Chapter Text
It's one of those, look official, remain silent sort of meetings. Michael has more of them now that she's - as Tilly loves to remind her - the first lady of the Federation. Being Laira's wife does not technically come with a title, but there are unwritten rules to uphold. Her opinion carries more weight in some circles than merely being Captain Burnham of Discovery would.
This particular meeting should have ended half an hour ago, but Council member Gozre keeps bringing things up, and he's about to start his rotation as speaker of the chamber, which means Laira needs to give him the time so he can guide the council efficiently. Priviately, Laira doesn't think he's worth his fancy jacket as a politician, but when she speaks to everyone but Michael, she must be diplomatic.
"And I know you don't need to be reminded that the memorial for the Burn is fast approaching." Gozre stands beside Laira, as if he can loom over her until she agrees with his position.
"I am aware."
"And the synchronized Spore Drive demonstration-" he begins and Laira glares at him, eyes flashing.
Her fingers are tight and stiff and she extends them as she talks, punctuating her words. "As we have already discussed, at length, the VARS spore drive demonstration will take place the day after, as planned. That way visiting delegations can see the spore drive in action without having to spend too much time away from home without taking away from the monumental tradegy of the Burn."
"You don't think we need the tangible hope the spore drive represents?"
"The council agreed-" she begins, still pacing, but now one hand's on her back. That hurts.
"The council's agreement was barely a simple majority. Some members want to move past the Burn. Showing them all of their options - our pathfinder drive and the spore drive, of course. If we want to be fair to own non-Starfleet scientists, the Luna propulsor lab's new prototype is also something we should be celebrating."
"We don't just move past millions of deaths." Laira's tone is deep and crisp. Her inflection went Cardassian a few minutes ago and Michael's not sure when it will recover. "And Starfleet is integral to the Federation."
"You know I am not one of those who think you're too close to Starfleet."
In bed with Starfleet, really, if he really wants to annoy Laira, but Gozre doesn't stoop to that. Michael stands silently in the doorway, letting them finish before she interrupts to ask about dinner. Though at the rate this is going, she might need to step in.
Nhan stands calmly in the corner, close enough to Laira to be her shadow in a moment, but maintaing a reasonable distance. She meets Michael's eyes, silently communicating that Gozre has been at this for awhile. He can be insufferable sometimes, and Michael hasn't determined if it's a lack of respect for Laira, an intentional desire to frustrate her as much as possible, or that he's just impossible with social queues.
"Your inclination towards the spore drive is well known, of course."
Laira's enunciation is knife sharp, and both of her hands are on her back now. Her eyes flash and she paces in front of the calm seascape beyond the clear wall. Kaminar's dark beauty is lost to her. "Spore drive technology allowed Discovery to solve the Burn and negotiate with species 10-C beyond the galactic barrier. It has proved safe and reliable on all the ships we've tested. Prototaxies spores can be grown on numerous uninhabited moons and asteroids all over the galaxy, without mining or any complicated equipment. Freeing ourselves from dilithium has been one of our development goals since the Burn—"
"Of course, Madam President, your point is well made." Gozre nods out of the way, but there's no real apology in his voice. Punching him in the head would be very satisfying, but Micahel would have to stand on a chair.
Maybe telling Laira about it later will make her laugh.
Michael's contempt for Gozre rises hot in her chest and his mock-differential behavior just makes it worse. She clears her throat, glancing up at the swaying fronds of kelp as if they're an ancient clock on the wall. Gozre's superior visual acuity must be able to see how far the sun has progressed, even at this depth. She can use that.
"Apologies, honored Council member Gozre, Madam President. Ma'am, you're needed on the surface for the traditional benediction at the temple of LLuandrur."
Laira meets Michael's eyes, still vibrantly frustrated, and her back hurts. Again, like yesterday, and they need to make more time to talk to Hugh about it before Laira tries to punch Gozre.
She at least, could reach his smug face.
"I will confer with the council regarding the memorial for the Burn. I'll leave you to your rainwater, Madam President, Captain Burnham."
