Chapter Text
The console yawned before the Commander, a chasm she loathed to cross. In some subconscious part of her, she knew she had done this before, removed her memories and collected them safely into the repository of Discovery's own architecture. It hadn't carried this weight, back then. Last time, it was Control's choice. This time, it would be her own.
“Begin memory review.”
The classification procedures were straightforward enough, and she started with the mundane as she typically did–paths taken down empty corridors, retrieving Jell-O from the replicator in the mess hall, the process of preparing her pod for a night of formal, real sleep.
A memory of a pad an Ensign had dropped onto the shuttle bay floor.
“Delete.”
Another, this time of an argument that had ensued in engineering when someone had lost a bet. She rolled her artificial eyes.
“Delete.”
The vision of Michael, smiling against a backdrop of a deep red nebula.
Airiam's heart clenched, and she couldn't decide if it was the machined or biological portion that was responsible.
“Save–” Her words choked off.
“Cannot comply. Please repeat command.”
The computerized voice brought her back to the task at hand, and she tried again, more composed this time.
“Save to external archive.”
“Processing.”
The Commander had forgotten that moving the memories to Discovery took longer than to the archives that lived in her quarters. Their quarters. She pulled back from the console and rotated to study the room.
Alongside Captain Saru's ready room, Airiam and Michael's quarters appeared positively sparse. Each piece of furniture was minimalistic and chosen by Airiam. A couple of plants and a picture frame were the only tabletop adornments. Raised by Vulcans, Michael hadn't brought a single personal item to their space–in fact, she'd rehomed the telescope from Captain Georgiou to Saru. The only physical evidence that her partner had ever been there was the extra set of pillows on the bed.
Airiam appreciated their shared preference for simplicity, but it disturbed her to realize just how easy it would be to wipe Michael's existence from the room entirely.
With a shaky breath, she turned back to the console, moving into the more important memories this time.
“It's been a long time since I've had a reason to take shore leave.”
Michael was smiling at her, sending faint bolts of electricity through her artificial synapses. Her visual systems scanned the immediate vicinity, noting the curious gazes of the onlookers a short distance away even though they pretended they weren't paying any attention at all.
“Sometimes you need to be something other than the designated driver,” Michael replied with a quick glance, and Airiam watched as the curve of her lips muddied into something more akin to studiousness. She wanted to touch her fingers to the edges, but they weren't there quite yet.
Around them, the casual swish of the wind through the branches of towering conifers reminded Airiam that Michael was right. Her head tilted upward, taking in every sight, every motion, every sound. None of them, though, made her want to touch the younger woman beside her any less than before. When she stopped her inspection and the drone of a motor somewhere in her neck announced she had, Michael was looking at her again. Airiam pivoted to face her more directly, the thrum of electronics making her companion flinch in just the right way.
It was abrupt, the way Airiam became so sure of what Michael wanted when she fell under that dark gaze. The way her augmentations became so cavalier in how they handled her, even in the presence of others.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time Airiam considered putting their entanglements on display. Sometimes, she got the feeling Michael enjoyed that others could see she was spoken for. Or maybe she welcomed the respite from command.
Michael was against her then, their waists held together by Airiam's gloved hands at her hips. Brown eyes lifted to the artificial blue ones that hovered only an inch or two higher, and Airiam felt the thin physique of her partner give way to an involuntary shudder.
“You get off on this, don't you?” came the throaty voice of the science officer, and she was breathing heavily. A part of the Commander knew that, in spite of Michael's many assurances such contact was permitted, she still wasn't wholly comfortable when Airiam displayed her physical prowess like this. Maybe she never would be–but if she had to, Airiam would spend the rest of her life proving to Michael she was safe. Her optical augmentation flickered in the direction of Detmer, and Michael turned her head briefly to follow the gaze.
“Someone has to make sure Keyla has fresh content for her rumor mill.”
Burnham raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“What sort of rumors are you trying to start, exactly, Airiam?”
“Hm.”
The smirk faded as Airiam's chin jerked downward and the intensity of her facial prosthetics somehow became more prominent. At her waist, Airiam tightened her grip and brushed her mouth across Michael's ear.
“The infamous Michael Burnham, who bends to the will of…just one.” A deep whirr followed her arm as Airiam traced a finger down Michael's jaw like she'd wanted to do all afternoon. The dark skinned woman sucked in a breath.
“Now I know you're just getting off on this.”
“Are you complaining, Michael?”
“No, but you're making it difficult to want to stay down here.”
“As opposed to…?”
Michael's tone became dangerous.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Sylvia Tilly's arrival broke the intensity of the moment.
“Honestly, you guys. I've seen first-year Cadets with lower libidos.”
She promptly threw a blanket down onto the ground near where they were standing and dropped an enormous tray of the planet's native cuisine in the center. Her eyes glared up at them both as she sat down.
“And more self-control.”
As Detmer, Owo, and Ash Tyler arrived to join them, each also carrying trays of food, Airiam seized her opportunity.
“My chastity protocols are functioning just fine, Ensign Tilly,” she spoke, and she felt Michael tense when she realized what was about to happen. “If they weren't, you all would have known about it from the village.”
Michael had pressed her forehead against Airiam's metal chest plating at the base of her throat and was sighing in embarrassment.
“Ohh-kay, could have done without that mental image.” Detmer ducked her face behind an open palm in the hopes of making Airiam stop.
