quantum variations on a love theme

Reno, Veddra and Stamets finish the new spore drive, and Saru leads its first test. Laira gets a little help from Hugh. Laira and Michael attend a state dinner, then a less formal party.

Notes:

Many many thanks to Whimsically and Sanctuaria for plotting with me. You're essential.

Chapter Text

"Think of it like calling up your transporter. You chose the destination, the VARS system translates that to a chemical signal and electrical map that the mycelium understand." Reno folds her arms over her chest and takes a bite of her candy. "Of course, we're not sure if we're asking politely enough."

"We are." Veddra insists, "We've studied mycelial signals long enough that we're fairly certain this is as politely as we can make the request."

"We're being nice to mushrooms." Reno raises her eyebrows, but there's a softness there. A humor that's more than friendly camaraderie. Michael said someday she'll marry the Romulan engineer, and their hitchhiker has a part in their wedding. Laira hasn't been to a traditional human ceremony, and if Michael performs it, she must put her own spin on it.

What is it like knowing her destiny? Is it a pleasant journey, knowing how it'll end? Is it tense, knowing there are timelines where this doesn't happen? Or is it set?

Michael said Reno's seen the hitchhiker, even knows her name, but she won't tell. Doesn't want to spoil the surprise. Laira doesn't know if she'd have that kind of restraint, if it was her. Knowing how her life might turn out doesn't seem to have changed Reno's approach to the universe, or her work.

"VARS system?" Laira asks, curious.

"The Veddra-Auriello-Reno-Stamets displacement-activated spore hub drive, ma'am," Paul explains. "We tried other arrangements of the letters, but this one was the easiest to say."

"I was pushing for RAVS," Reno teases.

"Or the SRAV drive." Veddra adds, smirking. "ASVR was impossible to say. ARSV was a fairly nasty respiratory virus, so we went with VARS. It doesn't mean I'm the most important, ma'am."

"Of course, doctor." Laira turns to Captain Saru, waiting for his opinion.

He seems pleased by the way he stands, and he nods. "Good work, all of you. We will conduct the test at 14:00 hours, as Admiral Vance had hoped, Madam President."

"Thank you, Captain. Thank you all for your hard work, this will change everything, improve billions of lives." Laira's throat's a little tight so she pauses, and all of their eyes are on her.

Veddra understands somewhat. She would have experienced some of the shortages on Ni'Var, but Ni'Var is full of scientific advancement and self-sufficient. Ni'Var was spared some of the worst of it.

None of them really knows what this means to the Federation, to the galaxy, to damaged shuttles that can be rescued instantly, to families who haven't seen each other for decades, to children with diseases that have cures that used to be a lifetime away.

If - when - they get this right, the whole galaxy will change. It's not the engineers' part to know what this technology will do, or see the whole picture. She has to imagine that; Laira has to lead them. For a moment, she's light-headed, like the laboratory's gone fuzzy, but it passes.

Help me with this, little hitchhiker. We have a long day to get through.

"Madam President?" Paul's voice is soft, and all their eyes are on her.

"I'm sorry, this- this is an incredible thing."

"Paling at our brilliance, ma'am?" Reno teases. "We are rather blinding."

Laira makes her polite excuses and and in the hallway she holds onto the wall of the corridor just for a moment until her vision stops swirling. On Discovery she could ask Zora, or just beam herself to sickbay. She doesn't know the medical staff on the Armstrong, and they're probably charming and efficient, but there are only so many times she likes having the conversation about the hitchhiker.

She needs to get used to it. Find a way to say thank you, over and over, when she tells anyone she's pregnant. Not now. Now she has to meet Vriga and her ambassadors and plan Discovery's tour of the Federation as they disseminate the spore drive tech and let them ask questions, see their leaders, show her their most beautiful places and feed her state dinners.

Michael better be hungry.<hr />

"The Armstrong is named for a first step in human history. Hopefully today, we can share our first flight with all the planets of the Federation. See you soon, Discovery." Saru signs off on a hopeful note.

"Fly well, Armstrong," Michael's voice carries over the comm and settles some of the butterflies in her stomach. The Bajoran term isn't butterflies, it's the bouncy little beetles that live in the tall grass, but her mother called the sensation butterflies. Having a stomach full of butterflies sounded beautiful when she was a child.

