Chapter Text
Laira’s fingers run along her neck, sink into her hair and then guide Michael up from between her thighs. “Wait.”
Worry flashes through her, but Laira tugs her up, kissing her.
“It’s not- I’m not - you’re wonderful.”
“Ah.” Michael chuckles, kissing her neck before she snuggles in along Laira’s side. Their skin slides, damp with sweat. “I am pretty wonderful.”
“It’s not you.” Laira kisses her head again, her ahdn grabbing her shoulder just a little tighter. “It’s—”
“You’re all right?”
That earns an eye-roll. “Fine.”
“Not-” Michael could list so many things, but Laira hushes her.
“Sometimes I don’t orgasm.”
That makes sense. Logical. Michael’s been in that moment, been lost in her head. Happens much more by herself, with a partner it’s easier, usually. She kisses Laira’s arm, then her breast, working her way up to look at her eyes.
“Thinking too much?”
Staring at the ceiling instead of answering her, Laira sighs. She rubs her belly, rolls her legs to the side.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
Laira makes that little noise in the back of her throat, and yes, they do need to talk about it. Michael trails her hand along her inner thigh, and Laira shivers a little. Michael leans in, kissing her to check if this is all right, if she can keep touching, and Laira nibbles her lip, just a little.
“I get stuck.”
“We all do.” Michael wrinkles her nose, then kissses her aagain, lingering before kisses Laira’s forehead. “You have too much up here.”
“Today was a good day.”
“Good doesn’t mean it can’t linger.”
Sitting up a little on her elbows, Laira sighs again. “I don’t know what my problem is. I don’t think it was negotiations.”
Michael traces her fingers up, running along Laira’s inner thigh, brushing against her very sensitive skin.
“That’s not going to help me think.”
“You need to think less.”
They kiss, clumsy, and hungry, lips rough, then gentle. Laira sighs into Michael’s neck when Michael touches her again.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No-” Laira whimpers, then finds her breath. “It feels good; you might be wasting your time.”
“I’m a time traveler, remember? I am excellent with time.”
Laira’s eyes are dark and deep, and the little ways she trembles as Michael touches her and tantalizing. Why hurry? Did she need to hurry before?
“We don’t have to be anywhere until tomorrow morning.” Michael turns her head to look out at the brilliant blue planet benath them. “That’s still hours away for Abuja. We have time.”
Biting her lip, Laira makes this breathy little sound that suggests this won’t take nearly as long as she seems to think. “You don’t—”
“Oh this is fun.” Michael shifts, balancing so she has freer movement with her fingers. “I don’t mind things that take awhile.”
Laira’s eyes soften, and the way she bites her lip has a story. “We never had time.”
That’s it.
“In your last relationship?” Michael asks, stroking her thumb in a slow circle.
“We were so busy.”
And hurried, and they didn’t live on the same ship.
“Makes it hard.”
“Not talking made it worse.” Laira gaps, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Michael. So her last partner wouldn’t have asked and she wouldn’t have volunteered.
“The last time Book and I had sex we knew what to do, we were good, we’ve always been good, but we weren’t there anymore.” Michael kisses her shoulder. “We couldn’t find our way back.”
“But you-” Laira pauses, her words caught behind her gasp. “You’re still cordial.”
“Took a little work.” Michael moves her fingers a little faster, inceases the pressure for an instant, than slows. “A lot of talking.”
“We haven’t spoken since I—”
“That would be messier.”
“I don’t- how do I- dammit, Michael.”
Kissing Laira’s neck gets her that much closer, but Michael teases, keeps her touch too gentle. That little growl is exactly what she wanted to hear. Kissing her hard, Michael traces her jawline, then finds her eyes. “Sometimes you don’t orgasm, sometimes I don’t, but I don’t think today is one of those—”
Michael pauses, holding her hand completely still while Laira squirms beneath her.
“You’re infuriating.”
