Chapter Text
"I have to go." Laira kisses her again, leaning over her. "Be good for your doctors."
Dr. Pollard touches Laira's hand, and Michael adds her own. She's safe. They've repaired the damage, replaced her blood, re-hydrated her: technically, she's absolutely fine. Tired, grateful; fine. "We'll keep an eye on her."
Laira squeezes her fingers, strokes her wrist, and her leaving aches - it's written on her face. Dr. Pollard reminds Michael again to take it easy, but she half-listens. Hugh catches Laira at the door, saying something to her softly. He rests his hand on her shoulder, comforting, worrying. Together they look down at her belly, and Michael's chest stings. How many more meetings with she have to attend after this? How many security briefings is this worth?
Before Laira can tap her badge to beam away, Michael calls across the room, "I love you."
Laira meets her eyes, flushing pink, even as her eyes are too soft. "I love you too," she replies, ending on a smile. "Be safe." She beams away before she starts to cry, and Michael wants to follow her to headquarters, hold her and kiss her until she's not afraid, but Laira has duties, and today, Michael does not.
"You're released, Captain. I recommend another day off duty, keep it low key. Catch up on your holoprograms, maybe take up knitting."
"Noted." Michael sits up, and nothing hurts, she's not dizzy. They do good work, as always. "Any other injuries?"
"Oh you were by far the worst, don't worry," Pollard says, looking over her padd. "A few injures in security, some scrapes in the civilians. Cadet Harral was released while you were still in surgery. He's doing well. You're the last."
Michael swings her feet to the edge and drops off the bed. "Thank you."
"Thank us by actually taking it easy." Pollard and Hugh share a look.
Michael shakes her head. "Fine."
She should get dressed before going to the bridge. Heading up in sickbay pajamas might say she was too urgently worried about them, or that she doesn't trust Joann, but a uniform is too much. Michael worries about it for another moent, then sighs. Pajamas will be fine.
It was alpha shift when she beamed down, and it's alpha shift again now. Joann's on the planet's surface, with Rhys and Nhan. They'll figure it out, find some clue about who did this they can report to Starfleet Intelligence, and Kovich will work it out. They weren't after Laira, and that's taken a weight off of her chest. A handful of angry former Emerald Chain members looking for revenge is much easier to deal with than anyone who is trying to destroy the Federation. Federation security can probably handle this. Philippa would love to, if she was here.
Keyla's in the center chair, but she doesn't get up when Michael arrives. "Go to bed."
Michael laughs, shaking her head. "Good to see you too, Keyla."
"We'd be more thrilled to see you tomorrow, after you've had some sleep."
"I was just asleep."
"See, being asleep and being unconscious are two very different things," Keyla says. "I've learned this."
"Paying attention to medical at last?"
"Only when it lets me make fun of you." She steps down from the chair, touches Michael's shoulder, and then they hug, tight and warm. "We're so glad you're all right."
"I'm good, our med staff does good work."
"They like it when we don't test them though."
"Could have been worse. Cadet Harral was right there."
Kelya smiles again, her eyes softer this time. "Nhan and Owosekun are tracking down the last of the group that attacked you. They're small, angry, much more pissed at you personally."
"Which is good."
"Don't know if I'd call it good, but…" Keyla returns to the chair. Then calls up the security footage. "These two at the far end are dead, the other three are in custody. Nhan doesn't think they have anyone else, and more security officers than I have ever seen are scouring over this. We'll figure it out."
"I know we will." Michael touches her arm, then hugs her again. "All right. I'm leaving, I'll go to bed."
"Good." Keyla turns towards the viewer, ignoring Michael so she can leave. She waits until Michael is nearly off the bridge, then calls back. "Joann will be back for dinner, sleep, so you can eat with us."
"Yes ma'am."
After she's showered and gotten dressed, Michael replicates herself a cup of tea and sits down on the bed. Recording a message to her mother takes a few minutes. There's plenty to say, most of it's easy: plaanets they've visisted, stellar pheomena, how Laira' and the baby are doing. Michael hesitates at the end. Her mother would appreciate candor. She can say it.