Laira didn't know what worry could really be like then. She'd listened to her mother and her grandparents talk about where her father's ship was going and if the harvest would be good. She'd heard their anxieties and imagined them as butterflies of a hundred colors.

Now she watches, waiting for Armstrong to jump away to headquarters and return.

Nothing could happen.

The ship could disappear forever.

Some other tragedy she can barely conceive of could occur.

Or it works, and if it works, they have a spore drive control system they can replicate and start installing on all Federation starships. One that doesn't need a pilot with Tardigrade DNA, but one based on the light-maps of the Ten-C.

Reno, Veddra and Stamets cracked it during her honeymoon with Michael, and Laira's seen the prototype herself, even called up Earth on the three-dimensional map of the galaxy this morning. T'Rina's not a pilot, but she called up Ni'Var. The interface is efficient, even beautiful, and it opens up space, from the edge of galaxy to the other.

Armstrong jumps.

Time passes, silent and tense, and the comm cracks the quiet like ice.

"This is Starfleet Headquarters, we have the Armstrong. Collecting telemetry now, then they'll be returning to you." Vance's voice is clear and thrilled. They're all right.

Saru's voice is equally pleased, and he should be. this is incredible. "This is the Armstrong, we have safely traversed the mycelial network. Returning to Bajor now."

From the space station in orbit where Laira stands in front of the viewer, Discovery hangs in space alone, then Armstrong spins and crackles out of the mycelial network into normal space.

Around her, they clap, then cheer, and everyone - from the technicians at their consoles to the Vice President at her side - erupts in joy.

The butterflies in her stomach can fly free now.

It worked, everyone's all right. they'll try it again, and it'll take time, but the Armstrong is safe. The galaxy just shrank to the time it takes to spin up the drive.

The Vice President touches her elbow. "Now you don't have to share your captain quite as much with the galaxy."

Laira chuckles, and her throat's so tight she's not sure she can speak. Luckily it is not her time to speak. Saru and Michael can handle the speeches.

Jen doesn't have to lean in, or whisper, because she is obnoxiously powerful enough of a telepath that she can just speak inside Laira's thoughts.

"You're dizzy."

"Yes." Laira says aloud. "It's on and off, it's fine."

"Why don't you go congratulate the engineers on Discovery," Jen says, all smiles and business. "I'll coordinate with the press for the afternoon round."

Which would give her half an hour, maybe a little more.

Jen's very steely gaze suggests that what Laira should do is go talk to Hugh, sort it out before it gets worse.

"Thank you, Jen."

"I am here to serve, Madam President."

"You're here because you like being the center of attention."

"Isn't that service?" Jen waves her hand, the bright fabric of her dress following her arm. "I will take the attention for you."

"So kind."

"Go, beam." Jen is one of the very few people in the galaxy who can shoo her like she's a child, because Laira was barely a diplomatic intern when they met, and she treats every one in the galaxy like a child.<hr />

Sickbay on Discovery is quiet, peaceful after the crowded observation deck of the space station. She is usually surrounded by aides and ambassadors, even a security detail if they planet requires it. She's been spoilt, just being with Michael and her crew, walking through the empty jungle. Even if it was for a moment or two, it was nice not to be needed.

Hugh emerges from the back, holopadd in front of him because he's working something out.

"Hey." He waves the holo away and lowers his hands to his sides. "Need something?"

Looking down at the polished deck before she raises her eyes, Laira releases the tension in her back, even lets her shoulders fall. Beaming did nothing for stilling the fuzziness of her head. "I'm dizzy."

"Okay." He grabs the tricorder and tilts his head towards the biobed. "Do you have time to sit?"

"I do."

"Special occasion then."

Chuckling, she wraps her fingers together. "It was."

"Paul's very proud."

"Even though he's at the end?"

Hugh chuckles, running his scan. "You know I tried to help them with initial patterns, and Reno is right, none of the good ones started with S." He leaves her on the biobed and wanders to the replicator, then returns with a glass in his hand. "Drink this."

She sniffs it, then take a sip. It's some kind of cold fruit juice that she doesn't recognize, very sweet.

