cultural events Laira keeps getting invited to. She can rarely attend; they're all over the Federation and her schedule is brutally full. Travel time alone--
A spore drive on Laira's ship would change the way she governs. Tarka's prototype has potential, but he's disappeared now, not that anyone would have trusted him. Auriello and Stamets have been using technology from species 10C to perfect the next prototype, and they're close, perhaps they'll even be able to solve the navigator problem. Book's been making good use of the current one, last she heard.
He was well, when he wrote last. Grudge was happy to be back at work saving endangered species. He'd even found an uninhabited moon to terraform into a sanctuary. New Kwejian: home to the galaxy's displaced creatures.
"You'll have to come see it someday." He said at the end. No expectation, simply an invitation. Their relationship had been one of the many things not salvageable after meeting the 10C. No ill will lay between them, but the spark that had been so compelling between them had been lost with the DMA.
Friends, lovers, then acquaintances. Someone that she once was close to. When she was honest with herself, in moments like these, in the dark, always alone, Michael had worried it wouldn't work. She'd thrown herself in harder, loved fiercely, regretted nothing.
And it ended anyway.
Starfleet came first. Starfleet was still with her; duty reigns.
Ironic, really, while she tries to convince Laira she can have what she wants for her personal life, Michael has given up on her own.
Amanda had a saying: right feeling, wrong person. Michael wanted something domestic: a life with someone, not simply a life in parallel, but paths chosen together. She wanted to be interwoven with someone, entwined, sharing fate and hope.
Book had not been that person. Maybe if Kwejian, maybe if she, if-- Speculation has taken enough sleep from her. They are not partners, and she loves him still. She wishes him well, with everything, with his life as it runs divergent from hers.
Michael fidgets, first with the hem of Laira's sweater, then Laira's hair. What she knows about Laira's personal life could barely fill a stack of ancient pages. She had no idea Laira wanted a child, or had contemplated having one on her own. Laira holds things very tight, but she will share them, when asked, when she's safe.
Maybe it was the forced intimacy of the tiny space, or the intensity of Laira's symptoms. Perhaps it was just that their baby was causing everything. No, this isn't guilt. This is nice. Michael loves this part of a relationship: closeness, intimacy; sharing breath in the darkness.
Laira would not have been a partner she chose immediately, but the logic is there. If she were an option, it makes sense. They understand duty, leadership, and politics. They respect each other, try to do what the other needed, and genuinely care for the other's well being. It's a good foundation, they could build on that.
Laira is a mystery, like Book, like Ash, and she's fragile. She's surrounded by so many people, and alone. Michael was like that on the Shenzhou, when she hadn't known how to connect.
With Laira it seems like a forgotten need. Something she denies herself so fiercely that she can't reach it or put words to it. The DMA rattled her hope. The 10C and the negotiations that followed put the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, and yes, she carried it well, got them through, but what would that do to a person? How would she set that down?
Laira's relationship with the scientist hadn't survived. Michael had asked early on the shuttle trip. The last time he'd been mentioned, Laira had been looking forward to seeing him. Yet this time, Laira had been polite - even apologetic - almost as if it were her responsibility to maintain the relationship Michael had helped save.
"It was so different from anything we'd seen, or done. He had no context and I couldn't explain it to him." With that, Laira finished speaking, and then they'd sat in silence for almost a light year.
Relationships are deeply difficult for both of them. Loneliness speaks to why this is so easy between them, but there's something else that makes this fit. Makes this click. It's not duty that has them together, they're harmonious with it, they can make it work, but there's something else.
A fascination with the unknown. The hint of possibility. The way Laira's eyelashes lie dark on her cheek. How her breath softens with sleep. She's extraordinarily beautiful. Michael's known that from the beginning, but knowing and appreciating, knowing and wanting— They're very different things.
Wondering what it would be like to kiss her is harmless. So many steps would be between there and now, but it's a pleasant distraction. The scales that cover Laira's forehead are more delicate than Michael thought, the patterns are almost lacy in the darkness, shadowed and still.
