Chapter Text
Laira's asleep almost before Michael finishes taking down her hair, which leaves Michael with a long list of holocalls to make. She starts with Admiral Vance, because he'll get the Federation protocol right and even something like Laira taking a day off must be complicated.
"Captain Burnham, I hear Vuustis isn't going as well as we hoped." Vance isn't in his office, she must have taken him from dinner.
"The negotiations were perfect."
"Just the other thing."
"A phenol compound used for flavoring drinks is toxic."
"And a large number of your crew discovered that."
"Unfortunately."
"I trust everyone is recovering well."
"The president is ill, she's getting better—"
Vance raises his eyebrows. "But she needs a few days off."
"Why does that seem more difficult than the negotiations?"
"Because she's only had a handful of days off since she took office, and you might have an excellent understanding of what it's like to be that type of leader."
"You can order me to take leave, sir."
"It's a good thing, isn't it?" Vance taps a set of controls on his holopadd. "I will inform the vice president that she'll be running things for a few days. She'll be thrilled." His expression suggests that is the opposite of the case, but Michael appreciates the effort.
Vance's daughter walks behind him, coming into view on the holo long enough to wave before she disappears. He mock glares at them both as Michael waves at her.
"I trust you can keep an eye on the president."
"I believe that was why you agreed with her that Discovery was an excellent choice as a diplomatic ship."
"I am wise, aren't I?" he finishes with a grin. "Don't let her work. The Vice President is an exceptional leader."
"I'll fly the ship into a nebula if I need too."
"Good, I'll send you a list of particularly dense ones." Vance leans a little closer. "Make sure she takes the time."
"I will, sir."
"Good night then, Captain." His final smile is a little smug, but he often is when he's in a good mood.
Next on Michael's list of calls is to Laira's partner, a propulsion engineer named Dar Merak. After the evacuation of Earth's moon, his research team was temporarily set up on one of the moons of Tellar Prime, Further from Federation headquarters, making visits with Laira more difficult. Perhaps that was why she hadn't mentioned him on this trip. They simply hadn't had time to see each other, or Laira was struggling to balance her personal life and the rigors of her position, still.
He was listed in her personel file, and protocol suggested he be contacted before he had too much of a chance to worry.
Michael's holocomm message goes first to a young Bajoran research associate who was a little starstruck by Discovery's captain, and Dar has to be summoned from his work. He seems less impressed by Starfleet, or Discovery, or perhaps Michael herself. Dar is a tall, elegant Bajoran man with gray in his dark hair at his temples. The circles under his eyes hint that he sleeps less than Laira does.
"Forgive me, Captain Burnham, my research is delicate and I prefer not to be disturbed. I hope we can keep this brief."
"I apologize for the interruption."
"What is this about, Captain?"
"It is my duty to inform you that President Rillak is ill, and will be replaced by the Vice President at official functions for the next few days. She is recovering well and there's no need to—"
He holds up a hand, tilting his head. "Wait, this is about Laira?"
"You are listed in her personal records."
Dar looks down, then touches his hair self-consciously. He smiles, and it's almost charming. Maybe it would be under different circumstances. "She needs to update that."
Michael waits, giving him time to finish the thought.
"We broke up weeks ago. It's just like her to—"
"My apologies. I wouldn't have interrupted you if I'd known."
"Oh she's busy, always. Too many big things in Madam President's head for the little things to stick."
Michael can finish the thought for him. He was not one of the big things, and he thought he should have been. Michael knows what it's like to precariously balance a relationship and the fate of the galaxy and have one of them topple. This feels different than Book. Book's first thought would be concern for her.
"Of course, that's in the past and I'm proud of her, leading us all. Do you need something from me, or can I let you get back to your work? I'm sure you have something more important to do than talk to me."
Michael's known scientists whose egos don't fit in their quarters. Dar's seems to need a whole spacedock. "I apologize again for taking up your time."
"Must be tweaking her stabilizers that she can't work."
"We're all a little married to our work."
His smile does not reach his eyes. None of them have. "Of course, Captain. I'll return to mine. Dar out."
Her conversations with Sarek were warmer, and something twists her stomach on Laira's behalf. Maybe they broke up and it was messy but that doesn't fit, Laira would have made taking his name off of her record if it had been bad. She'd make the time.