"Pomarrosa, from home. Look long enough and you can always find them in the trees." He pulls himself up on the biobed beside her, so it must be something simple. "Busy day?"

"Meetings, demonstrations, the first flight with a new experimental propulsion system."

"Watching's hard isn't it?"

"Brutal."

He pats her shoulder. "So, any time for lunch in there?"

"What?"

"In your not so busy schedule, did you eat?"

"I ate this morning."

"Ah." He rests his hands on his knees. "So, how long ago was morning?"

Toying with her bracelet, she sighs. "Is this a trick question?"

"Going by your blood sugar, I doubt you're going to tell me you had a leisurely brunch." Hugh nudges her shoulder. "Drink your juice."

Shaking her head at him and herself, she stares at the cup in her hand. "That's it?"

"Feel better now, don't you?"

Touching her forehead, she nods, then finishes her juice. "Glad that was an easy fix."

"Oh, that's the crisis fix, the second part is having lunch with me."

"You also had a busy morning?"

"I did, but no one's stealing the glucose directly from my blood." Hugh slides off the bed and takes her empty glass. "Let me guess, you could work all day, eat at the end, go to bed and be fine."

Rolling her eyes, she nods.

"So that you didn't have someone literally tapped into your blood stream. You need to make time for lunch, every day. Make your meetings lunch meetings if you have to, drink your lunch while you're saving the galaxy." He offers his hand to help her down. "Today, you're going to have lunch with me, you can tell me about your trip."

"All abut the sacred temple where the ghosts of our parents appeared?"

Hugh grins, his brown eyes shining. "Michael's parents take awhile?"

Laira smiles, then chuckles. "Hours."<hr />

Lunch with Hugh is pleasant, funny. He tells her about growing up in Puerto Rico, on Earth, and how he ended up in Starfleet. How much he annoyed Paul when they first met reminds her of Michael wanting to punch her in the face. Very romantic.

Laira sets her napkin in her lap and looks out the window of Hugh's quarters. "Maybe I should take her to the opera."

"Michael will love it. She's cultured." Hugh sets their plates in the replicator and returns with dessert, something white that trembles on the plate like a custard. "Trembleque is something the replicator gets right, and yes dessert is essential."

He passes over a spoon and takes her coffee to refill it. "Tell me again about Philippa's hair."

Chuckling, Laira swallows her bite of trembleque, which is sweet and coconut, perhaps orange? "I didn't speak to her, but one of them-"

"The former Emperor, she would have loved you," Hugh interrupts.

"She was very old, and her hair was white and incredibly long. Beautiful really."

"When I saw her last she wanted to die in battle, I like that she didn't."

"Sarek and Amanda were very old as well, but Michael's father was young."

"Like your mother." Hugh sets down his spoon, and waits, coffee in hand.

Laira traces her spoon along her dessert, then sets it down. The twisting in her stomach is too angry to be butterflies. "How many hypos would it take you to cure scosian fever?"

"Now?"

She nods, touching her bracelet.

"Two, maybe three if the fever was very high. The recovery rate for scosian fever is excellent, in a starbase medical facility or on a starship."

"Almost half of our village died, when I was a child. My parents sent me away—"

"Scosian fever is most dangerous to humans and Bajorans, Cardassians, Orions, they'd probably be all right."

"My mother said she'd be fine, and I'd see her in a few days."

"And she died."

"Very quickly. She wanted to write me a letter, but couldn't finish it, my father was off world so she didn't see him either. They didn't—"

Hugh passes across a clean napkin, and his hand rests on hers. "Antibiotics could have stopped the black plague on Earth, saved millions of lives. I have treatments in sickbay that would have saved Michael's first Captain, who was stabbed through the heart in the Klingon war. Starfleet could eradicate the ongoing outbreak of phthisus on Andoria, but Andoria hasn't asked for our help. There are probably a billion people suffering in our galaxy that I could save as easily as making you eat lunch."

"I should have put up more of a fight."

He laughs, shaking his head. "My job's hard enough, it's all right to be an easy patient for me. I won't tell anyone."

"There are always people we can't help, because of timing and distance, and I know that."

"Better than most."

