Chapter Text
Discovery jumps, and Laira shuts her eyes.
Her first spore jump was exhilarating, like the first time they had enough dilithium to go to warp as a child. Laira had wanted to show Michael she wasn't bothered by it, that nothing Michael could throw at her on her antique starship would surprise her; Laira had been through worse.
And it was strange and wondrous, making her heart race in the way a perfect maneuver did, back when she had time for such things.
Getting to step onto starships, watch captains at work, was intriguing, but Discovery had been unique. Not only was Michael one of the most fascinating names on her list for the Voyager, but so few people had experienced the spore drive, or seen the old ship. Laira hadn't known then special that would be, how much she'd be changed by this ship and its twinkling space mushrooms.
And Michael.
Thinking about her too much will make Laira miss her more, and she needs to focus. They're jumping to Rigel IV, and will retrieve Michael and Keyla from Cygni spaceport as soon as they can. That fringe of Andorian space has been chaotic since the Emerald Chain fell. Their own production capacity fell when they had other worlds to exploit, and resuming trade helps fill in some of those gaps, but replicators take power and power takes dilithium, which the Federation is happy to provide, but rebuilding takes time. Infrastructure crumbles so quickly when its not maintained, and often growing food is more efficient than replication, especially for staples like grain.
Hugh touches her hand, drawing her back to the moment. Opening her eyes, she stares up at the familiar bright sickbay ceiling. "Your estrogen levels are spiking because your ghoyoc levels rose and they feed into each other when the hormones break down. It's really quite fascinating how they form a positive feedback loop into each other like that. Luckily your progesterone levels have been following a even curve, and your ilkeah level is very steady."
She can guess what he's going to say, and as Hugh offers his hands to help her sit up, she waits for him to finish.
He points at the holographic display of her blood chemistry. "This one makes you nauseated, this one changes your body temperature, this one leads to more sneezing, and this might make you lightheaded. When they're high you're going to have a rough couple of days."
"Good thing my job's so flexible."
"I can give you a hypo to lower your fever, but it's going to be a little unstable until this spike passes."
She tilts her head, letting him inject her neck.
"This should help stabilize your body temperature, and this one should help with the nausea, but your body processes this more quickly while you're pregnant, and your particular biochemistry is—"
"Not conducive to help, I know." She takes a moment, hands on the bed, staring at her knees. "Did I do something?"
"No." He touches one shoulder, then the other and for a moment she can't help thinking of the way Michael talks about Spock. Laira's never had a brother, but this might be what it feels like.
"Sleeping more would be great, so would eating more regularly but there's no trigger. This week estrogen and ghoyoc are both high, maybe next week they'll both be stable and ilkeah will spike, or maybe all three will give you a hard time." Hugh shrugs, squeezes her shoulders and lowers his head to meet her eyes. "You're the first person of your genetic heritage to carry a child of this genetic heritage. It's all uncharted, and none of this, absolutely none of it, is your fault."
All of it is her fault. She wanted— No point. "I can't just eat the right things and stay warm and-"
"No, I wish it was like that."
She's entirely capable of getting down from the biobed without his help, yet his hands stay on her arms because he cares. He's a good doctor, one of the best she's known, but it's this part that makes her chest ache. He's family, already, this is what family feels like and she's been without it for such a long - too long.
Her eyes sting and she has to take a moment to wipe them, but he waits. "And here I thought it was just too many briefings before dinner with Joann and Tilly."
"If I say it's too many briefings, will you read less of them?"
Laira chuckles, soft and grateful. "I wish that was the case."
"Considering what happened yesterday on deck five, you need to plan on having a rough few days. If you feel like you're going to vomit, you most likely are, so be careful what meetings, or walks around the ship you think you can hold yourself together on. Maybe you can use that to your advantage."
"Oh, now you're thinking politics."
"I try." He wraps his arm around her shoulders, half a hug as he walks her towards the door. "Is there a really annoying Rigelian ambassador you can throw up on?"
With Michael on her way to the grain depot on the newly rescued freighter, her morning briefing is with Commander Owosekun.
Michael would run through the day unofficially while Laira put her hair up, and she's gotten so used to starting her day like that. The ready room is different, stranger still without Michael but Joann knows, and she sets hot tea in front of her.
