Chapter Text
The Vice President's ancestral home is in located within a busy part of the capital city. The cities on Betazed are dense, allowing most of the planet to be an uninhabited reserve. The oldest mansions rise above the street like cliffs, covered in flowers and vines. The plants have obviously but planned, guided up the houses so the flowers bloom in front of the windows, but it's subtle. Saru would love it.
Jen's home surrounds a courtyard, with a pool in the center of a large garden. Places to work and lie in the sun are hidden in the flowers and paths, and the house surrounds the nature at its' heart. Bedrooms surround the pool, hidden behind vines and screens, and it's one of the most full homes she's stayed in, and also incredibly private. It's possible to walk through the courtyard and not be noticed.
A Betazoid would hear her thoughts, so they don't need to hear her footsteps or see her through the trees. It's beautiful, mysterious and exposed all at the same time.
Betazed wasn't even in the Federation in Michael's time, so she has centuries of history to catch up on. Jen and Arjun are happy to tell her stories over dinner, and Arjun has an artist's way of looking through history. There's so much Michael doesn't know, that even if she studies, she's still constantly surprised. Not that she minds, really, she's a xenoanthropologist, after all. It helps that Betazoids can answer her questions before she can ask them, though that's disconcerting.
The weather's warm, but wet, and Laira's hair is unruly, curly and messy - gorgeous, but she likes to grumble more than listen to Michael. Working with telepaths means that meetings end if Laira even thinks she's tired, so their first days on Betazed are pleasant. The Hitchhiker is a secret everyone knows here, but no one mentions, and the gentleness around Laira lifts something from Michael's chest she didn't know she was carrying. No one believes her "I'm fine we can finish," and they end early without discussion more than once.
The Betazoid Ambassador to the Federation, Rima Enai, a stately woman several centimeters taller than even Laira, pats Michael's shoulder as they finish on the third day, smiling. "It's hard when it's not you."
"Is it easier when it is you?"
"Yes, and no." She leans closer. "It's never easy, nor does it get easier when you're parenting, it shifts, and it's beautiful, but it is a challenge."
"So you—" Michael's been trying to just ask, and not worry about what she's asking, because the telepathy makes Betazoids almost as odd to talk to as the Qowot Milat, but she's still working on it.
Ambassador Enai finishes the question for her. "I have been in your position, and that of your wife, yes, and I found being supportive suited me better."
Michael tries to imagine what it would be like were their positions reversed, if the Hitchhiker had found her home in her, and her thoughts do not spin very far. Perhaps that's a good thing. "I'm told I worry too loudly."
"Your thoughts are intense, but not loud." Ambassador Enai points her way down one of the walkways along a pond. "Your mind is very organized."
"Thank you?"
"Please take it as a compliment, I find your thoughts quite pleasant." Enai's smile has an ease to it that must make her very good at her work. "Will you and the president be participating in Uril Onait?"
Michael knows what this is, Jen mentioned it, so did Arjun. It seems their visit to Betazed has happened to coincide with a planet-wide festival of renewal. Considering no one has given them any more information—
"You are right to be skeptical, captain." Enai chuckles, pulling the thought from her mind. "When we speak of renewal, we speak of renewing the bonds between those we have chosen to love. Your Admiral Vance called it a planet-wide marriage vow renewal."
"He participated?"
"Oh yes, he was a captain then, as you are, and his wife found it less terrifying than she feared."
"That's nearly a compliment."
"No one will force you to remove your clothing."
Michael sighs, glancing across the garden at Laira speaking with planetary leaders. "I know, I suppose I'm more comfortable with your thoughts in my head than taking off my uniform."
"That does make you rather charming, Captain Burnham. Most humans would rather be naked than have me in their head."
Naked vow renewal, of course. Planet wide. Vance did it, and he helped schedule this trip, so this is partially his fault. The rest of the fault would be Jen's. Michael loves Laira more than she values keeping her uniform on, and she'll do it. It's an alien custom, she's a Starfleet captain.
