We had a vanity.

That's the opulence of quarters for junior officers aboard the USS Discovery. Aboard the D'Kyr, we had a communal meditation chamber. Do you see the cultural difference between Human and Vulcan? On board a human ship, even junior officers had their own, personal accommodations: each person was given something that was their own. On board a Vulcan combat cruiser, the community was given primacy.

Certainly, the Vulcan interior life is much more developed and so much more sophisticated than anything the Human could ever dream of, and personal privacy for a Vulcan was sacrosanct, ... interiorly. But this meant that nothing external to that bubble around your physical form mattered. You wanted to comb your hair? Fine, and personal appearance was absolutely required to be impeccable.

But you could comb your hair in the common wash areas.

There was a concession made to the new Federation mores: men and women had separate cleaning areas and separate rest areas, ... separate, but still communal.

In that, the Vulcans unknowingly shared this characteristic with their Romulan brethren, so there was no adjustment for me, as there would be for a human.

Here, on the USS Discovery, everything was so ... different. Everything was upside-down and backwards, black was white, and right was wrong. "Personal space" was build into ship design, but, insanely, your interior life, your private thoughts and preferences, were supposed to be openly shared with complete strangers? So you could be more 'approachable'?

And, apparently, your roommate could fuck you in your sleep.

No, that was explicitly against Federation Law and Starfleet regulations, straight from Miss "Regs are Regs," herself.

I had my own shared vanity with Michael Burnham, ... I marveled at the extravagance of it as I checked my look in the lighted mirror as I combed my hair to Vulcan perfection.

Michael Burnham and I had our own shared moment last night.

I didn't wonder how I felt about that, because I'm clear where I stand on things. I have needs, both physical and metaphysical, and if she was down to fuck, then hells ya! let's get it on! I wouldn't mind participating (much) more actively, but there were certain barriers to having that conversation, like ...

Like I wondered how, interiorly, Michael Burnham was managing this, I mean, besides the first thing she did after she woke (... that is, after she squeezed my boob?), was full-on panic-attack, which was right up there with her little snores on a level-of-cuteness scale, ... from my perspective, most likely not from hers.

Speak of the Devil. Michael Burnham, finally, exited the shower.

"Oh, good." She said. "You're ready."

Barely. I thought, casting a critical eye over my still-wet hair. Michael Burnham had no such issue, having a buzz-cut, that I did not find attractive, but I supposed being an attractive person in a Federation prison had its own disadvantages.

"You're not," I stated.

"Just give me a mo'" she say, and went to her dresser. "Don't look."

"I wasn't," I replied. "If it bothers you that much, go change in the bathroom."

"No time," she said, draping her towel over the chair I just vacated. Her body was a sword: perfectly toned, not one ounce of excessive fat on her, her skin color, a creamy milk chocolate.

"I said don't look at me!" she snapped.

I raised an eyebrow. "How could one not look?" I countered.

"Oh. My God!" she exclaimed, and chose her clothes and dressed hurriedly.

"Okay, let's go." Impatience seeped into her voice.

"No," I said.

"We're late!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes," I said, "we are now late. So, if we're five minutes late or ten minutes late, it doesn't matter. What does matter is how we arrive."

"Huh?" she asked, torn, looking toward the door.

"Let me ask you, Michael Burnham: when was the last time you meditated?"

"Oh," she said, blushing. "Um, ... a few months? Not since I've been on the Discovery."

"A few months," I said, and let the accusation hang there.

"I've just been so busy that I ..."

"Are you listening to yourself?" I demanded.

She stopped and bit her lip. "I know. I know, but we just don't have time now! Maybe later, okay?"

I shook my head. "Michael Burnham. Shame on you. A few months among these humans and you're making excuses? ... and putting off for 'maybe later' something you'll know you'll be 'too busy' to ever do?"

She wouldn't look at me.

"What happens when we arrive at our briefing with the Captain, late, not having meditated, completely off-center? He knocks you even further off-balance and he runs the meeting by running you into the ground, ... as always, no? So, let's create a different reality: what happens when we take a few mere minute here, center, and go to the Captain's quarters fully composed, fully settled? No matter what he throws at us, we are untroubled, calm, clear, logical. That is the Vulcan strength, Michael Burnham, and you know it. Are you going to so easily discard your life's training now when you most need it?"

"No," she whispered, still not looking at me.

"No," I said, "you are not. Do you have your meditation mat and lamp?"

She shook her head, shamed to silence.

I sighed. "Then we'll improvise. But, Michael Burnham, every day, starting today, yes?"

She nodded.

I pulled the blanket off my rack and squared it. Michael Burnham watched me, then followed suit. placing her blanket beside mine in standard Vulcan formation.

"No-no," I shook my head then gestured for her to place her makeshift mat in front of mine. She obeyed, albeit with a quizzical expression.

We kneeled on the mats. "Computer, dim lights by 75%."

We were in a room much darkened. I looked to Michael Burnham. "Are you ready?" I asked her.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked at me and nodded.

"I will guide you this one time. Will you permit this?" I asked her.

She cocked her head, a silent question on her lips, but she said, "Yes," hesitantly.

