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“Who are you?” Michael asked as she sat up, clutching a sheet to her chest. Her eyes fixed on the body lying beside her, back facing her. That someone had cascading blonde hair, splayed over the pillows, and skin with a faint, almost imperceptible grayish tint.
Waking up to a stranger in her bed was far from her usual experience. Casual encounters were all but a foreign concept to her. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
No—the worst part of it all was that she recalled her previous night in vivid detail, and none of it involved falling into bed with anyone, blond or otherwise. Michael had just returned from a mission that Dr. Kovich had sent her on. When she stepped through the door of her quarters, the familiar relief of being home had sunk into her shoulders like a warm massage.
The first thing she did was place the infinity pin back in its box, tucked away for another time. Then, she’d indulged in a bit of self-care. It was rare to have an evening that was just hers to savor. Discovery’s latest retrofit had added a private holosuit to her room, so Michael had indulged in a bathtub filled to the brim with steaming, hot water, and a few drops of her favorite lavender oil, where all of the tension left over simply melted away.
She remembered drifting off in the bath, classical music Zora had selected lulling her into a drowsy state.
Now, as she stared at the person beside her, the unexpected reality left her completely bewildered.
The woman–and that fact passively surprised her–began to turn slowly in the sheets. Her movements were oddly familiar, and then came the familiar face, softer in that state of drowsiness than Michael had ever seen it before. Her heart fluttered briefly, caught in that unfamiliar place between tenderness and surprise.
“Madam president?” Michael got out over her thick tongue.
Blue eyes blinked back up at her. “Michael?” President Rillak mumbled, followed by a yawn that showed off the many teeth she had.
She knew that Cardassians had a number of teeth that humans didn’t, but she never realized before that Rillak had them. Then again, when was she ever really looking at her mouth? Still, that wasn’t what was odd…
…had she ever called Michael anything other than Captain Burnham?
The president scooted closer under the sheet until Michael could feel the contrast of her cool skin against her own. The chill was sharp enough to make Michael acutely aware of the way her body responded, her nipples hardening at the sudden cold. But she had to admit—it wasn't unpleasant; there was a sort of closeness that felt reassuring, if disorienting…
Because they were both naked, and she didn’t know why.
Well.
There was a reason that seemed more probable than any other. But Michael wasn’t sure what to do with that information which still felt so foreign, she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around it.
“President Rillak,” Michael started, this time managing to infuse some modicum of control into her tone.
But she wasn’t able to get any further. The president snorted, then giggled. The sound was like a melodic chime that sent a shiver down Michael’s spine.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort, captain,” Rillak said, and the way she emphasized Michael’s title had such a lilt to it that Michael could feel her cheeks starting to warm. “But I don’t think we have time for that sort of fun.”
Michael blinked, felt her cheeks shift from warm to outright burning. “Fun?” she echoed even though there was no mistaking what the President was implying.
“Yes,” Rillak said. Then she stretched languidly against her, Michael feeling every movement with acute awareness. The contact was… electric. Michael’s heartbeat quickened, pounding so hard in her own ears she half-wondered if the President could hear it too. Michael couldn’t stop herself from shuddering against her, goosebumps breaking out across her arms.
“You’re that eager for me?” Rillak questioned with an amused tone that made Michael feel all kinds of embarrassed.
The thing was, she still hadn’t figured out how Rillak had gotten into her bed, or why she seemed utterly unphased by the whole thing. Michael’s inability to string two words together in response also didn’t seem to bother Rillak, and she just grinned. “If you’re a good girl, we can pick this up later.”
Michael just stared, wondering if this was some kind of strange dream.
She barely knew the president; certainly didn’t know her well enough to be on a first-name basis or… well, naked. What she did know was that Rillak was as put-together as her updos. The fact that she didn’t seem the least bit disturbed was confusing because it was almost like they had done this before; that there was some level of established intimacy that Rillak was comfortable with.
And that was illogical.
“Too much?” Rillak asked, her face suddenly looking more concerned.
“Ma’am, everything is a bit much right now.”
Rillak’s concern deepened. “Michael, what’s wrong?”
Michael took a deep breath, struggling to put her thoughts into words that made sense. “I’m just trying to understand how we ended up here,” she said carefully, “You’re the president. I barely know you, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t think you even liked me much.”
The ridges over Rillak’s eyes pulled tightly together, and she pushed herself up on one elbow so she could use her other hand to reach out and touch Michael’s forehead.
“What do you mean, you didn’t think I liked you?” she asked while moving her fingers lightly across Michael's skin.