And yet...she can feel the furrow deepening her forehead.
After dinner, while the sun sets heavy and golden over the courtyard wall, Laira stops her on the path to their bedroom, holding her hand among the flowers, then reaches up to undo her hair. It falls in a mass of curls on her shoulders, and her shirt slips from her shoulders a moment later.
"What are you doing?"
"Helping you get used to being naked."
Michael watches Laira tug her camisole over her head and raises her eyebrows. "Being naked with you is a different thing."
"I'm delighted to inform you that I will be right beside you during the Uril Onait."
Shaking her head, Michael removes her uniform jacket and drops it onto a bench. "You don't mind being naked in front of thousands of people?"
"It's not my first Betazoid wedding."
Stepping out of her boots, she lines them up neatly beneath the bench, then takes off her trousers.
Laira's setting aside her bra when Michael turns back to her. "It's brief, everyone else is naked too, it's a very old, very sacred part of their culture." She holds her breasts for a moment, crossing her arms. They're still sore, and heavy, and she releases them to touch Michael's cheek. "Besides, honey, you're gorgeous."
"Thank you."
Kissing Laira makes all her worries float like the lazy flower petals on the surface of the pool. Fully naked, she steps towards the water, watching Laira step further and further in. She turns when they water's up to her hips, shutting her eyes in the warmth of the sunset. Her hands trace the surface of the water.
Michael's gaze settles on her belly, where the Hitchhiker is definitely present in the swell of her belly. It's not obvious in Laira's clothes, but naked, she's there.
Laira follows her eyes and smiles, shy, maybe proud, before she flushes pink.
Walking into the water beside her, reaching out to touch her skin, Michael sighs, content. Droplets of water glow golden in the light, running from Michael's fingers down Laira's skin. "We could barely see her on Bajor, now here she is."
"I keep wanting to touch her in meetings"
"It would be all right if you did."
Laira nods, blinking once before she kisses Michael's forehead. Her hand finds Michael's and they walk in together. The center of the pool is deep enough that they have to tread water. There were few places on Vulcan for swimming, and swimming was practical, not something to do for fun. One of the first times she swam for fun was with Philippa, centuries ago.
Sitting in the shallows, Laira waits with her arms around her knees. Her wet hair clings to her shoulders, as she watches Michael swim over. "When the stars come out, it'll look like the cave at Resuna Idum."
Kissing her knee, Michael turns, then sits beside her in the shallow water. The sky above is starting to cloud over, and it glows pink and gold. When the sun sets it'll be inky black. "I think you're being too optimistic about the weather."
Laira makes that little sound Michael loves and smiles up at the darkening sky. "It's still beautiful."
She's much more beautiful than the sky, and perhaps Michael stares too long, but Laira seems to read her thoughts as easy if she was Betazoid. She reaches for Michael's chin, touches her lower lip and they kiss, leaning into each other. Michael has her hand halfway down Laira's breast when she pauses, sheepish.
"Is this—?"
"Okay with me or okay with our hosts?"
"Both?" Michael's face is warmer than she'd like, and it's not that she's nervous about it, but she's not wholly comfortable with an audience.
Laira pulls her closer, her hands cool on the back of her neck. "They're telepaths, dear, unless you want to beam back to the ship— they'll know. Some of them might even be able to hear us on the ship - for the record - I think it's a wonderful idea, and you should absolutely continue."
Beaming back to the ship has a certain appeal, but Laira's kissing her and arguing would break that contact. Maybe the trees are so tall and the vines are so thick around the pool for this reason. Maybe there are privacy filters. Maybe it doesn't matter at all because Jen's one of the best telepaths on the planet and Michael's going to project what she's thinking as if she's writing it with lasers into the sky.
There must be societal norms where this is okay. They're a very open culture. Laira guides Michael up, easing her to the stone edge of the pool. She parts Michael's legs, slipping between her wet thighs and starts kissing her way down and oh—
"My love, you need to think less."