"I'm afraid I don't know how formal this briefing is meant to be, Madam President."
"It's not formal at all." Laira touches the tea, lifts the mug and sniffs it. It's a thoughtful gesture, and the tea's not too strong. Drinking it should be fine, but dinner two nights ago should have been fine. It' so hard to predict"Captain Burnham would inform me of the ship's course and schedule for the day and I tell her what the itinerary is on the diplomatic side."
"Sounds simple enough, ma'am." Joann sits straight up in her chair, at attention even in Michael's seat. "Go ahead."
Laira lays out her meetings, when she'll need unrestricted comm access and the planned departure time. She listens while Joann explains the training drills for the cadets, the diagnostics and the work in the science labs. It's much more detail than Michael would have given her, and it's sweet how Joann's so committed to being thorough.
Laira still has no idea what goes into a full shield diagnostic, or how they collect more spores from uninhabited planets, but her tea's cool enough to drink and it helps chase her nausea back to tolerable instead of acute.
"I'll see you at eighteen hundred hours for departure then, Captain."
Joann takes her cup and nods, starting to smile. "And dinner, ma'am."
"Dinner?" Did she miss something? A ship event? Laira reaches for her badge to check the schedules again, but Joann stops her, very gently.
"The Captain of Discovery has dinner with the president of the Federation, most nights."
"Oh you don't—"
"There's a precedent, ma'am." Joan leads her to the door. She has the gentlest smile. "Besides, I am a very good cook."
"So I've heard."
"I will make food from Earth, and I'm very good at it. I grew up in Nigeria."
Blinking very quickly doesn't stop her eyes from watering. "I've never seen it."
"Well, you can taste it." Joann pats her hand, her fingers warm against Laira's. "Good luck with your meetings, ma'am."
"Thank you, Captain."
"Acting Captain."
"You are a captain today. Best start wearing the title. It suits you."
Joann meets her gaze, not looking away or down and this is why Michael chose her. This fearlessness. "Thank you, ma'am."
It's eleven hours later that Laira finally extracts herself from her meetings. Taking a nap over lunch made the rest of the afternoon possible, but she had to push things back and rearrange. She can hear Jen in the back of her head, reminding her that a discussion where she can concentrate is better than a schedule, even when she's light years away, but the schedules are so carefully determined by so many people and asking them to change it is selfish.
She's not sure if making everyone wait so she can throw up is less selfish, and determining which is better is not something she wants to make a study of. Still, the Tellar delegation follows human norms and doesn't tell her she looks like three-day-old hasparat. Ambassador Prerthonch has spent time on Bajor, she might know that Laira's sneezing is not the cold fog or the flowering guklufras on the table. The ambassador does not comment, and Laira's grateful.
She's late enough getting back that Discovery jumps right after she beams aboard, trying to keep her on her schedule. Laira removes her jacket, drops it on the bed and pulls a sweater on over her shirt. She could give up on the whole thing, eat something flavorless from the replicator and go to bed.
Joann's cooking, and she'd be rude not to go— Eating is more than food, her grandmother would reminds her. Company might make her feel better. The bed won't have Michael in it.
She stops, eyes closed, slowing her breathing. Will eating make her feel better? Can it make her feel worse? Why doesn't she know? She's been here more times than she wants to admit.
Still, her transporter makes her stomach unsteady, so she walks to Joann's quarters, taking her time through the quiet corridors, passing Michael's crew. Laira takes a moment, collecting herself before she rings the chime. She's exhausted, and she could easily be convinced the stabilizers have stopped functioning, but it's her. Just her.
Laira rings the chime.
Tilly answers the door, smiles, reaches out and drags her in. "You made it."
"I'm so sorry I'm late."
Tilly guides her to the sofa, all stern like she's a woozy cadet after a zero-G training. "You know, I'm only saying this because we know each other well enough now that I know you won't have me expatriated to Breen, however—"
Smiling is so easy with her. "You can say it."
Cupping her face, Tilly tilts Laira's head up, studying her face. "You look like shit."
"I am aware."
"I'm taking your hairpins out, and then you're going to eat and I got this, for you, so don't feel like you have to throw up on the floor unless that's easiest." Tilly inclines her head towards an empty storage bin. "The DOTs are good at basically everything, so it's fine." Tilly calls back towards Joann's little kitchen. "She's here, I'm going to fix her hair."
