sending in a bunch because i'm now really curious, please don't feel like you have to respond to all of them! but i'd love to hear more about "Galactic Cannibalism", "What is softer than the sky before it breaks", "The first time he writes her she dies", and "LIMINAUX" 💜
Hello,thank you so very much for asking, especially about my original project! Thisfilled me with such joy, so I am doing them all.
Disco — Galactic Cannibalism
Oh, boy. I am almostcertain I will never finish this one. It’s heavily inspired by The Handmaiden, except centering onwomen’s contribution to science and the way their voices were often silenced.The plotting is a bit complicated at this point and to reveal too much wouldspoil the fun, but let’s just say that both Michael and Philippa are indomitable,take names, crush the patriarchy and look stunning in period clothing.
Philippa didn’t look disappointed, she merely looked isolated, terriblyso, as if she did not belong in this universe.
“Philippa. I am sorry.”
“No. Do not say that. You were thinking about something greater thanyou, even if you deemed my sacrifice necessary. I was—“
A bitter laughter escaped her lips.
“Lesser.”
Disco — What is softer than the sky before it breaks
A sequel towe sleep like wines in the conches.This is actually the name of the fourth part, but the actual WIP encompassesthe second and last part. Don’t ask why. I conceived the None waits for us like the horizon series as a journey throughMichael and Philippa’s unconventional relationship before the show, with eachstep corresponding to a specific moment in the day — dawn, noon, dusk and midnight. The way I see it, whatever happened toPhilippa, she was never going to be Michael’s endgame, because permanence isnot something she seeks. But she is someone who helped Michael on her personalpath, pushing her to find joy in the in-between and showing her that noteverything needs definition.
“Is the medal such a source of restlessness toyou? You have been awarded on other occasions, many, with all due respect toyour homeworld, in far more prestigious circumstances. Why the jitters?”
It would have been so easy for her toanswer that this was her home: many of the people she had grown up with wouldattend the ceremony, her family would all be gathered.
“Some places call to ground you. Like yourhomeworld. I cannot help but seeing it as a sign that I have travelled enough.”
(What doyou mean this is Legolas Greenleaf all over again?)
Doctor Who —The first time he writes her she dies
Analternative universe where Eleven is a popular sci-fi writer who gets seized bythe idea of a character and becomes haunted by her. The interest in this onemainly lies in the reflection on female agency in fiction, particularly at thehands of male writers. I really wanted to give a voice to the muse in myths andRiver is as much of a myth as Galatea or Helen. I don’t really know why I haven’tfinished this one yet as it has been remarkably easy to write for me. It’sincredibly sad; the views on creation are stark and rather bitter, just as theyare on exploration and science. The children in this story —young River, Clara, Amy— are having much more funthan the adults and I should probably even the scales somehow.
He envies Romane for she understands her betterthan he ever will, paints her everyday life so that River would fit in there.She ponders what would River do and generally comes up with answers as easilyas breathing. He made River, but Romane understands her.
(Yep, thewriter’s wife is Romana.)
OG — LIMINAUX
A bigsci-fi project whose structure I am very much messing up. Technically the storystarts at three different points: by a tourist trap in a beautiful sleepy town;in the basement of an administrative building; on the gallows. It is a legend,a murder mystery and a road trip all at once, taking place in an Earth-likeworld that has been set back technologically, culturally and demographically bya series of international armed conflicts. It’s about found families, politics,A.I., forests, stories, redemption and exploration. The three stories aresupposed to move in parallel but their nature, fiction or reality, preventsfrom putting them on a timeline. Of course they are linked and cross paths,which will make it all the more fun. Everything is in French so posting anexcerpt seems unnecessary, but still, here is my gal Valentine, a civil servantwho overlooks the respect of the rights of A.I. and takes no shit:
“Il est mignon, celui-là. On en oublierait presquequ’il raconte des conneries. Pour la cinquantième fois, on ne peut pas ytoucher dans l’état où elle se trouve.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Word count: 1173
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou
Additional Tags: Vacation, Roommates, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, Fluff, Teasing, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Requited Unrequited Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The misunderstanding is mostly Philippa being a useless lesbian and Michael a very stoic bi woman
Summary:
“If this is an attempt to get me to step out of the house before 1000, it is poorly thought-out. I told you I would leave you alone. It’s your vacation. You’ll have a pleasurable time, I promise."
“Without you?”
Philippa invites Michael to join her for a vacation in Greece and accidentally designs her own Hell. Michael knew what she was getting herself into and is convinced she can handle it.