Laira's hands run over her hips, and one of them squeezes her arm. Her fingers are slick, and quick and over and across and then Michael's thigh is on her shoulder and Laira's mouth is a point of heat exquisite after the cool water.
Shields- mental discipline- control- Laira smashes them like she upended Michael's life. Maybe it's how much they missed each other, or gratitude or there's just something about the water, but Michael's orgasm hits like a shooting star. Half the planet has to hear it. Gasping, she leans into Laira's shoulder, and they tumble back into the pool.
Splashing, laughing, coming up for air and each other and it's all right.
Even with her skin tingling, Michael's apologetic. Anxious, ashamed—
"It's all right."
It's not a voice, not really, and Michael couldn't say who, it's not a who. It's as if the planet itself has reached into her thoughts.
"Enjoy yourself."
She didn't need permission. Michael wants to say she didn't, that she's fine with this, but it's easier now. It doesn't hurt to have absolution, and there's no meetings in the morning and dinner's still more than an hour away and Laira whimpers into her neck when her fingers slide down, down and in and—
Betazed is a communal society. Millions of people are feeling something like this, sharing, breathing, and reaching for each other with joy and affection.
Let the guilt go. Embrace where she is.
She loves Laira, and this is love seeking and touching, finding the delicate places between gasping Michael's name and digging nails into her shoulders. Michael lets her hands find their own way, doesn't think, simply allows her heart to rule her. The whole damn planet can know how much she loves her. That should muffle the more practical concerns about how Laira's half collapsed against her, laughing.
Their bedroom's less than twenty meters away and the vines are thick, and it's a planet where being naked is a sacred thing. Gathering their clothes would be responsible, but they're enamored with each other, and it's entirely possible part of her uniform is in the garden and Laira only drops one boot to the floor of their bedroom, but then they're on the bed together and Laira's legs are cool and soft and so slick once Michael's kissed her way toward her upper thigh.
Love floats on her breath, guides her hands and love is what Laira's moaning for. Maybe she climaxed back in the pool, perhaps she was close and Michael's sending her over the edge now, but this one makes her snap upwards like she's been shocked. AFter a few breathless curses, she falls back, soft against Michael. Panting, sighing, she fumbles with her fingers against Michael's back, then laughs. "And I was worried you'd be nervous here."
"I am, I was—" Michael rolls to her back, staring up at the wines on the ceiling while Laira's plays with her skin. "Then I wasn't."
"You know, I once asked Jen what it was like, sharing something that intimate."
"You asked? How undiplomatic of you."
"I was young, I didn't think—"
"And what did she say?" Michael tries to picture a very young, pilot-turned-diplomat Laira trying to navigate Betazed.
"She smiled, and didn't say anything, and I thought that was it, and then I went to bed."
"And?"
Laira sits up, kissing Michael's shoulder as she slides off the bed for a glass of water. "And she showed me."
"Showed you?"
"Could have been a dream." Laira takes a sip and her face flushes pink all the way to her neck. "I felt- pleasure- love- warmth- it was incredible."
"And you think?"
"Oh I didn't dare ask." Laira sits back down on the bed beside her, sharing her glass with Michael. "I still haven't, and it's been more than a decade."
"So that was her?"
"She's very happily married."
Michael leans in, kissing her cheek. "So maybe we just repaid the favor."
"Didn't think I would."
"Do what we just did?"
Laira shakes her head, blinking too quickly. "Not that, sex is, and sex with you is- I- I've never felt the way I do about you. I didn't think I would."
Michael strokes her hand, then sets the water aside. She smiles down at Laira's belly, then meets her eyes. "Wait until she gets here."
"Don't change the subject when I'm being romantic."
"I know you love me."
"I love you is wholly insufficient." Laira's eyes are far too blue when she's on the verge of tears.
