Chapter Text
Nibbling along her ear, Michael chuckles into the side of her neck. "You're not tired?"
She should be. It's late enough to curl int Michael and go to sleep, but Michael's body pressed against hers is a wondrous feeling. Michael's knee between her thighs makes her gasp.
Playing with the skin of her belly with her fingers, Michael kisses her. They've been wrapped in each long enough that Laira's lips are smooth from kissing and Michael tastes of her. Sweat's drying in her hair and Michael's hand could be lower.
Laira whimpers, then shivers as Michael kisses across her collarbone. "No, I'm not."
"Will you be tired tomorrow?"
Shaking her head, Laira pouts up as Michael takes her time returning to kiss her mouth. "It's meetings anyway," she mutters into Michael's lips. "Not important."
"You're skillfully maneuvering the galaxy into peace dealing with a isolationist, populist—" Michael cuts off, kissing her way down to Laira's swollen breast.
"Don't remind me."
"You are the Federation," Michael says, nuzzling her way across to the other breast. She presses her knee a little lower and Laira rolls her hips up into it. It doesn't seem to matter how many orgasms she's had, she needs Michael to touch her.
Michael's braids tickle her chest, and Michael's hand finally slips downward, rubbing over her belly, then lower still. She's already had Michael's exquisite mouth between her thighs, twice, and yet, she aches for the pressure of her fingers.
Laira's been almost too aroused, all day, even in the endless after lunch meeting, where all she could focus on was the idea of Michael in bed.
She didn't even have enough patience for that; they started on the sofa as soon as they were through the door.
"Harder?" Michael asks, half-teasing. Pressure, speed, none of it seems to matter. Michael touches her and she's wet. Michael kisses her and she's shivering with want. Michael touches her and—
That can't be an orgasm, it's only been a moment, but her nerves are singing, tingling, and Michael pushes in, curling her fingers deep. It's her thumb that sends Laira's thoughts tumbling.
Then it's just panting, hissing, into Michael's shoulder as sensation spirals up, explodes.
Holding up her left hand before she kisses her again, Michael nuzzles her cheek. "Good thing I can alternate."
Laira's breath takes a moment to return, but her control is still somewhere in the mycelial network, for all the good it's doing her. "I think you could tell me I was about to climax, and I would."
"We should try that." Michael flops to the bed beside her, then rolls to grab her water. "Where your meetings all terribly dull?"
Dragging herself up enough to drink the water Michael hands her, Laira ties not to look too long at the smooth skin of Michael's neck, and her perfect shoulder, and the curve of her waist. "We talked about Ni'Var."
"So you thought about me."
"I thought about nothing but you."
"Picture me making my sensible face so you could get your work done?"
Imagining Michael shoving her back on the conference table, parting her legs and ravishing her with her extraordinary hands isn't how Laira's supposed to spend her time. The galaxy will have to forgive a little distraction. Michael's too stunning.
"Not the sensible face."
Michael rolls onto her stomach, studying Laira from her elbows. "You didn't."
"I can't stop myself."
Shaking her head, Michael sighs. "Hormones are intense."
"Maybe you're just gorgeous and incredible in bed."
"I am those things, true, you're very-" Michael pauses, finding her thigh with her hand. It's enough to make Laira squirm, then whimper. "-appreciative of my talents at the moment," Michael finishes. "There has to be a point where you'll be content."
"I am, I will be, I—" Laira's protest ends in a moan. Michael's hand's moving upwards and if she'd just— "Please."
Raising her eyebrows, Michael kisses her knee, then lazily works her way down, nibbling as she goes. As talented as she is with her hands, her mouth can match any rigorous demands Laira's hormones make. That Starfleet captain perfectionist trait is incredible useful in bed. Michael's teeth almost hurt against her thigh, but she kisses the spot, eases Laira's hips where she wants them. Michael takes her time, and the warmth of her there - and not there - is maddening. She knows - she loves - but damn, she's —
"Michael doesn't think I should enhance your vision," Hugh says, patting her shoulder. "All the humans and mostly humans who have their eyes adjusted to Penumbra's weak light have reported side effects for a few days."