“And you’re close.”
“Close isn’t—” Nibbling her neck is almost cheating. Michael runs her palm across her breast because her nipples aare too sensitive and that and her shoulder and the roughness of her thumb ought to—
Going taut beneath her, Laira exhales, panting. Michael eases her hand away, curling into her chest. They lie there, wrapped in each other, Laira catching her breath while Michael traces the scales on her skin.
“Do they teach how to gloat at the academy?”
“It’s an important part of the command track.”
Laira pats her shoulder, then kisses the top of her head. “You really never give up, do you?”
“You didn’t ask me to stop.”
“I didn’t want you to, I—”
“You don’t want to take more than you think you should.”
“I take so much from you.”
“I offer.”
“You do, and I appreciate that, I just—”
It’s not a fixed point. Sometimes I give more, sometimes you do, if it gets out of balance, we’ll talk about it.”
Laira sighs, kisses her forehead, and sighs. “You make it sound easy.”
“Hasn’t it been?”
“What?”
Michael sits up, smiling down at her in the weak light of the bedroom. Stars reflect off the metal and glass in their quarters, like they’re surrounded by tiny points of light. “We’ve been easy.”
Pushing up on her elbows first, Laira tilts her head, then sits up beside Michael, reaching for the tattoo on Michael’s ribs. Her fingers run delicately across Michael’s sweat-dampened skin. “I trust you.”
“You do.”
“I don’t know where your optimism comes from, and you’re infuriating.”
“It’s my best quality.”
Laira reaches for her, touches her chin, then the corner of her mouth, and they kiss, slow and deep. Kissing her tastes of sex, and Michael could slide Laira’s hand down, find that connection again, but she’s content. She still tingles from Laira’s tongue against her clit. She has such a way with that.
“I don’t want to take you- us - for granted.”
“So you overthink it.”
Laira’s eyes flick down, and she makes that noiuse and Michael toys with her ear until she chuckles. “Infuriating.”
“I doubt, of course I do, but we both wanted this- us - so much we made each other the heart of a whole pocket universe.” She shrugs. “That’s basically empirical proof.”
“Of course it is.” Laira touches her cheek, then kisses her again. “I have ruined beautiful things.”
“Well, we’re exceptional, and neither of us know when to quit so…we’re stuck with each other, and she’s stuck with us.” Michael leans down, kissing her belly, then meets her eyes. “It’ll be incredible.”
“So what did you tell your mother?” Tilly asks, leaning in over the champagne. Actual champagne, from France, because Earth has gone all out for the debut of the VARS drive interface. There’s Romulan ale, and whisky, a dozen different cocktails from all over the Federation, but champagne is so human, and they drank it often in the 23rd century, but here…Earth was separate.
Now the Federation feels whole again.
“I told her that Laira’s pregnant, that we’re thrilled about it though it hasn’t been easy. That we’d love to see her when she has time. Quick, easier than I thought although I drafted it so many times.”
“That’s just you.”
“Finding the right words makes it better.”
“Did it?”
Michael chuckles, finishes her champagne and sets the glass down. “I don’t know if I had the right words. Telling her in person, where I could see her be happy for us seems like the right thing, but maybe it wouldn’t have gone how I thought. Connections are hard for her.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t want a connection.”
“I have one.”
“Is it the one you want?”
Dammit, Tilly. Michael sighs, walking away from the excited crowd towards the “Part of me will always be ten, wanting my mother to come back and make me safe, but that’s not her, not this her anyway.” Saying it over and over will make it sink in better, won’t it? “We have each other now, and that’s such a gift, so I need to work with that.”
“And you are, of course you are, but you’re allowed to miss your other moms.” Tilly leans back against the railing on the balcony, the setting sun lighting her hair. “Philippa would have been so funny.”
“Funny?”
“You got the president of the Federation pregnant, and she married you, that’s like a coup, isn’t it?”