"But I miss her."

"I miss my mom too." He pats her hand, then squeezes her fingers. "She had a long life, a good one. She thought I disappeared, and I never saw my niece graduate from Starfleet Medical. Everyone on this ship has lost their family, and I know that doesn't make it easier, especially now when you might want to be able to talk to her for more than a few minutes."

Her eyes sting, and she hates it. Her mother died such a long time ago, there's no reason to be upset about it now, except she could be here. If they'd had the spore drives earlier or if it hadn't have been for the Burn or—

"My grandparents were a big part of my childhood."

"And your parents are gone, and of Michael's multitude of parents, only Gabrielle's alive."

Laira makes a face he must be able to read because both of his eyebrows fly upwards. "Gabrielle hasn't replied to Michael's letter."

"Ah."

"And she's the one here."

"She is and I—" Laira takes a breath, forcing the angry knot in her chest to settle. "I don't know why she doesn't want to reply to Michael. P'Jahr isn't sealed, she can send messages."

"Gabrielle was the only living being in the universe as she knew it for a period of time we haven't been able to determine, that kind of complex trauma, and the Romulan religious order she's joined—"

"I know."

"Knowing doesn't mean you can't be angry."

"I don't know what I am."

"Hopefully less dizzy?" He finishes his coffee and smiles: gentle, patient and charming and he might be the most pleasant therapist she's had. Maybe it helps that he's already family.

"That's much better."

"Remember to eat, because she will take everything, and quickly, and if your system's not—"

She meets his eyes, holding his gaze. "I hear you."

"Good."

Laira takes a bite, then finishes the last of her pudding.

Hugh drags a knife through his then passes over half. "Here."

"The replicator's right there."

"But I'd have to get up."

Laughing with him, she sits back, then picks up her spoon. Some kindnesses are about more than just the food. "Tell me about her, the Emperor with the beautiful hair."

"My worst patient." He leans in, like someone's listening to them. "She threatened to poison my children."<hr />

State dinners were considerably more fun when she was an ambassador. As president, it's her duty to be greeted, over and over, by everyone. At least Discovery stopping at headquarters brought most of her diplomatic aides and attachés. Michael's losing a conference room and two laboratories to make room for diplomatic offices Laira needs on board, but some of her science staff will be leaving for other ships who will be venturing into less known parts of space, so it's not a contentious change.

Still, it feels very permanent, approving changes to the rooms, sending power requirements and security upgrades to Michael's engineers and the Bajoran shipwrights finishing the overhaul. There are years left in her first term, and gaining the ability to visit all the planets, in person, is worth a little change in where the President keeps her office.

After nearly 900 hundred years on Earth, tradition changed, and changed again. Her predecessor kept an office on Tellar Prime, and Laira's been at Headquarters, but she's always traveling. She's not just being selfish, this is a good idea and it will be useful. Seeing the planets in the Federation, setting foot in their halls, might help keep them together.

Her aide, Vriga, is at ease with this dinner. Bajor is her home planet, and these protocols are comfortable. So is the weather. Taking advantage of the summer evening, the dinner's outside, on the beautiful terrace overlooking the plains below the cliffs. The air smells like grasses, rich this close to the harvest.

Michael and Arjun, the Vice President's charming husband, got to tour some of the farms, and Michael would have been briefed on the new set of protocols as Laira's official partner. Laira's already bracing herself for the inevitable teasing that will come with it. Arjun volunteered to handle the briefing, and as an official husband of decades, he's well-versed in all of it.

And kind, she's been fond of him since they met.

"He's much nicer than me," Jen reminds her, pulling thoughts out of her mind as if Laira had said them aloud. "You thought I was intimidating."

"You are intimidating."

"Thank you." Jen lifts her drink and smirks. "Are you prepared to do this sixty more times?"

"Only sixty?"

"You know every planet in the Federation is going to throw you one of these."

"I know."

"You'll probably gain a few new planets too." Jen presses her lips together, her black eyes unreadable. "Good thing you'll be hungry."

Swallowing a laugh, Laira shakes her head. "Don't jinx it."

Patting her shoulder, Jen finishes her drink and grabs another from a passing waiter. "You're not done with that part? You were so nauseated it carried across the room."