Laira tilts her head, folds her hands over and belly and waits for Hugh to say it. It'll be nausea. Lately everything leads to nausea. Now that she's finally over her own, the universe keeps swinging around to that. "Let me guess."
"Michael said she hasn't been this nauseated since she fell out of a wormhole through nine hundred years so, we're skipping it for you." Hugh presses the hypospray into the side of her neck. "This will neutralize the fungal spores in the air so you can breathe, but you'll need another dose in thirty hours." Hugh fills another hypo and hands it to her. "You should be back on board well before then, but just in case."
"Thank you, and I'll keep that in mind."
"Technological enhancement for your vision would go against Penumbrian cultural norms, so you'll just be a little blind, especially outside."
"Their night's only seventeen hours long, I'm sure that won't be a problem." She keeps her tone light and Hugh turns his gaze to Nhan, who nods.
"Everyone you're with will be able to see just fine. My low light vision is excellent. So you'll have to remain with your security detail at all times. Good excuse to follow proper procedure." Nhan smirks a little and Laira raises her eyeridges innocently. "Which, of course, you always do, ma'am."
"Anything else, Doctor?"
Hugh calls up a chart on his badge, pointing to a long list of foods in red. "They pride themselves on their self-sufficiency, growing their own food. Many of their dishes are incompatible with your biochemistry, and the hitchhiker's. You shouldn't eat or drink anything that's not replicated. So we'll send someone down with food when you have breaks in negotiations."
"Don't eat or drink anything, don't look around, keep my head down."
"If you could keep your head down behind cover, that would help," Nhan adds, and the look she shares with Hugh reminds Laira how fond she is of both of them.
They beam down with her ever-increasing entourage: two council members, Gozre and Vugoam, her security detail, Lieutenant Tilly and five of her cadets. The cadets have served as diplomatic aides on several planets now, and their presence is useful. They will be better prepared than any Starfleet officers currently serving, with a few exceptions. Michael and her crew, of course, are always in a category of their own.
Her first round of introductions and meetings takes most of the morning. The conference rooms have no windows, and are carved carefully into the stone. Instead of powered lighting, all the interior areas are lit with biolumiscent plants of some kind. Perhaps they are mushrooms, they're not plants, Michael's voice in her head reminds her, but they're growing and not animals and—
The hitchhiker turns within her, sending that sensation like bubbles along her left side. In the break before the next round of trade talks, Cadet Harral - the young Orion - hands her a water bottle from Discovery. She could ask him for tea, and he'd find it, because they're always so resourceful, but it feels decadent to want it. Lunch will be soon. Water from Discovery's replicators started tasting of home at some point, and the metal of the bottle is the same. It's comforting.
Her thoughts are wandering and Michael's naked back in the light of the stars in their quarters keeps creeping into her thoughts. The way the sweat runs over her shoulderblades when she's just back from the gym…
"It's difficult to maintain focus, is it not?" Gozre asks, tilting his head towards her belly. "I am forever impressed by your ability to ignore what must be a very disconcerting experience."
"Internal gestation is one of the more difficult ways to grow a child."
"Saurian offspring are gestated in communal nests, and that has been made much easier with the return of dilithium. My partners and I have eleven potential eggs on our homeworld right now."
"Eleven at once?" she says, taking her time closing her water bottle. "You will be busy."
"Saurians are born much more developed than of your species. They'll start attending our educational centers within a week of their birth. My partners will see to their education." He lifts a type of meat on a skewer from the buffet Laira can't eat any of and eats it delicately, savoring each bite with his sharp teeth. "The meat here is delicious."
"I'm glad you're enjoying it."
