Working with a Vulcan was not unfamiliar, in fact, it was oddly pleasant. The captain kept her judgements to herself and there was no idol prattle and it allowed Michael to focus on the problem in front, such as the ruins, than think back on what had happened.

The ruins were more or less intact the further away she got. So she took that as a good sign to poke her head into the last one. Though the door looked to have rotted away, its small windows still in its tone panels, encrusted by mud and grim that made seeing through impossible. Inside, it was dark but huge. Light stretched in, revealing lots of moss, soil, grass, vines and a mixture of animal bones all over the floor.

Her eyes roamed the surfaces, picking up no stream of light coming from any cracks nor draft of air. There was furniture; rotted wooden structures lay about in splinters though there was a space in the wall that looked ornamental… though odd.

Michael stepped in, making sure to avoid the bones, turning the light on her vest to shine into it. The wall was covered in inscriptions, but cavity looked to be carved into the stone that draw out an alter like design in the wall itself. Space was carves out around and above it; looking to be useable by a humanoid figure to get on and off it. Though it covered in rotted mess that she could assume was material. Other cavityes were carved into the wall around the bed and looked to have once been some sort of shelving system.

Was this some sort of bed? Michael set her back down, pulling out her tricorder for the initial scans.

"This is a good one."

Michael flinched as the sound of the Vulcan Captain's appearance, almost dropping her tricorder. She sucked in a deep breath. "I think this is some sort of bed but the furniture in this room looks to be unusable. It's rotted away."

T'Sol nodded. "I know, but nothing we can't build. There looks to be…some sort of fire place. I can collect a few stones and foliage and start a fire. Should give us light to work in than your vest-lights can provide and heat for the cold nights."

In front of the Vulcan, there was another cavity in the stone, lingering stains of ash though seemed to steak down the stone surface though it was a convenient size for the room, it wouldn't be large enough for them to boil water or food over it. They'd have to do that outside.

"This is clearly a living space for a couple. Small enough for comfortable space of two, not large enough to have redundant areas. The…placement of the bed space uses the space that would allow more area for living in. The size is large for two humanoids and large cavity around was designed for…space. No doubt for the necessity of their mating practises." T'Sol mused, taking the tricorder with from her hand in mild interest to read the analysis "I'll collect the necessary materials from outside while you continue. Clean out the bed space and the fire and the immediate areas."

Michael nodded though she knew better than to argue with a Captain. "Yes, Captain."

T'Sol nodded then handed the tricorder back then walked smoothly towards the door frame and out without a backwards glance. Again, this blunt attitude was not uncommon for a Vulcan but something about it just…bristled against her. Very abrupt, to the point and logical. Why did that bother her?

Michael could muse that it was perhaps the isolation the Vulcan had been though the last couple of months that she hardened her. Vulcans did like being alone, solitude was preferred but even then, they had their tolerances. Lonely was a different matter for them.

Plus, Michael didn't see the logic in not doing what the captain said, given they both had to live in here. Setting aside the unrelated kits, rope and fruit, Michael found the survival kit at the bottom again and pulled it out, shoving everything else back in before she opened up the small bag.

Inside there was three compressed emergency blankets, compass, a upgraded version 21st Swiss army knife, a proper knife, flint and matches, phaser chargers compressed lighting—solar powered recharge so they had to be moved into the sun during the day to work at night, a small solar powered multi-tool charger —same need as the lights— a sewing kit, the med kit, a spare communicator and the bottom was a water filter stuffed next to a collection of varying strings and wires along with fire starters. Food rations were packed in along all them.

All she knew they'd need but they hadn't packed for camping. There was no tent, nor sleeping bags for comfort…. The blankets they'd have would have to be multi-purposeful….

Michael sighed, picking out the solid knife. At least she had had the right bag before the fall. The Captain probably hadn't realised she had all of this….

Shrugging off her vest. Michael removed her uniform jacket; feeling a swell of relief given the humidity to be free of unnecessary fabrics. She took the few small lights and fixed them into the darkest corners; spreading light to unveil the rest of the room before she allowed herself to get to work.


