Chapter Text
Michael presses her fingers into the back of Laira's neck, then moves to the center of her forehead, pressing outward and up, into her eye sockets. She traces Laira's eye ridges, and the gentle pressure of her fingers lifts the ache in Laira's head for a moment or two.
Kissing the middle of her forehead, Michael cups her face. "How many headaches did you have before?"
"Before?"
Michael laughs, running her fingers through her hair. "Before, with your oh so not stressful job, or before that, when you were campaigning."
"That's not stressful at all."
"Oh no." Michael circles the table, studying her hair. "I can put it up, but that'll probably make your headache worse."
"Probably?" Laira winces, shutting her eyes. "It's fine."
"I'll pull it halfway, that might be all right."
"It's fine, dear."
"The message if just for HQ, Vance and and the captains will see it. It doesn't matter if your hair's not up."
Nodding a little, Laira hums. "And I don't need to look presidential for them?"
"Vance knew you when you were just a sector rep, and I bet, sometimes you had your hair down."
"Maybe once."
Michael hums, rolling her eyes, then braids Laira's hair, far more careful than she needs to be. For a moment, she rests her chin on Laira's shoulder, then circles back. She's back in her uniform today, that bright Starfleet red, and she's home in it.
Saru agreed that Michael should be the one in the center seat, because the Federation's already seen her save them, over and over.
Michael said it wasn't permanent when she put her uniform back on, but this is her place, and that's all right. Starfleet serves the Federation, and the Federation needs hope. Unity. This strange kind of fearlessness that Discovery carried with them from the past.
That Michael brought with her.
Thousands, even millions of people died during the Burn, and dilithium was so scare that starships had to be first responders, had to be ready at a moment's notice. Admiral Vance spent years without his family, but they're back now. They can't be the only ones who want to raise their child on a starship. Their hitchhiker will be one of many children in this time of peace. No more Emerald Chain, no DMA, no unpredictable static warp bubbles—
Just a whole galaxy that needs her attention.
Michael slips between her thighs, arms around her waist. Laira rests her arms on her shoulders and smiles.
"You know, this one feels like a before headache."
"Oh?"
"I might be able to blame this one on stress, not our Hitchhiker or my swamp of hormones."
"Seems like the before headaches should be on pause in the now, doesn't it?"
Laira laughs, kissing Michael's cheek. "Any headache being on hiatus would be nice."
"And yet—" Michael sighs again, toying with Laira's jacket. "This looks good open."
Glancing down, Laira laughs wearily. "It won't close."
"Oh?"
"Oh," Laira repeats, slipping off the table to show Michael the jacket problem. "The suit fit when we left." Her blue suit's one of her favorites. She wore it when they embarked, which was barely two weeks ago, and now it won't close over her breasts or her waist and it would be practically indecent except for her blouse.
"We can fix it."
"There's no time, we have to send the buoy, the buoy needs a message."
Michael toys with her jacket a little, reaching in to pull the edges of Laira's vest. "It might close, but—"
"It'll be a corset, not a vest."
Michael's fingers are gentle against her hips, warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. "You look fine like this."
Laira reaches up to straighten Michael's epaulets. "No one's going to be looking at me, Captain."
"Oh?"
"You in the chair, it's a thing."
"I thought it was just a you thing."
"Oh no, no, everyone in the Federation has a thing for heroic Starfleet captains." Laira finishes Michael's uniform, brushes an invisible speck off her chest, and devours her with her eyes. "I love you, Captain Burnham."
Michael soft eyes are even brighter, and she clasps Laira's hands together in hers, then kisses her. "I love you too, Madam President."
Their foreheads rests against each other, and they could just stay here, peaceful, serene and calm, like they're drifting through the doldrums of the barrier. No meetings, no demands, just the two of them.
And their one.
The one who is going to make her suits not fit at all.
"Do you know how hard it is to replace my suits?"
"Better tell your tailor about the hitchhiker now, before she gets really mad at you." Michael brushes her hand against her belly, then touches Laira's ear. "You wore your earring."
"You're wearing your ring."
