Chapter Text
The second time Laira gets up to use the bathroom, Discovery has jumped to Sanctuary Six, dropping off two gormaganders. Maybe if they get enough of the solitary creatures in one sector, they can increase their numbers. Though gormaganders are much better off in this century than the one Michael left behind. No one has had enough dilithium to bother to hunting them since the Burn.
And now…perhaps no one will want to. She can hope.
Laira returns to bed with cold hands from the sink. Michael helps guide her legs back into bed, rubbing the silk from Laira's pale blue nightgown over her knee.
"If I was a gormagander, and I lived in zero-G, my back wouldn't hurt, would it?"
"In this hypothetical scenario, are you still pregnant?"
Laira rests her hands on her belly and rolls to her side. She still can't get used to sleeping on her side, and she moves slowly, taking her time to find the right position. "Is there a universe where I'm not?"
Toying with her thigh, Michael grins. "Maybe one or two."
"If I was a pregnant gormagander—" she pauses, fixing Michael with that adorable little smile where she has no idea how the science of something works - "Do they get pregnant?"
"They do."
"Oh good, so, if I was a gormagander, and I was pregnant—"
"Would your back hurt?"
"Yes, that's the question." Laira rolls her leg over Michael's and snuggles in, finding the pillow she's supposed to put between her knees and wedging it in with a grimace.
"Gormaganders are vertebrates with incredibly strong bones, considering that they live their lives in space. Xenobiologists theorize that they interact with graviton eddies, even asteroids and need the skeletal structure to survive that. They might even be able to travel between different gravity fields. Keeping that in mind, if the Hitchhiker was her usual, contrary self—"
"Her little space-whale skull would get wedged into my spine."
"It's entirely possible."
"So I don't want to be a gormagander."
"I don't think it would alleviate this particular problem." Michael touches her cheek, then rests her hand on Laira's silk nightgown. "I'm sorry she's in a strange position again."
Laira sighs, shutting her eyes and wincing, again. "I can feel her foot against my ribs."
"At least it's a foot."
"If she had her head in my ribs, it wouldn't hurt my back."
"She'd probably find a way. She's very resourceful."
Chuckling, Laira opens her eyes again and mock glares. "She gets that from you."
"Her tenacity will be useful, later." Michael touches Laira's thigh, toying with the silk. There's so little she can do to help with the constant discomforts. "Maybe she will also be punctual."
Laira groans. "I don't know how she can be punctual when we don't know when she'll be ready."
'She'll tell us."
"Maybe that's what she's trying to do with her head."
"Sideways is definitely not-" Laura pauses, moves her thigh and hisses before she finds a comfortable position.
"I'm sorry."
"I love her, and how easy it is to tell, now that she's a person, I can feel all of her limbs, I just—" Laira stops, and it takes Michael more than a moment to realize she's distracted by Michael's hand working its way down to her knee.
"Sorry, does that tickle?" Michael pulls her hand back.
Laira catches her fingers, bringing it back to her knee. "No, no, it's good." Her eyes meet Michael's, and she shifts a little closer in bed.
That's one way to distract her. Reaching down, Michael strokes her thigh, her hand sliding easily over the silk. Sighing gently, Laira kisses her neck in response, leaning in. Her breath quickens almost immediately.
Michael slips her knee between Laira's thighs, taking the pillow out of the way, and starts easing up her nightgown.
"What are you doing, captain?"
Chuckling, Michael lets her hands glide up Laira's thighs. "Helping you sleep."
Laira's hands wander over to her breasts, then down her belly, toying with her pajama pants. "I didn't mean to imply—"
Michael kisses her, almost rough, demanding, and Laira makes that whimper, then melts into her. Kissing is soon devouring, and Michael's half on top over her on the bed. Laira's hand slips into her pajamas. Returning her attention to Laira's neck, Michael shudders when Laira's fingers slip across her.
"I think you're past implying."
Panting against Michael's mouth, Laira laughs. Really laughs, then she squirms, gasping when Michael touches her thigh.
"Is this going to help me sleep?"
"Usually works, doesn't it?"
Kissing takes away from their ability to speak for several moments, and Michael's fingers are past teasing when Laira gets her breath back.
"Not that sex with you is dull."
"Oh I know." Michael winks at her in the dark. "Climax is a good way to unwind."
"Are you insinuating that I'm tightly wound?"
