The day Saru saved his people, confronted the Ba’ul, and saw deathand the Red Angel at once, he found Michael sitting with her back against thedoor to his quarters, legs crossed, looking vaguely lost.
She clambered gracefully to her feet as soon as she saw him,which he noted was not as soon as Saru had come to expect, given Michael’snear-annoyingly high level of perception. “How are you feeling?” she demandedgently, reaching out to briefly touch his wrist.
“Tired,” he admitted. Really, he was exhausted. He swallowed roughly, considering the longing he hadfelt just five minutes ago of being alone at last. “Would you like to comeinside?”
Michael nodded mechanically, hovering at his back while hekeyed in the code to open his door.
Saru walked over to his bed, wavering into a dignified sort ofheap, trying to listen as Michael began to talk logistically about hisresponsibilities. “I can help,” she was saying. “Just tell me what happened,and I’ll take care of your logs.”
Wearily, Saru acquiesced, and they worked quietly into theevening. After Saru had finished his part, Michael moved to his desk, continuingto work as he dozed off.
When he awoke, it was in the middle of ship’s night, andMichael was slumped over the desk, cheek pressed against her PADD, fingerstwitching uneasily, as if she were having a nightmare. Other than the subtleticking motion of her fingers, she was completely still, completely silent, andSaru took a moment to feel his grief for everything Michael had laboredthrough, alone, without help and even with antagonism (especially from him).Michael Burnham had changed since the Shenzhou,and Saru never felt quite satisfied with any words he attempted to use to describethe shift.
He gathered himself, stood, and made his way over to the desk. Heconsidered attempting to make Michael more comfortable in her current spot, butinstead decided on laying a gentle hand between her shoulder blades. He intendeda soft shake to rouse her, but as soon as he’d touched her, Michael jerkedawake, tipping back in the desk chair violently. Saru caught the back of thechair before it could truly begin to fall, and Michael gasped, curling her armsaround her midsection, eyes wide.
She stared up at Saru, and in the blink of an eye, her expressionflattened into blankness, eyes going dull. “I apologize, Commander. I did notintend to impose on you so long.” Her voice was rough.
Saru searched her face for any trace of that flash of emotionalvolatility. He found none—only the familiar blankness he’d come to associatewith Michael’s existence on the Discovery.How had he not seen before that it was just a new mask?
“You are not okay,” Saru declared, tone alarmed.
Michael slowly unwound her arms from herself and dropped hershoulders, planting her feet on the ground. “I am perfectly alright.” She stoodup, the picture of professionalism, even in her undershirt with creases on hercheek from sleeping on her PADD. “I’ll take my leave of you now.”
She moved to go, and Saru let her pass for fear of making herfeel caged. “Michael,” he murmured gently, and she stopped, shoulders drawingtight again. “Do not feel the need to remove yourself. I want to…” He wasn’tsure how to finish that sentence. How could he put a name to everything thiswoman had done for him? How could he ever offer something reciprocal without itfeeling like a cheap imitation at best? “Please,” he finally said, lamely.
Michael tucked her chin into her chest, and Saru saw herfingers twitch spasmodically, the only other motion of her body. “You must feelso tired, Saru. I should go. You need—you need to sleep.” Her voice cracked,uncharacteristically, and Saru instinctually moved to stand before her, to seeher face. Michael turned her head further away, but he could see the cracks inthe mask, the tightness at the edge of her mouth.
“Oh, Michael,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, “Howdid we let it get this bad?”
He stepped forward, folding her into a snug embrace. She was sosmall, so human. Her breath hitched. Her body convulsed into one single,silent sob, and Saru felt himself begin to cry at the movement.
Michael pulled back to look up at his face. “I’m sorry,” shesaid.
“You are my sister.Please do not feel the need to censor yourself around me. I want to make thingseasier for you, not more difficult.”
Michael looked aghast. “Saru, this is not about me,” she whispered, voice surprisingly harsh. “You almostdied. Your whole world was almost destroyed. Don’t—don’t distract from—”
“I’m okay, Michael. Truly.”