There's a great delicacy to her: layers of vulnerability Laira has been so careful to tuck away. Michael had thought that Laira's politicians mask hid something insincere, but it protects all the softness Laira's unwilling - unable - to share with anyone.
The scientist must have seen parts of it, but something wasn't— The way Laira stopped being able to look at Michael when she tried to explain that happened, what changed. She thought they'd made progress, gotten close enough, but Laira doesn't know how to share this with her.
Putting words to it would help Laira again now, but she's so lost. Michael came on this shuttle trip to find her, help Laira find a way to talk about what carnage saving the galaxy leaves behind. After the Red Angel, Michael had time - lost time - courier time with Book; she nearly walked away from Starfleet.
Laira left Discovery, walked up to the railing at Starfleet HQ and just kept leading. Admiral Vance worried about her when the little things that weren't duty disappeared. She was fine, of course, confronting her would have only made her retreat further. But she might trust Michael. Making Michael her escort on an unimportant trade mission isn't a vacation, or therapy, but perhaps Laira only needs connection. Perhaps she would allow herself to trust. Michael has been where she is, staring at the wreckage of her own life, wondering what could possible rise from that rubble.
Being trapped in a quantum warp anomaly and pregnant isn't taking a break from the weight of the galaxy, but it's found some hard truths.
Laira wants a baby, and she'll have to let this one go in less than eight hours. Michael is aware of the weight of that, but it's not something she wanted as much. It's not within her. She doesn't know how to soften losing something Laira wanted so much, especially when she barely admitted it to herself.
How does she give her hope? What can she say? Laira could try, on her own, but not as president, she wouldn't give herself the space. Michael glances down at the child they're not having, grateful they had these hours, even if that's all they have.
She could offer, of course. Laira might never take her up on it, yet maybe Michael has to face her own insights. A version of her loves Laira deeply, is radiant with joy about this child, and proposed to her with agates from Philippa's beach on Langkawi. That's a kind of connection Michael hasn't achieved with anyone in this universe.
That has potential. She could decide to ride those currents, see where this flight takes them. She could love Laira, easily, wholeheartedly, and that sends tingles up Michael's spine.
Do they risk it? Do they walk a path together? Make an echo of this child in their own universe? What does she dare offer Laira? What will Laira accept?
Michael fidgets with the wedding ring that's not hers. She's already decided. There's no uncertainty in the pit of her stomach. Laira may push her back, reinforce the distance between them, or she might agree. They could build something, weave something out of the strangeness of space and time. Even grow a life to add to the cosmos, raise them together, find harmony and balance as best they can.
They've done it once. Does that mean they do it again?
It means Michael offers. The rest is unwritten, but it could be beautiful.
"I've read if you eat before you get up, it's not as bad."
"Eating to prevent nausea is like developing weapons to prevent developing weapons." Laira winces, head on her knees. Her hair falls gold and red, and the long line of her neck lies naked.
Sitting beside her on the bed, Michael sets her toast aside, then touches her skin. She runs her fingers gently over the muscles along Laira's spine. First upwards towards her hairline then down, slow and steady.
"There's only about three hours left until the rift closes," Michael says. "It's almost done."
Laira's little laugh is so bitter it cuts. Lifting her head, she looks at Michael, blue eyes huge and haunted. "I'd keep the nausea if I could—"
"I'm sorry."
"I know she has to go back-" Laira pauses, fingers twisting in her sweater, "I- I know we can't--"
Michael leans in, touching their heads together. "I think she belongs to the other us."
Shutting her eyes, Laira swallows, growing more pale. "I wouldn't want to take her."
"I know."
"And I'm happy for them - us - I suppose."
Michael kisses her temple before she can remind herself that they don't kiss. Laira is not her wife, this is not their baby, yet it feels so right to touch her. Laira leans into her, taut until Michael's mouth pulls away.
Squeezing her hand, Michael takes a breath. "We could have our own."
"What?" Laira's dark eyelashes flutter.
Michael hands over a piece of toast. "I'd have a baby with you, if you wanted."
