Chapter Text
The transporter whisks them to their quarters, leaving Earth behind for the moment. Michael touches her back, soft and supportive. “I’m going to get tea.”
Star there, perhaps find words after. Michael’s golden dress bares much of her back and Laira’s gaze follows her shoulder blades, then her spine. She’s so beautiful that it’s hard to think. Her heart’s still pounding in her ears, and her fingertips tingle. She left Daar so much quieter the last time, but maybe she didn’t see it. There’s so much she didn't see.
Didn’t want to see.
Michael returns from the replicator, setting the tea on the table by the sofa. Sitting down, she slips her feet from her shoes and curls up, knees beneath her. “It was a good party.”
She should sit, relax, let go of the tension in her back. A strange little flutter twirls in her belly. Not quite an itch, some kind of tugging. She can’t place it. Wouldn’t have even noticed it, but her body’s easier to think about than Daar, or Michael. What’s she supposed to say? How does she explain how much of a mess she made of her relationship with him?
“Are you all right?”
Yes - no - focus. Her feet ache, hot and stiff. Laira sits on the edge of the sofa beside Michael. Reaching down, she removes her shoes.
Michael shifts, moving down to help. The silken folds of her dress part and Michael’s fingers wrap around her ankle. Kissing her knee as she sits up, Michael stares at her chin, but doesn’t reach out. Laira follows her eyes with her fingers, stroking the marks Daar’s fingers left. Little sore points that’ll bruise by morning.
“He wasn’t like that.”
Michael nods, shifting her feet to sit closer. Laira reaches for her foot, pulling it into her lap. Rubbing Michael’s feet will give her ssomething to do woth her hands. Let her focus. “When Voq was activated, he snapped, like a switch. He was Ash, and I loved him, and then he wasn’t.”
Laira sighs, running her thumbs over the ball of Michael’s foot. “Daar’s not a spy.”
“Someone you love turning on you is the same betrayal, spy or not.”
“I thought I ended it better.” Laira’s fingers follow the little bones that run up Michael’s toes, finding a slow rhythm.
Michael grabs her tea and leans back on the sofa, facing her. “What did you say?”
“That I couldn’t be what he needed.” That was it, wasn’t it? “Honestly, I don’t remember.”
“Too busy?”
Looking across at Michael, she loses herself in steady dark eyes. “I wasn’t all right.”
“You were pretty pulled in there for awhile.”
“How could I be depressed? We saved the galaxy.”
Michael touches her toes to Laira’s belly, smiling over. “Of course, depression never gets us when things are all right.”
“I didn’t know how bad it was until it wasn’t so bad.”
“It’s like this fog over everything, or being in one of those negative energy bubbles, everything’s dim.” Michael leans in, closing the space between them.
“Everything but you.” Laira kisses Michael’s knee, then rests her chin on it. “I didn’t think we were going to make it.”
“Neither did I.”
“Not that you’d admit it.”
Laughing, Michael kisses her cheek. “Never.”
Sighing as she reaches for Michael’s dress, Laira toys with the material between her fingers. “It was dark for longer than I knew, I was.”
“I know.” Michael traces her chin, fingers warm against her skin. “I’ve been there, did that crawling back. Little less vomiting.”
Smiling comes so easily with her. “Being sick made it easier. I could end a meeting and go home.” And home wasn’t alone. Home had Micahel, home had the little spark of the hitchhiker. Home existed again after the warp bubble.
“So that’s why you don’t hate it.”
“Being sick with you was the calmest my life has been in years.”
Michael kisses her cheek, still chuckling.
“I threw up on you, we’d been together for what, a week?”
“Six days.”
“And it was fine.”
“You were sick.”
“You didn’t leave.”
Michael takes her hands, wrapping Laira’s fingers in her own. “You never asked me to.”
She feared Michael would leave. She was sure of it for weeks. Everyone leaves. Her relationship with Daar only worked as long as it did because he’d leave, she’d leave - they were both too busy. She never counted on him to stay. Maybe she didn’t want him too, not the way she wanted Michael.
There were so many reasons for that. Perhaps Laira wasn’t ready, or she knew that they wouldn’t be able to be any more than what they were. She was never going to move further, they didn’t have a next.
But Michael did.
“I was so afraid that you would.”