“You’ve always been so formal and distant. I never thought we had much of a connection, especially not one that would lead to… well, waking up in bed with the President.”
Rillak pressed her cold hand harder against Michael's forehead as her frown increased. "Are you feeling well?" That was an odd way to respond to everything Michael had just said.
But, she did feel confused; disconcerted. Not sick though, at least not conventionally. "I feel... odd." It wasn't a technically a lie.
The president gave her a strange look; almost like she was trying to see past the words; trying to divine the things Michael wasn't saying. "I do usually like you," Rillak started, dry, "I did marry you."
48 hours earlier.
“You fail. If you do this, you fail. Book? He wins. Just like you know he will.”
The younger Michael—the Michael she was over a year ago—looked at her. Stared at her, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re who you say you are,” her past-self started, “Then you know I already have a plan for that.”
“You’re going to plant a tracker,” she confirmed. It was so clever, at the time, to know exactly when and where Book and Tarka would be. The hope she had had, that they could take the shuttle once they knew where it was.
Michael gave her an appraising look. She knew that look all too well; Michael could tell she was also on the cusp of believing her. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Take these,” Michael said, holding out replacement cards. “They’re inlaid with programmable matter so the face of the card can change to whatever you need it to be.”
Michael wasn’t sure, exactly, how they would get past all of the anti-cheating wards she knew existed, but Kovich had assured her they would in that frustrating way of his.
Past Michael gave them a cursory look, then searched her face. “Why?”
Michael closed her eyes. She could see Book’s face now. The promise to stand down. The way she had felt in that moment rushing back like it had happened only moments ago. How she had known he would listen if she could just present the plan to him; the immense relief swelling through body when he agreed; the almost delicious joy that threatened to spill out across her cheeks.
Only for it unravel the moment she left.
Why hadn’t she beamed them aboard?
Tarka used the weapon. It wasn’t actually Book who had lied, she firmly believed that.
But that didn’t matter in the end, did it?
Even now, she could feel the grief threatening to suffocate her. Michael took a deep breath, expelling what she could of it, trying to push past the failure she couldn’t undo.
Until now.
“Book dies,” she told Michael. This time, it was her turn to watch her own face carefully. Past Michael’s eyes widened in shock; her mouth twitched at the corners.
“Time travel is illegal.”
Michael was surprised by the response but then again, sometimes the best way to process one thing was to immediately question something else. “I know.”
“Then how are you here? Why?”
“This is bigger than Book,” Michael admitted.
“You should have started with that.”
Maybe she should have. Past Michael was only a year ago… they weren't so different. But some part of her had left more questions on the table when Kovich had approached her, not wanting to know the answers exactly. And maybe… she should be level with herself about that. “I don’t know if what I’m asking you to do will actually save him,” Michael started, though the truth of it feels like it was ripping something out of her chest, “but what I do know is, something happened that wasn’t supposed to. Things with the 10-C don’t go right, and this change will fix that.”
The room somehow seemed to grow heavy, like invisible weights were pressing down on Michael’s shoulders.
“What went wrong?”
“We never stopped the DMA,” Michael told her, truthfully. She wasn't allowed to reveal what it really is, Kovich had made that much clear. But that doesn’t matter; whatever Past Michael thinks it was, she knew what it’s capable of. “Earth… Vulcan… they’re next.”
Present
Michael stared at the band on her finger. She hadn’t noticed it right away when she’d woken up, distracted as she had been that the president was in her bed. It was a gold-toned alloy that seemed to capture the light right out of the air, making it shimmer at certain angles. It was polished to almost mirror-like shine, but the true artistry was the intricately etched patterns along the outer edge—interlocking spirals that seemed to flow endlessly and seamlessly around the band.
Traditional Bajoran symbols of unity and eternity.
“Did you pick this out?” Michael asked.
President Rillak was behind her, dressed now after a sonic shower.
“Did I pick what out?” she asked, using the mirror in front of her to look at Michael.
Rillak had only reluctantly started getting ready for her day after Michael had lied about her confusion, saying she thought she might be coming down with something.
“The ring, it’s beautiful.”
Rillak’s hands were half in her hair, winding it up in one of those elegant buns of hers. “No, you did,” she said slowly, the creases in her face becoming more pronounced. She let go, and Michael watched as her blond hair fell back to her shoulders like a cascade of silk. Rillak turned fully around, and her expression was almost unreadable.
“Michael,” it was that same almost-scolding tone, the one she used whenever they disagreed about something. The one Michael was most accustomed to. “You’re not telling me something.”