Gliding her fingers over Laira's incredibly sensitive skin, Michael chuckles. "You're like a spring of annoyane right now."
"I am not - fuck - Michael—" Laira squirms, tilting her hips into Michael's hand. She whimpers, which is incredibly sexy, and together they find ways to thoroughly distract both of them.
They sleep late, even eat breakfast curled up in bed. There's nowhere to be. Joann has the ship, Jen has the Federation, everyone's in capable hands.
Laira tucks the long braid of her hair out of the way, and curls into the pillows with Michael. Sex makes her face pink, even after they've set breakfast aside, and Michael's had two cups of coffee.
"It's funny how orgasms are the nice version of a contraction."
"Because they don't hurt?" Michael traces her belly, finding the baby's elbow. Perhaps it's a knee? She moves and Michael can picture her fidgeting like her mother.
"They hadn't hurt like they did on Kaminar, not yet anyway." Laira finishes her tea and burrows further in. "I suppose they'll just hurt more until it's the real thing."
"And that doesn't worry you."
Laira crinkles her nose and kisses Michael's cheek. "You'll be there, and Hugh, Keyla, and Joann— we'll get to meet her at the end."
"You're looking forward to that."
"I'm looking forward to seeing my feet again."
Michael sighs, cuddling into Laira's chest so she doesn't have to meet her eyes. "Says the person who might be in considerable pain for hours." Days. Cardassian births are much slower than human, or Bajoran, and there's no way of knowing Laira won't get the worst combination of the three.
"Why are you worried about that?" Laira's fingers toy with her braids, and run over the back of her neck.
"None of the neuroblockers that are effective for you are particularly useful during labor."
Kissing her head, Laira chuckles. "You checked."
"Of course, I checked."
"I'm sure Hugh will work out some ways—"
"For your very stubborn skeletal structure—"
Laira guides her face up to kiss her. "That's the problem isn't it? My cartilage is too sturdy, or something."
Staring into her deep blue eyes isn't helping the knot in Michael's stomach. "You've suffered enough."
"Apparently not." Laira's tone is light.
Michael's chest is too tight. There's nothing funny about watching her suffer, but Laira's not bothered by it.
"Would it be easier if it was you?"
"This part?" Michael rests both of her hands on Laira's belly and shakes her head. "I'd be terrible at the carrying the baby part. I wish I could take the end."
"I'll be all right."
"I know."
"You're pretty incredible for my pain tolerance, you know that?"
"Thanks. I think."
"Well, it's a good thing." Laira taps the back of Michael's hand. "You know, I don't want to interrupt your brooding about things that might not be bad at all, but after my terrible ordeal, she'll need a name."
"Don't—"
"Sorry." Laira kisses her cheek again, trying to soften Michael's worries. "You're named after your father."
"His family had a tradition."
"Do you want to follow it?"
"Another Michael?" Michael shrugs, her face stings a little. She loves her name, but it's not for the Hitchhiker. "No, that's not right for her."
"She should have your surname, mine will carry too much."
"That mine doesn't have?"
"You could try to be less heroic, dear." Laira smirks at her.
"I'll try." Michael tries to picture the little squishy face that's going to need naming. She's never seen a newborn. It's going to be such a change. "Is there anything you like for a first name?"
"Michael."
That stinging flash of affection returns. "No."
Laira chuckles. "Fine. My name comes from my village. They tried to use the same names, repeated them every few generations, so we'd know our history."
"When you were born, your name had to be Laira?"
"My mother liked it."
"Then pick one you like."
"A name from my village?"
Michael sits up, taking her hands. "Discovery is my home. It might be nice if she had a connection to your home."
Blinking once, then again, Laira takes a breath. "Then you chose her middle name."
Michael smiles. "Pick one from my village?"
"Please."
Michael stares up at the swirling stars. "Philippa." On Resuna Idun, the ghost of her captain said they named the Hitchhiker after her. Both of her Philippas brought her to the stars, made her who she is. Her captain would be honored, and her mother would tease her, once she got over how honored she was. The former emperor's still out there, somewhere, earning all her silver hair. She'd never admit it, of course, but she'd be touched.
"Both of them meant so much to you."
"Our Hitchhiker can be a little of each them. I think they'd like that too."
Laira grabs her holopadd from the side of the bed, calling up a long list of names that Michael recognizes as Cardassian and Bajoran, some seem to be combined. Slipping her hand into Michael's, she squeezes her fingers. "I like that we can honor them."