Laira pauses staring at her. She finally takes a bite, chewing like she's never had bread. "You would do that?"
"Of course."
Laira cups her cheek, meets her eyes and then looks down. "That's kind."
Co-parenting could be worked out, Discovery could become a place for a child. Anything is possible; the galaxy is calm. Laira wants this, Michael can imagine wanting it.
Maybe she does want it.
"If something happened, if the anomaly left the baby with us, we'd raise her."
"You don't, you didn't—"
Shaking her head, Michael smiles until Laira stops biting her lip. "She's my daughter too, we'd raise her together."
"Adapting to circumstances beyond our control is different than creating something we shouldn't."
"Not if both have the outcome you want."
Laira states at her toast, suddenly fascinated. Sneezing makes her drop it and Michael picks it up off the bed, holding it until she stops.
"I can't want this."
"You do, even with the sneezing." Michael waits for her to lift her head again. "Eat your toast "
"It made me sneeze."
"Sneezing seems like the easier symptom."
Laira takes the toast back, and they sit there, staring at the stars together. "Why do you upend everything?"
"Right place, right time."
Laira hums, taking another bite of toast.
"Some things need to be upended."
"Like my life?"
"You're unhappy "
"I wasn't."
Michael reaches over, tucking Laira's hair aside so she can see her face. "Denying you want something takes the even the possibility away from you. We could have a child together, I think we'd be good at it."
Laira's left hand rests on her belly, unwilling to let go. "You don't—"
"I do, why is that so hard?"
"In my experience, people can't stay, even when they want to."
Laira's betrothal earring sits on the shelf next to Michael's wedding ring. Reaching for them both, Michael smoothes Laira's hair back, then eases her earring back on.
"One version of us thought they could stay together."
"They're not us." Laira doesn't sound hopeful, but she takes the wedding ring from Michael's hand, turning it in her fingers. "They're braver, or the universe is softer, or--"
"I have this sweater, so do you."
"What does that matter?"
"We have everything we need to try, if we wanted, if we dared - we could."
Laira takes Michael's hand, studying her fingers. Laira's hand trembles, but she doesn't let go. "How can you offer that?"
"Whoever gave you this loves you," Michael reminds her, touching the earring. "I did, I could..." she doesn't add the last tense, it's too soon, but it's so close that they're both aware.
Laira slips Michael's ring onto her finger. "I never thought I wanted to get married. I didn't think it mattered to me."
"Yet it's a nice idea."
"Frightening, but nice." Laira strokes her fingers, then lifts the back of Michael's hand, kissing her knuckles. "A lot of your ideas are like that."
"Only frightening?"
"Terrifying really—"
Light fills the cabin, bright blue, pouring through every window.
Saru's voice cuts through the cabin on crackling comms that Michael wasn't entirely sure were working. "Captain Burnham, President Rillak, brace yourselves for transport and immediate jump."
The lightning flashes of the spore drive spinning up mix with the light of the transporter and it's all she can do to reach for Laira, pull her close before they vanish and rematerialize on the bridge.
Rattling the ship from bulkhead to bulkhead, the jump drags them through a maelstrom of light, familiar and not. Something's wrong; and they didn't know it in the shuttle, couldn't. Discovery pulls them through, but they haven't had a crossing this onerous since they left the Terran Empire. The deck rocks beneath them, Michael's shoulder his something sharp, and Laira goes stiff when she snaps against something. There's blood on her fingers, in her nose, but the deck is her ship.
They're home. Sparks crash all around them and there's smoke in the air. Fire suppression comes on and everyone's rushing. Laira's head's cradled against her chest, their bodies pressed together.
They didn't get to say goodbye. they're here, back, and that means—
Later.
Michael hauls herself up to sit, her back against the side of the command chair. Saru's long, thin legs stand, and he orders the repairs. They're all right, the stars are bright on the viewer, but Laira's still curled against her chest, head on her shoulder.