Laira's gaze just about scorches the door as he leaves. For an instant, it's that sharp when it lands on Michael but she takes a breath. "The temple's benediction is for me, and won't start until I arrive."
"He didn't read that part of the briefing."
"He never does." Laira stretches her back, wincing.
Nhan is too calm to smile, but there's a lightness in her step. "I will check in with your security team on the surface and make sure we're prepared for the temple, ma'am."
Nodding to her, Laira tries again to work out the crick in her back. With no one but Michael left to glare at, she grimaces. "You're handling me."
"It's my job."
"Captain, I hardly need to be coddled by you."
Michael raises her eyebrows. Her title is used so rarely between them that it's worth notice. "Captain? That's usually an innuendo, and I didn't think you were in the mood."
"I'm not-" Laira pauses, shaking her head. "Everything hurts and I loathe Gozre more every time I speak to him." Her eyes linger on Michael and she sighs. "We don't have time."
"And your back hurts."
"Of course it hurts." Laira gestures at her belly with vivid frustration. "She's heavy."
"Going to get worse before it gets better "
"Thank you, darling. Supportive as always."
Michael circles to her side, touching her back with gentle fingers. "Put your hands in the table."
"No."
"No?"
"You don't need to do some kind of magic Vulcan thing. She'll shift and it'll get better."
Michael studies her wife, grinning whole Laira's eyes simmer with loathing. "I can help your back."
"Darling, nothing can. It's just going to hurt for the next few months, I need to resign myself to that."
If she won't accept help— Michael changes tactics. "When did you eat?"
"That's hardly relevant."
"It's not?"
"When I ate last also isn't a magical solution for how much my back hurts."
Michael leans against the table, arms crossed over her chest. "It's a solution for your contrarian nature."
"I'm not contrary."
Michael doesn't even have to argue with that. Laira reluctantly rests her hands on the table, shifting her hips. Maybe she'll let Michael adjust her spine after all.
"You were there when Hugh showed me what to do."
"Your daughter likes to press into my spine, which should be something we can negotiate in a gentler way than cracking my vertebrae like I'm a malfunctioning shuttlecraft bulkhead."
"Your vertebrae are very sturdy, dear."
Laira winces again and her words finally start to fall back into the softer tone which means she's finally not speaking Cardassian. She can't help it when she's mad.
"They don't feel like it."
"She's getting big." Michael runs her thumbs along the edges of Laira's spine, calming her nerves before she starts pressing against the strain.
"She's barely two kilograms, she shouldn't be able to change so much."
"There's water."
"Too much of that."
"Have you considered that you simply work too hard?" Michael presses in harder. "Are you braced on the table?"
"Aye, Captain." That could be an innuendo, but Michael's about to cause her pain,, so it hardly seems fair.
Pressing down as hard into Laira's spine forcing it back into alignment, one gasping vertebrae at a time.
"Other than your back, and Gozre, how was it?"
"Wet."
"Kaminar's famous for its humidity."
"I think it's worse-" Laira pauses, biting her lip as Michael presses the last vertebrae back into place. Taking a breath, she wipes tears from her eyes, but she can stand straighter without wincing. "I hate you when you're right."
"So all the time."
"It's a constant of our relationship."
Brushing her tears off her cheek, Michael kisses her. "I'm sorry her head's in the wrong spot."
"Hugh said she's facing forward."
"Puts the hard part of her head against your spine."
"Hurts like hell." Laira takes one of Michael's hands and helps her find the baby's feet. "And she keeps stretching."
"Maybe she'll be tall." The baby's little feet press through Laira's flesh, almost as if she knows Michael's there. She doesn't she can't, but pressing against her makes her smile. "Feet here, head back here, would track."
"I thought she was supposed to have room to turn."
"Maybe she likes it this way." Michael kisses her hand. "Shares your contrarian nature."
"It's not as bad if I don't sit."
"Then have standing meetings."
"Easy."
