A/N: Star Trek Discovery One-shot, enjoy!
Michael lowered her phaser, breathing heavily as the Klingon fell.
Her weapon fell from nerveless fingers as she stumbled over to the captain, whose chest was rising and falling, struggling to breath, Phillipa's lips open in an 'O' of bloody desperation, eyes rolling in that surprised panic that comes between the last few breaths.
Michael gathered the dying woman into her arms and felt her eyes fill with tears. So many regrets, so many things said and done that shouldn't have been done, and so many things not said and left undone that were to late to rectify.
Michael lowered her forehead to Phillipa's, closing her eyes so she couldn't see the bloody Bat'leth wound.
She remembered the first time Phillipa took her under her wing, re-introducing her to her humanity, pulled her out of her Vulcan inspired shell of arrogant stoicism.
Michael rather thought that, if it weren't such an illogical endeavor in the first place, her past self, clothed in the stately red robes of the Vulcan Science Academy, the shadow of Sarek spread from her to straight back, edging her to straight hair, would have logically cited the various moments over the last 24 hours that led to the consequences of this one moment, all from an entirely illogical series of emotional reactions.
Thrill, fun, curiosity, fear, hate, aggression.
…Love.
Michael traced the fingers of her shaking hand down the smooth strained cheek of her captain, and pressed her lips gently to her sweaty forehead, and opened her eyes, dark brown staring into dark, almost black eyes.
There was one thing she could do, the only thing she could do, the only logical and at the same time very human thing she could do.
There was a reason after all that she been taught by Vulcans at the human/Vulcan colony instead of being with other humans. There was a reason that she had attracted Sarek's attention, a reason that he had used a mind meld to bring her back to consciousness in the rubble remains of her school, the twisted, burnt and crushed bodies of her dead classmates and teachers strewn about her.
The reason she knew why that a piece of Sarek remained within her from that day so many years ago, and why that they could talk across the galaxy despite her initial surprise upon discovery of this connection to her mentor and guardian only recently.
The thing that Phillipa never really understood during their time together was that Michael had never been, despite appearances, an entirely average human.
Michael kept Phillipa's wide eyes fixed with hers, as the gentle stroking of her fingers ceased their comforting motion and instead stiffened and fell into the familiar shape mirroring Sarek's of the past, guided by the unique contours of her captain's face.
Ooo ooo ooo
Sometime After Michael is tried for Mutiny…
"Hey, do you know who that is?" A dark-haired man whispered loudly to his two compatriots, "That's Michael Burnham."
The bald one of the group, who wore a continuous smirk permanently attached to his face chortled "The mutineer?"
"In the flesh," the dark-haired man enthused.
The sandy haired blond nodded knowingly.
The three men shot the silent woman, back lit by the glowing blue of warp travel in the prisoner transport's window behind her, stark contrast with the faded yellow of her prison issue jumpsuit.
Michael though didn't pay attention to the gossiping men sitting near by her, her face remaining blank.
She knew what people said about her, she knew that people blamed her for the 8,186 people that had died in the Klingon/Federation war. She was the figurehead of their grief, their hate.
She didn't blame them really, she thought about what happened all the time, and she hurt, from the loss of so many friends, colleagues, and strangers alike. She still sees that smart allecky Ensign being sucked out into space, the ruined remains of the Shenzou, the Klingon lead ship crushing the Europa by its sure mass alone.
So many other ships destroyed, so many deaths. So many bodies floating in space, A set of Binary stars their tomb and epitaph.
But despite all that, she knew some how in this war, despite her status as the Federation's most reviled human failure, there was still hope.
Michael smiled, though her face didn't show it, as ghostly hands clasped her own, a knowing sardonic smile joined hers as a warmth breathed through the cold parts of her, thawing the heavy emotions and thoughts that from time to time sought to trap her in the dark and deep.
'No matter what Michael,' a voice breathed through her mind, shifting light behind her eyes until a face that did not exist in that shuttle, that was no longer alive, could be seen reflected there to those who had the ability to see.
'…There is always hope."