Scrolling idly though Laira's personal record while it's open, Michael sighs. So many close to her are dead. Her parents, and her grandparents, and even some of her father's crew. If she removes Dar's name from her record, whose will she replace it with? Her family on Earth are distant relations, her grandmother's sister and a scattering of cousins. Laira has aides and ambassadors and her professional contacts are legion.
Her personal life is as blank as a member of Discovery's crew, but Laira's been here, in this time. She's just been left behind.
Across her quarters, Laira stirs in Michael's bed. She was too tired to argue much when Michael suggested she come to her quarters. After Michael agreed not to sleep on the sofa, Laira fell asleep without protest. Hugh is still concerned that the toxin will reestablish itself in her stomach lining and need more intense treatment to eliminate it completely it away. Steroids, anti-inflammatories and immune suppressants all build on each other and Laira's unique biochemistry is difficult to balance.
Hugh has already reported that several other cases relapsed in the night, and they are treating them, but the harder this is to eradicate, the more he worries. Michael worries with him, about all of her crew, of course, but especially for Laira, who seems to have no one else to think of her.
Discovery's crew has each other. They've lost everyone, but they have each other to hang onto. They are family.
Laira has a great-aunt, that she's only met when Earth rejoined the Federation. Her aunt is a journalist in North America, far north on the Pacific coast, which is a beautiful area of the planet. Laira mentioned getting to see the beach, but little about her aunt. She's so tentative when it comes to her life, as if it'll all drift away.
Michael sighs, making up her mind. "Zora, what time is it on Vancouver Island?"
"Nine seventeen, Captain."
Michael's over stepping a little, but she can apologize when Laira's awake. "See if you can open a channel."
"Of course, one moment."
Laira's great-aunt is seated and holding a mug in her hands when she shimmers into the holocomm. She regards Michael with a curious smile. "I have never gotten a request from Starfleet before."
"I'm Captain Michael Burnham of the Federation Starship Discovery. I'm trying to reach Margo Holte."
"And you have, Captain."
"Ms. Holte—"
"Call me Margo." She leans in, confident. "Discovery is the ship Laira was on, you brought her to Earth."
"We did."
"And you left the galaxy, amongst the other very classified things she couldn't tell us about."
"That was Discovery."
"You make me want take a holiday from my retirement so I can ask all about it," Laira's aunt sits back in her chair, holding her mug in both hands. "What can I do for you, Captain Burnham?"
Michael pauses when Laira stirs again. The way she sighs in her sleep is almost a whimper and Michael's concern runs just beneath the surface, electric and uncertain. Michael drags herself back to the moment, pulling her thoughts together. "I need to speak to Laira's family."
"Is she all right?"
"She's ill, she'll recover, and we're looking after her, so please don't—"
"Don't worry, everything's fine, but you need to tell me?"
"I didn't want you to see it on the news service and worry."
Margo sips her drink and looks at the surface of it thoughtfully. "You have to inform her family, and she doesn't have much left if you had to speak to me."
"I know what it's like to be alone in the galaxy."
"I imagine you do." Margo looks through her, studying her like an artifact of a distant civilization. "She seemed lonely - Laira - I mean. She was thrilled to meet us, as we were, but it meant something special to her."
"Her family out here has been gone awhile."
"And you're looking after her."
"We are. She's going to be all right, Discovery's medical staff are the finest."
"Laira trusts you, she spoke of you and your crew with the highest respect." Margo fidgets with the handle of her mug, finishing the last of her drink. "Earth's been out of the Federation for awhile, but even I've heard stories of heroic Starfleet captains. She's safe with you."
"She is, she absolutely is."
Margo smiles at someone behind the holocam, then hands her empty mug to another woman. "You wanted to make sure someone would worry with you."
Chuckling a little, Michael catches herself fussing with one of her wooden trinkets. The wood's always so warm in her hands. "We should all have people who care about us."
"Let me guess, the partner wasn't what you expected."
"He was very busy."
"Ah." Margo accepts a new mug and blows on the surface. "Laira said his research is very important."
"It is."
"Where is she now?"
"She's here, asleep. She might even be annoyed that I bothered you." Michael rubs her finger across the wood again, listening to Laira's breathing.
Margo's smile is bright and sunlit. "Being bothered by you is the most interesting thing that I will do today, I assure you." Her smile fades. "Laira wasn't unhappy enough with her partner to say anything, but definitely not happy enough to talk about him the way she spoke about others."
If those others includes Michael, that remains unsaid.
"Will you tell me when she's all right again?"