Nodding, Michael opens her arms and Laira curls into Michael's chest this time. "My captain would tease me. I finally have my own ship and I fill it full of diplomats and children, as if herding scientists wasn't difficult enough."
"She'd be proud of you." Laira says, with absolutely certainty.
"She'd adore you." Michael takes a breath, because she lost the other Philippa so much closer to now, and their Hitchhiker would be her granddaughter, in a way. In all the ways that matter. "My Philippa, the one who was almost my mother, would be so amused by you, and I, and how somehow the universe gave me a child, and the president."
"Warp bubbles are funny things."
Michael holds her a little tighter. "I'm grateful - every day - for you, for the Hitchhiker, for the strangeness of the universe."
"I love you," Laira says easily, then sighs. "I think then, in the warp bubble, I needed to love someone."
"We had her less than a day, and you loved her so much." Michael remembers how distraught Laira was in the turbolift, how much her entire universe shifted to encompass the Hitchhiker, and Laira, and how after that instant of a third life sign, everything changed, kept changing, spiralling to here.
Laira snuggles into her neck. "You, and her, are so easy to fall for."
Taking a breath, Michael kisses her hair. "You did warn me that you'd fall in love with me if we had sex."
It takes a moment for Laira to remember, and she laughs - really laughs - and she sighs. "I tried to let you leave."
"I'm not going to leave."
"I thought something would make you."
"Too stubborn."
"You really are, aren't you?" Laira toys with Michael's braids, wrapping them in her fingers. "You're too wonderful to possibly stay, but also too stubborn to disappear."
Holding her close, Michael slips her fingers into Laira's and they rest on the baby. She's so close to here with them, but not yet. Not yet. Everything will change again, when she gets here. Maybe they need to enjoy this time.
"You put your heart in my hands. You trusted me, completely. What else could I do?"
"Your only logical response was to fall in love with me."
"Yeah." Michael squeezes her fingers. "The logic was unassailable."
"Fortunately for me."
Is this luck? Michael doesn't believe in fate. She believes in what she can do, and that's led her here. The warp bubble was unplanned, unimagined — and yet — she wanted contentment. She wanted to belong to someone; to share the universe. There are so many wonders: the 10-C, the Abronians, Gormaganders and whatever else is out there. She can show them all to their baby.
It's not the life she imagined. Hell, this isn't even the century she thought she'd live in, but Laira's here, so is her crew. Their daughter will open her eyes here, in safety, surrounded by love. That's a good start to life. She can be proud of that.
Discovery will observe the all stop for the Burn memorial from Headquarters. Laira's speech will come from the council floor, and she's been going over it in her head, debating words all morning. She has meetings, but Michael will stand behind her for the speech. slightly to the left, a step behind Admiral Vance, two steps behind the Vice President, near Arjun. Most of the holo news won't show Michael, or the other dignitaries surrounding Laira, but some will. It's important she be there.
Keeping an eye on Laira matters too. Michael's being paranoid, and perhaps that doesn't matter. Discovery will be absolutely fine with Joann in command. All they need to do is power down the warp drive, and wait.
Michael fusses with her burgundy dress uniform collar, and reminds herself to be still. It is a day for calm, and gravitas. Laira is wearing her full regalia, her red cape tucked carefully over the Hitchhiker. She's radiant now. Michael's not sure it because this is the end, and the calm that comes from that, or if it's that the last few weeks, she hasn't been ill. The sneezing's gone, so is the nausea. Hugh found a balance so she's not feverish, and her blood pressure's been staying in range. Now, at the end, they've balanced most of it.
Of course, now the Hitchhiker's so close, and Laira tires, and there seem to be a hundred other things to worry about, from how her back hurts to how the baby's positioned that day. Doing too much leads to contractions, but those aren't going anywhere yet. Not until the Hitchhiker gets her head down, which is easy enough to check, but that's just one more thing to worry about.
Michael remembers Hugh saying at their appointment that morning that the baby is lower today. Laira said it was easier to breathe. Lower is closer to delivery, but it's a slow process. Hugh was quite calm. There's no reason for her to worry, and she isn't, not really, she's fine. They're fine.
"The baby being lower doesn't mean down." Hugh reminded them that morning when Michael's face must have said too much. "When her head's effaced, your cervix will open, and a whole list of things tend to happen to make sure that happens at the right time. Doesn't always work, but, when it's time, we'll know."