A/N: Originally a tumblr prompt that got out of hand. I have more than 10k of mutual pining on vacation divided in small chapters and I am still finishing the last two chapters, but I am curious about publishing in parts a story with so much romantic tension, so here it is. I will probably update multiple times a week.
This is pure mutual pining and fluff in the sun for July, nothing serious. I hope you enjoy it.
Thank you to @nomi--sunrider for her beta and cheering!
Oh boy, this was a tough one. Kept going into really ansgty or UST territory and I did not want this story near any of those. Not excessively. This is probably riddled with mistakes as my head is killing me, but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for asking!
50. I will always love you, or anyway I willalways have loved you now. (And you will always be someone who was beautiful,once.)
Teen, ansgt and fluffy declarations, bad statistics, 1456 words.
This couldhave been easily avoided.
Had theAndorians dealt with the blockade by themselves, had the Federation notorganized a congress at the other end of the galaxy, had Anderson not intervenedbetween two cocktails, had Philippa not insisted they talked to the localpopulation first, each and every one of these steps could have been the last onebefore the situation got to what it was.
When thecommunication with Anderson and the Andorian leader is finally terminated,Philippa walks out of the conference room without a look for Michael, lipsquivering and neck stiff, leaving her helpless and alone to close the maps andreports.
Michaelallows herself one minute to breath, to analyse and understand what justhappened. It is not their first professional disagreement and it certainly willnot be the last, but the argument ran hot, quickly, in front of superiors, tothe point where Philippa’s anger had turned menacingly cold.
Once herheart has fallen back to an acceptable pace, Michael’s steps take her toPhilippa’s quarters, without hesitation. No argument should be left festering,even a professional one, although the closer Michael gets to her room the moreunlikely it seems the source of her distress is purely professional.
Michaelfinds Philippa sitting on the bed, back turned to the entrance. Her head is in herhands, spread across her forehead, palms massaging above her eyebrows. Michael stillsa few meters away, hands behind her back despite the intimate settings, unsureof what to do beside apologise for whatever went wrong. Her inability to pindown exactly where the exchange went wrong is a source of great confusionpresently.
But Philippadoes not need her confusion.
“Philippa,it was my duty as a First Officer to point out that such a course of action wasunwise as it would negate the population’s right to determine their fate. I seenow that my behavior hurt your leadership in front of Admiral Anderson and Iapologise for not —“
Philippa isshaking her head in her hands, her silent disarray drawing Michael closer.
“Philippa?”
“You werenot at fault, Michael.” Her voice is hoarse, calmer than Michael expected. “Notat all. It was me. I am an old fool.”
Michael carefullywalks around the edge of the bed, needing to see her face in order tounderstand, but finding in her way instead the slippers she forgot to put asidethis morning in her way. The detail is minute and comforting, prompting her tobridge the gap and sit against Philippa on the bed.
“Yourbehavior was in no way inappropriate. If you judge you were too soft on mebecause of our connection, I can assure it did not feel soft.”
Philippa sneersunder her hands, bitter.
“That’s theproblem. I feel guilty.”
“For actingproportionately given the stakes and circumstances?”
Michael isstill searching for her eyes. No matter how becoming Philippa’s bangs are, theycan be used unfairly in an argument and deflection holds no charm for Michael.
“For being sorattled at the prospect of being tough on you. For my irritation over howprofessional you remained while I felt I was losing my mind in front ofAnderson. For storming out as I did when the call ended. For—”
Philippashakes her head and turns away from Michael, chin resting on her palm. Michaelshifts beside her, looking down on Philippa’s hand resting on her thigh.
“Philippa,you can tell me.”
“I feel sorepulsive when I do this, when I have to choose between you and the work. The possibility,greater with each day, that my —our— work could be compromised by affection isdaunting. I am your superior officer and I have the power to hurt you, professionally, personally. It should not be the case.”
Oh.
“This iswhat you were talking about when you mentioned ‘power imbalance’.”
Philippabites into her lower lips, rather viciously, bowing away from Michael, settlingdeeper into a prostrate position.
The issueis a non-argument in Michael’s eyes, because part of her, the Vulcan part,trusts people —Philippa especially— to demonstrate the very sameprofessionalism she strives for in her connections with people. And she trustsher own judgment to help her voice her concerns if ever Philippa was failingher in that aspect.
“Doesn’tfeel too good, does it? You cannot keep the professional professional when youwork with someone you— I hate putting you and me in this position in the firstplace. I don’t know how you look at me and don’t see someone who breaks everyrule in the book.”