They had an hour, maybe two, and they didn't say goodbye, they got distracted. Laira takes a breath, and a single sob trembles through her into Michael's shoulder, before she stiffens, pulling herself in. Michael holds her close, sheltering her. Michael's ears are ringing like the air's just rushed back in. She has to blink a few times to force everything into focus.
"Captain?" Hugh kneels beside her, studying her eyes. He wipes blood from under her nose, checks the cartilage. "You were in a warp bubble, Paul can explain it. How do you feel? Anything hurt?"
Michael shakes her head. "Everything's a little scrambled, but I'm fine."
"It was a rough jump." Hugh asks about Laira with his eyes instead of reaching for her. Blood's seeping hot into Michael's sweater from a cut on Laira's forehead, but it seems superficial. Her hand's tight on Michael's, and her breathing's even again.
It's a lot to force down, again, on top of everything else.
Shaking her head, Michael wordlessly asks Hugh for a moment. Laira's not ready. Facing the baby being gone, in front of everyone, when they didn't—
Hugh hands her a sterile square to press into Laira's forehead, and smiles. "Got a couple other injuries, I'll be back. Keep pressure on it."
Laira's blue eye are distant, but they focus on Michael for a quiet moment. They can't talk, can't start grieving in public, but she's not alone. She's safe with Michael and the crew. They'll get through this.
"This is bleeding a lot, but it doesn't seem bad."
For a moment, Laira meets her eyes, haunted and empty. She knows acutely that they're back, that their hitchhiker's gone, and reality's here for them, cold and lonely.
"It's all right," Michael murmurs. "It's all right."
Laira's eyes say it's not, can't be, but Laira will be all right. That's the most she can say. Maybe this will help her talk about all she's lost. The most recent grief opening the gates around the older ones.
Michael is vaguely aware of the look that goes from Keyla to Joann, and Nilsson and Saru's eyes on them, but it doesn't matter. Their clothes are wrong and they're wrapped in each other but that can wait. Grief is acute and heavy, rumbling through them both like shifting tides. Did the baby return to where she came from? Is she safe? Is she simply gone from existence in every reality?
Blood seeps hot through the bandage Hugh gave her and Michael pulls her hand down. It shouldn't be bleeding this much, Laira's blood pressure should be back to normal without the baby.
Paul hands her another one then steps back, curiosity bright in his eyes. "What did you see?"
Michael holds the new bandage onto Laira's forehead, pressing harder. "What do you mean?"
"You were in a static warp bubble. A rare, dangerous phenomenon only documented a few times. We think they could be a remnant of the isolytic explosion, something that rippled through subspace. We're trying to better calibrate our sensors to find them all over quadrant, they're incredible dangerous and nearly invisible."
"Our shuttle didn't detect anything, there was light then—"
"Everything was different." Paul nods, looking at the president, then back to Michael. "A Starfleet officer, a doctor, actually, encountered the first static warp bubble, many hundred years ago. It made a universe around one of her thoughts about losing everyone she loved. People in that bubble disappeared, until she was the only person in that universe. She was rescued by her ship before the bubble collapsed, but it took the intervention of a highly advanced lifeform from Tau Alpha C. Luckily for you two, we were able to jump in and out before your bubble disappeared."
"You crossed into our universe?"
"Much less messy than the Terran one." Paul mimes a bubble in his hands. "Your universe was like, a still place in the network, a pocket, so to speak. Inside of it, whatever the two of you were thinking when you entered would have shaped that reality."
Laira wanted a baby, Michael wanted stability; they both wanted a break. Is it really that simple? That bubble listened to their thoughts and gave them what they couldn't stop thinking about. Peace, love, a vacation where no one needed them, and a child.
"Sweaters, no badges, because we needed a break?"
"It could be that simple. There are a few other instances, no other survivors after the first encounter. Between multiple DMAs and the isolytic weapon Mr. Tarka deployed, subspace is in the worst ship it's ever been. It's been frothed, so to speak, and these bubbles are the result."
"Is there a way out of them without a spore drive?"