"Being able to make it through my speech would be nice."
"Your speech should go well," Hugh promised, patting her shoulder. "I don't think she's coming for a few more weeks. Not that she wouldn't be fine, today."
"We know." Laira's so much more patient with this than Michael is.
They know. They're fine. They're trusting the process. After Laira's down from the biobed, joking with Hugh, Michael kisses her cheek, standing on her toes.
"See you for the speech?"
"I'll be there."
"I have—"
"Meetings, I know, I'll see you there."
Laira touched Michael's chin. "Save some of your worrying for later."
Raising her eyebrows, Michael glanced down. "It's a renewable resource."
"Ah. Well, stop mining it, darling."
Of course, it's never that easy just to let things go. If Philippa's going to be their Hitchhiker's namesake, maybe the Emperor will share her knack for surviving, from wherever she is.
Michael rests her hands on the smooth, cool railing in front of the viewport, looking out at the fleet of ships waiting for the memorial. Philippa knew they'd name the baby after her. The ghost of her mentioned it at Resuna Idun. Laira has compiled a list of names for the hitchhiker's first name. There's one Michael likes more than the others, but she chose Philippa, so she can wait, see what Laira likes when the Hitchhiker gets here.
Maybe they'll look at her face and know what they should call her.
"Your face looks like I've already told you that the calculations from the Luna propulsor lab are all wrong, but I haven't told you yet, so I don't know what you could be so worried about, Captain." Reno leans on the rail next to her. "Also holding the snacks until after the silence is cruel."
Veddra raises her eyebrows in a way that's almost Vulcan. "Reno believes she could mourn just as effectively while eating."
"The Grazellans believe the same thing," Michael says, finding a smile.
Reno returns her smile, hopeful. "Can we put the Grazellans in charge of the next memorial?"
"I'll see what I can do."
Discussing the Luna lab's new variant of the pathway drive was on Laira's agenda for today, and she wasn't happy about either. Reno hating it is validating. If they agree, they're probably right.
"The council wants to put this on a ship?" Reno calls up the schematics on her holocomm. She angrily circles a few portions of the calculations in red. On first glance they look fine, but Reno and Veddra point out several discrepancies Michael never could have seen.
"The shuttle tests were positive."
Veddra nods, raising a hand to prevent Reno's complaints so she can explain it more reasonably. "A shuttle would need a much smaller quantum slipstream. The mass of a starship, even a small one like Discovery, would need an exponentially greater slipstream, which is then less predictable. The power consumption curve isn't possible with a standard matter-antimatter reactor. they must be using something else, but that's not part of their calculations. They might be trying to keep their reactor design under wraps, but that worries us."
"What Veddra means in her circuitous Romulan way, is that they can't say for certainty that they'll end up where they say they'll end up, because they're not even being honest about their power source."
That cold knot finds in a home in Michael's stomach. "But the council gets to decide."
"The council does not have enough scientists, nor are they famous for listening to them," Veddra says. "Scientists rarely chose to serve in that manner."
Reno waves the holocomm away as a group council members walks by. "Don't suppose your wife gets a veto?"
"Unfortunately not, not on a project like that." Laira would be overstepping her authority terribly. "Council member Gozre is very fond of this particular project. He believes diversifying the fleet's propulsion will lead to greater security. The spore drive, quantum slipstream and the pathway drive are all being researched simultaneously."
"Crystals and mushrooms are already pretty diverse. We can use dilithium and the mycelial network. Spores are sustainable, and we have improved our travels so we pose no risk to the Jah'Sepp. It's not hard to see the winner."
"Maybe it's still to strange for them."
"Half-baked calculations are stranger."
Michael nods, touching Reno's arm. "I'll make sure Laira know your concerns, but she felt just as stuck."
"Council member fancy-pants has built a coalition?"
"He has."
"Well, maybe he wants to be part of the test."
Michael glances down at her shiny black boots. "We don't risk politicians that way."
"Unless they're your wife."
"Well, she's unique, and she chose the risk."
Veddra folds her fingers, much like Sarek used too. "Now Discovery's spore drive isn't seen as a risk at all. We have children on board."
"And they're safe. All the spore drive's we've installed have been very reliable."
"Ni'Var ships are installing them now. Their shipwrights have approved the VARS navigational system."
Reno slips her arm into Veddra's. "There's a vote of confidence. Maybe the synchronized spore jump will convince them."