Nodding gently, Michael kisses the back of her hand. “I thought you were willing to do this alone.”
“Willing and wanting are very different things.”
Michael meets her eyes, nearly in her lap. The endless dark of her brown eyes is warm and deep and full of promise. “My crew is my family. I know my place and I know my path. It’s taken longer than I thought to get there, but I know this is where I am meant to be. Where I’d choose to be.” She releases Laira’s hand and touches her chin, sad for a moment, then touches her belly. “Being able to share that is wonderful.”
“My mother has a family, my family but I—”
“You just met them.”
“My crew was close but they’re on one path and mine is another.”
“And yours is isolating.”
“It wasn’t at first.” Laira breath shudders in her chest, and carrying this truth for as long as she hasn’t doesn’t make it any easier to say. “Being an ambassador is wonderful: bringing in new people, making the Federation stronger, finding ways to benefit everyone - I made connections. I wasn’t alone.”
“Then they needed a president.”
“Jen’s already done so much for the Federation, some of the other council members are qualified, a few even wanted the position, but after you colved the Burn, the office of the president was going to be negotiating with everyone. Bringing them in. I could do that.”
“You do that well.”
Chuckling, Laira pats Michael’s hand. “Thank you, but you might be a little biased, dear.”
“My opinion is indefatigable.” Michael kisses her cheek, then curls in against her. The heat of her softens the knot in Laira’s chest.
“After the election, it changed. I changed. I know the Federation Council, the planetary leaders, but it’s different as their president. My role is different.”
“You’re set apart.”
“Further than I thought. I expected some—”
“But there’s light years between you—”
“And everyone,” Laira finishes for her. “Parsecs even.”
“And Daar?”
Laira shifts, moving her legs, pulling Michael in tighter. “He changed too.”
“It’s different dating a president.”
“Protocol changed, my security detail tripled, my schedule was inflexible—”
“And he didn’t want to share you.”
Taking a breath aches, as if her chest is too heavy. “I couldn’t be helpful to him. My presence changed a room.”
“And he wasn’t getting over it.”
“I shoould have—”
“No.” Michael sits up, touching Laira’s chin, tracing the little sore marks with that furrow in her forehead. “It’s not you. Some of this is on him. Being with you is complicated. The protocol’s long, and the securty can be a lot, but it’s worth it.”
Laira swallows, her head aches like she’s going to cry. “It is?”
“Trust me, I’m kind of an expert on being married to the President.” Michael kisses her and leaves the sofa, taking the dermal regenerator from the cabinet. “Although, I think Arjun would have been a great first gentleman.”
“He would.” Laira sits up, holding her head steady for Michael. “I think Saru might, as well, if that interests him.”
Michael grins, her nose crinkling. “Oh he’d be great at it. Loves protocol, already speaks Vulcan and Romulan.”
The dermal regenerator glows, warm and bright, and her chin itches as it heals.
“You bruise so easily.”
“I do.” Laira looks down at the dermal regenerator in Michael’s hands, lowering her eyes.
“I know you want to blame yourself; it’s easier if you do. Then it’s not him, you’ve done this. If you’d done better, he wouldn’t be the way he is.” Michael sighs, sets aside the device and reaches for Laira’s hands. “He made choices, and who he blames them on is irrelevant. Relationships change, sometimes they end well, sometimes they don’t, and it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Nodding is easier than speaking, and Laira’s not sure if her voice would work. This, now, is better than she could have hoped, better than she could have imagined. If losing Daar wasn’t her fault, if she didn’t doom that relationship, then this one might make it. This can last.
“It’s a big galaxy, and a bigger universe and I can’t promise forever. I can give you now. I love now.”
Shutting her eyes, Laira nods again, then laughs, clearing the lump in her throat. “Now is incredible.”
Michael pulls her in, hugging her tight. “Isn’t it?”
On the third morning after the party, they’re finishing on their visit to Earth. The ambassadors are drafting the last for the treaty language and the VARS drive specifications are going out to all Federation shipyards. Laira sits on Michael’s sofa, tea getting cold on the table in front of her. Michael’s in the shower. Velocity with Keyla left her dripping with sweat after breakfast and Laira can still taste the salt from when she kissed her.
Such a tease.
Laira shifts the focus on her holopadd from technological exchange between Earth and Ni’Var back to the Andorian relief effort.