Michael shrugs. "It could be. Ask for what you need."
"It's—"
"Everyone knows being pregnant is difficult."
Laira's eye ridges head upward and Michael smirks.
"Maybe not everyone."
"Gozre makes having eggs sound much less uncomfortable."
"Tell you what, next anomaly, I'll see what I can do."
Laira takes a breath, then another, and finally she chuckles. "Dammit."
"It's a few more months."
"I bet I'll miss how comfortable I am now before the end."
Michael doesn't want to agree, but Laira has a point. "Enjoy it while I can still snap your spine back."
"Prophets—" Laira mutters, shaking her head. "When you can't fix it—"
"We'll come up with something else." Michael takes her hand, glancing up at Discovery, kilometers above them in orbit. They've been on Kaminar for several days, which is time enough for them to have quarters on the planet, but the suite of rooms Laira's been offered are incredibly formal.
Even cold.
Saru's family's tent was much nicer. Kaminar's too wet for Laira anyway, the humidity is doing unspeakable things to her hair. Even Michael's braids feel strange in the damp. her hair.
"If we beam to the temple, we'll be done with your itinerary."
Laira looks at her, then down, then presses her lips together before smiling. "I'm hungry. It will still be raining at the temple tomorrow."
"What happened to being hungry is 'hardly relevant'?"
"I was mistaken."
Michael leans into her shoulder, then wraps her arms around her. "What are you hungry for?"
"I have no idea."
One of those days. "Should we stand in front of the replicator again while everyone else orders?" That works fairly well. Laira didn't even know what the pumpkin curry she decided she wanted yesterday was, or where it was from, and she devoured it. Being in the lounge is good for her, all the noise and smells are home now, and she talks to the crew as much as Michael does.
"Yes. Let's do that. Is that terrible?"
"I think it's amusing."
"Always happy to be of service."
Today's dinner is coconut shrimp, wrapped in pita, which a bunch of sauces that take up the middle of the table. It was Rhys' suggestion, something he liked at the Academy, at some little cafe that must have cased to exist hundreds of years ago, but Zora still knows the recipe. Zora holds onto millions of recipes from lost worlds that the Sphere knew, some no one on Discovery has even had a chance to try yet. Someday, someone will, or they'll wait in the library for someone to be curious.
Maybe Laira in another month.
"What did you do last year for the All Stop?" Laira asks her over french fries dipped in some green sauce that's incredibly spicy.
"We were delivering dilithium, so we remained in orbit. Most of the crew hadn't been through one before so we watched the memorial speeches together."
Laira's been tweaking hers for weeks, trying to strike the right tone between solemn and hopeful. "The Vice President's was good."
"Hers was my favorite."
They're rescued from further heavy conversation by the arrival of their school group. Eight junior cadets joined them from headquarters, and eight more will be arriving in the next few weeks. The first group are boisterious and curious, and it's a change for everyone to have them on board, but the ship feels different.
They've been a family, growing and changing as the crew acclimates to the new century, and now they have children. They laugh and joke with each other as they line up at the replicator. Two teachers came with them, and Michael found volunteers among her crew to help them with starship operations. The junior cadets are particularly found of Commander Reno, who has an unorthodox and engaging teaching style. Yesterday they were following her around the shuttlebay like comets pulled into a star.
Their dinner was awhile ago, and they're here for some well earned dessert after their studies. Adezie Vance waves at Michael and one of her friends whispers and they wave and then the eight of them surround her and Laira.
"Captain, did you know that Ba'ul can dive down to three thousand meters?"
"And that Kelpiens can run eight kilometers an hour?"
"They evolved together so many of their traits are in competition with each other," Rekesa - their Romulan junior cadet - has a distinctly Vulcan way of speaking that might actually be a way to poke fun at Vulcans, Michael isn't sure yet.
The junior cadets swarm them - mostly Michael - with stories of what they've learned today about Kaminar and the Ba'ul and how they go to go diving and what they got to see and Laira actually steers the conversation just as much as Michael does because her diplomatic skills do indeed extend to teenagers.