His huge eyes meet hers and she doesn't need to be telepathic like Jen to guess what he's thinking. She's too delicate, too fragile, overly committed to the raising of her underdeveloped organism and thus unable to serve at the same capacity as a Saurian who can trust his other partenrs to raise his children without his presence. The hitchhiker will be dependent on her and Michael for years in a way Saurian children never are.
Vulcan and Betazoid pregnancies are longer, Andorian pregnancies are much more fraught with risk. They all grow, and learn, and share the stars. Patience will have to be one of her virtues.
Nhan leans in, close enough that no one else could hear her. "Every time he talks to you I like him less."
"He does have that effect on many."
After sharing a glance, Nhan slips away again, falling behind Laira like a shadow. Just a few more hours after lunch, then it'll be over for the day. The planetary council of Penumbra is reasonably pleasant to deal with. They know what they want from the Federation and they're reasonably polite in reaching for it.
They agree on taking an hour for lunch, and another hour after that to rewrite the morning's proposals with their respective parties, which is again reasonable.
"If this gets any easier, I'll start hoping we don't have a hijinks," Council member Vugoam says, tilting her head. "That's not right, is it? What is the Earth saying?"
Gozre corrects her. "You would say that you don't want to jinx it, on Earth. A quaint, if puzzling saying." He turns his huge eyes to Laira and she shrugs.
"An apt ancient Cardassian saying is that we should already be aware of the knife we don't see at our throats, and ready for the next behind our backs."
"Are you suggesting we need to be more suspicious?" Gozre intends to fish for an argument with Laira, but Vugoam can't resist a feisty discussion, and she asks how suspicious it is right to be, which allows Laira to slip away.
Cadet Harral stands by the doorway with his message. He stands at attention in his red uniform, so stiff that he matches the stone beside him. "Captain Burnham is here for you, ma'am."
"Thank you, cadet."
Nhan's hand rests on her back, guiding her through the doorway. How badly Laira can see in the weak light is a reasonably well-kept secret so far, but it's darker outside than it was in the quiet conference hall. The clouds are thick tonight, so the stars are hidden. Penumbra prides itself on maintaining the natural darkness, so other than a few soft lights and some biolumiscent mosses, there's little for Laira to see. Nhan must see details in the stones beneath and the garden around her, but to Laira it's mostly soft darkness.
Michael's silhouette is fuzzy, a shadow in the shadows. It must be her, and Laira likes to think she can tell, but she must have hesitated.
Nhan leans in close to her ear. "I'll be back in an hour."
No ma'am means she's been released from needing to be the president, if even just for lunch
Michael's hand finds hers, warm and solid. "I was hoping the clouds would pass, but it's pretty dense up there. When the clouds are gone the stars are incredible."
"I'll take your word for it."
It's too dark to see Michael smile, but it's in her voice. "Step up here, then there's one more."
"Taking us all the way to the back?" By the wall is better for security, the back is probably more romantic. One of the planetary leaders was just telling her how fantastic their green spaces are. If not green.
Michael reaches back to her elbow, holding her steady. "I may have forgotten how big the discrepancies in our vision are at the moment."
"Ah." There's a tightness in her voice. Like a growl. "Nausea does that to you, doesn't it?"
Michael winces. "How'd you know?"
"I've had some experience," Laira says, her tone light enough that Michael chuckles.
"I don't know how you dealt with this for as long as you have."
"I'm very good at convincing myself that something is worth it."
Michael's hands guide her down onto a stone bench and Michael sits next to her. "Is that how you ended up running for office?"
"Might be part of it." The light is so tentative around them that Laira could be in a powerless cargo bay. "Hopefully lunch isn't messy."
"You wouldn't be able to tell anyway."
"Good point."
Michael's hands cover hers for a moment, then her fingers brush her cheek. "How are negotiations going?"
"They're going well. I'm most likely not need to maneuver anything to bring you in on short notice."