Zora chimes in from overhead, gentle as always. “Madam President, I apologize for interrupting. I have an incoming message for the captain, and the connection is unstable.”
“I can get her, Zora, send it through.”
“It is from Andoria space, her mother, Gabrielle Burnham.”
Leaving the sofa, Laira pauses in the doorway to the bathroom. She raises her voice over the sonic shower. “Michael?”
“Everything okay?”
“Zora has a message from your mother.”
“My mother? Put it through, I’ll get a towel.”
Gabrielle’s voice carries from the living room, where she stands, hands behind her back. “You can take the time to get dressed, Michael, I’m not going anywhere.”
Turning towards her, Laira grabs her robe from the back of the sofa and pulls it on, wrapping it around her belly. “It’s good to hear from you, I hope you’re well.”
“Not getting as much sleep as I’d like, but-” Gabrielle pauses, dropping her eyes to Laira’s belly. “You’ll experience that soon enough.”
Several more months does not seem soon at all, but Laira nods. “We appreciate what you and the other Qowot Milat are doing. What you risk every day for the good for the Federation.”
“And the galaxy,” Gabrielle adds, releasing her hands. “The situation on the Andoria remains tense and unpredictable. Messy. A few factions are trying to organize elections, but there are many who long for the stability of the Emerald Chain, and resent those they saw as lesser trying to help.” She looks past Laira to Michael, who emerges from the bedroom in a tank top and pants to stand beside Laira.
“Yes Michael, I got your message, and I know you would have rather told me about my granddaughter in person. I’m sorry that couldn’t happen. It’s so busy here, and even if it wasn’t, I’m afraid I’m more comfortable being an observer in your life than a participant. J’Vini helped me realize that.”
Laira slips her hand into Michael’s.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is.”
“I let go of you hundreds of times, and you’re back, and I love that, and you, I’m just not good at it.” Gabrielle shakes her head and the blue fabric of her habit moves with her. “I’m happy for you, for both of you. Parenting is hard, worse than inventing time travel, but it’s rewarding. Your father used to say that he found new levels of happy once we had you. You brought out things we could only imagine before.” She pauses, staring through Michael at a memory centuries past. “It would be easier if he was here, I think he’d be more of what you want.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Michael insists: calm, sad, and steady. “I’m grateful you can experience this with us.”
“Thank you, Michael.” Gabrielle looks to her left, then smiles at them. “I need to go.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, babygirl.” That smile is absolutely radiant, just like Michael’s. “Laira, being pregnant was hell, even when Michael took it pretty easy on me. I’m not going to tell you it’s all wonderful, but it’s worth it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ll call when I can. Keep each other safe. Sleep now, because after she gets here the galaxy’s never the same.” Gabrielle smiles one more time. “It’s that much brighter.”
Her holo disappears and they’re standing together, staring at the empty side of their quarters. Michael sighs, and the air in the room seems heavier. She squeezes Laira’s hand then releases her fingers, smiling down sheepishly at her bare feet. “Guess I should finish getting dressed.” She heads into the bedroom, not asking for company. She rarely does. Too independent.
Laira follows her, sitting on the bed while Michael takes her socks out of the dresser. Pulling up one leg on her left, she rests her chin on her knee. “Would your father be more excited to babysit?”
“He’d be thrilled.” Michael pulls one sock on and stops, shaking her head as she smiles. “I have more memories of him. Mom was always so much busier. Dad did more things with me. Coloring in holograms of the galaxy, reading new parts of science, building model starships…” she trails off, pulling on her other sock. “I can imagine him tossing her up in the air so she’ll laugh. He’s tall like you, so it’s easier.”
“My dad and I used to assemble whole fleets of model starships, gluing them together in the mess after dinner, setting them all up so we could send images back to my grandparents.” Laira reaches over for Michael’s hand. “I wish her was here too, and my mother.”
Michael slips her fingers into Laira’s easily. “I can’t help thinking about my dad, and Amanda, Sarek - and you know Philippa would be just wonderful with a baby, though we’d never ever be able to tell her.”
“The former Emperor?”
“She grew up in that terrible place, full of darkness and betrayal, and she chose to be my mother. I mean, she adopted the other me, but here, she chose me again. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“Your other parents choose you too.”
