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"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I can't." Not that Michael won't listen, and have some helpful insight. She's been an incredibly helpful every night of these negotiations, letting Laira work through her talking points for the redevelopment summit near the edge of Orion space. They'd been staying in an old hotel that was luxurious two hundred years ago, and has a beautiful view of the various fleets of ships, all pretending they're not nervous being this close to the territory of two warring Breen primarchs.
Michael sets down her book on the table in front of the deep green sofa. She brought several paper books, and her saxophone. Laira's been deep in negotiations for such long days that she's not sure what books Michael has finished, and hasn't heard the saxophone yet. The way her head's pounding tonight is not the night to ask Michael to play.
Michael's always here when Laira returns and she's always ready to listen to how it went. Michael brings her tea when she goes to the replicator and helps with her cape in the mornings and everything about sharing a room with her has been pleasant.
She's getting too accustomed to being with her every moment of her downtime and Laira's supposed to feel trapped or tired. It would be easier if something about Michael was frustrating, but she mediates and is incredibly neat.
And observant.
"Your headache is classified?"
What? That's what Michael is smiling about?
"No, it's not classified. "
"Sit."
Rolling her neck, Laira winces. "I've been sitting, that's the problem."
"I can get a step stool, I guess." Michael clucks her tongue and pulls the two pins that hold Laira's sash in place to removes it. She hangs it deftly on the wall and returns her attention to Laira. "Are you this bad at concealing how much your head hurts in meetings?"
"I'm much better at it in meetings."
"Figures." Michael waves up a stool from programmable matter, and Laira doesn't need to start protesting that it's fine, she can sit. She's not even sure what's happening until Michael touches her neck. It's subtle, for a moment, then sudden warmth of her fingertips hits like a stray spark from the EPS grid.
Laira shivers. "Your hands are warm."
"Your neck is cold."
"It's a perfectly reasonable—" Pain blossoms under Michael's thumbs like seha flowers, vibrant, saturated with red, and flying open in moments
Three different protests melt under Michael's fingers. She could have warned her, she could be gentle, she doesn't need too—
Hissing in surprise, Laira grabs the edge of the sofa because her balance is not as good as it was a moment ago. That tension was vital in keeping her upright, it seems.
"I told you to sit."
"I didn't ask you to—" Laira breaks off, gasping. Pain and relief aren't the same thing, except one sizzles through her nerves and she's not sure which. "Dammit."
"You were standing like grilshaak reed."
"Are you going to tell me that they're tall and beautiful?"
"They are pretty, in the summer on Kaminar, they're this brilliant shade of green." Michael digs her fingers in, tracing Laira's vertebrae forming twin lines of pain. "In the winter they dry out, and they shatter in the wind. You can hear them pop when they bend."
Humming in the back of her throat, Laira tries to avoid moaning, but it's so vividly painful that she hisses, again. "Are you sure that's helping?"
"Im' nowhere near the nerves that knock you out." Michael pats her shoulders. "Those are here.
"It's too painful to pass out."
"Take you out of the pilot's seat and you lose all tolerance for anything."
Laira starts to protest but Michael's hands keep finding new depths of stiffness in her muscles that sing with agony. She needs to stretch in the breaks, or go fly herself around at high-Gs or something. Toughen herself up.
"Where is the nerve pinch nerve again?"
"I'm nowhere near that."
"Are you certain?"
Michael makes that noise in the back of her throat and maybe it's the way she's exhausted from the meetings she can't talk about. It's not funny.
It is though.
Laira lets herself go weak in the knees, crumpling like a sack of Rigellian rutabagas. It's hard to do, and she's never been a good actor, but she doesn't have to be really. Michael's reflexes are so damn good that Laira doesn't even need to catch herself.
Michael does, because she's Michael Burnham, heroic Starfleet captain.
Laira's head is in her lap, cradled by Michael's knees and Michael's quick fingers check her pulse.
"Laira, Laira—" her voice is all gentle and concerned for half a moment, then her tone drops. "Not funny, Rillak."
Heart rate must be too fast or something. Laira opens one eye to peer up at Michael, then the other, and Michael's face is too perfect.
And she laughs.
Rolling her eyes and half-heartedly tapping her cheek, Michael raises her eyebrows, all deeply unimpressed for a moment.
"Your trapezius is a mess. I couldn't knock you out with it if I tried."
"I thought you were trying."
"Uh-huh." Michael strokes her cheek, then traces the ridge that runs up to her forehead, then kisses her. "You're not funny."
"I am so funny."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me, I'm off duty."
"You'd better be, that was terrible acting."
"I don't act at my job."
Michael's eyebrows fly upward again and now she chuckles, helping Laira sit u. "Of course not, you're entirely sincere."
"Always." Laira rubs her neck, wincing a little. "It is better."
"I'm good."
"I wasn't doubting you."
"Oh you so were." Michael leans in, kissing her cheek. "If you'd passed out your blood pressure would have dropped."
"That's how you knew?"
"That and the laughing."
"Ah." Laira holds Michael's neck for a moment, lost in the warmth of her. "Well, that gives me something to work on."
"Oh no- no, my heart rate jumped to warp, so none of that."
"You thought you'd done it?"
"No!" Michael shakes her head, then smiles. "Maybe, for a second."
"Gotcha."
"You did not." Michael brushes invisible dirt off of her pants. "I did think you were going to smash your face on the deck."
"You were very fast."
"You're lucky I was."
"I had faith."
Michael's thumb almost touches her lips, but doesn't. "This has been nice."
"I've barely seen you."
"I've gotten a lot done in your absence."
"You've learned a whole saxophone concerto, I'm sure."
Michael turns, leaning back against the sofa. "Never give myself enough down time on board Discovery, so this was good. No one really needed me and I like seeing this you."
"This me?"
"The one who thinks pretending to be nerve pinched is funny."
"Oh it is funny."
"When you're less tired, you'd never admit that."
"Perhaps I should say a lot of things I wouldn't."
"Getting into the habit of holding things back?"
"I always have."
Michael squeezes her fingers. "I know."
"So I don't need to say it?"
"Say what?" Michael's brown eyes twinkle. "Something classified?"
"Something so much more difficult to put words to."
"Ah." Michael rests her hands on her knees. "You'll get there."
Humming to herself, Laira moves to sit beside her. "Perhaps."
Leaning against her should, Michael sighs, contented. "I have faith."