Chuckling Michael nods. “I did have to convince Federation intelligence that I had no plans of destabilizing the Federation’s democracy.”
“Not truly destabilized, maybe a little shaky, sometimes.”
Michael can’t help wincing, aand Tilly laughs, holding her shoulder. “The Vice President was pretty funny yesterday.”
“Her sense of humor is so different than Laira’s.”
“Her and the president of United Earth were a very snappy double act. Admiral Vance thought it would be good for the Federation to see joy in what we do. A spore drive on every starship makes the galaxy a very small place.”
“Opens a whole host of new security issues.”
“For security, you’re in diplomacy now, like it or not, Michael.”
“I hate politics.”
“So you say, over and over. I hate teaching, did I mention that?”
“No, you didn’t. You should explain it to me again.”
Tilly hugs her, holding her tight. “I think you’re going to be the best mom, and I’m proud of you finding your way to do that.”
She loves Tilly, so much, and holding onto her reminds Michael to hope. Gabrielle will be thrilled in her way. Michael will understand that, eventually. Her father tried to warn her, and the trauma Gabrielle’s been through has changed her, Michael has to remember that. Expectations won’t help anyone. They’re together. She’ll meet her granddaughter. That will have to be all right.
Later, Michael watches across the room as Tilly and her cadets show the Governor of Titan how she can use the VARS interface to find anywhere in the galaxy. Laira stands with them, radiant in her blue dress. She rarely wears anything tight, and her jackets have been unbuttoned for so many weeks that Michael’s almost forgotten how fantastic she looks in anything form fitting. Her tailor met them on Earth with an updated wardrobe and this dress clings to the curve of her belly like a wave on the sand.
Keyla nudges her arm as Laira laughs with the Governor. “So she looks happy, and you look incredible.”
Michael smiles, then nods. She rarely gets to attend anything without her dress uniform, but this isn’t about her being Captain Burnham, it’s a party for Paul, Reno, Veddra and Auriello, mostly a civilian occasion. She can wear a dress this time, and she’d been waiting to wear this gold one from Rigel IV. “Thanks.”
“Must be nice to not worry about anything.”
“Oh I can worry without a uniform.”
Keyla looks up at the starscape projected onto the ceiling. “About how the Hitchhiker’s going to go over with the rest of the Federation?”
“Second time we’ve dominated the news cycle.” Michael lifts her glass towards Keyla in a mock toast. “I worry more that Laira’s overcompensating and she’ll going to be miserable tomorrow.”
Keyla nods understandingly. “That sounds like her.”
“She doesn’t think so.”
“Course not, fun today, suffer tomorrow. It’s a classic pilot choice.”
“That’s where it comes from.”
Leaning in, Keyla whispers. “I can translate pilot sometimes, but some of our secrets have to remain secret. Sacred hot shot trust and all that.”
“Right, that makes sense.”
“Maybe you should find a way to enjoy tonight, instead of worrying. Save the worrying for when you have to wear your uniform.”
Michael pats her aarm, and Keyla hugs her, quick and tight.
“You’re such a mom.”
“Hush, I’m fun.”
Chuckling, Keyla grabs another drink and hands it to Michael. “Your idea of fun used to be chasing across a planet getting shot at.”
“It was fun, then.” Michael sips her drink, then sighs. “Sounds awful now.”
“Good thing you have the diplomatic ship.”
“Oh yeah, because diplomats never get shot at.”
Keyla taps Michael’s glass. “Better not worry about that. Drink, have sensible fun, tell your wife she looks hot.”
“She so does.”
Attempting to have fun is easier than she thought. The party’s jovial, even excited. The new spacedock should be able to install spore drives quickly now that they have a workable interface, and there’s still more testing to be done, but within several months most Starfleet ships should have their own spore drive. Federation ships will follow. That means more trade, more exploration, more connections.