"I will."
"That's not too much—"
"I will make sure you know she's all right."
Content with that, Margo finds Michael's eyes. "I am glad you took the time to contact me. I like knowing she's in good hands. I do believe if Laira had chosen someone like you, she would be happier."
Michael's face warms and she fumbles for a reply.
"Good night, Captain," Margo ends the message before Michael can find a response.
Staring at the bulkhead of her quarters, Michael sits for awhile in the quiet. The warmth of Laira's aunt lingers. Dar was so brusque and self-involved. Margo cares for Laira, as she should, and Dar did not.
Laira carried her feelings for him to the edge of the galaxy and he's mildly annoyed she hasn't removed him from her life completely. In contrast to that, Book and Michael talk, they were friends before they were lovers and they've returned to friends. She trusts him to have her back. How many people can Laira trust the same way?
Michael leaves her trinket on the table and removes her uniform jacket. Slipping off her boots, she changes into her pajamas while Laira turns in bed. Her sleep is trouble as Michael dims the lights and begins to read. One of Laira's sighs is nearly a moan, and Michael sets her book aside.
Laira's eyes flutter open a few moments later. Her lips tightening in pain.
"Same pain or something new?"
Taking a shaky breath, Laira tries to relax, bu her fingers curl into the sheets. "Same, I almost wish it was something new, just for the variety."
"Hugh, we need you."
"There's no—" Laira can't even make it through protesting she's fine without whimpering.
"Let me get something stronger and I'll be there in a moment."
"Slow breaths, keep them even."
Tears gleam in Laira's eyes in the weak light. "Aye, Captain."
If teasing Michael helps her wait for Hugh, Michael can go along with that. She turns in the bed, finding Laira's hands with her own. It takes a moment for Laira to unclench her fingers and hold on to Michael instead of the sheet.
"It came back worse." Laira whimpers, but attempts to even out her breathing. "How can it come back worse?"
"Your tissues are already inflamed."
"The vice president's going to be so annoyed if she has to take over for more than a day or two."
"She loves being annoyed."
"She does." Laira twists in close to Michael, Michael opens her arms and then Laira's head slips in Michael's lap. "Breaking my wrist was better."
"How do you navigate with a solar saill?"
"What?"
"I've never had the chance to fly a solar sail shp, and I know you have—"
"You're trying to distract me."
"Is it working?"
Laira swallows a moan. "It's appreciated."
"I think I've told you all the ship's secrets."
Rolling onto her back, Laira smilles up at Michael. "I didn't mean to exhaust your stories."
"I'll make sure to keep some in reserve."
"Is there going to be a next time?"
"Hopefully not."
"It's not all bad, but I'd rather be in your bed for other reasons."
"Hull damage?" Michael teases, "maybe a malfunctioning EPS grid?"
Laira's smile could almost be flirting, if she wasn't trying so hard not to double up in the pain. It's an impressive amount of control.
"Maybe too many ambassadors."
"And I'm hiding from them?"
"I'm sure you must need to sometimes."
Shutting her eyes for a moment, Laira nods, amused. "You'd hide me?"
"I would."
Laira's exhausted chuckle is gentle. "You're very kind."
"You deserve kindness." Michael says it quickly, without thinking, because it's one of those truths of the universe that is especially true for Laira.
The transporter pops as Hugh arrives, beaming right into her bedroom. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were when she saw him last. He must have been working on this continuously.
"Seems you're unlucky again, ma'am."
"Someday you'll tell me something nice about my biochemistry, won't you?"
Hugh sits on the bed, running a scan. "You have lovely hair."
Michael moves a lock of Laira's hair out of the way, and nods. "It is nice."
"I'm glad I have—" Laira stops talking, hissing as she inhales.
Michael speaks for her when she can't. "She said it's worse than before."
"Pollard and I have isolated the bacteria producing the toxin, but they reproduce quickly. If it's not eliminated completely, it recurs, with more of the phenol compound and instead of being phasered in the gut it's more like a disruptor."
Hissing again, Laira nods. "And acid."
"Is this when I compliment you on your pain tolerance?"
"It's not a compliment I like to get from my physicians."
Rubbing her shoulder, Hugh choses a setting on his hypo and injects her neck. "Neuroblocker eleven seems to work, but you won't be able to make any state decisions until it wears off and the side effects might be annoying."
"Less annoying than this than this?"
"Much."