Laira touches her hand, thanking her for her concern. "You're lucky the constitution keeps us apart so often."

"I truly am." Jen's hand brushes across her back and she leaves her to mingle into the growing crowd. Tilly's cadets are already dispersed through the area, elegant in their dress uniforms.

Historically, Starfleet officers were used to handle protocol and provide a social buffer at state events for the Federation. After the Burn, ranks were so thin that the practice was abandoned, but now they can use cadets on a diplomatic rotation. Tilly's been briefing them and prepping them for the last few days and the three she brought with her are up the task.

She nods to one as he passes her in discussion with the Kai: Cadet Harral, the young Orion whose father fought so hard against the worst of Emerald Chain. He almost smiles, but hesitates a little. Laira's office is often so intimidating. The pause to speak to her but she sneezes, twice, forcing the young cadet to maintain his composure.

Kai Ondara winks at her, mouthing her congratulations, and Laira's face burns as she walks away.

To a non-Bajoran, it's congratulations for the wedding. That was all over the Federation news channels. The Kai however probably spoke to the Emissary himself about her and Michael. Every Bajoran Laira sneezes in front of shares the hopeful look. None of them will mention it; they'll only smile. She remembers her mother smiling like that, wistful and gentle. Sneezing more than once in an afternoon, let alone multiple times at dinner is a very public announcement, but until she brings it up no one will ask.

It's as if they're all sharing the secret, and she smiles, perhaps too easily, perhaps too much, but this is a good thing. Enjoy it.

Michael does.

She makes it look so effortless, even talking the Council member Gozre, who gives Laira a headache on the best days.

Michael can handle him.

Michael shouldn't have to talk to him. He should just scuttle off to some planet that doesn't

Looking at her brings a warmth into Laira's chest. Even if they're not sitting next to each other, even if she'll barely get to speak to her, Michael's presence carries as much warmth as the sunset over the fields.

"You look better, Madam," Vance says, nudging her arm.

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Must have gotten over that nasty Malindian stomach worm you had."

She starts to speak, then laughs. Turnabout is fair play. "You know, I just might be past the worst of it."

"Good." He walks her to the table, pulling out her chair. He won't get to sit next to his wife either, but he's had more practice. "I know it's hard to watch her be your wife from across a room at one of these fancy dinners, but I hear, unofficially of course, that there's a party later. Hopefully you'll find being her wife there a little more fun."

When the seating is complete Laira's between Kai Ondara and First Minister Reze. Reze whispers something to her aide and Laira's glass is filled with something other than the wine. The Kai touches her hand, then reaches up to grasp her ear.

"You've always been strong, Laira, but now...you're still."

"I didn't know what was something to strive for."

"Content." Kai Ondara releases her ear and pats her hand. "You were always searching for something, and seems you found her, or maybe she found you."

Laira reaches for her glass and takes a sip to avoid speaking. Her face stings, so she must be going pink, but there's no point in hiding any of it. "We were fortunate."

"You are blessed by the Prophets, many times over, it seems." Kai Ondara takes a bite of her salad, then smirks over her fork. "With more to come," she says in that cryptic, distant sort of way she gets. Speaking to the Prophets often changes the sense of linear time.

Better not to ask. "We are grateful."

"Because you are wise and aware, both of you. I felt your Michael's pagh, and she's extraordinary."

"She is."

"I'm glad you've learned to appreciate what is in front of you." Ondara looks ahead, but that smile is entirely for Laira. "I remember a very young, very determined ambassador who was only concerned with the Federation and making the galaxy a better place. Too busy for foolish things like love and a family."

"Too afraid."

"Busy is a very common method of being afraid."

Laira's chuckle is too nervous and too tight, but Ondara's right, of course.

"Don't worry, I'm used to being right. It comes with the job."

Laughing comes a little easier, but Laira spares one look at Ondara's wine. These dinners were easier with a little wine. She reaches for her water but stops, grabbing her napkin again so she can sneeze into it. The Kai and the First minister share a look across her and it seems like half the table pauses - smiling - sharing a very simple joy.

"They say you sneeze more when they're strong," Reze says, her voice soft so only Laira and perhaps the Kai can hear. "I hear anyway."