Michael strokes the Bajoran betrothal earring. "Symbols matter. Marriage is a promise, one I keep making, over and over. It feels right to wear it."
Her eyes sting and her throat's too tight. "Dammit."
"I'll take that as yes."
Laira shakes her head, then blinks, trying to stop her tears because they have a recording to make for headquarters and she can't be teary, but if Michael's going to be Michael— "Full disclosure? My most steadfast belief was in the Federation, in how we work together. I built my life on that." She meets Michael's eyes and takes a breath. "Now it's you, and that's a little terrifying."
Taking that in, Michael kisses her, slow and sweet. "I'll try to live up to it."
"You do, oh you do."
"Well, you're my president." Michael takes her hand, beaming. "Come on, be presidential while my crew does what they do best."
They walk hand in hand onto the bridge. Michael fusses with Laira's collar for a moment, then kisses her cheek.
Michael sits in the center seat, Laira stands beside her, and they make it look good. They use the warp core to generate an anti-proton beam. Simple: something even one of her father's old freighters could do.
The beam doesn't matter, it's that they think the bubble closed closed, and they do. The intrepid crew of Discovery, all watch the static warp bubble on the viewer fade until it vanishes, leaving smooth subspace behind it like a pond.
That's it.
Laira touches her shoulder, and Michael reaches up, squeezing her hand. It's quick, and safe. Michael explains to the viewscreen what they need to do. They will save the message, put it on a buoy and the Ten-C send the buoy to headquarters. That tiny wormhole only takes a few atoms of boronite, much less power than sending Discovery home.
It'll be a day to get back to the barrier, and a few hours to a week to get through. Paul thinks slipping back into their galaxy might be easier, because more of the currents run in, but it'll be the third time. Laira could probably fly it if she had to, but she'd be tense as a forcefield.
Discovery has Keyla.
Keyla's truly one of the best pilots she's ever seen and Laira's been on more ships than anyone else on the bridge.
The recording must have stopped because Michael's out of the chair, leaning in, and she kisses Laira's cheek, quick and gentle, but supernovas have been started with less.
"That was wonderful."
"I'm good at what I do," Michael teases, beaming.
She is, of course, they all are, and for half a moment, Laira's just giddy with sensation, like she'll pop like the damn bubble. They're all so competent, kind, and caring and—
She must have looked pale because Michael makes her sit in the chair, and that unasked "are you all right" floats on Michael's lips.
Michael takes them to warp without taking the chair back, and the nearly starless extra galactic space fades into the rush of blue and warp.
Michael checks on her crew, talks to them, jokes. She's in her element, radiant with joy and Laira just watches her be.
She gets a moment, then several, just to watch, then Hugh's on the bridge, handing her a flask of water and murmuring about her blood pressure and temperature. One's up and the other's down, or they're both up: she can't even keep it straight sometimes. She didn't even realize she was dizzy. Maybe she's getting used to it.
The water's very cold.
"I like the earring," Hugh says, running one more scan as he watches his tricorder. "It suits you."
"I wasn't sure—"
"And you are now." He pats her hand. "I saw Michael's ring too. Don't think quietly eloping in the ready room gets you out of a party."
"Oh?" They didn't elope, he's teasing, he has to be.
What if he's not?
"I'd throw one on the way home but I think Tilly will kill me if she's not invited so it might need to wait for headquarters." Hugh holds her chin, drawing her eyes. "If you're worried about the crew, I promise we adore you."
"Thank you."
"However-"
There's always a however. She tilts her head, waiting for him to explain that concern hovering in his eyes.
"Your core temperature is up three degrees and your blood pressure's down ten points. If the latter gets much lower, that headache's going to be a lot worse."
"What headache?"
He tuts, pats her hand and reaches up to her neck with his hypo. "Don't get up for awhile. We might need to do gene therapy, try to activate more of your human horomones because they'll handle a mostly human fetus with the least complaint. It'll be temporary."
She tilts her head, trying to smile. "Don't take the ridges."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Hugh taps his badge and shakes his head. "I would like your systolic blood pressure to find a way to stay above 100. Just so you don't need the ridges to protect you from the floor."