Nodding when she doesn't have enough breath to speak, Laira turns head towards Michael. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's all right." Michael pats her hand. "My mission just got scrapped."
"Your tyrannical boss got sick." Laira's breathing starts to ease, and when she exhales it's almost a sigh instead of a hiss.
"Tyrant of the card table, perhaps, my boss is funny when you get to know her."
"Oh?"
"All she wants to do is listen to the ship's gossip."
"It's the best kind."
Hugh makes sure Michael is listening. "She should wait at least twelve hours to eat anything, water or electrolytes are fine, nothing else. Any signs of an allergic reaction, you need to contact sickbay, if her breathing becomes difficult beam to sickbay immediately." Hugh has a few more mildly dire warnings, but he's optimistic when he returns to sickbay. Apparently Laira's had several allergic reactions to various medications in the past, which again makes Michael think of Spock.
For awhile, Michael's convinced Laira's asleep. She's quiet while Michael puts on her pajamas and cleans her teeth. Laira's eyes are open when Michael joins her in bed, and she smiles, released from discomfort.
"What is the Earth name for this?"
"A sleepover?"
"That's it. I've heard that before."
"Usually that's achieved without one member catching some nasty kind of gastroenteritis."
"But not always."
Michael settles the blankets over her chest, looking up at the ceiling. "When I first moved in with Tilly, I was right out of the Federation rehab colony. Famous mutineer Michael Burnham, and she told me a roommate was a built in friend."
"That's lovely. The last part, I mean, not the first—"
"I know what you meant."
Laira shifts at her side, rolling closer as if being able to see Michael will help any of it make sense. "I'm not sure I did."
"Don't worry, tangling your words together isn't a symptom of anything other than exhaustion."
"You spoke with Admiral Vance?"
"The Vice President is going to never let you travel again."
Covering her face with her hands, Laira groans. "She's still mad about the edge of the galaxy."
"You not coming back would have made her president."
"And she would have killed me, even though I was dead." Laira sighs, fidgeting with the sheets. "We would have been dead, right?"
"I suppose we could be stuck limping home from the edge of the galaxy without a spore drive."
"That sounds bad."
Michael turns her head. Laira had been so resolute then, they both had, because they needed to save billions. It wasn't a choice, but now, weeks later, 'that sounds bad' is a perfect understatement. "It would have taken us decades, even if we reached a wormhole or a transwarp conduit."
'We're lucky then."
"Immensely."
Silence holds them, as warm and comfortable as the blankets.
"I'm sorry about Book, Book and you, I mean, because you're not—"
"We're friends, good friends. Love is there, probably always will be, we just- well - the weight of the galaxy is heavy, so is losing a planet and right now, our lives are going in different directions."
"If someone called him because you were sick he would—"
"Be on the next shuttle over, if I asked."
"Must be nice."
"I've got a lot of people who look out for me, from Hugh to Tilly, even Vance." Michael reaches over and smooths back a stray piece of Laira's hair before it can catch in her eyelashes. "You."
"I make your life harder."
"You want me to be a better leader."
"You were so mad when we met."
"Yeah I was."
"Like Vice President mad."
Chuckling up at the ceiling, Michael imagines the petite Vice President in one of her beautiful saris yelling obscenities across a room like she does apparently. "I've never seen her that."
"She waits for the mere mortals to be out of the room, then unleashes hell."
"She didn't want you to go?"
"Too dangerous."
"You have spent quite a lot of time in sickbay."
"Microbes aren't something we can plan for."
"So that means she can't be mad?"
Laira's smile is very coy and bright. "It means I have something to think in my head while she tells me why my idea to come on this trip was terrible."
"You've done well."
"Only because you keep rescuing me."
"Luckily we were assigned to you."
"I asked, Vance offered me all the ships in the fleet and I asked for Discovery."
Michael pauses, trying to weave that into her view of their relationship. "You chose us?"
"I like being on this ship." Laira's so tired and she yawns through her thought, fighting sleep. "You make it feel like home."
"It is our home."
Laira's asleep before she can say anything else, leaving Michael unable to clarify if it's the way she feels like home or if it's the crew's home or Michael's. Her expression's peaceful, finally. There's no buried headache or nasty stomach inflammation. She's content, for however briefly it lasts. Where is her home? Does she sleep this well at headquarters? Once Discovery felt like home, Michael slept better. Now she sleeps terribly anywhere else.