"Or the intervention of a being who can transcend normal space time?" Paul knows something happened that they're not saying, the whole bridge does, but they won't press. He shrugs, meeting Michael's eyes."I don't know how anyone else could get out of it. We'll keep scanning, we already reported to Admiral Vance before we jumped in after you."
They would have had to, not for Michael, but for Laira.
"Thank you, Mr. Stamets," Laira says softly. Polite, presidential again, but her voice shivers. Then she winces, shutting her eyes and dropping her head to Michael's shoulder. Nausea? Is her head injury worse than Michael thought? Michael strokes her hair, holds her shoulder. She shouldn't have to deal with this here.
"I need to get her to sickbay."
"We overloaded the transporters getting you out, so you'll need to take the turbolift."
Good, that will give them time. Michael whispers into Laira's hair and gets the smallest nod in response. She can stand, they can go to sickbay together. After that, they'll have to deal with grief and loss, first the baby, then the DMA and everything else Laira's shoved into the dark corners of her mind. Perhaps now, Laira will trust her, let her in. Paul helps Michael up, and Laira accepts his hand as well as Michael's to get to her feet.
She wavers, unsteady, and Michael wraps her arm around her waist.
"Sickbay will get that taken care of."
Laira smiles, weary and soft. "It looks worse than it is." Something still feels off about her, more than the blood on her face or the inevitable headache, or how lightheaded she must be. They're nearly in the lift when she sneezes, burying her face in her arm.
The bridge is full of smoke, so it's logical, but the smoke burns Michael's throat, sneezing is—
It's not possible. They brought their sweaters with them, the earring, Michael's wedding ring, all of that can be made in a pocket universe. A child isn't like that. It can't be, they can't get their hopes up.
Yet hope is stubborn.
The lift shuts and Laira holds her for a moment, then leans on the wall.
"You okay?"
"It was bad enough before. If I'm not- if she's not—"
"Then you shouldn't have to feel it." Michael offers her hands. "Nausea?"
Laira doesn't reach for her, not at first, but she swallows, then shuts her eyes. "How can it be worse?"
"Your adrenaline's wearing off." Michael looks up at the ceiling. "Zora, halt turbolift." Reaching for Laira's hand, Michael almost expects her to pull away, but she clings to her, fingers cold and damp.
They sink back down to the deck together, Laira's head tilted back against the wall of the lift. "We made her?"
"We made all of it." Michael sits across from her, their hands entwined. Laira fidgets with Michael's wedding ring. The metal is similar to her bracelet on her left wrist, same luster. She would have planned it. Made sure the earring matched, chose the agates from the little collection she still has from Philippa's beaches, centuries ago. "I've had two serious relationships and they've collapsed, spectacularly. I have my family on Discovery, and that's my home, but I haven't been able to find a person to share that with me."
Tracing the bracelet with her thumb, Michael takes a breath, finding words. "I want someone I share my life with, not just a romantic relationship, but a partner, someone who cares how I feel at the end of the day, and has coffee with me in the morning. That sounds foolish, doesn't it?"
"It sounds wonderful," Laira says, tilting her head. "I've never had that either."
"It sounds nice though, doesn't it? In theory, at least." Michael strokes her hand, wishing she could make this easier. "I was also wishing I had a chance to wear this sweater. It's been sitting in a drawer since I got it."
Squeezing her fingers, Laira sighs. "Being able to take my badge off for a whole day sounds pretty incredible."
"So we did that together then."
Laira's little laugh aches. "I suppose we did." She sniffs, pulling her hands back before she sneezes again. Michael leans closer, putting pressure on her head wound when it starts to bleed again.
"Your blood pressure must still be off."
"Hmm?"
"This is still bleeding."
"Head wounds bleed."
"It's not clotting."
"It's nothing." Laira shuts her eyes, her lashes dark on her skin.
Michael brushes blood off her cheek with her free hand.
Laira trembles beneath her, her breath shuddering in her chest. "I made the baby, didn't I?"
"I'm not against one."
Starting to smile, Laira winces, squeezing her eyes shut.
"But it wasn't first in my mind."