"They do that very well."
"I'm sure they do, but, let's not test it." He stands, pats her shoulder and smiles. "Just enjoy the view for awhile, get up slowly, then eat."
"Yes, doctor," she says, finding more of a smile.
Michael turns from behind Joann, catching her eyes, then Hugh's, making sure everything all right before she gets back to work. Vance is right, she's a virtuoso, and a starship is her stage. Laira has to keep her here, so the galaxy can benefit from all that Michael can do.
It's selfish to want Michael, but maybe a little is all right. They're rebuilding, and people need hope. Hope can be a family starship.
Hope must be theirs; it lives in Michael's smile and shines in her eyes.
After dinner with the crew, while Michael talks to Hugh and the crew swirls around her, Paul stands by the bar beside Laira.
He leans closer while they wait for their drinks. Leading her to Reno and Dr. Veddra with his eyes, Paul whispers, "I think they're celebrating a little bit more than just a spore drive navigation breakthough."
Laira shrugs, accepting her tea from the bartender. The lounge is cold, maybe she's cold. How Michael can want anything with ice in it is beyond her, but none of this makes sense. "Luckily for them, we've solved the static warp bubble problem."
"Not being trapped in a thought-based universe does make dating go a little slower." He orders two drinks, presumably for himself and Hugh. Laira knows most drinks, but these are old, something from Earth she doesn't recognize. "You and Michael seem to have worked out."
Another bartender arrives with Michael's drink. "We're incredibly lucky."
"Maybe you would have ended up together eventually." Paul takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head. "The first time I met Hugh I was infuriated."
"Michael might have been that annoyed with me."
Paul chuckles, then eats one of the fruits from the garnish on his drink. "That's what I hear."
Taking a sip of her tea, she watches Michael laugh. She's stunning; extraordinary in every way. Paul must know that, the whole crew must. "How could I not fall for her? Her compassion, her intelligence, her bravery-" she pauses as her face warms. "Her eyes."
"Got a little lost in them?"
"Woke up in a totally different universe."
Paul clinks his glass against her mug. "Should have warned you about how many universes this ship tends to cross."
Touching his hand, she pats his wrist. "I'm grateful to have stumbled into this one."
"This seems like a good one," he agrees, smiling once more before he leaves her to her thoughts.
Grabbing Michael's drink, Laira slips through Michael's crew - her family - and reaches her just as Veddra finishes telling one of the most uncouth Romulan jokes Laira knows.
"Don't stop on my account."
Reno winks, her hand on Veddra's elbow. "I'm sure you've got a few to share."
"Only a few?" Michael raises her eyebrows.
Feigning insult, Laira witholds Michael's drink. "I can't believe you'd think such a thing."
Laughing harder, Michael leans in and kissing her cheek. "No one's going to repeat them."
"You can have a joke, or your drink."
"She picks a joke," Veddra says.
"Michael definitely wants to hear a joke, give us your worst."
Reno reaches for the cocktail. "And her drink."
Sighing, Laira glances up at the ceiling. "One, I will tell one."
"We didn't have to leave for me."
Michael walks her to the sofa, then sinks into it. "It was time."
"Tired?" Laira turns her head, smiling towards Michael’s twist of braids. Her hair’s so beautiful, and in the soft lighting of her quarters, it’s gorgeous.
"Not really," Michael turns to meet her eyes, then sighs. "Okay, maybe a little, but it's nice to celebrate." She drops her hand to Laira's, fidgeting with her fingers. "We've been through the galactic barrier three times. No one else has done that."
Laira finds her wedding ring, stroking it with her thumb. "That's worth a little party."
Michael slips closer, then wraps her arms around Laira’s shoulders. She kisses her temple, and this is home. “I want to show you something. I've been toying with it, but I think I have it right now.”
The warmth of Michael’s body leaves with her and Laura reaches for one of the blankets while Michael retrieves something small and glass that fits in her hands.
Sneezing into her arm, she waits for Michael to explain, but Michael smirks.
“I’ll wait.”
“It’s-“ Not done, because she sneezes again, and Michael waits.