Laira only snores a little; her breathing is soft and even, finally. The stars drift by in lines as they warp towards headquarters. Vance didn't think it was urgent enough for them to jump. Perhaps he wanted to give Laira the time to heal without feeling like she had to go back to work immediately. The Vice President's easy enough to pick up from Betazed if they need to bring her anywhere.
They hadn't even had the argument where Michael would have offered to sleep on the sofa. Perhaps Laira had been too tired to even think of it.
Turning on the pillow, Michael watches her sleep. Sharing a bed again was pleasant, even if it was only for a night or two. Listening to someone else breathe is a beautiful sound. She'll probably end up used to it again, even miss it when Laira returns to her own quarters. That wistful loneliness has been with her awhile, and it will linger.
"Hold still."
"It itches."
"It'll itch less if you hold still."
"That is not scientifically proven."
"Well, wriggle with one arm and hold still with the other and we'll start collecting data."
Chuckling, Laira shuts her eyes and wraps her fingers around the edge of the table. That leaves her forearms exposed so Michael can gently rub in the anti-histamine lotion Hugh provided. The hives she developed overnight crawl up her arms almost to her shoulders, bright red against her pale skin. They're dreadfully itchy, and Laira's been incredibly patient. The lotion's cool, Hugh promises it'll work quickly. It even smells pleasantly herbal. Laira's skin is very soft, and Michael's very careful to use a light touch, but not too light that it tickles, because Laira, President of the Federation, top ambassador, is ticklish.
Even the vicious itchiness isn't enough to beat out how much she wants to laugh. It's adorable.
This is nice. It's intimate and warm and they're staring into each other's eyes and when did they—
How did that happen?
It's not, of course, they're not. They're really not.
They are not.
Admiral Vance diverts them to Ni'Var, because T'Rina needs to meet with the presidents of Earth and Tellar, and Laira of course, when she's up to it again. Saru's thrilled to able to pick up his girlfriend, and a significant portion of the crew is in carious states of recovery - Laira's not alone with her hives, so they take their time, use a lower warp factor so they can have movie night and arrive at headquarters in the morning.
It's peaceful.
So is their day together. Michael hasn't spent a day with anyone, not since Book and Tilly left the ship, and she's out of practice, at least, she worries she is, but this is easy. Laira is fascinated with Michael's paper book collection and she's exhausted, so they read, and Laira falls asleep twice.
They talk about nothing and Michael's family, what her childhood was like on historic Vulcan. Laira tells Michael about running through the farms on Bajor while Michael rubs lotion into her arms again.
How is it easy?
After Laira's twelve hours are up, they eat three different kinds of soup together, sitting across from each other like they've done this a hundred times. It's too easy. Laira has her head on Michael's shoulder, a book in hand, and they could stay here. Not talk about Laira going back to her own bed or what happens tomorrow, they could just exist here.
Steal another hour or two from both of their busy lives and lean in to whatever this is.
"It's movie night, if you're up for it."
Laira sets her book down, cradling the pages. "The infamous Discovery movie night? In the cargo bay, with popcorn?"
"I don't know if it's infamous."
"Trust me, it is."
"Do you want to go?
"Yes!" Laira sits up, still holding the book to her chest.
"I don't even know what movie it is."
"I've never had popcorn."
"Really?"
"It's not—" Laira pauses, her hand still inside her book to hold her place.
Michael takes the book from her, tucking a bookmark inside.
Beaming at her, Laira touches the bookmark. "I've had similar things. Crunchy, covered in butter."
"See, that's the point of it, usually."
"But I haven't had popcorn."
"Or read a book with pages."
"I like the pages, they smell nice, they whisper. It feels very old just turning them." Laira sets the book down on the table, reaching for her sweater.
Michael's eyes are on her arms, the hives are nearly gone, and the effects of the neuroblocker are fading. She's almost herself again. Except, this version of herself is freer, happier— This is Laira, underneath the cape and jacket, as close to the teal-haired cargo pilot as Michael is ever going to get.
And she's beautiful with her hair down and her eyelids pale and unadorned. Her smile lights her eyes and she radiates excitement in a way that warms Michael's chest. Her fingers slip into Michael's, just for a moment.
"Thank you."
"Of course."
Laira's eyes meet hers and that little electric sensation runs up Michael's spine. "No, no, you've gone above and beyond, as you do, and I know you do, but you did this for me."
"I wanted to."