Kissing her gives Michael time to think, time to find the right words, if they exist. "Love is a lot of things. Love is for cake, and the feeling of stepping onto the bridge. I love my crew, my mother, Tilly, and you, and our little visitor. It's transcendent, and all of those things at once."
That little noise means Laira's unconvinced, and Michael smiles.
"Think of it as a loophole."
"Oh?"
"There's love, and you have all the definitions that make sense, but maybe we were waiting for each other to come up with one more."
Laira sighs, shutting her eyes as she looks up. "Like stars on the flag?"
"Always room for one more system."
Pressing her lips together, Laira takes a moment, then another, and finally she shakes her head, tears caught in the fading light. "I always know what to say, and then you—"
"I ruin it."
"Utterly."
When they finally get dressed again, they're late for dinner. Everyone else is seated, and they've even started eating without them. Tilly seems most at home with the extravagant table, and the rest of the crew is enjoying the drinks with varying levels of comfort. Michael can't find Joann, and she looks around the dining room twice before she finds her, arms wrapped around someone with red hair.
"Keyla," Laira whispers, grabbing Michael's hand. "She's back."
"Your Commander Detmer wanted to surprise you," Jen says, handing them two glasses with drinks of dizzying neon colors. "Of course, you were so late for dinner that we weren't sure that you were going to come eat with us." Her eyes twinkled, and then she winks, because it's not enough that she probably heard ever moment of them. She has to rub it in. "The Armstrong dropped her off an hour ago."
"And then left?"
"Oh they'll be back, I told them about Uril Onait, so they'll make time for that. T'Rina's attended several times, and I'm sure I'll be able to send her a diplomatic invitation."
Laira mutters into her drink and leaves Michael to go speak with Keyla. They stand near each other, and Laira starts to speak, then their arms are outt and they hug, wrapping their arms tight around each other.
Jen's eyes soften, and then she blinks, just like Laira does. "She's glad to be back."
"Laira's mother—"
"I know." Jen leans in, taking a sip of her drink as her thoughts reach into Michael's. "Losing you frightens her more than she was ready to admit to herself."
"I'm fairly resilient."
"I'll say."
Michael watches, letting Keyla greet everyone else before it's her turn. Keyla's face looks a little thinner, paler, almost as bad as Laira on a day she'd lie about being fine, but Keyla's smile is bight.
"Hey, Captain."
Michael hugs her, tight and close and chuckles. "I knew you'd beat it."
"Flew circles around it. Just had to catch up."
"I'm so glad you're—"
"Me too." Keyla's hands stay on Michael's arms for a moment. "I've never been that- not even after the Shenzhou."
Michael almost winces, but it's all right. Her first ship can be a happy memory now. Philippa would want that. "We missed you."
"I hear you had to pull in a rookie pilot."
Nodding, Michael looks up and beams. "Obviously, She wasn't you."
"I hear she did good, considering."
"You're a good teacher."
Keyla tilts her head to disagree, but then lets it stand. "Of course, now that I'm back."
"Absolutely."
"I'm not learning to give speeches."
"I hear you can have many career trajectories, hot shot pilots don't all have to run for president."
Being naked in the central square in front of the capitol sounds like one of the nightmares Michael used to have on Shenzhou when it felt like she'd never understand how a Starfleet crew functioned socially. Visiting Betazed as a commander, back then, she would have loathed every minute of nudity.
Now, it's all right, somehow. It helps that everyone else is naked too, Jen, the Betazoid circle of leadership, Admiral Vance and his wife, T'Rina, Saru, other Federation dignitaries, and Laira.
Laira even left her hair down, and it's bright in the sun, past her shoulders to the middle of her back. Michael's crew came, and other than a few sheepish glances at each other, they're all comfortable stripping off their uniforms and hanging them up.
She's never been around so many people without clothes, even the kids, and there are plenty of them at the ceremony.
Maybe because the Federation is here. It's the biggest Federation presence since the Burn, and the children are fascinated by the aliens. Saru's a little shy at first, but T'rina speaks with them all with infinite patience.