"When the Burn was over, when we were safe, I was going to try. I told myself that for years, and I met my partner, and it was too late - I was too busy and he didn't, so we didn't and I was fine. I was president—"
"After we solved the DMA, it felt safe again."
Laira smiles that very small smile. "Space is safe, other than warp bubbles and quantum fissures and—"
Michael smoothes her hair, then kisses her forehead on the side where it's not bleeding. "No one is ever perfectly safe."
"I was afraid."
"That's okay."
Moaning, Laira leans forward, falling into Michael as she tries not to throw up.
"Breathe."
"She didn't have anywhere to go back to."
Michael has no words, so strokes her hair, holding Laira against her chest.
"I made her, and she didn't have anywhere to go, she—"
"You couldn't have known."
"I shouldn't have wanted."
"No—"
"Wanting her killed her."
Michael leans down, trying to get through. "No, no, that's not it."
"She was, and wasn't, She was real, and isn't and I—" One of those silent sobs takes over her breathing, and her whole body shivers in Michael's arms. Laira forces it down, shuts down, but it' too much to fight.
Even if their baby only existed for the hours she was with then, she had a good life. She was adored for those moments. Laira's too hard on herself.
"She was real, for us, and that - that's not a bad thing."
Laira's breathing keeps catching, and she stiffens like she's about to throw up again, or she's fighting tears that she's pushed aside too long.
Michael should get her to sickbay, get her stabilized so she can grieve. They might find a way to let their hitchiker go, together, but Michael can't imagine letting Laira go again. They're too close now.
"Captain Burnham, forgive the interruption of a private moment, " Zora says, her holographic form appearing with them in the turbolift. "The biometrics of the president have become quite unstable, and I believe they are adding to the stress of the third life form I detect in the turbolift."
Michael's heart rushes in her ears. "Third life form?"
"They are new to Discovery. I only became aware of it when you arrived on board from the warp bubble."
"Are they in distress?"
"Mildly, Captain. The spike in the president's stress hormones has caused their bioreadings to become more erratic."
"What is she talking about?" Laira asks, sitting up again, unshed tears in her eyelashes.
"An extra life form."
"What?"
Michael rests her hand on Laira's stomach, blinking to stop her own tears. "I think we brought her with."
Laira starts to pull back, tugging Michael's hand. "No, that's impossible."
"Zora, is the new life form genetic similar to President Rillak and I?"
Zora takes a moment. "Yes, they appear to have genetic material from both of you."
"Are they currently residing in Laira?"
"Ye, that appears to be accurate. I believe the life form's presence is contributing to President Rillak's symptoms."
Michael smiles so wide that her face stings as much as her eyes, but she can't help it. "I'll get them to sickbay."
"I believe that is wise, Captain. Transporters have been repaired, would you like me to transport you?"
"In a minute, Zora."
Laira's tears shine very bright in her eyes. "How?"
"I don't know."
"She—"
"It's all right."
"We didn't—"
"That's all right too."
"Michael..." Laira shakes her head and that fragile little laugh tugs at Michael's heart.
"We brought her with."
"That can't—"
Michael lifts her chin, meeting her eyes. "Anything is possible."
The transport grabs them, enveloping them in light. In the half-second before they disappear, Michael leans in and covers Laira's mouth with hers. It's not much for a first kiss, more desperate connection than romantic moment, but it says what Michael can't.
Zora beams Laira onto the biobed in the back room, and Michael materializes standing beside her. Laira's eyes won't leave hers, and her smile's brighter than it's been all day. They kissed and there's no time to talk about it.
Hugh enters a moment later, tricorder in hand, his white uniform already marked with soot from the bridge. "Glad you made it down." He starts his initial scan, watching them both. "Madam President, do you have any symptoms? Dizziness, nausea?"
"Both."
Hugh frowns at his tricorder for a moment, then touches Laira's forehead. "This is superficial, it shouldn't be causing any symptoms."