Sneezing again, Laira glares, because Michael could not be more smug.
When Laira’s finally done sneezing, Michael hands her the orb. It takes a moment for Laira to recognize what’s in her palms.
“You have a lalogi orb.”
“I do.” Michael nudges it on with her fingers. A tree of silver-blue light fills the center of the room, covered in faces: laughing, smiling. Michael’s crew’s all here. That’s the famous Ambassador Sarek, so perhaps the woman with him is Amanda, who was Michael’s mother. The man with Gabrielle in the center must be Michael’s father, and his smile is so warm. So much like Michael, the way he glows with affection.
One Georgiou wears a Starfleet uniform, and the other wears black leather in the falling snow. Michael’s tree is full of so much love, radiating from her - towards her - Laira starts to say something about her father, but she’s there.
Laira is there, closest to the center trunk. The holo cycles through Laira as president, smiling over the podium, then Laira with her hair half down, laughing in the lounge on Discovery, cards in hand. The last holo doesn’t make sense for a moment, her face is pale, thin and bloody, and she’s been crying. Michael leans in, kissing for her a moment before the holo shifts and that’s—
“The first time we kissed.”
Michael nods, wrapping her arms around Laira’s waist. “When we knew she was with us.”
“Our third life form.”
The holo keeps shifting, and Laira studies her own face. “I didn’t realize I was so thin then.”
“You’d been through it, even before you cracked your head on the deck, before the shuttle bathroom.”
She hasn’t said it. Michael knows, she knew before they left on that mission together, she had too. “I wasn’t sleeping much.”
“I had so many nightmares where we failed.”
Leaning back into the sofa brings Michael with her, tangled with the blanket. “Even you, Captain Burnham?”
“Even me.” Michael nuzzles her cheek and Laira takes a breath, then another. “Getting a little lost is a very understandable response to carrying an entire galaxy worth of responsibility.”
“Breaking things off with the person I’d loved for years?” She swallows that strange sound in her throat. “I wouldn’t have done this with him.”
“Had a child?”
Shaking her head, Laira toys with Michael’s ring. “Changed the rules. Asked Starfleet to give me not just a ship, but ttheir favorite antique—“
That makes Michael laugh, shaking her head. “She’s a beautiful antique, clearly the best ship in the fleet.”
“I could barely find a way to see my former partner more than every other week. We fought more than I wanted to admit. I—“
“You held the Federation together.”
“I held him at arm’s length.”
Michael strokes her wrist, then playfully trails her hand over Laira’s arm. “And you have such long arms.”
“Hush.”
“I’m just saying, arm’s length is kind of far.” Michael kiss her hair, then her cheek. “T’Rina and Vance were worried about you, before our shuttle mission. We thought if you and I were together, on a shuttle alone for hours, you might get a chance to talk you’d been denying yourself.”
Shivering for a moment, Laira pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. Michael starts to get that look and she waves her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t 'of course', I really am fine.”
“Hmmmm,” Michael teases, tucking the blanket closer before she gets up for the replicator. “Being with a captain is legendarily difficult.”
“Luckily you’re extraordinary.”
Michael returns with a bowl of something and spoons. Whatever it is smells sweet and warm. Michael sits on the coffee table across from Laira, underneath her own holographic tree.
“It’s not just me.”
“I wouldn’t - I could not even imagine, doing any of this without you.”
Michael takes a bite. “We do it together. We ask Starfleet to come up with a new model of serving on a starship, we'll have children running around while we jump from negotiation to negotiation.”
“And the Federation will need to agree.”
“Can’t you just tell them what to do?”
“Yes, that’s how democracy works, dear.” Laira hums over a bite. “This is delicious.”
“Your Vice President recommended It. Apparently Betazed is known for their desserts.” Michael smirks for a moment then does an impression of the Vice President's deep, distinctive voice. "You have to try the xhoja berry, dear, it's to die for."
Laira has to laugh, because that's a decent impression of her Vice President. “She doesn't sound like that."
"Oh she does."