“More than most, right?” Michael laughs a little, but it’s soft, and Lairaa can feel the loneliness in it.
“Someone I love very much told me recently that we get now, and we can try to make now as wonderful as we can. We lost almost everyone, but we have your mother, and your crew, and that’s a lot of family. She’s going to be so loved.”
Michael lies back on the bed, holding their clasped hands to her chest. “And Vance, and Jen, and I’m pretty sure half the planetary leaders in the galaxy are already enamored with our baby.”
“No shortage of babysitters.”
“None at all.” Michael toys with Laira’s bracelet, rubbing her fingers against the back of her hand. “I’m happy.”
“It’s okay to be sad too.”
“She can’t drop everything and—”
“Neither can we.”
“I know, right, absolutely—”
Laira lies down beside her, curling on her side so her face is almost on Michael’s shoulder. “But she’s your mother.”
“Missing everyone else is illogical. We have her.”
“Missing everyone else is absolutely right.” Laira snuggles in a little closer, her forehead touching Michael’s cheek. “After my mother died, I still had my dad, and he tried so hard to be there for me, to take me with him whenever he could so I wouldn’t be alone. I loved him, and I adored him for that, but he was never also my mother too. I still miss her.”
Michael strokes her shoulder, pulls her a little closer and they lie there, wrapped in each other’s breathing.
“Philippa would love arguing with you.”
“Oh?”
“She thinks democracy is foolish, she’d love me being married to you.”
Laira settles in closer, her head on Michael’s chest. “I think my chances of a bloody coup d’etat are less in our current system.”
“So much less.”
“Good.”
“One last thing, ma’am. I’m adding Commander Nhan to your security detail.” Vance pours himself more coffee on his end of the holocomm. He wraps the cup in his hands and looks at Laira. “Coridan III is still recovering from their Emerald Chain occupation, it’s planetary security is less secure than we’d like.”
“I see.”
“Commander Nhan has worked with the Discovery crew. She knows them. She's also had significant engagements with Emerland Chain remnants, so she knows what to look for.”
Laira nods. Extra security is wise, and Michael has great respect for Nhan.
“She's also Barzan,” Vance adds, sitting back a little. His expression softens, concern showing through. “She can't catch or carry scosian fever.”
So the person standing beside her in crowded rooms won't accidentally give it to her. Smart, but worrying at the same time.
“Scosian has been difficult to track on Coridan,” Vance continues. “Coridanites are immune, but the spread across their planet suggests they might be carriers.”
Laira toys with her bracelet to avoid chewing the inside of her lip. “And we don't know.”
Vance nods.”Starfleet medical has the best minds in the galaxy and we don't know. It's as of scosian was designed to avoid detection.”
In a timeline long gone, someone sat in a laboratory and tweaked and twisted this disease until it evaded biofilters, hid in the proteins of the brain, and spread in ways their best medicine struggles to trace. The makers are gone, their original enemies might also be gone, and scosian fever remains. Laira forces herself to release her grip on the arm of her chair.
“Commander Nhan and her team are an extra layer of protection. You’re an important symbol, now more than ever. The galaxy is stable enough to have a family, to be with your family, and to keep that you have to be safe. ”
Laira has made herself more vulnerable. The whole galaxy knows about their hitchhiker now, and reactions can be difficult to predict.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
That sensation returns when she stands from her chair. Like a bubble inside her environmentak suit, except she's the suit and it's there and gone. Like a nudge. Hugh said she'd be able to feel the hitchhiker moving soon, but this doesn't feel like that should.
Although she has no idea how would a being moving inside her feel? Would it itch? Should it feel like a bubble rising up. She stood still too long, because now Vance smiles, curious.
“Anything else Madam President?”
“No, I'm sorry. It's —”
He waits, standing to mirror her. Coffee in his hand. “Lightheaded again?”
“It feels like bubbles, I think, but I don’t know. It’s disconcerting.”
“Ah.” Vance sips his coffee, grinning over the mug. “Comes and goes, a bizarre sensation you can’t easily identify?”
He’s nearly as calm about things as Hugh. “Yes.”
“No idea what that could be, ma'am.” Vance says easily, smiling at her belly before looking up again. “I’ve heard on very good authority that you miss the bubbles when you can easily identify a foot pressed against your ribs.”
“How lovely.”
“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, ma’am.” His smile is far too bright before the holo clicks off.