"Ran into a little trouble on Penumbra. I'm fine, but I wasn't, got hit. A cadet saved me." She takes a breath, looks away from the holo camera and out the viewport.
"Feels like I should have been the one saving him. I would have done anything to save my captains. So I get where he's coming from but I also— He's my responsibility. He's my crew." She runs her fingers through her braids, pulls up her knees aand hugs them to her chest. "I would have done anything to keep Captain Georgiou alive, and you and dad. I blamed myself for so many years." Shaking her head, she reaches for her tea, forcing herself to take a sip.
"He saved me, and that's what he's supposed to do. The captain looks after her crew, but the crew looks after me. I need to let them, don't I?"
"I'll work on it," she promises her mom. "My crew's got me, I'm safe.
Gabrielle won't worry, not like she might have before the Qowot Milat. Worry would interfere with Michael's path, so she won't do that, but she cares. She loves them.
"Dr. Culber thinks I'll be able to feel the baby move soon, Laira says she's very distracting, and I can't wait. Makes it seem more real, the bigger she gets. "Take care of yourself, and J'Vini. Write when you can. I love you, and I'm all right, I'm taken care of."
Sending the message, Michael takes another sip of her tea. Dinner is still a few hours away and she'll never get Laira on the comms. Grabbing an old favorite book off the shelf, and a new paperbound novel T'Rina helped her find, she settles in to read. It seems like she rarely has enough time for that.
Romulan novels are full of intrigue, with enough plot twists and intrigue that Michael should be taking notes. Usually she caan remember but she's tired and comfortable maybe she fell asleep last chapter.
Just for a little while.
"Captain, I have Admiral Vance on comms for you." Lt. Christopher pauses. "He said I should tell you it's not mission related."
"A check in?"
"Seems like it, Captain."
Michael sits up, tucking a bookmark Tilly gave her into the pages to keep her place. "Put him through."
Admiral Vance appears in her quarters a moment later. "Captain, I hope you're healing well."
"I'm all right, sir."
"Please," he waves away the formality. "I'm interrupting your time off. This is an informal conversation."
"Well then." Michael gets comfortable in her chair. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you well?"
"I am, truly. I've been patched up. I'm a little sore--" she pauses when he nods.
"I remember. New skin doesn't really feel like yours right away."
"Like a patch."
Vance nods, hands behind his back. "For awhile, before you arrived of course, there were stretches of time where we couldn't replicate new uniforms, couldn't spare the power to replicate anything really, and I had to learn to patch my uniform. I had one that felt like more patches than the original, so many parts of it haad been replaced, over and over. They say the patches are stronger, and that might have bee n true, but so much of it was worn. Barely held together."
"How long did that uniform have to carry you?"
Vance's little smile has a softness that cuts into Michael's chest. "Until we found some dlithium on an asteroid, so much longer than I'd like. When I had a new one, it felt strange that it stretches in ways that one no longer could."
"Bet it was nice."
Vance sits on the edge of his desk, learning back on it. The holo places him at the edge of her table. "It didn't feel like it was mine, and I was so worried about ruining it."
"I had to recycle the one I was wearing."
"I've seen the reports," he says, nodding towards the floor. "I bet you did."
"Did you find the people who did it?"
"We did, small group, radicalized each other. Perhaps supported by an outside influence. Dr. Kovich is looking into it." Vance meets her eyes again. "We don't think there's any more immediate danger to you, on Penumbra or any of your oncoming destinations. Of course, we didn't know this was coming so—"
"It's all right. I shook things up when I killed Osyraa."
"People are afraid, they lash out. Andoria's recent political developments—"
Michael lifts her hand. "I know."
"We'll do our best to keep you safe, and the rest of your family." He pauses there, taking a breath. "You know, I have spent long periods of time away from my wife and daughter, and I hope that is never something you have to do. Hopefully we've made the galaxy a safer place. Having my wife with me again made me think about how hard it was for her that I was always in daanger. I was in the thick of it, and she was safe, so I didn't worry, but she had so much to carry. More than her share."
"And that wore on her, didn't it?"