It was hard to think of a way to tell this person—someone she was apparently married to—that she had no recollection of their relationship outside of the handful of times they’d met for professional reasons. It was strange because when she looked at Rillak, like she was doing now, she felt… something.
It was hard to put into words what that something was. A sliver of warmth? An inexplicable sense of belonging? It was sort of like she was being pulled toward the sun, which was hot and deadly, but also warm and inviting; life-giving. But that feeling was hazy, and Michael felt like she was reaching for it in the same way she’d grasp for a dream that slipped through her fingers on awakening; like she was trying to capture mist in her hands.
Her heart pounded in all the right ways; her body responding to the fresh memory of skin on skin… She could feel the connection between them that was supposed to be there, she just didn’t have any of the foundation that put it there.
“I don’t know who you are,” Michael finally admitted. “I don’t know who we are.”
Rillak’s face softened slightly before settling into something more guarded. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“I don’t remember being married; I don’t remember our first date. I don’t remember a time you’ve ever called me Michael before I woke up today. I don’t remember any of it, any of who you are past the title; who we are together.”
Michael wasn’t sure how she expected Rillak to react. Half of her wondered if this was even real. She hoped she was dreaming, although she knew she was not.
“I see,” Rillak said softly. There was an awkward pause, then Rillak shook her head. “Actually, I don’t see. Are you… are you pulling my leg, Michael?
“No… I can’t explain it.”
You must not tell anyone about this mission. Kovich had been adamant about that. Not now, not when you get back. Irrespective of what happens.
Had he known how drastically her future would change?
“I think we should see Hugh,” Rillak said. The way ‘Hugh’ just rolled off her tongue— not Dr. Culber—was as jolting now as it had been when she’d suggested it earlier. It drove home the fact that it wasn’t only her relationship with Rillak that had changed.
Or, for that matter, anything else outside of the four corners of this room.
Michael wanted to argue; to say it wouldn’t do any good (how could Hugh do anything about this shift in her reality?) but the way Rillak was looking at her, the way those blue eyes reflected a depth of emotion back at her that Michael had never had directed at her before. The searching, almost pleading, quality of it. The way all of the sharp authority was drained from her face. Her expression was just broken vulnerability; hope; a desire to understand; almost palpable anxiety. It was like every emotion Rillak had ever had about their relationship was laid bare, exposed in that single, intense stare.
It hit Michael then that what she was saying must be truly terrifying.
Michael didn’t remember anything about their marriage. And while she was struggling to piece together all of the fragments of her life, of theirs, Rillak was grappling with a different, crushing realization. She had all the memories Michael was missing, and the possibility that Michael might not ever recover them, that had to be a painful thought.
Unbearable, even.
This wasn’t how time shifts were supposed to work. Michael had no protection against alterations. So why hadn’t she just slipped right back into this time, with all of these new memories intact? Why did she still remember the other reality?
“Alright,” Michael agreed at long last.
Michael breathed heavily, leaning against the wall. Meeting with Hugh had gone just as she thought it would. There was nothing wrong with her; not physically.
He’d run every test he could think of. Then he and Rillak had spent some time quizzing her about what she did remember. That had been at least somewhat useful. She had learned a few important things along the way—namely that this reality seemed to have diverged after they met with the 10-C. She had succeeded in changing the trajectory—the aliens had stopped their dredge, Earth and Vulcan still existed.
It had been difficult not to react to that news. To pretend like the thought of that green and blue globe still thriving hadn’t both shattered her and thrilled her all at once.
What would it be like to see Earth, now?
The thought alone was almost too much to bear. Almost as heavy as now knowing that Book was alive.
Book was alive.
As she pushed away from the wall, Michael tried to focus on the present; there and now. She was still captain of Discovery. Hugh had been empathetic but had left her with no concrete answers (and how could he? She was hiding information from him of the most important kind.) Rillak’s concern was palpable, and even though Michael appreciated the support, it somehow only added to her sense of isolation.
The quarters she occupied now were empty and devoid of any personal artifacts. Rillak had insisted that she be the one to leave their shared space so that Michael could reacquaint herself with all of the trinkets there. Maybe something would evoke a memory—and while logical, Michael just needed room to breathe; to think. So, she’d politely declined and made her way to this one.
She needed to sleep. She needed to think.
She barely did either.
Days passed.
Weeks.