Michael presses her lips together. He'll find it, Zora did. Laira meets her eyes and maybe it' the hysteria for the moment, or how much they've been through emotionally, or maybe it's just joy. Laira smiles, really smiles, and she's as vibrant as a star.
"I need to—" Hugh opens and closes his mouth and Michael looks down. Laira's flushed pink, and her tears run freely now.
Reaching up, Michael catches the tears on her cheeks. "I can take care of the wound with a dermal regenerator if you need to run a deeper scan."
Hugh's eyes don't move from his tricorder readout, and he points towards the dermal regenerator. "Genetic and quantum analysis, actually, just a minute. I'll be right back."
Michael picks it up, removes the sticky bandage from Laira's forehead and starts cleaning the wound. She can't stop smiling and neither can Laira, it's almost like being drunk, the way her emotions are utterly out of control. The regenerator hums, cleaning the wound and repairing the skin and blood vessels. A few more passes and there will be no sign Laira was ever hurt.
Looking into Laira's eyes while the wound closes is intoxicating. They're so blue and deep, and Michael forgot what it was like to be so smitten with a person.
Hugh returns with a more advanced scanner. His smile is undeterred but there's a puzzled furrow on his forehead. "Did time pass normally for you inside the bubble? You only experienced about eighteen hours of time?"
"Yes."
The scanner hovers over Laira, lighting up gold as it runs a quantum scan.
"Madam President, we have your medical records from the extra-galactic mission, and what I'm reading today is impossible, based on those records, however, Paul tells me the warp bubble could have caused almost anything to happen."
Michael touches his arm. "Zora told us, Hugh, it's all right."
He smiles, then chuckles. "All right then, Madam President, since you're already sitting down. You're pregnant. Captain—"
"She's mine, isn't she?"
"Genetically, yes, her quantum signature even matches this reality." Hugh calls up a readout. "Six weeks gestational age, healthy development, no genetic anomalies or signs of trauma." He leaves the readout up for them and walks to the side of the biobed to start filling hyposprays. "Your b and k vitamins are low, your calcium and iron reserves are nearly depleted, and you have a mild folic acid deficiency." He presses the hypospray into her neck once, then loads it again. "I'll send a list of vitamin supplements to your badge, but this should help for now."
Laira's left hand rests over the baby, and Michael takes her right, wrapping their fingers together, tight.
"Why are her levels so far off?"
"When the warp bubble made the baby, I assume it took nutrients and minerals from the same place an embryo normally would, just in this case all at once, instead of over the last six weeks. It'll take some time to regain equilibrium. Your hormone levels are all a little erratic, and you have the added complication that your system is trying to balance several types of maternal hormones at once."
Hugh glances down at their clasped hands, his expression softening. "If this isn't what you want—"
Laira answers that with almost presidential efficiency. "It is."
He starts to smile again. "If it would be easier to move the embryo to another host, like Michael or an external gestation chamber, that would be a simple procedure."
Glancing down before she looks at Michael, Laira worries her lip, then shakes her head. "She can stay."
"I can—" Michael starts, but Laira smiles a little brighter.
"I know, I want her."
Michael leans in, touching their foreheads before she kisses her again, soft and warm. "Okay, then she should stay put where she is."
Hugh has so many things to say that they blend together. Hormones and development and circulation and Michael has to listen because there's no way Laira's getting any of this, why should she? She's wanted this for years, she can be happy.
He notices the joyful haze over both of them before he finishes a thought. "Go back to your quarters. Rest, eat. I'll write this up and save it for you to read later, and I'm here, if you have any questions or worries." He fills another hypo and injects Laira's beautiful neck. "That should help with the nausea for about twelve hours. Enjoy it. You're pregnant, congratulations."
He beams at Michael, kissing her cheek, and she hugs him tight. Hugh pats Laira's knee, and smiles at her. She slides off the biobed, noticeably steadier on her feet. She nods to him, then they trade cheek kisses.
"I'm not kidding about resting, you've been through it. Give yourself a few days."
"Yes, Doctor, thank you."
"Oh, call me Hugh, ma'am." He winks at Michael. "Tio Hugh has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"