She shuts her eyes for a moment and allows the giddiness of the crowd to wash over her. Earth is opening up. The lastest reports about scosian fever on Andoria have been positive. Quarantine efforts are succeeding. Everything might be all right for awhile. Michael can enjoy this.
And everyone wants her too. President Montgomery shares a shot with her and explains how she met Margo during the most recent election. The Vice President and her husband are in the middle of a group of people laughing.
There’s so much laughter.
And joy.
Her shoulders are patted, her cheeks are kissed, and congratulations are whispered, once or twice they’re shouted across a conversation. She finds a way to efficiently that say they’re happy, they are grateful to the Prophets of Bajor, and their crew - their family - for supporting them. They’re very fortunate.
And yes, Laira looks incredible.
Michael’s Vulcan memory training makes it easy to remember the names of all the scientists and engineers who presented at the summit. Dr. Merak doesn’t seem to think she should know him, from the way he begins talking to her, and he’s prepared to be annoyed that Michael doesn’t know his name, but she does.
She’s acutely aware that he’s part of the slipstream group on Luna. She’s seen a few holos of Laira and him, just in passing, and he’s taller than she thought. Perhaps it’s because he’s trying to be imposing. He doesn’t wait for an introduction, and he’s the first person to talk to her in over an hour who doesn’t begin with congratulations.
He doesn’t extend his hand. “Do you miss your anonymity yet? ”
“I lost that before I came to this century, actually.”
“You create waves everywhere you go?”
“Seems that way.” Michael shrugs, fighting fate gets her nowhere. At least being the captain of a time travelling starship is a better reason for being famous than mutiny. She can live with being the president’s wife for as long as Laira ends up being president, there’s several years left in Laira’s first term anyway.
“You solved the Burn.”
“We rescued a lost child.”
He nods, but he’s not listening. “And the DMA.”
“Turns out that was actually pretty easy too.”
“After you left the galaxy and met a new species with technology beyond our imagination.”
“Not a lot of stars out there. It’s weird how dark it is.”
He stares, tilting his head, and Michael smiles back. She’s in too good a mood to fall for whatever trap he’s trying to lay. Laira was nervous about seeing him again, but she didn’t elaborate. For a moment, Michael’s acutely grateful she didn’t meet Merak while he and Laira were still together. Pretending to like him would have been annoying.”
“Did she fall for you then?” His hand tightens on his glass a little.
“Youo’d have to ask her,” she saays, setting down her empty glass on one of the floating trays. “Assuming you mean my wife.”
“That didn’t take you long.”
“Some puzzles just fall into place.”
“When we talked about getting married, she wanted to do it at Mudu Jigurna.”
Michael doesn’t know much about Bajor, only a handful of temples from her briefings and what Laira’s told her. “I’m not familiar with that temple.”
“No, she took you to Resuna Idum.”
There’s some context she’s missing. Something he knows, something he’s still bitter about. Laira didn’t mention wanting to marry him. They were together, but they weren’t heading for the same path. Michael and Laira found together.
Merak toys with the stem of his glasss. “Resuna Idum is one of the most sacred places on Bajor. It’s like getting married at Borobudur on Earth.”
Michael thought their former relationship was much less of a sore spot with him than it appears to be. Perhaps Laira did too. She believes people when they tell her they’re all right. Ironic - considering how much she but it’s something Michael adores about her.)
Shrugging innocently, Michael feigns ignorance. “I thought it was important to Laira because her parents got married there. Mine got married on a space station.”
“How nice.” His tone suggests otherwise. He takes a breath, then sets down his glass, as if he needs his hands free. “Laira told me that it didn't matter to her where we got married, or if we got married at all. We were living in the moment. Life was short and precious.” For a moment, his eyes are soft and his wistful smile is gentle. Michael can see what Laira might have found attractive in him.
Then it’s gone, and his eyes are as cold as parasitic ice. “We were together for years, I supported her through her campaign, and you’re with her and then you’re married and now” he pauses, shaking his head. “Well, it seems it was the will of the Prophets.”