Smiling a little, Laira nods her thanks but doesn't reply. She doesn't need to. There's time, everyone can tease her later, when the whole damn galaxy finds out about the baby.

Not yet. There are a thousand awkward conversations she'll have to have, prying questions, well wishes, recriminations, hinting. Gozre will make it ugly in ways she can't even imagine yet, so it has to be controlled for awhile yet.

The way that it has been is comforting. Her aides know, Michael's crew, Vance and his family, but they've all been Bajoran about it. They know, but they'll let it say it when she's ready. The Prophets really have been looking out for them.<hr />

Michael tastes like wine. The good tulaberry wine when it's like the sun's been captured in the bottle. Of course, Michael makes it sweeter, richer, and do they really need to go to this party they could—

Michael breaks the kiss as if reading her mind. "We have to go."

"We do." Laira pauses, takes a breath, and then resumes the kiss. This is all she wants to do. Press Michael up against the corridor wall, the door, and taste her. "I missed you."

"We were in the same room."

"Felt like different galaxies."

Chuckling, Michael runs her hand over the baby, reconnecting them. "It was a nice dinner," she mutters while Laira devours her neck. "Good food."

"The dessert was replicated."

"It was delicious."

Laira grabs her hands, pressing them up against the wall. "You're delicious."

"Oh am I?" Michael kisses her until both of them have to stop to breathe, then laughs. "We're late."

"Only if we're using a precise sense of time. So many cultures use a more relative interpretation."

"We don't have time for what you want to do."

Laira runs a hand over Michael's breast, then sighs. "We don't."

"So we go in."

Nodding, Laira starts to turn, but laughing, she kisses her again.

Of course, that's when the doors to the cargo bay open and all of Michael's crew whoops until they have to stop. (though Laira would have happily kept kissing her).

Be the captain's wife. Smile, laugh, follow her lead.

Michael waves at her crew, sheepish, but proud. "Sorry we're late."

Tilly stands by the door. "Allow me to present: our dear Captain and her beautiful wife, Mrs. Burnham."

Laira hasn't faced a crowd this excited since they returned to Earth after meeting the Ten-C, or perhaps her election. Certainly not this intoxicated on either occasion.

The copious amounts of drink are definitely helping the mood, and Starfleet crews are just like the freighter crews she knew: the hardest cargo runs were followed by the wildest parties, just to let off steam. The closer they were to death, the more they celebrated life. This crew has carried so much, and with the spore drives going to other ships, they're no longer the first responder.

They could go back to science. Stop being the one ship between the galaxy and certain ruin. They've grown together in that environment, carried that love and affection for each other in the darkest of times.

Michael led them through.

And now they can celebrate her happiness, so no pressure, Mrs. Burnham.

Her hand slips into Michael's and they walk in together. They manage to hang on to each other through the first set of hugs and then they lose each other when Michael gets picked up off her feet and Hugh grabs Laira.

He's an exceptional hugger. So is Paul, after a shy little smile. After that, it's a whirlwind of people, some in uniform, some not, smiling and laughing and there's no polite distance for Madam President, it's just arms around her shoulders and people patting her back.

When there's a break, Laira pulls her hair down, letting it fall lose onto her shoulders. Her suit jacket's already forgotten somewhere in the corridor. Michael was too pretty for her to worry about that. Zora's great at finding lost things anyway.

Tilly brings her a glass of water, and her eyes catch on Laira's hair. She reaches out but stops herself. "Fuck that's pretty down."

"Thank you."

"Sorry it's just water, you can't really have anything fun."

Laira smirks and sips her water. "Water's fine."

"Is it though?" Tilly wrinkles her nose. "It's so boring."

Patting the sofa next to her, Laira takes another sip and then holds up the glass. "Did you know replicated water tastes differently depending on the replicator?"

"No, it should be the same."

"Different ships have different patterns. Vulcan ships use a spring from the southern continent. Bajoran ships use the trace minerals from the capital city."

"You're going to tell me you can tell where our water is from."

Chuckling, Laira shakes her head. "Discovery's? No, it would have been based on somewhere hundreds of years ago, or perhaps Zora changed it. So many things about this ship are unique, down to the water."