Laira has what seems to be a very serious discussion with what seems to be most of an elementary school class, and when she returns to Michael, she wraps her arm into Michael's. "I met some of your future crew, just need to get them through the Academy."
"I'll let Tilly know to keep an eye out for them."
The gong rings once, summoning them to the ceremony instead of waiting in a sea of naked people. Laira touches her belly, just for a moment, but Michael watches and contentment settles over her. This is all right. Even in front of people, even when it's public. There are Federation reporters here, of course, and there's no holos while everyone's undressed, by Betazoid custom, but their Hitchhiker is right there.
And that's wonderful. She can let it be wonderful.
After the ceremony, Michael holds Laira's jacket while she gets her shirt the way she wanted, and then helps her slip it on. T'Rina and Jen need her to talk to the Betazoid circle of leadership, and some of the other Ambassadors, and Michael fastens her dress uniform jacket.
"Captain Burnham?"
Michael turns towards the unfamiliar voice: a civilian woman, human, with silver hair and gentle lines around her eyes. "I'm Captain Burnham."
"I'm Margo Holte, United Earth news network." She flashes a holographic press pass and Michael nods. There are many more reporters than she thought, but they've all been polite so far. Her press pass is different from the standard. She's an editor, not a reporter, and Michael doesn't know why that matters, but she's the first editor to want to ask Michael questions.
"Welcome to Betazed."
"Thank you, Captain." Margo takes that with a smile at least. "First time in my career that I've been able to cover anything outside Earth's system."
Michael can't imagine how strange that must be, but Betazed has some of the best press vetting in the Federation, so there's no reason to be concerned. "Feel like a rookie again?"
"It'll help me empathize with my reporters."
Michael tilts her head, trying to remember where she's heard her name. They only spoke briefly to United Earth's press when Earth rejoined the Federation, so much else was going on, and she hasn't met Margo. She'll have to look her up. Editor for United Earth press sounds more important than a beat reporter out for a feel-good story about a Betazoid holiday.
"I don't get out in the field much anymore, even on Earth, but this assignment came up, and I had to take it."
"Curious?"
"Warp across half the galaxy and meet the captain who saved the galaxy twice, or is it three times?"
"I'm not keeping track."
Margo's eyes twinkle. "And modest."
"I try to be."
"Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"
"And a few questions."
"I don't usually keep track."
Michael chuckles, and nods her agreement. "I have time." Laira will be in meetings and discussions for hours now, and the crew can comm if they need her.
Sitting in a little cafe garden along the main street, Michael finishes her coffee and orders another while she talks about leaving the galaxy and metting the 10-C. She's gotten good at telling those stories, emphasing the beauty of the galactic barrier, how the 10-C meant them no harm, and are a peaceful, kind, helpful race of beings. Talking about the DMA is more difficult, but she can explain the science of a static warp bubble with practiced ease.
Margo listens to all of that and takes a few notes, but the real questions come when Michael's halfway through her second coffee.
"I hear there was some tension between you and President Rillak at your first meeting." Margo sets her cup down. This is one of her more important questions, because she leans in.
"I didn't understand her methods."
"You thought she was appropriating a moment."
How can Margo know? Intuition? Michael didn't give that away.
"Politics was not something I enjoyed."
"Yet you spent months working directly for the president."
"Explaining warp bubbles."
Margo raises her eyebrows, and there's something oddly familiar about the way she chuckles. "You do have a flair for that."
"Thank you."
Michael takes another sip of coffee, then drags her fork through the heavy chocolate cake in front of her. It's delicious, but the piece is too big and she's grown accustomed to sharing everything with Laira. She wanted to eat about a third, but the whole piece sits in front of her. "I wanted to be sure Discovery was where my path lies. Helping out gave me some time to think."
"And you grew closer to the President? You'd already worked together to bring Ni'Var back into the Federation, and she spent time on your ship, several times, not just the mission outside the galaxy."