Michaellifts Philippa’s hand, gently, and turns it palm up before caressing her way downfrom the wrist. Her fingers find Philippa’s and interlace, deliberate, feelingthe roughness of Philippa’s palm against hers, and when her fingers fold onPhilippa’s knuckles, the thinness of her skin there. She increases thepressure, with intent, forcing Philippa’s attention back on her gestures. Touchesare the way to her heart, Michael found. Telling means very little to Philippa,or rather it means everything, so binding are her words, and their use shouldbe scarce.
Philippalooks up from their hands with a puzzled expression.
“I seesomeone who broke every rule so that she could be with me. It is the most beautifulsight and I have witnessed a few stars going supernova.”
Speechlessnesstakes over her features and Michael wonders if she has to amend her statement toinclude Philippa’s baffled face.
“I trustyou and us to check our privileges, as colleagues, as partners. We must make room for sensible judgment in between rules.I know I do.”
Philippafights the feeling for a second before yielding. Relief washes over herfeatures as her hand squeezes back Michael’s.
“More likeinside them. I am pretty sure Anderson knowsand is waiting to use it as leverage against Terral. We made a mess. It reallyisn’t pretty.”
“Loverarely is.”
Philippa’s holdstiffens in her palm, as it always does when Michael talks about love. Michaelsuspects their definition of the word does not align perfectly, but the discussionskeep being derailed when they broach the subject and Michael lets it becausethey rarely have time for each other on this ship.
Philippadoes not shy away from looking straight at Michael this time.
“Michael… Icannot give you forever. We are too far apart in life. And the last thing Iwant is to be a burden.”
Michaelcannot help but pause before answering, drinking in Philippa’s delicate features,this close, this within reach. She is allowedto discuss “love” and “forever” with Philippa and such a phenomeon isimmeasurable. She is allowed to loveher even if it is difficult and finite. She is allowed to touch her, now.
“I knowthis and I have accepted this. Statistically the majority of relationships donot last more than two years. I did not expect ours to beat records.”
Chances arePhilippa will retire under ten years or move on to the Admiralty. She is notfond of admirals, so Michael has her doubts Philippa will choose this path. AndMichael will choose the stars every time she can. She can do so while havingloved Philippa as much as she does right now.
Philippalooks up and her hand flies to Michael’s face, tracing the curve of her jaw downand up to her lips, where Michael’s hand join hers, determined, pressing.
“Please,let me have this now,” Michael mutters under her breath before deposing a kisson Philippa’s knuckles. “Whatever happens, let us have this now. Let us makesure we will always have these moments to cherish.”
Philippawill never be a source of regret for as long as Michael remembers her now,folded between her hands, willing to break rules with her, rattled andbeautiful. It requires work, it requires putting aside all questions and considerationsabout a future together. It requires exploring their connection without a map, andsampling emotions and moments along the way.
Philippa isa dedicated adventurer and Michael a skilled scientist: the informationcollected will be immense.
“You are too lovely for words, Michael. You canhave now and everything inside,around, between.” Philippa’s smile feels a little wet on her cheek and Michaelnotes as she opens her eyes that they ended up messily intertwined on the edgeof the bed, feet mixed on the floor, arms mingled, heads each other’s support. “I’lleven become a lovely memory for you, if you ask.”
“Good. ButI would rather make lovely memories than talk about them,” Michael chuckles asshe dives to capture her lips.
Thank you very much for asking! It’s a really fun exercise because it forces me to work fast and stop caring. I should try it more often. I hope you enjoy this!
23. We talk in the dark as we fall asleep, andwe are objects in the night sky outside of time. (it is the exact opposite ofalone.)
General audiences, no warnings, 1341 words. Why did it become sad?
Philippainhales, tasting the air of the night, the way the scents tiptoe on her tonguein the dark, fresh and familiar. The high trees surrounding the East sanctuary,in reality four large burnt tiles in the middle of a patch of sand, are theonly walls and roofs above her head tonight. This almost feels like Earth, evenwhen her chest rises and falls under the gravity of a planet. Michael had saidsomething about a high concentration of iridium in the morning that they shouldwatch over, but the morning has not come yet. The night has barely fallen.
With asigh, her hand retrieves the communicator buried in her sleeping bag and, inthe mineral silence of the sanctuary, she checks the stations one after theother. Jira is still awake, answering briskly as if slightly unhinged by theabsence of her tactical helmet, Januzzi blissfully snores, having hurled aroundthe communication equipment for the better part of the day and Michael…
Michael isnot answering.