I raised my hands, palms up, to my chest. "Breathe in: calm." I said, and took in a deep breath.

Michael Burnham did the same.

I inverted my palms and slowly pushed down to my lap. "Breathe out: serene."

We both slowly let the air out, expelling the air from our mouths.

"Breath in: calm," I repeated.

I repeated the breathing exercise three more times.

"Today," I said softly, "we meditate on nothing."

Concern clouded Michael Burnham's brow. "Nothing?" she asked.

I raised my fingers, touching my lips, the Vulcan admonition to silence.

Michael Burnham looked admonished.

I brought my hand back down to my lap, resting it there.

"Today," I repeated, "we meditate on nothing."

I raised my hands to First position, then pushed my right hand forward, toward Michael Burnham. "Nothing is before us."

"The Suus Manha form," she said, her eyes lighting up.

I glared at her. By the Immanence, she was so out of practice that it was starting to annoy me.

I recentered and brought my fingers to my lips.

She bowed her head in contrition.

I resumed First Position. "Nothing is before us." I said.

Then I brought my right palm back, facing me, as my left hand raised up in guard. "Nothing is behind us." I stated.

I looked to her. "Meditate on this, Michael Burnham, repeat my words in your mind."

"... but you're saying it in Federation Standard?" She almost whined.

"Language does not matter. Do you prefer Vulcan?"

After a moment, she said: "Yes, please."

"Yi kal-tor's palikau va'ashiv." I said: then let's begin again.

"Rai vel nam-tor fa' etek." I chanted, reassuming First Position.

I took Second Position, pulling my palm back to myself, and chanted: "Rai vel nam-tor za' etek."

I looked to make sure she was silently following. She was: the Vulcan was a familiarity that comforted her.

I raised my right arm in a high blocking position: Third Position. "Rai vel nam-tor abru' etek."

Then I brought my palm into a low guard: Fourth Position. "Rai vel nam-tor ne' etek."

I returned my palms to my lap. "I' nam-tor rai vel"; Now is nothing.

"Wuh vesht tor rai vel; Wuh fa-wak tor rai vel."

The Past is nothing; the Future is nothing.

We sat and we breathed, and we let the moment become ...

Nothing.

Then.

Finally.

Eventually.

When nothing really did trouble us, and we were at peace.

I began the formal conclusion rite.

"Rehkuh," I chanted, or 'three.' We both breathed in deeply, then breathed out.

"Dahkuh," I chanted, or 'two.' We repeated our breaths, slowly coming out of the meditation trance.

"Veh," I said, finally, or 'one.' One more breath, then we opened our eyes, and we looked at each other, and we finally saw each other, and I saw her, Michael Burnham, and she saw me.

"Nemaiyo," Michael Burnham whispered, calm, and serene. That is to say: 'thank you.'

I nodded.

"But, ..." Again, concern clouded her brow. "I thought, ... I mean, ... isn't that nihilistic? 'Nothing exists' is illogical and counter to Vulcan philosophy, no?"

"No, pe' veh," I said. She blushed at my term of endearment for her: 'little one.' "'Nothing exists,' is not counter-logical: it is supra-logical. It is a paradox, and we don't have time to unwind it fully, but let me give you this guidance to hold fast to. If 'nothing exists,' what can harm you?"

"Nothing?" she said.

"Correct," I said, "Not Captain Lorca, not anything he says or does, not Suns, nor Moons, nor peoples, nor places. Nothing."

"Um, ... o-...kay?" she said.

She still didn't get it.

"Hold fast to that," I said.

"Nothing?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"How do I hold fast to ... nothing?" she asked.

"By letting go," I said.

She blinked. "Um, ... this is ... really different than anything I've ever meditated on before."

"Yes," I said, "it is. Don't force it now, just carry it with you and in you, and you will be calm and serene, untroubled by nothing that is your center."

"Um, ..." she said.

The Vulcan training, Nothing unreal exists, was so ingrained in her that this may have been asking too much of her, but I had to try. It wasn't the only way out, but it was the only integrous way forward for her. She just had to see that for herself, however.

I tried one more thing.

"One more thing," I said.

"One more no-thing?" she countered.

"Perhaps," I said. Humor could be a defense mechanism, or it could be play. I wasn't sure in which way Michael Burnham was responding.

I pressed forward. "If nothing is before you, behind you, above you, below you, ... if nothing is your present, your past, and your future, then what can you do?"

"Um, ..." she looked up, pursing her lips, " ... nothing?"

"No," I said, "you can do everything."

"How do you mean?"

"Nothing is before you, Michael Burnham, so there is nothing to stop you. Nothing is behind you, so there is nothing to hold you back. Nothing is above you, and nothing is below you: you are without limit, consequently you are in union with Immanence, ... but that is a conversation for another time."

She looked at me steadily. "Are you in union with Immanence, S'Vrall?"

I smiled at her, and I did not show her my sadness. "That," I merely replied, "is, as I said, a conversation for another time. We have another conversation awaiting us now, however."

"Oh," she said, shocked back into the present. "Um, yeah. Uh, shall we go?"

I gestured toward the door. "Please lead the way, Michael Burnham."

And she did.