"Like my lucky uniform, unfortunately." Vance pushes himself off the table and meets her eyes, careful with his words. "She's resilient, more than anyone else I know, but I often need to remind myself that resilience doesn't take away pain, in fact, sometimes she's able to carry more of it than I would like."
Michael touches her book, one hand on her knee, and nods. "Got it, thank you, sir."
"I'm very glad you're all right."
"Thank you." He ends the transmission, popping out of her quarters.
Left alone, Michael sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "Zora, can you interface with the computer at Starfleet Headquarters?"
"I can, Captain."
"Where's my wife?"
"President Rillak is in conference room six."
Six is the most secure one. The smallest. Michael had to go through several interviews to even be allowed access. That means the meeting is important, highest level. She can't interrupt it.
"How is she?"
"Captain?"
"I know you can't hear her, can you read her vitals?"
"I can."
"And?"
"I believe she is under stress, Captain. Her adrenaline and cortisol readings are eleevated, and her blood pressure is higher than Dr. Culber would like."
"Can you give her a message?" Michael asks, trying to decide what she needs to say.
"I can deliver it to her when she leaves the secure conference room."
"That'll work."
Taking a piece of paper out of the box on the shelf, Michael lifts a pen. It's more antique than even her ship, and Laira will appreciate that. She pauses for aamomet, deciding on the words, then writes a note.
She can't have Laira back until after dinner, maybe even later, so Michael finishes other things she's been putting off. Arranging some of Laira's trinkets on the shelf beside her own, looking at ways to reorganize their quarters once the hitchhiker needs space of her own. There's space to expand into what has been guest quarters, once they need to. It's a weighty thing, imagining how to reconfigure the ship for their daughter. It won't be perfectly safe, nowhere ever can be, but— Michael shivers, trying not to think too long about how it will be when their hitchhiker is old enough to now her mothers caan be in danger, and that there might be a mission where they do not come home. Michael lived in ignorance of that until the Klingons, and there has to be a way to prepare her better.
Not that she'll lose them. She can't.
When she's restless, she leaves their quarters and heads for the lounge. Replicating dinner, Michael settles into a corner by herself. Laira should be back, and she's not, which means that the political fallout might be more complicated, or Andoria is more messy than Michael thought. She attended security briefings rarely when she was at headquarters. They were less demanding than most of Laira's meetings, and she trusted Vance and Kovich to look after her and end them early if they needed to.
Would Laira let them do that today? Would she be able to ask for what she needed? Can she even put that into words?
Michael finishes her soup, and even then she's uncertain. Part of her wants to feign a relapse, manufacture an emergency, just beam over there and pull Laira away. The rest of her values duty, letting Laira set her own boundaries, and struggles to know her place. Captain Burnham has no protocol for taking President Rillak from her work.
Michael might.
Maybe she should.
Joann's back from the planet's surface; she and Keyla have a table in a quiet corner. She hasn't seen Hugh or Paul, so they might be eating in their quarters, perhaps on the planet's surface. Hugh loves to try new cuisines. Tilly and her cadets eat together at one of the bigger tables, and this one's a working dinner, because padds are out and the conversation is lively. Michael catches Harral's eye, nodding to him.
He flushes a deeper green and nods back before looking away. All part of the service, ma'am.
The Chain kills his father, Michael kills Osyraa and breaks the chain. He saves her life. He's the hope, with his fellow cadets. Maybe more of them can have long careers without killing, or being in the place where they're putting themselves between a weapon aand their captain.
Harral kept her stay in sickbay brief, even helped make it possible that she'll hold her daughter in a few months, but she can't make it a big deal, can't embarrass him.
They're part of the same family, and family looks after each other. She can leave it at that. Michael touches his shoulder in thanks as she leaves the lounge, smiles at Tilly and walks into the peace of the corridor.
"Zora, where is Laira now?"
"Still in conference room six."
Michael sighs. She was hoping she wouldn't need to interrupt, but it's late enough that she does. "Zora, can you open a channel to Adezie Vance?"
"I can, Captain. A moment please."
After a few seconds, the hologram of Adezie Vance appears in front of her. "Captain!"
"Hello, I'm sorry if I interrupted."
"I finished my school work, so your timing is good."
"I'm glad you finished. What are you doing now?"