Philippaprops herself up on her free arm, the covers pooling around her waist andletting the chill air engulf her, but she is worried. Her breath comes hotagainst the metal of the communicator, fogging in the screen.
“Georgiouto Burnham. Are you receiving me? Is everything alright?”
A good thirtyseconds pass, filled with silence and Philippa’s growing apprehension, before aheavy breath more or less lands on the communicator at the other end of theline and Michael’s voice rings in the solemn quietness:
“Burnham toGeorgiou. Aye, Captain. Sorry.” Another breath and the shuffle of a sleepingbag travel to Philippa’s ear, reassuring. “I was watching the stars.”
Philippa heavesa deep sigh away from the communicator as she lies back on the warm tiles, notbothering to cover her shoulders since Michael’s brief disappearance gave her arush of adrenaline she really ought to discuss with Katrina.
“Exploring,eh? You are not supposed to leave your post, Specialist.”
“TheArunian priest required of us to honour the stars by sleeping in the night’s embrace. They did not specify we had to stayat the sanctuary before sleeping.”
“True. Butyou ought to be sleeping for now. The ceremony tomorrow will begin early and runthroughout the day. You’ll need that sleep, Michael.”
“I am alsorequired as a xenoanthropologist to record as much as I can about this culture.And the Arunians worship the stars.”
Philippa rollsonto her back and secures her arm under her head, shifting to make the positionmore comfortable. This is a very lonely planet, in a very lonely galaxy, surroundedby a unique cloud of stardust, and as such the night here cannot be foundanywhere else. Philippa cannot quite put into words how knowing such lonelinesscan bring such beauty affects her.
“Their skyis unlike anything I have ever seen,” she whispers, almost forgetting Michaelis not right beside her, but, before she can repeat her words, Michael’s voicecrackles out of the communicator.
“Thepromontory near the North temple offers a remarkable view on the forests andthe sky. I feel like anything there is to understand about their sacred textcan be fathomed at this point. I suspect the First Guides sat at this very spotwhen they wrote it.”
“Michael,you have far too much ambition for the night.”
“You arenot sleeping either, Captain.”
Touché.
“I wasthinking about Ensign Narwani. Not every Starfleet member is made for awaymissions.”
“I trusther ability to assess her limitations. If she says she can handle these twodays, she will handle them.” Michael’s voice is steady and, from the hours thecommander spent with the young woman, Philippa would venture to call JiraNarwani Burnham’s protégée. “She has to be given the opportunity to experienceaway missions first before deciding she does not enjoy them. This is a lowrisk, short term commitment.”
“True. ButI would not be a good captain if I did not worry about my crew.”
“That iswhy you have me. To keep you from worrying too much so that you can keep onbeing a good captain. And sleeping. Jira is more than ready for this mission.You are more than ready to sleep.”
What in theworld will Philippa do when Michael will leave her to become captain, shewonders. It will happen soon without a doubt, too soon for her taste. EvenTerral can see the commander’s exemplary career and they are in dire need of captainslike Philippa, Katrina told her confidentially. They will appoint Michael to a brandnew ship and introduce to Philippa another bright lieutenant on their path tocaptaincy. And Philippa will barely see Michael anymore. She will be alone.
This is whyshe is not sleeping.
“Do I needto wake up Januzzi to tell you a bedtime story, Captain?”
A chuckleescapes Philippa and she doesn’t even try to move the communicator away. Boththeir job is to keep the other from worrying too much: laughter is a token of comfort.Let Michael believe this night is as quiet and beautiful as it appears.
As it is.
“I’ll pass.Januzzi’s stories tend to heighten everyone’s sense of… whatever is the subjectof his story, really.”
“I have toinsist that the late night shift you walked on last time was not a satanicritual. Despite appearances.”
“The factyou know enough about old Earth Satanism to draw comparisons is of moreinterest to me than the explanation of said appearances.”
“Tellingstories has never been one of my skills, Captain.”
“You are aremarkable raconteur, Michael. Otherwise we would not be the last two awakechatting on away missions, again. Your stories stimulate more than they put tosleep. That’s all.”
Philippa canhear the pride in the transmitted breaths, the low chuckle earned by intimacyand confidence. Such controlled warmth emanates from Michael, even with theelectrical distortion of the communicator. It’s like sitting beside an antiquestove.
Philippacloses her eyes, fighting the urge to enclose herself in the feeling and disappearin it entirely for the duration of this night, let Michael’s voice guide herinto sleep.