Shaking her head at the empty space where he was, Laira paces to the window, tentatively touching her belly above that feeling of bubbles. Their hitchhiker won’t be able to feel Laira’s hand, of course, but it’s almost like she’s afraid of spooking it, somehow making it stop. She has work to do.
“Zora, what’s next on my calendar?”
“You have a meeting with the ambassadors from Ni’Var, Deneva Prime and Akaali in thirty-seven minutes, Madam President.”
“Thank you.” She opens her jacket and slips it off. Usually it’s very comfortaable but she can’t stretch her arms fully and her skin seems confining today. Leaving her jacket on the back of her chair, Laira glances at her notes. She has time.
“Madam President, might I make a personal inquiry?”
“You may.”
“Are you able to feel the motion of your fetus internally?”
Right to it. “I believe so. I’m not entirely sure.”
“Have you asked Dr. Culber for verification?”
Laira sighs, rolls her shoulders one at a time and then walks towards the door of her office. “I will.”
“You have not asked him yet.”
“I have not.”
Zora leaves her in silence for a moment, but Laira can hear the question floating in the air.
“Why haven’t I?”
“It does seem like the quickest resolution to your question.”
“It is.” She walks into the corridor, plans a route in her head, and starts walking. Usually when her jacket’s off, and she’s alone the crew lets her slip by without being formal. Walking the ship as Madam President makes everyone a little more tense. The captain’s wife in a camisole is much less intimidating.
“You do not wish to have your concerns resolved?”
“I do, and I will, I-” she pauses, just between the junction of bulkhead S37A and bulkhead I31A. The portal here is one of her favorites, and the billowing gas outside the ship is charged and bright pink. They’re near a nebula, but not one she recognizes from this angle. “Where are we?”
“We are outside the Rosette Nebula, near stellar cluster 2244. We are responding to a distress call from an Orion trade convoy, which lost navigation in the stellar wind.”
“Do we have communications?”
“We do at the moment, Madam President, however, the likelihood that we will need to enter the ion storm to find the trade convoy is high. Would you like me to reschedule your upcoming meeting?”
Discovery’s moving closer to the brilliant plumes of solar gases, and losing communications will make her meeting schedule tomorrow daunting, but she doesn’t mind a break at the moment.
“Please.”
Zora pauses, more out of politeness than any effort it takes to rearrange Laira’s schedule. “I must inform you that moving today’s meetings will require filling all remaining space in your schedule today and tomorrow.”
“It can’t be helped though, can it?”
“Unfortunately not, Madam President. The Orion trade convoy we are trying to find lost navigational binding and was split up in the ion storm. There are eleven ships adrift in the gas cloud. We are assisting the Armstrong in their rescue effort.”
Then they might see Captain Saru for dinner, which would be nice. It’ll certainly cheer Michael up. Laira takes the turbolift to engineering, rather than beaming, because the hum is soothing, and it always feels so antiquated in the most delightful way. She’s rather fond of Discovery’s turbolifts.
Zora waits for the lift to move before she asks, “May I elaborate on my query from our previous conversation?”
“You may.”
“Would not resolving your concerns now make the rest of your day more pleasant?”
“I don’t want to bother Dr. Culber.”
“It is safe to say assume he will not be bothered by your question.”
Laira shuts her eyes. She’s stuck, as she often is, but the difficulty of explaining her emotional knots to a sentient starship might help her make sense of them herself. “How do you know I can feel the baby? Do you know when she moves?”
A hologram of the hitchhiker appears in the turbolift with her: a tiny golden creature surrounded by darker orange light. She resembles a baby more every time they look at her, and it’s both wonderful and intimidating.
“I am aware of her movements. I track her biosignature as I do all of the crew. I must confess I spend more time monitoring her than other, less fragile beings on board.”
“You like keeping an eye on her?”
“Her continued healthy development is a priority, I hope I have not overstepped.”
“No, no, that’s all right.” Laira sacrificed much of her autonomy and privacy when she agreed to serve as president, and the number of people who relatively checked on her well-being rose exponentially after the election. “So you know when she moves, and you’ve been able to connect that to my behavior?”
“You become distracted.”
“It’s very disconcerting.” Somehow that’s the easiest to admit to Zora. Laira tilts her head, because she never thought to ask Zora about this before. “Do you ever find it strange when we move inside of you?”