"Waiting for dad."
"I see." Michael leans down, finding her best conspiratorial tone. "I think his meeting is going too long, and you might be able to help me with that."
"Oh?" Adezie glances over behind the end of the holo, looking at her mom. "How can I help?"
"Got any unanswered questions in your school work?"
Out of view, Ronia laughs. "Not tonight, Captain."
"What do you do when your father's meetings go on much too long?"
"Wait, mostly. Mom and I try not interrupt."
"What if you needed to?"
Ronia walks into the holo, standing beside Adezie. "I'm glad you're all right, Michael."
"Thanks."
"Addie and I try not to interrupt, but Jen can be helpful with that, if she's at headquarters. Maybe one of the planetary leaders?"
T'Rina, potentially, but—
Michael smiles at them both. "Thanks."
"Any time."
Michael walks towards observation. General Ndoye still owes her a few favors. Calling one in tonight seems selfish, but - as she was so recently reminded - life is short.
Ndoye must have been efficient, because Laira beams back to Disco eight minutes after Michael asks Ndoye to interrupt the meeting. She's exhausted, perhaps even a few levels past that. Laira hasn't been this pale since they had to adjust her hormone levels the last time. She meets Michael's eyes, smiles wearily and reaches for the back of a chair. Michael's across the room to her before her knuckles even go white on the chair back.
"Hey."
Michael offers her hand. Laira's fingers are cool, damp with sweat against hers. "You know, I'm supposed to be the one recovering."
"I'm—" Laira catches herself before she even gets to fine. She blinks once, then again and she's losing her control of her tears right in front of Michael "Tired."
"Did you eat?"
She nods. "I did."
"More than once?"
The little sound Laira makes in her throat is offended.
"Just checking."
They take a step, then another. The sofa is still a meter away and Laira stops her, squeezing her arm. "It's supposed to be me."
Michael squeezes her fingers. "What?"
"Danger, death, all of it." Laira takes a breath, but she shudders. "It's supposed to be me. I'm the fucking president."
"You are, and I love you."
Squeezing Michael's hand, she releases it, then takes a step on her own, then another until her hands rest on the table. "Making Discovery a diplomatic ship should have made you safer."
"I am safe. I'm fine."
Laira shakes her head, stares at the table and shivers again, as if she's very far away. "I can't lose you."
"You won't."
"I might."
This is a conversation they should have sitting down, but Laira shoves off the table, taking a few steps away from Michael; she has to pace. It's too much to hold in. She rubs the right side of her belly without thinking.
"After my father died, I've haven't let myself love anyone I could lose."
Michael gives Laira the space to move, sitting down on the couch, hands in her lap. "A scientist was safe."
"He never went anywhere dangerous, and Earth's moon was almost in the Federation."
"And the DMA changed that."
"The DMA upended the galaxy. He was in danger, I was in danger, everything was about to end. We'd fail, Earth and Ni'Var would be destroyed; if we even survived, we'd limp home for decades."
Michael nods. She knows how this goes. "What happened to you didn't matter."
"I have a duty."
Michael leans forward, elbows on her thighs. "As do I."
"I know, I know, I—"
"You hate it."
"I need you to be safe."
"I usually am."
"Usually is not good enough, you—"
"I'm fine."
Laira turns back, facing Michael even though she can't meet her eyes. "What if you weren't?"
"Then you tell her about me."
Laira's composure cracks, and her tears well, then fall. "I don't know if I can."
"Then my crew will."
"How can you be so calm about this?"
"I'm not calm."
Laira's chin trembles. "Bullshit."
Michael stands, hands up in surrender. "You might lose me, I might lose you. Either of us might have to raise her alone, but not, because my family, our family would help, and she'd be so loved."
"But she wouldn't—"
"I know my father," Michael reminds her, reaching for Laira's tears, first on one cheek, then the other. "He liked to read, and cook, and we'd give my mother a hard time when she wasn't ready for dinner, which she never was." Resting her hands on Laira's shoulders, she stands on her toes and kisses her lightly. "I wish I knew him more, but I know him. He's with me."
"This kind of with me is better," Laira says, her words catching in her throat.