Keepingher, on the Shenzhou, with her, here, would be terribly selfish. She is thecaptain; she is the one to let people go.
“My fostermother would often mock me for my attempts at reading stories to my brother. Iam not a storyteller.”
“Prove it.I dare you to tell me a story and not put me to sleep, Michael.”
Michael’ssmile colours her words: “Is it an order or a challenge, Captain?”
“It’s an invitation.”
The soundof fabric against the ground indicates Michael is settling for the long haul. Philippais ready to let her talk herself to sleep and if she can nudge her with a fewpointers, she will. She is still the Captain.
In thedark, quiet night, Michael shapes a story about clouds and sails, a surprisingsubject for a Vulcan-raised child. Philippa suspects Michael is sewing into thefabric of fiction glimpses of her captain’s life, guesses and confessions madealong the way, their way, together for six years. Philippa lets her sew: itbrings them closer.
Captain andNumber One. Philippa and Michael.
Philippadoes her best to make them exist in this present moment and she is surprised athow easy it is, merely hanging onto the thread of Michael’s voice, the measuredand low syllables she knows so well. The easiness of the task overwhelms herand keeps her awake, picturing Michael at the other end of the forest,similarly lying on the dark tiles, looking at the stars, whispering to hercommunicator as if it was a small animal.
Michael’svoice has faded in her mind, disappearing in the fabric of Philippa’s thoughts.Or maybe she fell asleep herself.
“Michael?”
Michael isnot answering.
Philippasmiles. She cannot hear Michael’s breathing, but she imagines. She dreams.
All the Milippa, I am not complaining. Thank you for asking!
31. I love the way your face lights up whensomeone says, “It might be dangerous.” (I am glad we are friends.)
Teen, no particular warning except wildly whimsical military procedures, 1458 words.
“I mustadvise you one last time against such an expedition, Captain. It might bedangerous.”
Philippacould swear that Michael, at the corner of her eyes, posture impeccable andfocus unwavering, is suppressing a smile the strength of a dozen solar storms.It shines through her eyes, the tension in her legs, the colour of her cheeks,the slope of her shoulders. Philippa’s matching smirk is tricky to hold back.
“Saru, wedo not have a choice.” Philippa drops the backpack on the surface where Michaelgathered all the equipment needed for the trip and starts filling it carefully,trying to convey in her gestures the assurance her officer so clearly lacks. “Ihave calculated the risks and made my decision.”
“And it wasthe best decision the captain could make under the circumstances.” Michael securesone of the rakes on the floor and steps closer to Philippa and Saru.
The clutterof the shuttle is not helping Saru overcome his anxious concern, and Philippais thankful for Michael’s solid trust in her, because she’d rather not fighteveryone in these stressful times.
“I wouldeven argue that ‘dangerous’ might not be the word to use in these particular circumstances.Paramount for the survival of the flora and fauna of the region. Constrained bya timeframe that does not allow leisure or hesitation. Presenting a few randomparameters I cannot account for as of now.”
LieutenantSaru makes such an incongruous face at Michael that Philippa has to dive intothe climbing ropes to hide her hilarity for a minute. When she stands back up,face probably redder than acceptable for a Captain, Saru has retreated to theback of the shuttle, checking —and grumbling at— the comms they intend to use.Michael walks up to her with a silent question on the face.
“You cansay ‘dangerous’, Michael.” Philippa smirks, detailing the Human Lieutenant beforeher, her formal stance contrasting with the fire in her eyes, however tamed bythe argument, and the way her fringe falls into her eyes, such an odd choicefor a scientist raised on Vulcan. “It really isn’t such a cursed word in ourfield of work, believe it or not.”
A sheepishglance for Saru answers Philippa at first, evolving into an irritated onequickly enough. Michael heaves a sigh and starts putting aside for transportthe rope surplus Philippa has been using as cover.
“But it hasa negative sense. I doubt my foster family would approve of us engaging isdangerous missions. A dangerous mission is one insufficiently prepared.”
“My firstCO used to say a dangerous mission is one where ‘oh, crap’ becomes the go-toanswer for disastrous situations.”
“A prudentadvice. The away team should always keep focus and should not give in to panic.”
“No, Imeant he was a stuck-up who couldn’t handle swearing.” Michael’s glance isunconvinced. “He could not care less about sending us on dangerous trips. Weexplore, Michael. We can never predict what we will discover and we can nevercompletely assess a situation. But you are right: we can ensure our answer tounexpected situations is irreproachable. Besides, where is the fun in irreproachable?”