"I'm sorry your meetings took so long." Joann carries the smells of the kitchen with her, spices and roast vegetables: and for a moment, Laira's stomach remembers what it's supposed to do. "Drink this, and let us know if you want crackers."
"I'm fine."
"That's a lie," Tilly reminds her, beaming. "I was at your wedding, so that's definitely a lie, and you thought you were fine before you threw up in the corridor."
She's never living that down, is she? "The ship yawed."
"We were in a steady orbit."
Laira chuckles, shutting her eyes and surrendering. "Were we? I don't recall."
Tilly deftly pulls pins from her hair, shaking it free a little at a time. Tilly pats her shoulders. "I'm sorry hormones are evil and Michael's gone because that probably makes it all worse."
It does, but Laira only smiles at her in gratitude, rather than voicing it. Michael is fine. They'll see her soon. Missing her is foolish and wistful and they've been attached like a tether since they found out about the hitchhiker, so this makes sense. It's a logical emotional response to spending time without a loved one. She just misses Michael. Nothing's wrong.
Laira repeats it for herself as much as Tilly. "Michael and Keyla will be back. Besides, Joann looks good in the chair."
"Doesn't she? It suits her."
Laughing from across her quarters, Joann scoffs. "Being captain is more than looking good."
"Looking good is a nice place to start." Laira shuts her eyes; Tilly pulls out the last few pins and starts running her fingers through her hair. When Tilly's fingers rub her scalp, Laira inhales, focusing on that sensation instead of the pounding behind her eyes.
"My grandma liked to rub my head like this," Tilly says.
"On Earth?"
"In Paris."
Laira opens her eyes reluctantly, nodding her thanks to Tilly. "You grew up in Paris?"
"Sometimes. We traveled a lot. My mother was part of the Federation security council, and my dad was in Starfleet. When I was young, I was with my mom, and then I ran away—"
"Oh?"
"Oh yeah, stowed away on a freighter, begged to be allowed to stay and learn engineering. Totally made a diplomatic incident." Tilly leads her to the table, pointing at a chair.
Joann sets dinner on the table, steaming in front of them. "Half of Starfleet out looking for you."
Tilly laughs into her glass. "Only like a third, but...yes, it was terrible."
Sitting down between them, Laira folds her napkin into her lap and waits for Joann to serve. "How old were you?"
"Fifteen. Things with my mom were bad after that for awhile. I went to live with my dad on his starship and that was way better."
Layering stew over rice on the plate, and adding some small round bread to the side, Joann passes dinner over to Tilly and then Laira. "Maybe you just needed to get off the planet."
"Worked for you, didn't it?"
Joann's smile is very bright. "That first little trip to the moon changed my life." She picks up the round little white bread and demonstrates dipping it in the stew. "I'd always had the stars above me growing up, but you leave the atmosphere and you can touch them."
"And then you met us," Tilly says, patting her arm.
"I did."
Conversation flows easily after that. The white ball on Laira's plate, is very soft, not bread but fufu, and the stew is all Earth vegetables, some of which she's heard of and some that Laira can't identify at all. Joann explains all of them gently, telling her how they'd grow them in her family garden. The wistful light in her eyes when she talks about growing up makes sense when Joann explains that she could never go home after she left.
"I visited, but it was not my home anymore. When I left their way of life, I left them" Joann's hand lies on the table between them and Laira takes it without thinking, squeezing her fingers.
Home was her parents, until her mother was gone, then her grandparents and her father, but when they died, home stopped being Bajor and became a well-worn bunk on a freighter. Then space stations, diplomatic shuttles: whatever ship she was on until Discovery.
And Michael.
Michael has made this ship home for her crew. Joann and Tilly included.
"I'm glad this is your home now," Laira says, meeting her eyes.
"Yours too." Joann stands, and then they're hugging, tight and warm, and it stings to breath but she remembers family. Family feels like this.
Bringing their drinks to the table in front of the sofa, Tilly waves them over. "Come, you have to tell me about your sex life."
Joann leads Laira to the sofa with a hand on her back. "Keyla's told you everything."