Beside her, Tyler was staring with great discomfort at the patterns of the blanket beneath them.
“You know, Michael,” Tilly observed as she spread something that looked like jam onto a slice of foreign bread, “I really don't know how a Vulcan can get by with a half-robot with such a fondness for sexual humor.”
The chime of the Commander's door rang out as the memory continued on for another few seconds and she absently instructed the visitor to come inside.
“Save to external archive.”
Airiam's servos whirred as she stepped back from the interface again.
“How's it coming?”
Another low hum, this time from the motion of both her body and her head.
“Commander Nhan,” she observed, surprised. Perhaps she'd been expecting someone else–anyone else. The dark point of her chin plate lowered. “It is slow-going.” When Nhan's sights focused on the circular interface behind her, Airiam followed her gaze. The memory she'd been visiting was replaying as it transferred onto Discovery.
“You really care about her.” The security officer angled her head just a touch, and she folded her hands behind her back, looking at Airiam.
“Does this surprise you?” the Commander inquired, careful to maintain the level of her tone so as not to make it seem any more threatening than it did by the very nature of its augmented assembly.
Nhan shook her head quickly and gave a short-lived flicker of a smile as she glanced down at the floor.
“Of course not. You're human, Commander. Under all of…that.” She gestured to Airiam's physique. “Sometimes it's easy to forget. I can't imagine…it must have been difficult for you, learning how to adapt and cope. And discovering your identity–your will–could be…overridden.”
Nhan's cognizance of her longtime internal plight was unexpected. The Commander studied her curiously.
“My augmentations were overridden, Commander Nhan. My identity and will have always stayed true. Were that not the case, I would never have asked Michael to let me go. But…I thank you. For your recognition.”
The Barzan attempted to verbalize something more, but seemed conflicted. Airiam thought she knew what it might be, and took a chance.
“You don't believe that I'm operating under my own volition.”
“No, Commander,” answered the dark haired woman swiftly. “Before, perhaps. As chief of security, you understand I have to be…alert. More so, now, than I might have needed to before. But…No, Commander Airiam. This time I believe you are acting of your own free will.”
“Hm.”
The Commander's motions reverberated through the space as she stepped toward the table and lifted the image of Michael, Pike and herself from the surface.
“A year ago I could never have imagined this picture would mean so much, or even exist.” She inhaled slowly as she studied the image, then placed it back onto the table. When she turned around again, she allowed her eyes to trace the scars surrounding the breathing apparatus connected to Nhan's left side. “I am sorry for what I put you through, Commander Nhan. I am sorry for what it required you to do. I think that I should have made time to tell you this before now. I suppose I've been a bit…”
A soft, almost suggestive smile came from the Barzan officer.
“Distracted?”
If her facial plating permitted it, Airiam felt she would have blushed.
The lightness was brief, and then Nhan began to speak again.
“You know, I admire you, Airiam. Commander. I admired you even before that day, and to see what you were willing to sacrifice for the good of your crew…for the good of the universe itself…I think there's a lot of us in this world who can only hope we get a chance to reach your standard of honor. I know I do.”
Airiam blinked rapidly, realizing that Nhan had begun to do the same.
Tears.
“I…” Airiam started, uncertain what to say. “Thank you.”
“Honor aside, Commander," she continued. "The woman I saw in that ready room today was terrified. Terrified that someone would tell her they wouldn't allow her to go after the Captain and her partner, that there was a better way. Terrified they wouldn't understand her way was the only way, that they would stop her from doing what she proposed. But the woman standing in front of me now is terrified because no one did.” The Barzan fixed her with that strange, glazed blue pair of eyes. “I don't know if this will bring you any comfort, Airiam, or if it will only serve to disturb us both, but…I want you to know that if this goes south…if the worst should happen…”
Airiam thought she knew the words that were coming next, but the finality within them seemed to suck all the oxygen from her augmented lungs.
“I will do it again, Commander. If it comes to that.”
Airiam didn't know how many more times she could cheat death. A part of her might not fear the final crossing like she once had, but the leadup was another matter entirely. Much of the shuttle accident that killed her husband was forgotten, the memory too damaged to have been copied to her cortical processor when the doctors at Starfleet had first begun trying to save her. But she remembered bits and pieces, and they were clearer since the mind meld with Michael had dragged them back from the depths. She remembered, more than anything, the pain of waiting to die. Just as she remembered the pain of being unable to stop herself from trying to bring death to Michael and Nhan. The panic of floating weightless in the void of space, the cruel irony of the last memory playing across her optics as the air was torn from her lungs with nothing left to replace it.
Is that what awaited her now? Or would it be something much worse?
The sensation of a pair of thin hands upon her drew the Commander back to the present, and she realized Nhan was hugging her. It was a rare occurrence for anyone besides Michael to do so–perhaps they were all still too afraid of what they'd seen her do to their crewmates–and Airiam did her best to convey her gratitude in the way she hooked her cybernetic chin over the security officer's sharp shoulder. As her comm badge chirped, they separated.
It was Stamets.
“Go ahead, Commander,” she said, stepping away from Nhan.
“Nilsson and Tilly have completed their search. There's nothing here. We're ready to return to Section 31 headquarters.”
The women in the room exchanged a tense glance.
“Very well, Stamets. I'll head back to the bridge. Prepare for Black Alert.”