Michaeldrops the rope she holds, a faraway look on the face, and Philippa can almostsee the logic working its way through the excitement that her eyes cannotdisguise.
“There is acase to be made for the efficiency Humans display under pressure, Captain.”
Philippabites her lip.
This one is a gem.
“Oh,absolutely. Dangerous situation brings out the best in skilled individuals, Ihave found.”
An ironiceyebrow answers Philippa.
Note forlater: Michael Burnham is caught up on the sarcasm.
As Philippaand Michael finish packing the backpacks, an eye on the time left, Saru comesback to them, embarrassment twisting his body.
“Januzzi informedme the magnetic disturbances make the landing impossible, not if we want to beable to leave the planet afterwards.”
Notconcealing her frustration, Philippa abandons the backpacks to Michael andwalks to Saru, who stands immediately straighter. Pressure does work wonders.
“I thoughtDetmer made sure we could beam out.”
“To leavefrom the falls, yes, we made the proper adjustments.” Michael chimes in, eyebrowsfurrowed. “But we are not down there. We were not expecting the shuttle toencounter such issues.”
Saru clearshis throat and looks alternatively at Michael and Philippa, as if assessing hischances.
“We do nothave time to fly back to the Shenzhou, make the calculations, beam you down andwalk up to the falls before the dam breaks, Captain.”
“I havefigured that, Lieutenant,” Philippa bites back, immediately regretting herwords as she sees Saru’s expression.
He does not deserve to be at the receiving endof my shortcomings.
Michael’sface is drastically different, almost dejected, lips a thin line and handstightly clasped behind her back; she was looking forward to the trip. If theycannot make it on foot, they’ll have to send an order to evacuate the villages,which would obviously break the prime directive.
Philippa’s eyes roam the smallshuttle for an answer, aimlessly at first, taking in the pickaxes Saru deemedindispensable, Januzzi’s back in the pilot’s seat, the backpacks all ready togo, until they fall on the ropes.
“Saru, dowe still have the gears the time-travelers left behind?”
“TheBritish soldiers from last week? We do.”
Michael is staringat her, curious, with a hint of excitement making her fringe tremble. Philippa’ssmile widens.
“What doyou know about parachuting?”
Michaeldoesn’t hesitate before bursting: “That I am glad you insisted it was a ‘must-experience’on our last shore leave.”
Philippagives her a stern look, although not stern enough to deter future use ofsarcasm in dangerous situations. Michael will have surpassed the master in notime if she carries on the way she does.
“Andeverything I need.” Michael smirks, cockish. “I know everything we need.”
“You aresure?” Her eyes are trained on Michael’s, scanning the specialist for a traceof fear or bluff that would kill them.
But Michaelnods, emphatically, cheeks rounded, eyes two smiling cracks. From where shestands, Philippa can almost hear her heart picking up a rhythm, tuned to hers.
“Captain,this is far too dangerous for youto—“
“No time,Mr. Saru.”
Michael iskneeling in a corner of the shuttle and already checking the parachutes giftedby their visitors displaced in time. Januzzi left the helm to watch over thefrantic preparations and even he seems dubious of the change in plans and theagitation brought by the emptying of the backpacks to a reasonable weight. Theatmosphere in the shuttle is electric.
Saru is toostunned to panic, which is comforting, and even has the presence of mind toorder Januzzi back to his post so that he can position the shuttle for thejump. There is really a case to be made for danger and skills.
“Aren’t youconcerned, Captain, that this… contraption might not be functioning properly.They are hundreds of years old!”
“Jira and Iassessed them after the Humans left.” Michael is struggling to help Philippa inher suit and Philippa is grateful for the small stature of the British. “Theyare in perfect condition. We simply stored them here as they would be ofgreater use on a shuttle than on a spaceship.”
The Kelpienjumps on the spot, pointing an accusatory finger at Michael who shrugs andresumes putting on her own parachute.
“Ah! So shemeant to use them from the start!”
Philipparaises an eyebrow at Saru, adjusting the googles on her face.
“That iswhat Sergeant Pims and Pond meant when they said that even in the future wecould enjoy the pure feeling of skydiving, yes.”
“Captain!” The Lieutenant’s offended cry isbarely audible as Michael opens the shuttle door and air rushes in.
Philippaand Michael take a step toward each other and, dutifully, go over their respectivegears. Their movements are precise and swift, hands flying in an energeticchoreography that reminds Philippa of swing. Recalling every bit of the trainingthey took a few months ago for fun is a question of life and death, for them,for the entire region. Cheeks warm, Philippa feels on her face, then sees onMichael’s the effect of their excitement, their shared elation.