"Maybe I'd like to hear it from you."
Laughing, Joann looks at Laira instead, her eyes bright and wicked. "I think it's Laira's turn."
"For what?" Laira asks innocently, as if this is a game she doesn't know the rules of.
"When did you have sex for the first time?"
Joann looks mortified, but in a fun way. "Tilly—"
Laira takes a sip of her tea. If it was something stronger this would be more fun. "With anyone or with Michael?"
Tilly and Joann share a glance, and Tilly's face has the same brightness as a rookie pilot finding out she's allowed to fly a shuttle for the first time.
"Can I have both?"
Smiling down at her tea, Laira shrugs. "I was sixteen, looked older, we had to overhaul the navigational sensors and shielding, so we were on this spacedock for two weeks, not a lot to do other than drinking games and—"
"Sex."
"Goes well with games, sometimes less well with drinking, but—"
Joann and Tilly clink glasses and Tilly pats her shoulder. "When you can drink again, we'll drink together, any terrible deck polish you want."
"Anything?" Laira tilts her head. "That's brave."
Tilly beams, enjoying the challenge. "I got around the galaxy a little, thank you."
"It's a deal."
Pouring herself another drink, Joann nods. "I started out drinking moonshine my cousins made, I'm sure I can survive whatever pilot swill you can come up with."
This time Laira's mug joins their glasses. "You're on."
"When is she going to be out?" Tilly asks, downing the last of her drink while she looks at Laira's belly. "In case I need to practice."
Looking at her hands on the mug, Laira traces the handle. It's pottery, not a replicated mug. Someone made this, on Earth, centuries ago. Someone Joann loved sculpted this with their hands and sent it with her into the stars. She came from that.
Following Tilly's gaze, she shrugs. "Hugh doesn't know."
"He doesn't know?" Joann's words are gentle.
"Hybrid gestational timelines vary and can be difficult to predict."
"Wait, so you don't actually know how long you'll be pregnant?"
Sighing, Laira leans back, staring up at the art along the wall. "Longer than a Bajoran, less than a Cardassian."
"And that's a big window?"
"Several months."
"Fuck, that's awful."
Laira almost chokes on her tea. She takes a breath, but it's impossible not to laugh first. "It's less than ideal."
"Less than—" Tilly rubs her knee. "That's politician for it's a fucking mess isn't it?"
"I'm sure Hugh will be able to narrow it down."
"Give you a month instead of several?"
"Perhaps."
Tilly shakes her head, appalled. "So it's a completely unknown period of nausea, dizziness, exhaustion—"
"That will eventually kick me from the inside, sounds wonderful doesn't it?"
Leaving the sofa, Tilly grabs a bottle off the table. Something heavy and glass. "Sounds magical." She pours herself and Joann something stronger and sits back down. "At least you have Michael."
"She doesn't have to tell us about Michael if she doesn't want to."
"I don't mind."
That's an invitation Tilly can't resist, and she vibrates with curiosity. "So, did you have sex before your incident in the bubble, because you were so mad at each other before and some of us - not me - but you know, some of us thought maybe you worked some of that out with sex."
That's a thought Laira hasn't contemplated. Michael's incredible beautiful. Was there an attraction between them that early? Perhaps, but not something they could have acted on. Their positions wouldn't allow for it, she certainly couldn't— "I can admit I would have been intrigued by Michael demonstrating her leadership skills, but it we weren't together like that until after Discovery rescued us from the bubble."
"Very soon after," Joann guesses, leaning in.
There's a certainty in her eyes Laira finds fascinating. "Oh?"
Tilly holds up her hand in agreement. "Yeah, right after you got back."
"Why do you think that?"
Joann finishes a shot and sets the glass down. "You were happy. I know the baby's part of it, but—"
"Michael was a bigger part of it, you're right." Tilly agrees.
Looking from one of them to the other, Laira nods. She didn't know they were paying attention. She's touched, even surprised. "I wasn't happy before?"
The way they look at each before before they look at her says much more than either of them will voice. Tilly raises her eyebrows, and it's Joann who starts.
"We've all been through trauma: a war, another universe, leaving our home behind. We know what it looks like when you're a little lost in what happened to you."