"We had time to get to know each other," Michael pauses, tilting her head. Is she being interrogated for who she is, her relationship, or something else entirely? "I suppose you could say we realized how well we understood each other. Starfleet and the Federation have been the heart of my adult life. I believe when we're working together, we can bring out the best in each other. Laira sees it that way too."
"So you found true believers in each other."
"And a partner who knew what our work was like, what we were getting into."
"Starfleet's reassigning your ship is a piece of luck."
Michael takes a bite of her cake and smiles a little. "Well, the VARS navigational system and the spore drive will make Discovery less important as a first responder. The Armstrong has already taken over that responsibility with great success. The Mitchell's spore drive will come online in a few days. The technology sharing conference on Earth next month will make the technology available to all Federation members."
"Flying to space in an instant thanks to glittering mushrooms is the stuff of holonovels."
"Have you tried it?"
Margo finishes the last of her cake and nods, eyes wide. "My wife and I took a high warp transport to the medical command post at the edge of Andorian space, then the Armstrong brought some of us here. We jumped, as you say."
"And?"
"It was incredible. We popped out of space, and back into space." She shakes her head, pulling her silver hair back behind her shoulder thoughtfully. "I lived more thaan a hundred years on Earth, and I thought I'd die there. Then you arrive, with your ancient ship, and I'm sitting here, on Betazed, eating alien cake with the heroic captain Burnham, who just happens to be First Lady of the Federation."
Michael feigns a whisper. "I did think about taking her name, being Captain Rillak just to make trouble."
"Oh?"
"But my crew calls her Mrs. Burnham instead."
"Really?"
"It started as a joke, then it stuck. Lets her be a person, when the office is heavy."
Margo touches her mouth with her napkin, her smile vanishing. "My wife, Bridget, is a doctor, one of Earth's finest researchers into infectious disease, and from what she says about Scosian fever—"
"It's terrifying."
"We're not used to working together, our President will lead us, and we'll try to rise to the challene, of course, but we're rusty. Earth hasn't had a new virus since before the Burn, and everything from the outside—"
"Is a little scary."
Nodding, Margo taps a control on her holopadd, then shows Michael a projection. "The last case of Scosian fever was recorded on Earth more than a hundred years ago. We've been hiding behind our shields, shut off from everything, relying on our own development, our own research, for far too long. Our fleet is sublight, and some many of our threads of research have been stagnant."
"Now you're back in the Federation."
"And we'll be able to jump across the galaxy and bring back a hundred deadly viruses."
Michael will have to ask Hugh if he's spoken to her wife."So far the Scosian virus is contained."
"So far, I suppose you are familiar with the old Earth expression?"
Michael taps the table with her knuckles. "Knock on wood."
"It's less old for you, isn't it?"
"A little."
"How old are you?"
"Nine hundred and sixty-four."
Margo whistles. "And you look great."
"Thank you." Michael's badge chirps, and Laira's voice joins them.
"Michael, if you're not busy, dear, several Ambassadors have questions about the spore drive that you would be most helpful answering."
Michael meets Margo's eyes for a moment, then they nod to each other.
"I'll beam over."
Laira's relieved sigh carries over the channel. "My explanation of the mycelial network gets worse every time I try."
"I like how you make it sound like magic."
"Magic I could explain better."
"I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Thank you."
The channel closes and Margo's eyes are so wistful that it almost hurts to look at her. She's looking for something: there's a piece here she hasn't seen yet, but it's not malicious. There's no anger here, just that sharp kind of loneliness that's so common in this time. Laira had it, still does.
"I'm sorry to cut this short, if you have any more questions, you know where to find me."
"Thank you for you time, Captain. I appreciate how busy you are." It's a formal goodbye, practiced, professional, but the longing doesn't leave her eyes.
Michael sets her dishes in the replicator and beams away. She can ask Laira about Margo, and if she doesn't know, Jen will. Jen knows everyone.