There’s something about him she finds deeply unpleasantly, and her shoulders are tight, like a courier exhange has gone wrong. She has to be overreacting. She’s jealous, or overprotective, something, but as much as she wishes she was the problem, because her reaction is something Michel can control. This isn’t about her.
It about what Laira didn’t want with him, and now has with Michael. That would be difficult to live with, of course he’s upset.
“And we are grateful for their blessing,” Michael says evenly. No point in aggravating his wounds. President Montgomery catches her eye across the room, and she thinks that’s the end of it. He had his chance to snap at her and remind her that she’s obviously the inferior partner. Losing a romantic partner is difficult, of course he’s angry. Lashing out is a typical reaction. Still, it nags at her. Book is happy for them, for Michael especially. Even after everything they went through,
After meeting the governor of Titan and several of the regional leaders of Earth, Michael’s almost forgotten about Merak. Everyone’s hopeful, happy, and it feels like the end of the war, so many centuries ago.
She hasn’t seen Laira for awhile. She must be with Margo and some of the other journalists because she can’t catch sight of either of them in the ballroom. Bridget is with Hugh, Paul, Reno and Veddra, and the latter are decidedly flirty. Michael raises an eyebrow their way and Paul smirks.
Jen and her husband standing talking to Admiral Vance and Ronia, and the rest of her crew’s spread out around the room, but she doesn’t see Laira.
Michael heads out to the plaza, beneath the stars. The night air’s warm and sweet, heavy with humidity, and the trees make a tunnel along the ballroom. She walks a few dozen meters, following the greenery. Around a corner, Michael hears them before she can see them.
Laira’s universal translator is translating her Cardassian into the sharpest enunciation in standard. The voice that follows hers is human. Merak, Michael recognizes after a moment, and he’s saved all that simmering frustration for this argument.
“The gaps in my knowledge of you are because you kept everything to yourself, hidden away like you had your own cloaking device.” Merak takes a step back from her, his hands trembling. “I can’t know what you want, because you don’t share it, and then you walk away, because what we had meant nothing to you.”
“That’s not true.” Laira stands still and straight, her fingers wound together. Her eyes on him.
“We built something important together, at least, I thought we had something that could have lasted, but you vanished on us.” Marek paces away from her, then back, running his hand through his hair. “I lost everything to the DMA. My research, my lab…then you.” Reaching for her face, he caresses her chin. “The lab can be rebuilt, the reserach doesn’t matter anymore because the spore drive is moving forward and slipstream tech is about to be abandoned, and I could have gotten through that, if I had you. We were still together, I should have had you, but you—”
“I couldn’t.” Now her voice is soft, Cardassian diction falling away.
This is not Michael’s argument. This doesn’t even involve her. She should walk away, let Laira find her when she’s ready. It bothers her how close Meraak is to her, how the way he touches her is wrong somehow. Michael’s instincts are usually right, so she stays.
“You failed me when I needed you, and you know, I’d get it if you had a new relationship. Go on a mission, fall in love, but it wasn’t even Michael you left me for, was it? You left me to rot because you didn’t care what happened to me any more.” He holds her chin roughly, his fingers digging into her skin. “Perhaps you never did.”
Inhaling sharply, Laira turns her chin, shakes off his hand. “I loved you, not the way you wanted.”
He balls his hand into a fist, tapping it against the garden wall. “I supported you through your campaign. I went to so many parties and speeches. So many of my paapers were late to publication. Maybe we would have finished if—”
Lairaa rubs her chin. The marks his fingers left are bright pink on her skin. “No.”
“No?”
“You didn’t slow down your research for me. I didn’t ask, and it didn’t happen.”