Still chuckling, Laira rolls her eyes. "The food on Betazed is incredible, especially the desserts.” Laira takes another bite and it makes sense, that’s a Betazoid spice. She knows this. “You haven’t been, have you?”
“We visited Betazed long enough to drop off dilithium. We got one meal.”
Laira has to swallow before she can talk. “We should go.”
“To Betazed?” Michael lifts her spoon, teasing. “We do need more food.”
“No, I mean yes, but, we should see Betazed. I should, I’ve only seen one city. Some planets I’ve barely set foot on, and I represent them.”
“You had to save resources.”
Laira smiles coyly at Michael. “I hear the mycelial network is self-sustaining.”
Scraping the bowl, Michael takes one of the last bites before leaving the rest for Laira. “We can jump as much as we need to. Paul says they’re close to a solution for other ships. Closer than we’ve ever been to an interface that anyone can use. Veddra and Reno got some good ideas from the Ten-C. If they figure that out in the next few weeks—”
“Then every starship in the fleet could have a spore drive, which means we could see the Federation, really see it.”
“Do a grand tour?”
Laira almost flushes, but no, this is a good idea. They should see all of the Federation. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”
“No, no it’s a beautiful idea. They’ll appreciate you even more when they see you.”
Laira's blush stings. "That's not what I meant."
Kissing her flaming cheek, Michael smirks. "I know, but they should appreciate you as I do."
"I don't know if I want everyone to appreciate me as much as you do." Laira touches her face, cradling her cheek. "I like you being unique."
Michael laughs and her nose wrinkles: she's the most beautiful person Laira's ever known, especially like that. "I am extraordinary." She pauses. "Might even be ready for this part."
Laira pulls Michael's hands in, cradling her fingers. "What part is that?"
"Something more difficult than a Voyager captaincy." Michael pauses, looking out at the stars as they slip past. "Marriage and a family is what I wanted, I wanted it when I was a little kid because of my dad, and my mom, they were so- they just got each other -I wanted that. Didn't think I'd get it, but here we are."
"Didn't exactly get here in a sensible way."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Laira kisses her, deep and slow. "It might be fun - hypothetically - maybe next time - to make a baby together."
"Without the whole imagining them into the universe simply with the power of wanting?"
Kissing Michael again, Laira holds her close, them whispers. "I do like wanting."
"Oh?"
"Wanting you especially."
"Hmmmmm," Michael teases, imitating her in that most infuriating way. "Maybe I can do something about that."
She spends enough time with Charles that she shouldn't be surprised that he's in her dreams. It took weeks of time with him for her to understand the workings of Starfleet and her new responsibilities when she was elected. Laira had heard about his family, catching the beginning and ends of calls as they moved back to headquarters.
Headquarters was safe now. Earth, Ni'Var, the whole galaxy. No more bubbles.
Go back to sleep.
Her head's in Michael's lap, and Michael's fingers rest on her shoulder. Laira curls closer, listening to Michael and Charles talk.
He's laughing.
She's heard that before, more lately, but—
Laira opens her eyes, blinking and starting to stretch.
Michael stops her, keeping the sheet over her. 'We have company."
"Company?" Sitting up, Laira holds the sheets to her chest. Her hair falls wild over her shoulders and she has no idea where her clothes are, but Michael has a shirt.
Just a shirt.
That emergency shirt she keeps by the bed because she's a captain.
Vance is in uniform, standing in front of the bed with a brilliant smile. He's not here, he's a hologram but—
"I apologize for the interruption, Madam President."
"Charles-" she corrects herself, "Admiral-"
He stands unphased. How many times has he called a naked officer? "I was just congratulating Michael."
"Congratulating?" Her mind won't work. Her thoughts drag like a freighter with one thruster. "Why?"
Michael touches her shoulder, ever gentle. "We got married."
"We did?" Laira turns to look at Michael. "We discussed it, but we didn't file anything."
"Admiral Vance was telling me that we have given the Federation the appearance of being married, and under the circumstances—"
"Which are?"
Michael clears her throat. "We sent a recording of us repairing a warp bubble, to all of Starfleet. You're wearing your earring, I had my ring."
Vance's tone is very even. "You appeared very domestic."