Michael was shaking her head, voice going so, so small, “Younearly died. You nearly died.”
Saru went still. He was silent for a long moment before hesaid, “I should not have asked you to kill me. That—that was unfair.”
“Don’t,” Michael said lowly. She scowled off to the right. “That’snot what this is about.”
“Then, what? Help me understand.”
Michael clammed up, and for a moment, Saru thought he’d trulylost her to the demons in her head, but then she said, “I would have failed youanyway. I keep failing you.”
Saru felt bewildered. “You do no such thing.”
Michael said nothing.
Sighing, Saru led her to his moss-covered sofa. He turned toface her as Michael stared at the cushions with unique interest. “Do notmeasure your worth by what you cannot do for those you love,” he said, reachingfor her hand. Her fingers twitched in his grasp. “Michael, measure your worthby the depth of your love. You love the people around you so fiercely and soselflessly that sometimes I fear you will lose yourself to it. You are…” Heshook his head in wonder. “You could never fail me, or anyone else you love, bybeing imperfect. Never.”
Michael slowly pitched forward, digging her forehead into Saru’sshoulder, likely so that she did not have to look at him. “I suppose I am tiredas well.” Her voice was thick and muffled.
Saru touched the back of her neck, trying to provide comfort. “Pleasestay here. We can watch that documentary you were talking about last week.”
“Okay,” Michael said, like a defeat.
They fell asleep, slumped into each other’s sides, ten minutesinto the holovid.
Michael sat down heavily in what Sarek noted was her preferred chair. He tried to look dispassionate as Michael slowly made eye contact, unable to hide the fear written into the lines of her body.
“You must leave immediately, my daughter.” He did not mean for his voice to come out so soft. He clenched his jaw. He must remain objective now, more than ever. “We cannot delay.”
“Sarek, I—” Michael cut herself off, looking away. She ran flat hands down her thighs, an old nervous habit that she’d never even noticed enough to try to shake. “Father.” Now she looked back at him, and her gaze made Sarek feel exposed, as if all the layers of decorum and objectivity were nothing more than affectation. “I will not feed him to the wolves.”
“They are not wolves. They are human,” Sarek muttered, leaning into pedantry.
Michael rolled her eyes, and Sarek felt a small burst of warmth at the familiar gesture. She was still his daughter. She was still Michael. “You know very well what I mean.”
Sarek acknowledged this with a slight tilt of the head, letting out a slow gust of breath. “I suggest the present course of action because it will benefit you, Michael. We cannot afford another—”
“—failure,” Michael finished, hands balled into fists now. “I know.”
“Your duty comes first. My duty comes first.”
“There is logic in circumventing orders,” Michael whispered after a pause. “If I learned anything from the war, I learned when to obey and when to disobey. I think I may know better than anyone.” Sarek felt his own hands, hidden under his desk, clench into their own fists at the reminder of Michael’s imprisonment. “Please trust me.”
“I trust you,” Sarek answered automatically, even as he reminded himself that he could not trust anyone implicitly on everything—that would be the height of illogic. And yet, he found himself leaning forward and saying, “You will make the right decision.”
It was half prayer that Michael would just, for once, make his life flow rationally. It was also half acknowledgment that he could never make the judgments that she could.
Michael exhaled shakily, and he knew she understood him. She seemed to collapse inward somewhat, and she addressed her knees when she said, “Thank you.”
“Michael,” Sarek said, and he internally recoiled at the palpable warmth in his tone. “You must know that I will always try my best to understand you.” To be on your side, was the unheard sentiment, and Michael looked up sharply.
“Thank you,” she said again, voice thick. Her limbs were so stiff, joints locked like a maximum-security prison.
Sarek grounded himself and sent a burst of his faith in her across their familial bond, and Michael gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth.
He stood, making his way to kneel beside her chair. She stared at the far window, eyes shining.
“’Well,’” Sarek began, voice low, “’now that we have seen each other, said the Unicorn, if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?’”
He allowed himself the concession of the barest hint of a smile.
Michael, voice rough, managed a wobbly, “’Yes, if you like.’”