Tilly fills their glasses again. "Not that we'd say anything to anyone. We saw it in you because we've been there. We've held the whole galaxy in our hands, and it's a lot. So we know what it looks like when you stopped going to events at the Academy, not the important things, but the little things."
Joann tilts her head. "And you kept turning down Michael's invitations."
Protesting that she didn't isolate herself is pointless. How could Laira have explained what she felt? No one understood and explaining it took more than she had. Going quiet was her only option. They would have understood it, Michael and her crew, but she didn't- she couldn't— "I did."
Joann touches her wrist, and the warmth in her hand matches her eyes. "I hope it's better now."
Laira pats her fingers in return. Of course, Michael's crew loves like she does. "It is." Silence holds them with contentment, and gratitude. "Michael was the first person to worry about me, just me, in a very long time, even in the middle of a crisis, she saw me."
"We see you," Joann says, looking to Tilly as they both start to smile.
"We see the president and the cape and the hair, but we see you too."
Shutting her eyes before the stinging turns to tears, she blinks, looks away from both of them. They love her because Michael loves her, because family radiates outward from the brightest point, and she can let them. She can love them back, heedless and unfettered, like Michael does.
"Thank you."
It's not enough, but it's a start. Her life is full of beginnings, chaotic as they are.
Tilly changes the subject, teasing Joann about where she's going to put Keyla's things - there's not a lot, Keyla's a spacer kid even now - but it's kind. Funny.
Laira doesn't remember falling asleep. She's tired, always, but she's in Tilly's lap when she wakes up. The light's lower, softer, and they're both still here, Joann's right beside her.
"Zora has Michael on comms for you," Joann says, touching her shoulder. "We were tempted to let you keep sleeping, but it's nice to take off your boots and brush your teeth."
It takes more than a moment to drag herself back enough to remember where she is. Joann's quarters, it's not late, not really, but she could sleep for days.
"I though it was going to take more than a day or two for Tilly to convince you to have a sleepover," Michael teases from the ceiling. She's still just on audio, but Laira can picture her, sitting in one of the comm chambers on the grain depot, or still on the ancient freighter.
She touches their arms, and their hands guide her up. Michael's voice makes it easier to smile"Your crew is incredibly convincing."
"We follow your lead, Captain-"
"The precedent is set by you, Captain-"
"It's like I'm there even when I'm not," Michael says, chuckling. "I'm glad you're together."
Tilly and her cadets beam down with her to Rigel V in the morning. Rigel V's capital is a few hours ahead of Discovery, so she's not expected until nearly eleven hundred, but the meetings will run late. Michael might be back tonight. Joann was hopeful that the freighter would reach the depot and Discovery only has to jump to get them.
Every message Vriga passes her is from Michael in her hopes until it's not. Rigel V's not as cold as Tellar, but it's the height of dry season and her headache might be from the change in humidity. The population of Rigel suffered much in the Emerald Chain occupation, and they are eager to show her how they're rebuilding, but that means beaming from site to site, and each transporter trip sets off her sneezing.
By the third city center they're rebuilding out of a crater, one of the cadets hands her a handkerchief and Tilly explains to the Rigelian Monarch in a whisper that Laira has allergies to dust.
Rigelians are similar enough to Vulcans that sneezing would never be connected to pregnancy, but Tilly's cadets are curious. Allergies will be a decent explanation for today. They'll know soon enough, everyone will, because it's impossible to keep any part of her life to herself.
This will be a good thing.
Tilly insists on lunch exactly on time and Vriga's little sigh of relief makes Laira smile. Lunch is filling, bland and unremarkable. The Monarch offers that they could return to the capital, make use of her chef, but there's food here in the city of Tir' Aresh. The Federation president eating with the relief workers in the shade alongside a new apartment spire is a good holo for the news service. Two of the cadets snap pictures, debating the light as they switch sides of the street.
Leaning in towards her ear, Tilly whispers, "How can their food be even more bland than Vulcan food?"
Swallowing her bite of pale blue fruit, Laira smirks. "The texture is more important than the flavor for Regelians. The climate here is so mild that few of the native plant species have the defense mechanisms that make food delicious."
"So far, Bajor had the best food." Tilly's voice is soft enough that no one else could hear. "Which totally sounds like I'm sucking up, but I'm really not, I just like spicy."