"Saving something in reserve?"
"You've been an excellent last card in the past." The silence holds them for a moment, enveloping them like the darkness.
Michael stands a little, kissing her cheek so the warmth of her mouth lingers. She finds Laira's hands and wraps her fingers around the familiar shape of hasparat.
"You picked something I'd know how to eat in the dark."
"Soup seemed like a bad idea."
Michael picks at bread, uninterested, and Laira's achingly aware of what that sensation is like. Today she's hungry, and her hasparat's disappearing as quickly as it's polite to chew.
"Did you try the fruit?"
Handing Laira her water, Michael shakes her head, braids rustling. After a moment she realizes how useless that gesture is."I didn't, I will."
"Try it. Fruit isn't bad, even if eating it ends up a temporary arrangement."
"You're the expert."
"I have a extensive knowledge, at this point." Laira leans over, gently resting her head on Michael's. "My experience with food poisoning and making terrible choices in a cockpit was fairly vast before I met you, so don't feel too guilty."
Michael holds up a piece of fruit for her to take. Laira doesn't recognize the smell right away, and her hands are greasy from the hasparat. She doesn't move to take it, and then it's at her lips. Michael feeds it to her, delicate and gentle.
"I should have given you the napkin."
Laira makes a noise in agreement and wipes her hands, but waits, letting Michael feed her again. Michael's fingers touch her lips for a moment and she sighs, approving, maybe a little too longing because now Michael laughs.
"It's not really dark enough for that."
"Not dark enough for what, Captain?" Laira runs her hand down Michael's thigh. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're implying."
Kissing her neck is evil of Michael, past flirting straight into taunting, because they don't have time and this is the wrong place and Laira doesn't mean to moan.
Not really.
"Keep going."
"You can't be late for your meeting."
"I can be late, I'm—" Laira stops, because Michael's lips are too perfect right there on her neck for her to be able to continue.
"You'll have to wait for dinner."
"You enjoy torturing me."
"I do, I'll admit it." Michael leans in, kissing her chin, then her neck.
Hissing with want, Laira digs her fingers into Michael's arm. "You have to stop that."
"You don't want me to."
"I absolutely do not, but I—"
Michael's teeth brush her lip, then she pulls away. "I'll see you later."
"Tease."
"You love it." Michael rests her forehead against Laira's and reaches down to touch her belly. "Good luck making the galaxy a better place."
"I try."
"Take care of the squirmy little one."
Shaking her head, Laira sighs. "I think you're right, she wants to be a pilot."
"Testing the limits of her domain?"
"She's up, then down, then over—" Laira stops herself. She loves knowing where she is, and that she's growing, but it's disconcerting. Distracting. "I'm not complaining."
"You're allowed."
"This is better than nausea."
Michael rolls her eyes. "Again, your patience with that can not be understated."
Touching Michael's cheek, Laira hums sympathetically. "You only have to deal with the eyes for a few more hours, then Hugh can switch them back."
"You're not going to tell me it's better than being pregnant?"
"I'd never dare."
"You know, being pregnant is best, of course, has to be when she's ours." Michael leans down, kissing her belly in the dark. Others around them might be able to see her, and see the way Laira kisses her head, but let them.
"I have to go."
"So I have to let you."
"That's usually how it works."
Michael steals one last kiss and helps Laira to her feet. "I suppose the Federation can have you for the afternoon."
"You get me at night."
"You don't want to wait for night."
"I don't want to wait at all."
Michael wrinkles her nose in that gorgeous way, and Laira could blow off the whole rest of the day to be with her. She can wait. It'll be just as delicious to take Michael's clothes off later. It'll give her something to think about while her meetings get mired debate and treaty wording.
Commander Nhan offers her arm this time, and Laira takes it. "Good lunch?"
"Wonderful, but I didn't get all the dessert I wanted."
Nhan's smile carries into her words. "That sounds just about right for someone approaching the middle, at least on Barzan."