"I know."
Laira takes a breath, and it's less sharp this time. They retreat to the sofa together, curling up. Laira resists for a moment, then her head's in Michael's lap.
"I'm not even accustomed to having you, how can be ready to lose you?"
"I don't think anyone's ever ready." Michael leans down, kissing her forehead. "I was terrified for you."
"You were?"
"I couldn't see you, I didn't know if you were hurt, or what you'd do without-"
"Without you." Laira shuts her eyes, and her tears start again.
"We're going to have to go through this. Worrying, not knowing, trusting."
Laira makes that incredulous sound and Michael grins down at her.
"You trust me."
"Of course."
"But it's still new."
"We're new."
Laira finds her hand and toys with her fingers, bringing it to her belly. "Everything about us is new. It happened so fast."
"I haven't let you down yet. I will, inevitably, but…I'll try not to let it be too often." Michael rubs her thumb in a little arc over Laira's belly. "You'll be perfect, of course."
"I asked Admiral Vance to increase your security, for awhile at least."
"All right."
"And you should let Owosekun lead more away teams."
"I can do that."
Rubbing the last of her tears away with her sleeve, Laira moves Michael's hand down, slightly to the left. "She's here. I wish you could feel her."
"Soon."
"Faster than we think."
"She'll be here faster than we think."
Laira shakes her head, finally smiling. "That doesn't seem soon at all."
"I imagine it'll feel like an eternity when you can't see your feet."
"You'll have to tell me about them."
Chuckling, Michael leans down, resting her forehead on Laira's. "I know this is hard."
"This isn't hard at all, it's so easy it terrifies me."
"How is this easy?"
Laira cups her cheek, her smile full of promise. "Falling in love with you was so easy."
"It was?" Her chest's warm and light and that smile could live in her cheart forever.
Laira sits up, turning to kiss her.
"Of course, Starfleet Intelligence is still working on the mystery you brought them," Vance says. "That Delta Quadrant location."
The one that came encoded in spores. Species 10-C would simply make a wormhole, so it's not likely to be them. This was hidden, well planned. Someone had the forethought to hid their location, give it to brokers, and arrange for them to lose them to Michael in a card game. That's a lot of steps.
"Do we have a short list?" Michael asks, pouring him more tea. When Discovery is close enough, they meet in person and Vance is fascinated by Discovery's ancient menu of tea.
"It's very short."
"Georgiou?" Michael guesses and he nods.
"Her, perhaps the being known as the Guardian of Forever, though we're not sure what he'd want. I'm tempted to send the Armstrong, or even a small team in a shuttle."
"Which would not include me."
"I don't think your wife would take kindly to my sending you on a dangerous mission right now."
Michael winces and nods. "Owosekun and Detmer could take a shuttle, use of the prototype spore drives. We could back them up if we need to."
"The message came to you."
"I trust them."
Vance studies her, then nods. "Your next diplomatic stop is Trill, which should be peaceful. We don't anticipate any problems, thought that was also true of Penumbra, our intelligence on Trill is far more established."
"Then it's a good time to follow the mystery."
"Agreed. Keep us apprised on the mission."
"Of course, Admiral."
He finishes the last sip of his tea and stands, smiling. "I'll try to send your wife back before you have to involve any planetary leaders."
"I'd appreciate that."
Vance pauses, hovering behind his now empty chair. "I have an idea how difficult it is to balance your position and your marriage. I haven't always been able to make choices the way I've wanted too. It's better now."
"We're better now."
"It's never an easy conversation, and you're never done having it."
Michael nods. "Thank you for reminding me that we're not alone."
"One of my mentors used to say that in Starfleet, you're never alone, so you can keep that in mind. Many of us have been through what you're going through, with varying levels of success. Ronia's been extraordinarily patient, and willing to sacrifice for us so that our daughter could grow up safe. Yours is going to grow up on a starship, and that's a beautuful life. Als a little dangerous."
"All planets have danger."
"And I've always believed the best place for a child is close to those who love her, and she'll have an abundance of that."
Michael sets down her cup. "Enough to balance out the danger?"
"Well, that's the question you and your wife need to answer, isn't it?"