Waiting for Dr. Kovich to be available felt like a slow walk through eternity. It wasn’t lost on Michael that he had dumped her on a mission he hadn’t fully explained, perhaps using her own grief against her. Then conveniently being away when she returned to a new present.
Things with Rillak had not progressed. Michael felt a pang every time she heard her name; it was guilt, but a different kind.
She wanted to reach out. She should reach out. Rillak was… someone different. Someone who had been so far from her before. The exact kind of person she had encouraged Spock to reach for.
Yet, she couldn’t. The thought of it was immobilizing. Why?
Answers Burnham, you need answers.
Excet, the only person who had them wasn’t in the mood to share. Wasn’t at Headquarters, and for all Michael knew, wasn’t even in this century.
“Maybe you should talk to Book,” Tilly said one day.
Michael had missed Tilly so much.
But she was so busy, training new officers. It was good for her. She knew that. But not having her on the ship felt like a gut punch. She was glad they’d been able to start having dinner together, over video, when Discovery was in range.
“Talk to Book,” Michael repeated it like the words were foreign.
Even though she knew he was alive in this new world… had been grateful for that… the idea of actually reaching out had just not crossed her mind. Not in any real way.
Maybe that was a theme; one she didn’t want to look into right then.
“Yah, you know, say hi? Shoot the shit?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, you two never really reconciled. After you arrested him, and all.”
Michael wished she remembered that. Arresting him, she could live with. “I doubt he wants to see me.”
“Oh, he for sure doesn’t,” Tilly agreed helpfully, “but you know, in that same way, where you don’t wanna see him.”
Michael thought about that. Part of her didn’t want to see him; maybe that was why she hadn’t seriously entertained the thought of trying. But why? He’d made a choice she fundamentally disagreed with, but she understood why. Michael had even been willing to forgive him for going off with Tarka. But their relationship had burned out anyway, even before he died—even before, she’d arrested him here.
Whenever she’d thought about him after his death, it was that heaviness of knowing she hadn’t done enough. That she could have tried to beam them aboard her shuttle. All of the what-ifs that went along with that. But never had one of those what-ifs envisioned a future together. Michael knew more than anything she didn’t want that sort of reconciliation. Even now, with a living, breathing Book.
“It’s painful.”
Tilly snorted. “Well, I mean, obviously. Jeez. Are you trying to go for understatement of the year?”
“I don’t know what I would say. I don’t know how I could—” She trailed off.
“There’s something different about you,” Tilly said. “I mean, aside from the whole, not knowing you’re married, or… uh, anything about the last few years. That whatnot.”
Michael frowned, brows knitting together. She’d learned that most of the near world ending events that she did remember had similar outcomes here. It was… strange… how nothing had seemed to change except for her marital status, like a butterfly affected tied solely to her.
“What else could be different?”
“You just seem… sad. Not confident. Don’t get me wrong. The Michael I know, and love, by the way, had her share of sorrow but… it’s like your sense of positivity and joy have been sucked out along with your memories. It’s just… you’re not exactly that same mutineer I first met or anything, but you seem more like her than you were after all this time.”
Maybe Tilly wasn’t wrong. She’d been… keeping to herself when she wasn’t needed on the bridge. She’d stayed in the guest quarters even after Rillak had disembarked for duties taking her elsewhere.
But Tilly was a constant. The only person she’d actively sought out. The friend who always was even with all of this distance between them. Michael stared at her PADD, taking in Tilly with her half-eaten plate of dinner. “I guess I’ve been trying to put on a brave face,” Michael admitted. “It’s catching up with me, I think. I’m just finding it hard to stay positive when everything feels so disjointed. I know I’m disappointing the president—”
“Laira,” Tilly interrupted.
Michael’s insides twisted. “Right. I know I’m disappointing her. And myself. Maybe you. But I just feel like there’s a wall in the way. I want to move forward, but I… don’t know what that looks like.”
“You’re not disappointing anyone but yourself. And even then, you’re doing it in the most Michael way ever—holding yourself to an impossible standard,” said Tilly, her face softening, her eyes big and earnest. “I just think you’re forgetting to be kind to yourself. It’s okay to be uncertain.” She reached out, resting her hand on the table right next to the screen, as if she could offer comfort that way.
“I guess so,” Michael agreed slowly. “It’s just hard sometimes, to take one step at a time, when I feel like I should be running.”
“Well,” Tilly began, “I’m no Olympic athlete or anything, so maybe don’t take my word for it, but, even the fastest runner has to catch their breath now and then, right? One step at a time isn’t about stopping, it's just finding your pace.”