"Your ship. We're yours now." Tilly sets down her own cocktail and reaches for Laira's hair. "You can't wear it down, it's too distracting, isn't it?"

"I don't feel like I'm working when it's down. When I was on cargo ships, our artificial gravity was never that reliable. It would drift in and out and if my hair was down—"

"That's such a mess." Tilly toys with part of her hair, then wraps her hands into it. "You have a lot of hair, and that's like a lot coming from me."

"I'm honored to be in your company."

"We can start a club." Tilly leans on her shoulder and snuggles in. "Michael said the cave was beautiful."

"The ceiling looked like stars, so did the water." Laira shivers a little at the memory of it. "Michael even met my mother."

"Good, she's great with moms."

"Oh she adored her, instantly."

"Good." Tilly snuggles into her, arms wrapped around her back. "Michael should be adored."

"I do."

"Oh I know, you are so smitten with her. It makes it easy for us to love you."

Laira hugs her back, blinking away sudden tears. She can't even blame drinking. "Your crew is easy to love."

"We are, aren't we?"

Tilly stays with her, telling her stories about the crew she's just met, laughing with her as Michael has to play silly drinking games.

Vance and his wife are here, so is the Vice President and her husband. Vance so rarely relaxes anywhere, but this party is outside of ranks. These moments are so rare, so special, that it's almost a shame she can't join them.

Though, Laira might end up remembering more of it than some.

Reno has a little bit of a lisp when she guides Laira over to play a traditional wedding game.

"We have two Ni'Var traditions for you," T'Rina says, glowing with affection. "First the binding of hands, which is a Vulcan tradition thousands of years old."

Beside her, Veddra nods. "Then the Romulan side, which is lying." She pauses as Michael rests her hands on Laira's. "Historically, when Romulans were married they were forming a partnership tighter than state. To prove that, they lie. As your hands are wound together, you tell us a lie you've told each other, then a lie you've told about each other. Finally, you reveal a truth you haven't yet said."

Laira repeats it to herself, and nods. Michael's got it.

T'Rina and Veddra wrap their hands together in a strip of silk. The symbols on it are old Vulcan and the oldest Romulan script she's seen. Michael's crew surrounds them, smiling and drinking.

"A lie you have told each other, please." T'Rina gestures for Jen and Arjun to join them. "The Vice President and her husband have agreed to verify for us."

"Just in case?" Michael teases, winking. "You'd never lie to me."

Laira bites back a chuckle. "Oh mine is easy."

"Let me guess—" Michael pauses, waiting.

Glancing down, Laira sighs then looks up at her. "I feel fine."

Michael raises her eyebrow, and nods. "Oh that was it." She pauses. "I'm not worrying."

The cargo bay laughs around them.

"Too easy," Reno says, shaking her head. "Lies you've told about each other."

Michael ponders for a moment. "She's just here to tick a box."

Opening her eyes wide, Laira chuckles, winces. "She's nearly the finest captain I've ever seen."

"Just nearly?"

"That's the lie, dear."

Joann whistles, and Keyla claps and another round of laughter ripples through the bay, softer this time.

A truth she's yet to tell. Laira tilts her head, thinking for a moment.

"I'll go," Michael starts, and Laira's heart pounds in her chest. How much Laira loves her is stunning sometimes, overwhelming her senses and her control.

Clearing her throat, Michael presses her lips together. "I wanted the baby as much as you did."

The cargo bay grows so still that they're all breathing together.

Laira's eyes sting; her throat aches. "You reached for me in your ready room, when you were angry and I was grasping for control, and you wanted to make sure I was all right. Not Madam President, but me." Laira pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat. "And I loved you. I didn't have words for it then, but that was when it started."

Michael leans in, tugging their bound hands closer and they kiss, clumsy and perfect. "I had to reach you."

"And you did." Laira lifts their hands to touch Michael's chin. "You reached right into me."

"And here we are." Michael's eyes are dark and deep, like the space between the stars, endless yet brimming with hope. "I love you."

Laira's reply is swallowed by the voices that love them both, and after a moment, they're touched and hugged and wrapped up in the warmth of those who adore them.

Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

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