"I don't know how to thank you for being who you are, but I need you to know that I appreciate you."
"I know."
Laira brushes her hand against Michael's cheek, her fingers cool. "I hope you do."
"We reach for each other. Sometimes we hold each other up, sometimes we're held. It's the connection that matters."
"That connection comes so easily to you."
"You'll get there." Michael takes a step towards the door. "Being on Discovery has that effect."
In the cargo bay, they sit on a pile of cushions between crates and other members of the crew. Nilsson and Rhys are both getting over the stomach bug, so they're curled up with everyone waiting on them. Joann and Keyla are on Michael's right, wrapped in each other's arms. They were merely sitting next to each other when the lights dimmed, but once the movie's deep into the terrifying xenomorphic organism emerging in a bloody mess, they started cuddling.
T'Rina and Saru sit neatly on Laira's left, eating their popcorn and watching the chaos. Their knees are touching, which is as much of a nod to intimacy as Joann and Keyla.
Laira's thrilled to be in the middle of everything, watching the couples around them with the same interest as the movie. Once it starts to get scary, she grabs Michael's hand, then her arm, and after a few deaths she's buried in Michael's chest, hiding her eyes.
There's no way she's actually frightened by ancient special effects and squelching sounds, but the crowd around them screams, so she does, and the air crackles.
Michael laughs, Laira clings to her, and by the time the final credits crawl over the screen, Laira is as curled into her arms as Joann is into Keyla's and the eyes around them are wide.
And happy.
Michael should walk Laira back to her guest quarters, but she doesn't mention it and Laira follows Michael back to hers. This isn't a date, it's not anything more than comfort - a sense of safety - but they climb into bed together.
It's just one more night.
Laira's turning the pages of her book when Michael finally decides to say what she's been contemplating.
"You need to update your emergency contact before you forget again."
"Can I chose the xeno-monster? They seemed to want to be close to everyone."
"Pick someone who cares about you."
Again they stare at each other, close enough to hug, even kiss as they work out what this looking for each other means.
"You're offering."
"It seems like you have a very short list to chose from."
"It's you or the Vice President's husband at this point."
"As wonderful as he is, I can handle this."
"And you did, splendidly." Laira touches her hand. "I almost enjoyed it."
"Don't admit that, it gives away that you work too hard."
"Maybe I liked the company."
Setting down her book, Michael deliberately meets Laira's eyes. "We can spend time together without invading microbes or hives."
Laira swallows, hard, and her voice is tentative. "I'd like that."
"Then we'll do it."
Laira's responsibilities return like the color on her face, and when she's healed, she's back to her office. T'Rina and Laira's negotiations continue for several days, and Michael doesn't see her. They slip back into the ordinary, their lives busy and full, without intersection.
It was a moment of warmth and connection. Something to be cherished, to be sure, but it's over.
Perhaps they'll talk more on the next mission or Laira's new ship will need them again.
She's not letting go. There's nothing to let go of - they're not together - but it stings a little.
Laira beams onto the ship after dinner. It's unplanned. Her schedule is full, but then she's standing in Michael's ready room in her suit.
"It's movie night at Federation HQ."
"You have movie nights now?"
"We have been know to borrow ideas from the best of the fleet."
"I see," Michael returns her smile, intrigued by the idea of the headquarters having a movie night. "What are you going to watch?"
"Something from Risa. I think it's a musical."
"A musical?"
Laira glances down. "They're known for their elaborate costumes."
"Now that sounds fun."
"I'd like you to come with me."
"That would be nice—" Michael stands, leaving her desk.
Biting her lip, Laira finds a smile. "I want to be transparent with you. This is a date. I am asking you to come as my date."
Michael wasn't the only one who felt that tingle between them. That is real. "I admire your adaptation of ancient Earth rituals."
"I'm a quick study."
They stand in silence, swept into the moment. Laira touches Michael's chin and there's hope in her eyes, as bright as an exploding star.
"Conference level three, starts at twenty-thirty hours."
Michael starts to smile, losing her composure. "I would be honored to join you on a date."
"Gives me a chance to get back to your bedroom under better circumstances," Laira says, keeping her tone flat.
Now it's Michael's turn to flush hot with surprise. There's the kind of flirting she expected - that was flirting - that they've been toying with and then there's flirting.
Laira leans in, finding her cheek. It's the gentlest kiss, yet it holds so much promise. "Bring popcorn."