The day seemed to get hotter and hotter as Michael cleared out the room. Her clothes stuck to her, sweat sticking and sliding down her skin and clearing the room out was much harder than intended, especially discovering a family of what she could label as rodents that ran from their burrow as soon as she removed a long decayed skull of a native creature from the corner. Surface to say. Michael proceeded with much more caution.

She did find a few useable items, such as pottery so she took some time to clean them out to use,

Captain T'Sol did return with her resources, currently using a mixture of branches and leaves that were fashioned into a broom to sweep the floor. Michael found herself using a familiar quill to help uproot the encrusted dirt at the bed without damaging (like the knife would)

"How familiar are you with the local plant life, Captain T'Sol?" Michael inquired, blowing away the bits of soil and greenery from a particular carving at the head side of the bed.

"Quite. I've conducted my own studies of the plant life since being here and I've been reliant on them. I notice the…fruit you have collected. Those are a good source of nutrient and are very common."

"These quills?" She could recall stabbing herself earlier… she never really found out what it was.

T'Sol glanced up, eyeing the quill she had. "Those are a harmless variety. Their quills protect the main trunk of their plant from vegetarian predators given the high nutrition it inside cluster of fruits is. The tips produce a neurotoxin that acts like a painkiller, however, too much exposure will result in paralysis of the nerves."

"Hardly a good way to reproduce for a plant. Must be some sort of seasonal plant is it's got defensive toxins"

"We can study it later. I take it you found yourself at the end of one if you're inquiring about it specifically."

Michael nodded, getting back to work though she felt a silver of pleasure to see the last dregs of dirt uplift. "I walked back into one, nothing more than a few punctures but it's healed up." She had checked. There wasn't even a scar under that Band-Aid.

Using a collection of cut grasses, Michael put them out at the bottom of the stone bed, adding leaves to boost it up before spreading one of the blankets over it; a mattress.

"Okay, the bed is done. As much as I know it may be awkward for the both of us, we may have to share." A suggestion that did make her uncomfortable but ideal. Body warmth would be necessary and it saved on time and resources at the present to not make another bed up.

T'Sol paused in her sweeping, any indication was shown as her lips pursed but she nodded. "I will take the side to the edge. I won't need as much sleep as you do so I may leave more efficiently than…clamber around you."

Michael released a breath and nodded. "I can agree to that, Captain."

"Standard protocols should still be applied given our ranks, the matter of privacy and boundaries particularly." T'Sol added, putting the broom to the side and kicked the jumble of mess out the front door.

The captain continued to talk on about toiletry needs and timings of baths, establishing a routine that could keep personal personal and Michael was fine with that. Neither of them wanted to walk in on each other.

With their combined help, the room did start to feel more inhabitable. Shelves were cleared and T'Sol was able to get water, both for hydration and for cleaning. Michael was more than happy to get the water filter ready before she returned, gulping down the first available water before she devoured another fruit; expended energy returning through her veins as she laid up against the near wall beside the makeshift table. T'Sol pushed another cup into her hands and she goggled it down just as quickly. One thing she loved about the filter, it cooled the liquid down…

"These rations will only last us a couple days at most. Tomorrow morning, once you're rested, I can show you the local flora, what'd edible and what's not." T'Sol stopped, taking her open heavy drink with a deep sigh, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Agreed. We have basic equipment but we will need to look in making more." She had survival training of course, but that was simply to wait out a few weeks for rescue. There was no rescue…

Michael's stomach tightened at the thought; No one was going to come back. T'Sol was thinking long term; she had to as well… her eyes closed after a moment, her stomach twisting at the thought. She hadn't tried to think that far ahead. Hadn't wanted to.

"Are you okay, Burnham?"

Michael nodded softly, "Not…everything had come back to me."

The Vulcan's head twisted sideward, her eyebrows pulling in with a quizzical look. "Come back?"

Michael sucked in a heavy breath. "The…pit where you first found me earlier. I think I fell down it."