Michael’ssmile… For that only, she is willing to take the leap. Damn danger, she wouldfollow Michael everywhere with such fire in her eyes.
She wouldfollow Michael on Mars and she hates Mars.
“I trustour chances,” Philippa shouts before Januzzi gives them the signal.
I assume this is Mirror!Philippa? If it isn’t what you had in mind, I owe you another one, anon. Thank you for asking!
13. You aren’t really a good person, but goddamn, you make bad look awesome. (no one could steer me right, but mama tried.)
Teen, alcohol cw, 928 words. Sarek is Mama, apparently.
“CommanderBurnham, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Michael’s defiantanswer is caught in her throat the moment the leather-clad figure strides pastthe bar counter into her field of vision. For the past fifteen minutes, Michael hadbeen staring at the remnant of the least questionable drink she could order inthe equally questionable back-alley establishment —market, cabaret, tavern, shecould not tell.
Philippa waslate, although Michael would venture to guess there is a perfectly acceptableexcuse for the delay.
Michaelswallows, her eyes trying to ignore the state of her, the silver earpieces, thetoned naked arms, the high hairdo, the peekingnavel. Her Philippa would have never donned such attire even in her wildermoments on shore leave.
Even inMichael’s dreams.
There isblood on Philippa’s cheek. Not hers, Michaelobserves as Philippa uses her fingerless glove to wipe it clean, vaguelyannoyed.
Michaelgives her a long stern look that Philippa dismisses with a squint and hollowcheeks.
“I haven’tkilled anyone. That you would care about. Yet.” Philippa steps into the spacebetween the empty stools and Michael, canting her hips. “Why are you here?”
Michaelempties her glass and grimaces as the last, bitter drops of spiked tea burn herthroat.
“Are youdisappointed to see me?”
“Is it theFederation or you trying to see me?”
“This isall me.”
Philippalifts her eyebrow, amused, and settles on the stool in front of Michael,raising a hand to order. Michael takes note of the absence of words exchangedbefore a drink, amber, strong, is immediately placed before her.
“There havebeen reports of violent disputes in the area, between Human parties andKlingons.” Her captain requested of Michael that she did not divulge too muchof the incidents during her investigation ashore, but the request was madewithout knowledge of the expected source being the ghost of a Starfleet Captainwho could bring the Quadrant to its knees on her day off. “People havedisappeared. I was worried.”
Philippatsks, but the way she bends her head towards her drink to gulp it down suggestsshe is hiding something, if it is only her reaction.
She is notangry at Michael for expressing concern over her well-being or activities. Thisis a start.
“This wasnot you, was it?”
“I hadmatters to attend on the other side of the Quadrant.”
“What kindof matters?”
“None ofyour business.”
Michael couldlaugh so petulant her tone is. There is a certain charm to her attitude, onethat Michael thought had been relegated to centuries-old works of fiction,where criminals wore large-brimmed hats and tailored suits, where women woretight clothes that still concealed deadly weapons. Michael’s eyes drift to thepatches of skin revealed by the finely-wrought leather — is there a phaserwaiting for her nestled between her breasts— and she shivers.
She is not Philippa.
This isexactly the kind of dangers Sarek warned her about when he said Human novelswould trouble her peace of mind.
Michael istroubled.
Yet shetakes a deep breath, closing her eyes long enough to chase from her thoughts theshape of Philippa’s thighs, arrogantly strong and closely fit, spread on thestool.
“I amreally not here on behalf of the Federation. In this Universe, there is thislittle thing called checking in.”
Philippaeyes her with what looks like hesitation, before putting down her empty glass andaiming a delighted snarl at Michael.
“You lie soterribly, Michael. The only way you could possibly know I was here was if youtracked down the illegal fighting ring I set up in the backroom.”
Michaelsnorts.
“Using themoney made from the diamonds you stole at the Andorian bank last week! You werenot subtle.”
Philippadoes not hide her surprise, and Michael really should not find as charming asshe does the wolfish, proud expression blooming on Philippa’s face.
“You knew.But you’d never guess how I recruited the fighters.”
Philippa’stongue clicks. The gleam in her eyes is familiar, impish, and although theobject of her enthusiasm is miles away from anything her Philippa would haveenjoyed, Michael cannot help but see her lost friend there.
“You say itlike it’s such a bad thing.”
“It reallyis, Philippa. It is illegal.”