“I did everything—”
Laira tilts her head, studying him as if shes’s finally seeing him. “We supported each other, I think, perhaps not as well as we could have, or-” she pauses and Michael knows that nervous little laugh too well. “MAybe that wa the best we could do. I am sorry for how I hurt you, but there is no us now. That’s past.”
“And it meant nothing. It means nothing. All I did—” He taps his fist on the wall again, grunting a little. That hurt.
“It’s over.” Laira stands there for another moment, then takes a step away. “This is finished. Maybe it was finished a long time ago. Clarity doesn’t come easily to me, especiaally with my own feelings.”
He gestures at her belly, and the anger leaves his jaw, but his eyes are still too dark; his shoulders too tight. “You didn’t want this.”
“It’s—”
“You didn’t want this with me.”
“I don’t think you did either.” Laira’s tone is soft, and there’s more sorrow in her voice than anger. “This wouldn’t have happened with us.”
“You can’t know that.”
Laira laughs, bitter and exhausted.
Michael should walk away - walk closer - make her presence known, but this needs to resolve, and she doesn’t want to walk away. She can’t leave.
“The Prophets would not have given us a child, and even if they did, you would have hated it.”
“You can’t say that, I’d love to have a child.”
Laira touches her belly, looks down and chuckles. “You would hate having a pregnant wife.”
“Because your perfect Starfleet captain doesn’t care when you sneeze your way through dinner?”
“That’s all pregnant is, a minor inconvenience?”
“You said Bajorans sneeze.”
Laira clicks her tongue, fidgeting with a fold of fabric in her dress. “Humans get nauseated, Cardassians lose the ability to regulate their body temperature. My blood pressure bounces around like a faulty shield regulator. The newest development is that it’s itchy.”
Disgust flits across his face.
“Yuou know I threw up on Michael? I thought I was fine. I was fine. I’m always fine. Then-” Laira waves her hand in an arc and sighs. “We both had to change.”
“Surely that’s not—”
“It’s a mess. I’ve sat through so many meetings trying not to end it in the middle. I’ve nearly fainted in front of three different ambassadors. I can’t sleep, I can’t stay awake. My body’s not even mine—”
“You hate it.”
Michael winces, but she knows what Laira’s going to say. She could say it for her. Taking a step down the path, Michael starts walking toward them.
“I adore it.”
“You can’t possibly—”
Laira smiles, eyes bright. Her voice catches in her throat. “Michael and I made a person, and shee’s here, she’s right here. I don’t know anything about her yet, but she’s going to be extraordinary.”
“And your work?”
“I delegate.”
He laughs, and this might be the first time Michael’s agreed with him. “You’ve never done that before.”
“I haven’t, I didn’t—”
Michael’s boots crunch against the stone and they both turn, eyes on her like searchlights. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right—” Laira begins.
“Nothing to interrupt,” Merak finishes. “We’re done here.” His shoulders are still too tense, and the marks on Laira’s chin are still too pink and Michael would be thrilled if they never saw him again.
But there are pleasantries.
“Michael, this is Doctor Daar Marek, leader of the slipstream propulsion project on Luna.”
He grins, all charm now that Michael’s here. “We’ve met, dear.” He leans in like he’s about to kiss Laira’s cheek, then looks at Michael. “Your wife was remarably gracious about how her crew has made my life’s work irrelevant with their new spore drive.” His smile suggest it’s all a joke. Good fun among friends, but nothing in his eyes matches.
Michael touches Laira’s arm, then slips a hand around her back. “Progress often stings a little, doesn’t it?”
Laira’s grip tightens around her wrist, then eases. She’s all right.
“Like a slap across the face,” Daar replies, still smiling. “But there are always new technologies. Maybe next summit, I’ll have a surprise for you.”
“We’ll look forward to it.” Tension hovers in the air like a warp field, and then he leaves, his footsteps echoing into the night.
Laira’s hand finds her upper arm, holding on. Her breath’s still too fast and her back’s so straight her posture vibrates. “You, as always, have exquisite timing.”