Michael leaned back in her chair; blinked. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “I think I’ve been so afraid of getting stuck that is exactly what I’ve let happen.”
“There you go, you’ve just jumped a hurdle. Just admitting you're struggling and you’re afraid, that’s a hard step.”
“Well, I think you might be right about Book, too,” she said. “He might be the hardest thing I need to face.” Michael sighed.
Tilly giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, you know, just, you’re Michael Burnham. You’ve faced down crises that would make most people’s blood curdle. Do you hear yourself? Worried about seeing Book. Like that’s the thing that’s going to do you in.” Tilly made a show of rolling her eyes.
“Well,” said Michael, “There are scenarios I’d rather be in.”
“I bet,” said Tilly, again rolling her eyes. “But it’ll help. You can close the book.”
Michael snorted. “Tilly.”
“I mean, I’m just saying… Once that’s done, you can focus more on, oh, I don’t know, bedding the president.”
“Please stop.”
“What? The you with memories was really into her ri—”
“Oh no, the connection is cutting out,” Michael cut in, before laughing as she hit the ‘disconnect’ button.
“Might I make a suggestion, Captain?” Zora asked.
Michael was in her quarters—well… the quarters she shared with the president—for the first time since that morning she’d woken up here. Even though Rillak wasn’t here, it still felt odd. It was her space,
but it also wasn’t.
And she hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes; was just stood there, staring.
Zora’s voice was almost startling, except Michael was rarely startled—a skill that resulted from her Vulcan training.
“You may,” Michael answered.
“Given the circumstances, perhaps a familiar routine would provide comfort.”
Michael looked up at the ceiling. She never knew exactly where to look when she was addressing Zora. “What do you have in mind?”
“You have often enjoyed making pok tar when the time is available.”
“How often has time been available?” Michael asked, slightly taken aback. Pok tar was one of her favorite dishes, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had made it.
“From my observations, you have used it as a grounding activity during times of uncertainty or stress. The last time you prepared this meal was six months ago.”
Six months ago to Michael was not the same six months ago Zora was thinking of. But Michael said only, “It’s been a while since I had time to focus on something like that.”
“These circumstances are unusual. An activity that brings you comfort could help you regain a sense of normalcy and calm.”
Michael took in a deep breath; assessed the quarters. The furniture was familiar. Some of the artifacts were. But the pictures decorating the walls and shelves were new. So was the blanket draped on the side of the couch, and the reading glasses left out on the side table.
What did Rillak enjoy reading, Michael wondered.
Maybe Zora was right—doing something comforting would help her feel more at ease here. “That’s a helpful suggestion, Zora. Thank you.”
“Of course, captain.” Zora then began compiling a list of ingredients, while Michael dwelled on the steps of making pok tar.
Michael wasn’t sure how she expected the evening to go. But since Discovery was in port at Headquarters, she had invited Rillak to their quarters for dinner. The idea had seemed simple enough when she suggested it—just a casual evening together to help bridge some of the gap left by the strange time shift.
But now Michael felt an unsettling flutter in her stomach. At Zora’s suggestion, she had cooked pok tar again for the occasion, but somehow, it felt almost like infusing a new layer of significance into this meeting.
Except, it wasn’t a meeting. It was… something else that Michael couldn’t quite put her finger on. She couldn’t deny there was a quiet thrill-–a certain nervous energy—running through her at the thought of spending time with Rillak.
Apprehension was natural, she thought, but it didn’t explain the other flutter—that soft tickle in the bottom of her stomach. She knew what the woman’s skin felt like against her own, and maybe that was the problem.
The door chime rang, jolting Michael from her thoughts. Her heart raced as she took a steadying breath and moved to the door. When it slid open, Rillak stood there, looking as composed and elegant as ever. The light from the corridor cast a warm glow on her face and if Michael didn’t know better, she thought it highlighted the faintest of smiles.
“Good evening, Captain,” Rillak said.
Michael wasn’t sure how she felt about being addressed as Captain, except that it was… expected. Rillak had given her a lot of space in the last month, and part of that included resetting to something Michael was more familiar with—professional titles; distance. Still, despite how grateful she was for that, she couldn’t help the disappointed twinge.
“President Rillak,” Michael replied, a little breathless. “Please, come in.”
As Rillak stepped inside, Michael’s gaze lingered on her. There was almost a novelty to seeing her in her personal quarters, even if it was, technically, their quarters.
“Is that…pok tar, I smell?” Rillak asked, her ridge brows raising slightly.