Philippa isbeaming.
Damn it.
“And morallyreprehensible.”
Philippasits back, shifting on her seat to rest her open arm on the counter, and tiltsher head, eyes boring into Michael’s.
“How didyou know it was me? You are remarkable, Michael Burnham.”
“I am goodat what I do and it seems, thanks to you, that my competences will be used investigatinggambling gangs and aborted coups meant to create a cash flow. Yes, Philippa, Iknow about Monaco too.”
“Anyconstructive criticism, Federation?”
“For thelast time, I am not—”
Philippa ispeering at her with an air of nonchalance more befitting to a minor electricmalfunction during a late night shift than a darkened bar on the edge of thequadrant. Talk about competence. Andadventures. This feels like a holonovel. If Michael had hesitations aboutshielding Philippa from the consequences of whatever she had done these pastmonths, they have vanished under Philippa’s confident smile.
Michaelsighs and raises a hand for another glass of the dreadful mixture.
“How didyou even manage to obtain the blueprint for the tunnels under the bank? Theyare more than classified. They are lost.”
except DO start thinking of Celeborn and Galadriel in parallel to them
Anon,don’t. It’s dangerous territory.
Do not getme thinking about Celeborn and Galadriel, the child of darkness who grew upunder the stars with liberty as his guide and the child of light who was forgedin a gilded cage under the Valar’ watch. And the child of darkness was thrownin a furnace when his home became a battlefield and the child of light escaped fromhome into icy waters and hopeless exile and freedom.
About themforming a bond that would last for centuries, despite their oppositebackgrounds, despite the hatred between their people, despite the utter chaosthat was the First Age, despite all the separations and losses and curses.
About thembeing equals, ruling together, winning and losing battles together, not curbingeach other, changing each other in subtle ways. And carrying the weight ofmillennia together. And spending millennia apart.
About theway Galadriel stayed and waned ever longer on this earth that had given hermore people to mourn than love, for him, a little. Call it her repentance. Shewas on probation before the Valar.
About theway Celeborn knew that her love could not keep her at his side forever and hislove would not help him cross the seas forher. Call it his rebellion. His Earth; the Valar’s desertion.
Because inthe end, Galadriel’s home was not his - they were on borrowed time, always hadbeen. Between the wars to fight, the peoples to save, those to let die, theDark Lords to keep at bay - just at bay since they could not defeat them, butyou know, long enough for the thrill of impacting the world in a positive way-,their own demons that they had todefeat.
Together through ages of the world we havefought the long defeat.
It’s thestory of two individuals who took pride in shaping their stories –and storiesin general: they became legends from the woods of Laurelindórenan in theirlifetime; even love was not enough to make them override this core principle.
Soundsfamiliar?
Cages and wars?
Overcomingfate, overcoming home?
Marriedacross time and space?
Marryingthe man she killed. And letting him go.
Marryingthe woman he’s always killing. And letting her go.
At heart,River and the Doctor’s story is one of agency and longing, of power and violence,exerted by the world against oneself, by oneself against the world and againstoneself, in an attempt to endure. It means weathering the storm; you are alwaysneeded elsewhere and you have a right to survive the war. It’s something theyclaim for themselves, with each other – loving in the middle of a storm thatwould never stop and especially not for them.
Theycaptured each other’s hands when they could, enjoyed a family and peace whenthey could, and saved the world when they could.
They bothlived long, long enough to hate each other sometimes. They couldn’t call ithate when it came from a lack of understanding.
Theyforgave each other’s darkness – his delusion of grandeur on the battlefields,her brief and violent dalliance with divinity. They couldn’t call itforgiveness when the time frame stretched on centuries.
They grewinto wisdom because with so many years in prison and in the wild all at once howcan you not?
Very wise and very old.
In the end,they grew into the stories that were told about them and even after pushedtheir frames, reshaping them, because god forbid anyone could keep them inboxes where they would not want to stay in. Also stories were their bestprotection. Against conquerors and believers, against losing battles and lovedones. And themselves.
When youlive that long, things wane, eventually. Good and bad and absences andbeginnings and memories.
Even fornear immortals and time heads, time is the worst enemy. An infallible one. It’sa long defeat rather than a battle. That’s why they deserved the glimpses of happinessthey had and if they didn’t, they took it anyway. But like shooting flamingarrows in the night and enjoying the beauty in the darkness lightning up, thefaces turned upward, the perfect curve of trajectory and hope mingled.
Knowing thetip will land and dig into skin or earth and that it won’t stop the ragingchaos around.