Most of the questions are directed at Michael, as are their comments because Michael is a starship captain and therefor somehow cooler than Laira could ever be.
Which makes Laira smie radiant with amusement. She spends so much time on the other end of this that the cadets lack of interest in politcs at the moment is probably good for her.
Laira holds most of the cadet's attention while she explains how the Ba'ul and Kelpiens share a government, and how many of their rules had to be put in place because at shifting sides of history they've eaten each other. This is as fascinating to their junior cadets as it is disgusting to them.
Michael pulls Adezie aside and Rakesa comes with her, perhaps they're becoming friends. The junior cadet talking to Laira at the moment has a bowl of ice cream in his hands and Laira's looked at it more than once.
"Could the two of you get Laira some ice cream? Try Spumoni with hot fudge, but we might need to swap that if she doesn't want that one."
Adezie nods with the wisdom of a twelve year old. "Sthe still can't decide what she wants until she tries it?"
"It's been a day," Michael says. "Thank you."
They disappear to the replicator and return, ice cream in hand. Together they present it to Laira whose impromptu history lesson has become quite complex. She lights up at the ice cream, thanking them both profusely as she beams at Michael.
Spumoni does seem to be acceptable, at least for the moment. Laira giddily starts to eat her ice cream as Micahel takes over the narrative of how they discovered the truth behind the Ba'ul and Kepien interdependence hundreds of years ago and the way that hunter-prey has evolved.
"We talked to one of the Ba'ul and they were dripping the whole time."
"Is it really dripping if they're like made of the water?"
"I think so if the water is falling."
"Is it really water or is it part of their body that like goes back up into them?"
"Do they have faces and we just can't see the faces or do they not have faces because their biology doesn't work that way?"
Tilly and their teachers wrangle the students away to talk to the senior cadets - who are only a handful of years older but seem so old and tall.
"Good night, Captain, Madam President," Tilly says, cheerful as always. "Thank you for your time." The junior cadets repeat it in a chorus and the much more suave older cadets nod their respect.
Laira's ice cream is disappearing before it even has a chance to melt and Michael reaches for her tea. "Thought you might have asked to share Scorret's there for a moment."
"I don't know if it would be share as much as commandeer." Laira licks her spoon and sighs happily. "This is really good."
"You don't need some other more esoteric flavour like jumja with extra chili?"
Shaking her head, Laira chuckles. "Not this time, though that might be good."
"I'll see about putting it in the computer."
"Oh Zora's very accommodating."
Michael steals a bite of Laira's ice cream with her own spoon and Laira glares death at her. "Zora likes you."
"It would be difficult for me if your ship didn't like me."
"Oh this is your ship now, you know that."
Scraping her spoon along the bottom of the bowl, Laira meets Michael's eyes, her smile softening. "Zora's adopted me?"
"I think they all have." Michael reaches for her hand and squeezes it. "Isn't that an old saying? Marry the captain, marry the crew?"
"I haven't heard it, maybe it's very old. You are very old, darling."
"Absolute ancient." Leaning closer, Michael touches her chin, then kisses her cheek. "I love you, they love you. The sentient being who lives in the ship loves you. This is your home."
Shutting her eyes, Laira takes a moment, then blinks against her tears. "I'm never going to be able to reassign you."
"That was the plan."
Chuckling while her tears continue, Laira kisses her, leaning her forehead against Michael's. "You were playing the very long game all this time."
"I was, it took so much plotting." Michael agrees, her eyes stinging. "Fly us into a warp bubble so you'd get pregnant, then fall in love with you, marry you, convince you that Discovery is the best place in the universe to call home, all so you will never reassign me to another ship."
Laira's cool fingers run across her cheek, and this kiss is almost too intimate for the lounge, not that anyone's watching them right now. "I do love you."
"I love you too."
"Or that's what you'd say, anyway, to get me to keep believing your game."
"Exactly, now you're thinking like me."