"Oh?" Funny how some things go across cultures. Laira keeps her voice soft, so only Nhan can hear her. "I'm not used to being this…hungry."
"Food's never tasted this good, ma'am?"
"You could say that."
"Good." Nhan pauses for a moment, quietly holding her glee. "You should enjoy yourselves, both of you. Captain Burnham doesn't often take time for herself."
"She does better with that now, I think."
"She does, you're wonderful for her." Nhan leaves her for a moment and returns with a cup of tea. She leans in when she sets it down, her mouth just beside Laira's ear. "If you need me to end the meeting, turn the handle towards the door."
It's so dark that even in the conference room that Laira can barely see the door they came in through. She nods, touching Nhan's arm in thanks.
Ther discussions run long, and deep, outlining the terms for Penumbra becoming a Federation member, what it would change, how they would need to enforce certain Federation rules. Trading in endangered animal species is one sticking point, but the planetary leader handles the new regulations well. Federation membership will provide them with many more ships, new trade partners and spore drive technology, should they wish it. Vugoam has a knack for treaty language and Gozre, frustrating as he is, is very detailed and she can let the two of them work out the details: her presence is more for her official capacity than her skills with negotiation.
Penumbra's mostly Orion population will be a welcome addition to the diversity of the Federation. Few worlds with an significant Orion population are part of the Federation now, and even fewer are in Starfleet.
Cadet Harral's in the courtyard with Tilly and her other cadets. Bringing Penumbra into the Federation will bring more Orions into Starfleet to follow him. Laira hears his mother's very proud that he found this way to live his life and honor his father's memory. That's how they build a better galaxy, bringing people in, making room for everyone at the table.
Though Starfleet intelligence is worried about remnants of the Emerald Chain gaining new strength now that Andoria's closing its borders, and there are always whispers. Some know Michael killed Osyraa, and most know Captain Burnham ended the Chain. There are always whispers, and Laira has two security officers behind Nhan, and there are three more across the courtyard.
They're being overprotective, of course. No one would—
She's listening to Council member Vugoam detail how bringing Penumbra in changes their approach to Orion, and Laira nods. Then something moves in the corner of her vision, something fast, then there's light, too much, bright green— Nhan grabs her, drags her down, one of the security officers flips a table. Discruptors scream across the open space, phasers whine in reply and she can see her own hands, wrapped in Nhan's, in the flashes of light, but it's so bright that her eyes hurt and she shuts them. She can't do anything, she's not supposed to do anything. Nhan gets her down so fast that Laira's head hits the table, and stars fly across her vision.
Stay down, keep her head down, do what security needs her to do so none of them are in any more danger. The disruptors shriek less, and the phasers more, and the air reeks of ozone and smoke.
Then it's quiet.
Nhan has her arm around Laira's shoulders, and they're half against the flipped table. Emergency lights starts to come on around them, illuminating the space between the buildings that had been lost to Laira before. The lights hover in the air, bathing everything bright-blue white.
They haven't beamed out, so Discovery's not in orbit? Something's wrong with the transporters?
Nhan touches the bloody spot on Laira's forehead. "Stay here, stay down." One of the cadets stands above them, Sasha, she remembers finally. Adrenaline stings in her throat but there's no one to fight. Laira doesn't even have a phaser. Sasha has a phaser rifle and blood on her cheek. Red, lightly human, but there's green on her sleeve.
"Why didn't they beam us up?"
"Discovery must be-" Laira pauses, shutting her eyes. "They must be out of orbit."
Gozre crouches beside her, disheveled, with dirt on his hands. "They left us? Left you?"
"It's a peaceful planet."
"Obviously," he mutters.
Voices mesh, urgent and frightened, but no one's screaming. Planetary security beams in around them, sealing off the area, but Laira can only see their boots.
"We need a medic," Tilly says, calm in that way one can only be when something terrible is happening. She kneels down next to Laira, touching her head.