T'Sol's eyes ran down her figure though there was an immediate sense of doubt. "You're not injured."

"I know, I know but… I just have this feeling. I woke up at the bottom of it; took ages to get out through the caves systems." She pushed quickly out, reaching for the pot for another cup of water but forced her eyes away from the captain, "everything I my head on what happened is…fuzzy."

"Dehydration can distort memory, there must be a more logical explanation."

Michael shook her head. "I know there is but this… this feels real. I get glimpses of hanging onto a rope, the sensation of falling, seeing my captain's face get smaller then it's all gone. I don't—" She stopped, closing her eyes. "I can't explain it. But…I know that Captain Georgiou would have done more to find me if she knew I was alive. She wouldn't have left me."

"Then," Captain T'Sol spoke, her tone turning solemn, "you must have been mistaken about her."

Coldness seized at Michael's stomach but she found herself glaring at her but there was that internal sense of fear that clawed at her insides; that Philippa did just didn't try. No. She had to keep what she knew to herself.

"Excuse me." Michael grabbed her last fruit before she walked away from the Vulcan.


For the rest of the afternoon, Michael kept away from the Captain. She did however, occupy her mind with gathering wood and more water and even manages to find more of the fruit— dubbing it a blueapple for the sake of a sharable identification for it—to go along with their ration supply for their dinner.

Though she couldn't help but find her mind drifting back, the sky getting dark now as she handled the bag load of blueapples. She knew her mind was fuzzy and muddled, but that shouldn't disprove what she felt was real. She didn't need Captain T'Sol's doubt. Clearly this had to be personal; something she had to figure on her own.

Though she shivered again as the temperate drop seemed to feel much more prominent against her skin. Through the twilight, Michael could see the orange light through the cracks of the make-shift door.

Thunk!

Michael hissed sharply as she slipped up the step, the mulch of soil squelching, her hand shooting out, one staying curled around the bag, the other slamming into the corner of the exposed step; a burning sharp pain firing through her palm before she even properly finished the decent. Her hip banging against the covered side though she pulled her hand away, hissing again to examine the wound.

Michael gasped sharply, the sensations in her stomach turn to ice. The shallow red cut suddenly get less predominant and paler, the slight hints of blood also seemed to just…seep back in; her palm becoming back to its usual appearance. As if never harmed.

Her breath held, her fingers coming to touch over the smooth skin. Nothing, no abrasion… no pain, she couldn't even feel the tingle of nerves. One thing was for certain, that wasn't normal.


"I'm going out for final wood collection. I should be back in 10 minutes." Captain T'Sol spoke.

It was dark and night had drawn, their bellies were full but Michael put herself to bed; but she couldn't sleep, her back facing out though she was glad to hear the Vulcan leave. The door was returned back to place and the heat of the fire stayed in, cracking around their new home.

The bed wasn't comfortable but it was better than the floor. But Michael couldn't find the focus to think on that… her fingers traced over her palm, uneasy… it filled her with a deep sense of dread.

What happened to her?

Turning to see T'Sol was gone—she was—, Michael pulled the Swiss knife from her pocket, flicking it open. The light bounced off the shiny surface though she felt hear pulse increase as she brought it back to her palm…

Michael hesitated, the feel of pain; the distaste of how it felt…

She closed her eyes, pressing the blade down, allowing herself to feel the blade before the skin broke suddenly. Immediately, she gritted her teeth, pulling the blade back, opening her eyes to see the blood pooling in her palm and for a second there was nothing— doubts sudden began to arouse in the back of her head; Captain T'Sol would be back; this would be hard to explain. She wasn't the type to self-harm…

Then she watched in cold silence as the pool began to seep back into the cut, the skin steadily knitting back together; the blemish of a cut…disappearing, leaving only a light blood trail over the skin and on the blade. The wound healed.

Michael let out her breath, flicking the knife back into her pocket, lying herself back down quickly but she could feel how her heart raced in her chest. How could she have healed?