“The movement of the crew within Discovery is an anticipated and pleasant part of my existence. If the crew were to be absent, I would be emotionally affected.”
“So perhaps you understand this better than anyone. The crew is your responsibility, and you keep them safe. Knowing they’re with you brings you joy.”
Zora changes the hologram of the baby to the blue circular shape the seems to be her manifestation. “That is a reasonable assumption.”
“So I’m happy, and nervous, and I feel like every time I have a question I race to ask Hugh about it, and I don’t know if that’s asking too much of his time.”
“He is very busy.”
Laira smiles at the the blue shape of Zora and steps off the turbolift. The shape follows her, as if they’re walking together. “I feel like I need him a lot.”
“I believe that is an expected response to internal gestation. It is a confusing experience.”
“I should be able to deal with it on my own. Run a scan, ask you, trust that everything is fine. Not take his time.”
“Can you take what is freely given to you?”
“Of course.”
“Then shouldn’t you?”
Laira stops in the corridor, staring at the hologram with her. “Elaborate.”
“Dr. Culber devotes himself to the physical and emotional well-being of the crew of Discovery, which has included you and the being inside of you since you returned from the warp bubble. It would take very little of his time to confirm what you suspect, and that time would be well spent by his own measuring. Why do you doubt that he would wish to help you?”
“I don’t doubt him.”
“You doubt yourself.”
“I’m fine, Zora, and I will be fine if Hugh tells me I can feel her today, or tomorrow, or days from now. I don’t need—”
“Perhaps it is not about needing.” Zora moves the lights within her circle, as if fidgeting with her hands the way Laira can’t help doing. “You exist together on this ship and you would not hestitate to assist any member of the crew.”
“I’m their president.”
“Dr. Culber is your doctor.”
Laira stops, again, hands on her hips. She stares towards her feet, which are beginning to be eclipsed by her belly. “I feel ridiculous. I know I’m pregnant. I know what’s happening. It’s something I want to happen.”
“And your emotional response is not what you would like it to be?”
“No. Maybe.”
“I believe Dr. Culber would be able to assist with that as well.”
Standing beside Zora, Laira chuckles, looks upward and walks into engineering. Not that she needs anything, she likes to watch them at work and Reno and Stamets are always welcoming.
“How’s it going?” Reno asks without looking up from her console. “Ready to see the inside of stellar cluster 2244 perhaps a little closer than you like?”
“Zora’s managed to explain why I need therapy.”
“One of those mornings, eh?” Reno takes a piece of some small edible rope-like object and passes it to Laira. “I think she’s working for Culber, making sure his calendar is full.”
“His calendar is full enough for anyone,” Stamets says, glaring at the food but not saying anything.
“Earth licorice, it’s good, it's candy.”
Laira sniffs it and takes an experimental bite. It’s sweet and salty all at once, herbal like deka tea from Bajor.
“Most licorice is good. Reno replicates the weird stuff from Northern Europe.” Stamets passes them again and watches Laira’s face as she takes another bite. “If you hate it, I can get you aa real snack.”
Reno looks wounded. “What happened to ‘you can’t eat in engineering’?”
“Nothing. You, Reno, can’t eat in engineering.” He tilts his head towards Laira. “She’s the captain’s wife, the rules are different.”
Veddra chuckles from another console, smiling easily. “I like how her position as president of the entire Federation is not what gets her grace to eat in engineering.”
“No jacket, no rank,” Reno says, passing Veddra another piece of forbidden licorice. “No ma’am’s unless Mrs. Burnham’s dressed fancy.”
“Oh, I see, that’s a wise shortcut.” Veddra gestures down at the holographic work station in the center of the lab. “Since you’re here, and off duty, would you like to see how we’re going to save the Orion convoy?”
Laira nods, grateful that it'll be so easy to just watch for awhile. “Please.”
“It’s really very clever,” Reno says as she leads the way down to the holo. “Even if some of it is the Armstrong’s idea.”
“Captain Saru was one of us.”
“And those were his best days.” Reno shakes her head at Stamets. “We’re trying to cultivate a friendly rivalry, remember?”
“Right, right.” Stamets touches Laira’s back, guiding her to the right place to stand as they call up a holo of the nebula. “I’m working on it.”