Michael nodded. “Yes, I thought it might be nice to visit an old favorite. I hope you don’t mind.”
The smile that had been threatening Rillak at the threshold emerged, pulling her lips upward. Michael’s pulse quickened. “Not at all. I love your pok tar.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Michael said.
“I hope it’s alright to say,” Rillak began slowly, “but you also cooked pok tar for me on our other first date. So, this seems fitting.”
“I’m glad one of us remembered that,” Michael said, dry.
Rillak’s smile widened, encouraged, apparently, by Michael not shying away from her remark. “The pok tar was excellent then, by the way. So, you might have a lot to live up to.”
“Well,” said Michael, “I expect I’ll meet that standard.”
Rillak chuckled, her eyes lightning up. “I have no doubt you will.”
Michael’s apprehension melted just that tiny bit and she returned Rillak’s smile.
After she served the plates, the conversation took on a relaxed tone. It was easy to talk shop about what Discovery had been doing on the latest outing, while Rillak shared confidential details about her interactions with several ambassadors.
“--he insisted that his species’ traditional dance was a vital part of the talks, and proceeded to demonstrate it right there in the middle of the meeting, on the table,” Rillak said, wolfish.
Michael grinned. “On the table?”
“Yes,” Rillak confirmed. “It was quite the sight. Happily, it is also considered rude not to laugh. As you can imagine, we were all in fits of laughter.”
“I wish I could have seen that.”
“Next time,” Rillak quipped. “If you want, I mean. A delegation has been invited to attend the wedding of the president’s son.”
Michael stared at her, not quite sure how to react to the invitation. “A wedding?” she asked instead.
Rillak nodded. “Hm, the son is marrying a prominent diplomat from the Andorian delegation. It’s going to be a grand affair, with guests from all corners of the Federation.”
“Ah, like our wedding,” Michael responded before she could consider how she knew that detail.
Something flickered in Rillak’s eyes, and her smile faltered before her composure returned. “You remember that?” she ventured.
Michael blinked, her own surprise plain on her face. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “It’s just a feeling I had.”
“...have you looked at the photographs?”
“No,” said Michael, feeling guilty.
Rillak’s face fell again, and Michael could tell she was frustrated. Which was fair. Michael wasn’t sure how she would react if their roles were reversed. Rillak’s life had been upended just as much as Michael’s—maybe more so.
“I was hoping I’d remember things more organically,” Michael said, feeling the need to explain. “I’m afraid if I look at pictures or read my old logs… I’ll know things but I won’t have any of the feelings associated with them. And that just seems wrong. I want to experience them… not look on as an outsider.”
Rillak frowned, her brows knitting together. “I admire that desire, Michael,” she said, and Michael felt her stomach twist, “but if you never remember anything…”
“I understand,” Michael cut-in. She appreciated that Rillak had not pushed her over the previous weeks, but it also wasn’t fair to expect her to wait around forever for something that might never occur. “And I have an idea about that.”
“Oh?” Rillak asked, cautious.
“I thought we might ask T’Rina to facilitate you sharing your memories with me.”
Rillak looked completely taken aback. “That wouldn’t exactly be organic, Michael,” she said, “And I’m not sure giving you the memories of what I felt will help you reclaim your own experiences.”
“I know,” she said, “I don’t want every memory of us. I just want… a starting point.”
“You don’t think that the starting point is the photographs of us?”
“It’s too impersonal.”
Rillak’s expression softened slightly, though her concern remained etched on her face. “You have no idea how much I want you back,” she said, and the force of wistfulness in her tone was almost enough to knock the breath out of Michael’s lungs, “but I’m afraid memory sharing might not give us the genuine connection we had back.”
Michael sighed. “Maybe not.”
“But what if we have more dates like this one?” Rillak asked gently. “You did fall in love with me once before, and it started something like this.”
Michael met Rillak’s eyes, feeling a flicker of something—hope? Curiosity? “Are you suggesting that we rebuild from the ground up?”
“Yes,” she said, empathic, “I’m willing to create new memories with you. More than that, I want to.”
She considered that. The idea that Rillak didn’t need her to jump right back into a life she didn’t remember was a relief. And she had enjoyed this dinner. Sometimes, being Captain was lonely, but tonight was excellent. Rillak’s company was warmer than she thought possible, and the conversation was easy.
“I would like that,” Michael said, earnest.
“Good,” Rillak said. “Maybe you could start by calling me Laira?”
Michael’s heart skipped a beat. The request felt so intimate. She took a breath, savored the thought, let it roll off her tongue, “Laira.”