HQ's computer voice interrupts them. "The memorial for the Burn will commence in five minutes."
Reno tilts her head upwards. "You better get to command."
"Give the president our best, captain."
"We honor the lives lost to the Burn by stopping, remaining at sublight while we respect what we've lost. We're remembering our ancestors; honoring their stories. The Burn ended how we saw the galaxy, made it dangerous and fractured, ad we lost touch with each other. As we rebuild now, we have a chance to remember why our ancestors travelled among the stars. They explored, conducted scientific research, traded between each other, and looked outward with wonder."
Laira pauses, taking a breath, almost smiling. It's the right tone, and she knows, but Michael's in awe of how easy she makes it look now, after so many hours practicing. "We can honor them by finding our way back to that sense of community. We share our galaxy, and our strengths, and together our descendents will remember that we rebuilt our connections, together. We reached for each other as we restored our ships and our alliances. Our connections to each other survived the Burn, and the DMA. So that we remain, reaching for each other, not only in remembrance, but in hope and unity."
The moment of silence passed respectfully, and Laira's speech seems to have gone over well. Jen's smiling, the council members on the command deck seem pleased and the communication staff are already back to their posts, making sure Laira's holo makes it to every corner of the Federation.
Headquarters hasn't felt this full since the DMA summit, where the toll of what they were facing seemed to be in the middle of every room. This memorial has a somber tone, but it's hopeful. they're together, looking forward. It probably helps that most of them weren't alive for the Burn, nor were their parents. It's a generational trauma, to be sure, but other than a few long-lived species, like members of the Ni'Var and Kaminar delegations, they're all a few generations removed. Laira's great-aunt Margot wasn't alive for the Burn, but she lived with the aftermath.
Now they must be turning a corner. There are delegations from each of the Federation's sixty member worlds, and Laira has completed official visits to fifty-eight of them. Michael knows most of the ambassadors. Laira's message of hope carries through, and the reception is pleasant, even warm.
When the refreshments Reno was waiting for are unveiled, the tables are multicolored feasts for the senses, stretching all the way around the council floor. Every member culture has to be represented, and each planet has a variety of their own. Zora was even consulted about historical recipes that might have been lost to the Burn.
"Captain Burnham, may we have a moment of your time?" Dr. Kovich has a knack for appearing out of nowhere, but he has a plate in his hands
She finds Laira in the crowd with her eyes, making sure she has a plate in her hands. Jen is with her, walking with her past one of the tables, and Nhan's a step behind.
"Of course, doctor, admiral." She follows Admiral Vance and Dr. Kovich into one of the secluded offices.
Vance's very bright smile must have everything to do with Laira, and he gently touches her shoulder. "The president's speech went well."
"As anticipated," Kovich adds. "Her speaking prowess was never in doubt."
"Captain Burnham was nervous."
"Not about her speech, sir."
Vance nods. "It is difficult to be calm about an event that will change your life forever when it occurs, and you know it's coming, but you have no idea when."
"Yes, sir. The gravity and the unpredictability are difficult."
Kovich nods, but his face is neutral, as always. "We have something to show you, but first, we need to ask something of a personal nature."
"Personal, sir?"
"Commanders Detmer and Owosekun retrieved a holographic message from the mysterious spatial coordinates you obtained. The message was incredibly old. It had been stored with several redundant backups, with shielding and some of the twenty-fifth century's best encryption."
"The twenty-fifth century, sir?" Spock lived nearly that long, but he died in the past. She wouldn't have known anyone else there, unless—
Her chest tightens with loss, but Philippa had a good life. She was old and content when Michael saw a vision of her.
"Philippa Georgiou left a message for you there, we've examined it, and it's genuine. She placed it somewhere safe and arranged for you to get it now. We apologize for the delay, but there's information in the message you might not want to be surprised by."
"What kind of information, sir?" Neither of their faces hint it's something dangerous.
Vance toys with his sleeve. "She knows what you name your child."
Michael smiles, and the knot in her chest eases a little. "And you didn't want to spoil it for me, sir?"
"The president mentioned you'd decided on your daughter's middle name."
"We have, sir."
"Then now is the appropriate time to show you." Kovich touches a control, and Philippa shimmers into existence. When Michael watched her captain's will, she was drowning in her own guilt. Now she misses her, this mother who was not her mother, and was, in all the ways that matter.