"I'm fine."
"I know." Tilly touches her cheek. "Your eyes are fine."
"What happened?"
"Chain remnants, people who want to avenge Osyraa on the way to becoming her. Andorians and Orions, disorganized. Probably a small group."
Tilly is telling her this because Michael is busy. That has to be it.
Tilly's eyes are too bright, her expression too careful. She's keeping it even on purpose. "Michael's hurt, she's all right, she will be, but she's bleeding and we're working on it."
Laira's heart thuds in her ears and her nausea rushes back like it's the first few weeks and everything's wrong. "Where is she?"
"Over there, when Nhan's sure it's safe—"
She has to go now, be with her now, and she starts to stand, but Tilly's hand is on her face.
"You have to stay here until Nhan—"
Forcing herself to breath, Laira touches her belly, chasing the very urgent sensation of a butterfly beating against her. She must be sharing the rush of adrenaline, and Laira has to keep her safe. Stay down, trust them.
"Her vital signs are low, but steady. Nhan's a good medic."
Tilly keeps talking, giving her something to focus on, but the words aren't making any sense because they're talking about Michael being hurt, and she's only a few meters away but Laira can't walk to her.
She could lose her with this fucking table between them. Her eyes sting, and she can't fight that and keep her calm and look after the hitchhiker, so she looks at Tilly. She holds her hand, squeezes her fingers too tight and waits.
After an eternity, Nhan touches her shoulder, and she and Tilly help her to her feet. "Michael's stable. Discovery was lured away with a distress signal, likely by the same group. They're stabilizing the freighter and returning here. It shouldn't be long."
"Can I- Michael—"
"She's here," Tilly says, taking her arm to guide her over. A little group of people stand around her, security and diplomats, but they part for Laira. Michael lies on her back, looking up at the dark grey sky. Cadet Harral sits beside her, hands on his knees while one of the security guard treats a wound on his arm.
"Michael?" Laira drops to the ground next to her, knees against the stone. Michael turns her head slowly, her skin's too gray and her lips are a disturbing shade of blue, but her eyes are open.
"Careful."
"Michael—"
"I'm all right."
Blood's pooling on the stone beneath her and emergency medical devices hum on both sides of her left shoulder. Cloth's pressed there too. Tilly removes her jacket, slipping it under Michael's head.
"Looks worse than it is," Michael insists, blinking a few times. "I thought they were after you."
"They should have been." Laira grabs her hand, wrapping Michael's clammy fingers in hers. "I'm the fucking president."
Michael's weak little chuckle is calming, and Laira's heart might eventually stop thudding like a shaky EPS relay. "Revenge, Nhan said."
"They failed."
For a moment, Michael smiles, but her eyelids flutter.
The gravity drops out beneath Laira's stomach, and it's like she's fallen into zero G. She leans over her, kissing her damp cheek before curling into her good side. Maybe that'll help keep her warm. "Stay with me."
"Did you- treaty—"
"We're close."
"Good. I- I like it here. The scenery's fantastic."
"I've only seen this square, so I'll take your word for it."
"You can trust me."
"Oh?" Laira keeps her tone as light as she can. "You're an authority on architecture now?"
"It's part of culture."
Making that noise where she doesn't quite believe her, Laira takes a breath, and maybe, somehow, this isn't the end of everything good. She'll be all right. Hugh will be here soon.
"I know beauty," Michael says, and it's almost a whisper.
Of course she can be romantic, lying on the ground, bleeding, going into shock—
She's all right. Everything's going to be all right.
"I didn't think I could be this afraid anymore."
"Love's funny like that."
Laira nuzzles her cheek, takes another breath and lets go of the chaos around them. Michael's hurt's beating, and her fingers are still strong and she's going to be fine. The baby's not going to lose her. Trust Michael's crew.
"I love you."
Her - their - family will look after all of them.