They were ordinary on the bridge, weren't they?
Michael strokes her hand. "Admiral Vance showed me one of the news holos. We kissed in the background, we held hands. It's rather apparent."
He nods. "I can give you a week for a ceremony. I'm sorry I can't offer more—"
Laira waves his apology away. "A week is fine." Her thoughts fly like Discovery when Keyla throws them into a spiral. She has to go to Bajor. Her parents - her grandparents - they got married on Bajor. "I need to go to Bajor."
"Bajor?" Michael's soft smile lights her eyes. "That sounds fun."
"I still have some family there, I grew up there." Laira stops herself; she's rambling. Her thoughts were slow but now they're rushing like starlines at warp. "We have to go to the Temple of Resuna Idum."
Vance only smiles like that when he's very amused. "The Temple of Resuna Idum would be wise."
"What's that?"
Laira touches Michael's hand, squeezing her fingers. She'll explain. "If you can give us a week on Bajor, we can deal with the press."
"The press would very much appreciate a full interview circuit."
Like when she was elected, except this time all of them are coming from planets with dilithium, who are connected again, who are looking for something positive to write about.
They made hope, for each other, for the Federation, for anyone who can see the holos. Laira's too warm, and too cold. Then the hair on the back of her neck stands up.
Michael meets her eyes, curious, neither impatient nor frustrated, but content. They're getting married.
They're traveling to the sacred Temple of Resuna Idum, home of the Orb of Union. Not that they need to pray for fertility but it's perfect.
They exchange pleasantries and Vance disappears.
The embarrassment she kept down while they were talking rushes over her like a wave of heat. "How bad was it?"
Michael chuckles, then presses her lips together. "We're obvious, especially when it's been slowed down and zoomed in, all those tricks they do. It's great, in a way. The static warp bubbles are being cleaned up. Subspace is returning to normal. The galaxy needed something happy to focus on."
"Us."
"You're very popular."
"As are you, Captain."
Michael finally flushes a little. "We are, and a wedding is something celebrated across cultures."
"Our wedding is a little different."Laira sighs, looking down at Michael's hands in her own. "The Temple of Resuna Idum is a sacred site. It's said the Prophets will grant the gift of children to those who visit to bless their union. It's known for miracles in fertility. My parents prayed there, and my father's parents, it would mean a lot—"
"I'm honored to go."
"We can—" Laira starts but Michael shakes her head.
"Discovery is home, most of my family is here." Michael touches her belly, smiling down at their little hitchhiker. "I haven't heard from my mother yet, but she'll be happy for us. She won't mind if we are joined without her."
Something stings in Laira's chest, but it's not the time. This is a happy moment.
Michael kisses her, lingering a little. "You know, the holos must have looked good. We have a few hundred congratulatory messages."
"Only a few hundred?"
Zora answers. "Currently you have four hundred seventeen congratulatory messages, Starfleet headquarters reports an additional two hundred eighty-one gifts sent to the replicator queue for your return. Mostly flowers, however your office reported fruit baskets, bread, traditional celebratory cakes and multiple kinds of intoxicating liquor."
Wincing, Laira looks down. "The vice president's going to take the liquor."
Michael chuckles, opening her arms so Laira can settle back in against her chest. "We got back into comm range and Admiral Vance just came though. I had to have Zora kill the lights so I could put my shirt on."
"No—"
"Oh yes." Michael kisses her hair. "I don't know who was more embarrassed."
"You, I'm sure."
"I don't know, most captains he talks to probably aren't naked."
"Vance and I both attended the Vice President's daughter's wedding."
"And it was traditional."
"Very."
Michael sighs, then shudders. "I respect the tradition, but naked?"
"So very naked."
Wriggling out of her shirt, Michael slides back under the sheets, her skin against Liara's. "Thank you for not wanting a Betazoid wedding."
"Is that an option?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. You chose Bajor, I think that means clothing."
Snuggling into Michael's chest, Laira doesn't mention that temple has a sacred cave, where the water was once touched by the Prophets. Michael doesn't need to know that involves being naked.
Michael loves surprises.