Laira's voice is light but her eyes are bright blue and tears glint in her dark eyelashes. "I don't know if I would be more in love with you if you'd engineered it, except that you're you, so it would be intense."
"Nothing like now."
Laira's voice sounds as thick in her throat as Michael's feels. "Of course not."
Helping Laira to her feet, Michael kisses her cheek. Time to go before either of them get too mushy. Both of them seem to have their hearts on their sleeves, and at least Laira has the excuse of hormones. Michael's merely sentimental.
Her thoughts wander as they beam back to their quarters. Laira has her speech to work on and she takes her hair down while she worries about the tiny details of galactic politics. She mutters ot herself, and paces, and tries to decide what she wants to do with her hands.
Her belly's been in the way for the last few months, and she can rests her hands on it, but that sends a message, doesn't it? Michael's heard her worries, and that conversation seems unending. What does it say to the rest of the galazy if she rubs her belly while talking about tragedy? Is she fidgeting? Reminding them of hope? That they're all rebuilding, bit by bit.
The sonic shower lifts the dirt from her skin, and her braids, and the gentle hum gives her a meditative moment of quiet with her thoughts.
If she'd chosen, would she have built this? If she was the architect of her life, as she'd teased Laira, would she have brought herself to this place? It's amusing to joke about it, but Michael wouldn't have seen this. Discovery, yes, being captain is part of her, and this ship is her home.
Would she have chosen to share it?
Michael changes into her pajamas and sits on the bed, lazily reading one of her books, mostly watchin Laira practice her speech, again.
Laira put on her pajamas while Michael was in the shower, and she's speaking softly to the reflection of herself in the skylight. She'll be fully dressed when she gives this speech, with cape and regalia and the entire Federation - and many other worlds - will stop what they're doing and listen to her. Remembering the Burn is one of their few shared experiences, everyone in the galaxy lost something, and they have to remember that as they move forward.
But they can't dwell on it. Michael's galaxy had the They're already planning on how to celebrate first contact with the 10-C as a joyful holiday of connection, while honoring the terrible loss of Kwejian.
The galaxy is a tender place, healing slowly, and it feels like going too quickly will make the process that much more difficult.
Or maybe they all need to be snapped back into place like Laira's sore vertebrae.
Laira's hair falls down her back in curls from the way she had it up, and it's bright against her soft blue nightgown. It leaves her shoulders bare in a way where she would have been freezing earlier, but this far into her pregnancy, the hitchhiker keeps her warm. Michael watching her must have been visible in the reflection on the transparisteel.
"Should I change something?"
Michael sets her book aside and cross the room to her, wrapping her arms around her so that her hands rest on Laira's belly. "It's a good speech."
"And it could be better?"
Wrinkling her nose, Michael snuggles in. "I was thinking that I wouldn't have chosen this, not because I didn't want it, but a lack of my own imagination. Most of the captains I knew were lonely. Lead the ship, protect the crew, save the galaxy - nothing like this."
Laira's arms wrap over hers, and the vastness of the galaxy is still around them. "I doubt their ships were full of cadets, junior cadets, scientists, and diplomats."
"Diplomats are the worst."
Laura's chuckle vibrates through her. "You built something else, and that lets you have this life."
"I think some of them would have liked this better."
Turning to face her, Laira mulls that idea. "We can give it to the fleet. Make more ships with schools and hoards of junior cadets asking all the questions."
"It's only been a few weeks."
"You love it."
"I love you."
"You love building a better future," Laira says, touching Michael's chin. "You can't help it."
"It lets us have Tilly back."
"Having Discovery this way lets us have us." Laira kisses her forehead, serious for a moment.
"And I wouldn't let that go, even if I didn't know what it was."
"Me either." Laira's little smile has all the brightness of the universe, reflected across time.
"Funny how the universe works, isn't it?"
"It's like you're conducting it."
"I'm so not."
Laughing, Laira pulls her in, kisses her, and the rest of the night doesn't need much talking at all.