"Maybe you'll enjoy Nausica. Some of their sauces are too caustic for many species to ingest."
"Well that sounds fun."
Laira takes a sip of water and looks up at the gentle clouds overhead. Michael would be able to tell her what Vulcan food this is like, and she'd probably know how to eat the dessert properly, but some of the children playing in the street come and eat Laira's for her. Which solves that problem.
Being nauseated while sitting in the shade after eating the most tasteless thing she's had in weeks is a feat. Michael's little hitchhiker could be a little less exceptional sometimes.
Parents of a particularly young child come retrieve him before he drags her into their game. They're overly apologetic - and it's worse when they recognize the Monarch of their planet - but the child waves at her as he's carried away.
How many diplomats will their child spill juice on? How many meetings will she leave to be mother before she's president? The galaxy will hold itself together with the Vice President and Vance, like it has before, but there's a longing to get to that point, a wistfulness to be past this creeping nausea and unending sneezing.
Before she's ready, their daughter will wave, and Laira both knows that to be true and can't imagine it at the same time.
Joann stands at attention in the door to the conference room during her last meeting, and she's too straight. Too at attention. Laira can't focus on what the Monarch is requesting for additional material support, so she requests a recess.
"I must speak with Captain Owosekun."
Her aides can collate the list in her absence.
Joann doesn't smile, and that in itself is a sign that sends Laira's heart into her throat.
"Forgive the interruption, ma'am. Discovery jumped to Cygni grain depot at seventeen hundred hours. Captain Burnham and Commander Detmer were in the middle of a firefight when we arrived. Andorian raiders had attempted to commander the depot, but they weren't expecting Starfleet officers to be there."
Her chest goes cold and tight. "Are they all right?"
"Yes, ma'am, they're both fine." Joann's smile is quick and soft, and her hand touches Laira's. "They're both all right."
Laira waits, because Joann's shoulders wouldn't be that stiff if everything was fine. All right has a caveat.
"The raiders were in rough shape, the outbreaks on their homeworld are worse than we thought, so is the state of their infrastructure. Zora and the biofilters found several pathogens, bacterial, viral, most of them aren't dangerous to humans, and Discovery's brig can be easily isolated from the rest of the ship."
The grain depots are old. Many of them were built before the Burn and repurposed. Their filtration systems would be far below Discovery's.
Her heart beats once, then again, and her mouth's dry enough she has to cough. "What were Michael and Keyla exposed to?"
Joann touches her elbow, then wraps Laira's hands in hers. "Scosian fever. Hugh has them in quarantine, and they're on board, but it's—"
"Slow to develop."
"Hugh won't know if they have it or not for a few days. He can treat it—"
"I know."
"They're all right."
"Thank you." Laira bites her lip, then bites it again when that pain doesn't bring her back to herself. She looks at the table, at the meeting finishing up without her. She needs to go back, to finish the—
She can't.
Scosian fever took her mother. Her mother didn't have Hugh or a starship or the Federation. Laira's hands are cold, and the roof of her mouth tastes like metal.
Vriga looks at her, ready to stop the meeting, but Laira shakes her head. Leaving without a word is a breach of protocol, and she shouldn't- it'll be so hard to—
"Breathe," Joann reminds her, squeezing her hands. "Michael's all right. I just saw her."
"Through quarantine."
"She's in isolation with Keyla. They're fine."
"We need to—"
"We are." Joann rubs her fingers and nods. "We are doing everything we can."
Keyla. Michael is with Keyla. Damn, she's being selfish. Laira glances down. "Keyla's all right?"
"They're both fine." Now Joann has that Starfleet captain smile. "When medical is sure they don't have any of the virus in their blood, they'll be released." She has the kind of hope of someone who hasn't seen a virus burn through a village. Joann's from another time. Hope is easier for her.
Finish the meeting. Everything is fine. Michael is fine.
"You can see her as soon as you beam up." Joann leans closer, her voice soft. "Do you want me to finish the meeting for you?"
"Tempting."
Joann smiles a little more brightly. "I'm here if you need me, ma'am."
"Thank you, Captain." It'll be all right. She'll see Michael in less than an hour, but nothing she can think of softens the knot in her chest. Not even Joann's optimism.