"Michael, I've gone to great care to make sure this message reaches you the slow way, so that no time travel laws will be broken, and what I have to tell you is also from the past, so your Federation intelligence should find no fault with this." Philippa smiles, very pleased with herself. Her hair is silver and black, so this was before the version of her that Michael saw last. There's a peace in her eyes that she didn't have when she left.
"In 2447, ion storms increased nearly one hundred fold. Due to your excessive diligence, we don't have a spore drive, and it took us many months to determine the cause was an extra galactic fly by. A super-dense galactic cluster passed through the fringes of the our own, we experienced a class twelve ion storm."
Michael holds up her hand, and Kovich pauses the holo for her. "Class twelve? It's a logarithmic scale, that would cover almost forty percent of the galaxy."
"Oh it gets worse," Vance says with that sort of graveyard cheerfulness he has when things are dire.
The holo of Philippa folds her arms. "We were able to mitigate much of the potential damage by keeping our ships at warp for the duration of the ion storm, our losses were minimal. Of course, we have extensive dilithium reserves that you do not, but b-perhaps by the time this reaches you-" she grins at her own joke- "You will have solved that problem. Our scientists predict the galactic cluster will return in seven hundred-forty three years. My hope is that this message reaches you before it does."
"I've attached all of our data, in case it's lost your history. I don't recall reading about this when I hacked into their systems, so you will need it."
Philippa looks at Michael, as if she knew where she'd be standing, and her chest constricts, hot. Missing her is a different ache than the others she left. Philippa was here, but she couldn't stay.
"Give my namesale a galaxy that's worthy of her, Michael." Philippa's smile glows across the centuries. "I'm glad you found someone to marry who takes her responsibility to the galaxy almost as seriously as you do, look after her, democracy is an exhausting, inefficient form of government."
Philippa glances down, and there must be so many things she can't say. "I suppose I ought tell you that I did take your advice, and I told my stories to the people I met, eventually. My favorite stories to tell are always about you, Captain Burnham."
Philippa brought them another mystery, and there's data to go through and they'll need to ask the 10-C for extra galactic sensor readings, and increase scanning for ion storm activity.
But Michael stares at the empty space where Philippa's holo was, and tries to imagine her with people who know her, who trust her in return, where she's shed some of her bad habits, become less sharp, maybe even happy.
She wouldn't admit it if she was content, and she liked the Hitchhiker's name.
"Did you show the president, sir?"
Kovich rests his hands on the table. "We reported to her. We've shared the scientific data with with all Federation scientists . We're also investigating the geological record for traces of the class twelve ion storm Georgiou mentioned."
Vance shrugs. "She was right about your daughter's name."
"She would be a reliable source in my opinion, sir."
"We looked for a service record for her, in the time period she mentioned, and other than a few vert redacted missions that I can't access even iwth my clearance—"
Kovich finishes for Vance. "She seems to have become part of Starfleet intelligence at a time when they needed her." He nods to them both. 'I am needed elsewhere, captain, admiral."
Michael watches him leave, then her eyes return to where Philippa stood. Did she see their baby? Did she keep in touch with the Guardian of Fever? Some other kind of time travel? Maybe she found the Prophets of Bajor and asked to use an orb. She's endlessly resourceful.
"You chose worthy namesake," Vance says, touching her shoulder. "Makes it seem real, doesn't it, once she has a name."
"Laira's still choosing her first name."
"She mentioned her village's tradition." He leans on the table beside her. "It's a mission you really can't prepare for."
"As much as I wish I could, sir."
"Raising my daughter is what means the most to me. I have a career, more of one than I'd like some days to be sure, but she's the part I am most proud of."
"You think I'll feel the same way?"
"You've had an exceptional life, captain, hopefully it's prepared you for the incredibly stubburn toddler you and the president might have."
"Bedtime can be a difficult proposition?"
"We had more trouble with baths."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."
He chuckles. "When my daughter was born, I felt like the only person in the room not doing something important."
"Oh?"
"My wife assures me that was not the case, however, I thought I'd warn you. If it feels that way to you, you're not alone."
Turning, she leans on the cool glass table beside him. "Thank you, sir."
"It'll be bumpy, but you fly through."
"That's one of your shorter analogies." Michael takes a breath, her chest warm with feeling.
"It is, isn't it?" Vance looks out the stars beyond the viewer. "Becoming a parent is impossible to prepare for, and you rise to the occaision. That's something you have some practice with, at least."
"I'll have to keep that in mind."