Chapter Text
"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
-Vulcan Proverb.
"I would not recommend exceeding the safety limits of this institution, Dr. Georgiou.
Philippa Georgiou starts in surprise at both the familiar voice and the distinctly unfamiliar title. Technically she holds a doctorate in Political Science and Intergalactic Diplomacy but few know of the qualification and fewer use it, with most preferring Captain, even though she retired almost a year ago. Vulcan privacy laws work in her favour during the reoccupation processes. The Way of Surek doesn't place much importance on celebrity and individual accomplishment. She is free to heal with relative anonymity as a guest of the Shi’Kahr Rehabilitation Service.
Or at least that was the plan.
"Are you keeping tabs on me, Captain Burnham, or spying for Lady Amanda Greyson and her efforts to restore me to good spirits?"
Her tone is more polite than that offered to most members of Starfleet these days. She doesn't blame the institution she spent her life serving, but the complete disintegration of body, mind, and career fuel her anger (or so the therapists say). A small mercy is that Michael is out of uniform, opting for workout gear that makes her appear no less striking.
"Neither. I can assure you my foster mother learnt long ago to select a different emissary for her goodwill. We share the same exercise facilities, and my observations steam from experience in triggering mandatory healer protocols and restrictions. Vulcans value individual freedom, except when it comes to reckless disregard for personal health."
Philippa feels more than a little horror at the prospect of public health checks from Vulcan healers. She doesn't admit weakness easily and nearly dying in the line of duty doesn't lessen her stubborn pride.
***
"You stamina is improving, and the muscle conditioning is paying dividends. May I make a suggestion?
"That's a diplomatic way of saying I no longer resemble a hobbly mess with less balance than a Tribble under the influence."
The two women are in one of the many private spaces in the complex, this one hosting a selection of mats and benches meant for stretching. A silent attendant places several large pitchers of water on the small table by the fire pot.
"The human tendency towards self-depreciation is baffling and counterproductive, especially in a rehabilitation facility. Your body is recovering; therefore, the strength parameters need adjustment, which isn't a reflection on you as a person."
"Yes, Healer Michael" Philippa jokes with a smile.
Michael smiles briefly before taking them through yet another sequence focusing on strengthing the core and avoiding pressure on the atrophied leg. A mixture of Vulcan and Human techniques that work well during the war. Unfortunately, Captain Philippa Georgiou is not the first to contend with weapons of the Klingon Empire; making wounds last for months as years is a point of pride for the warrior race.
"Enough - I am a collection of protesting muscles and poorly converted oxygen." Philippa theatrically collapses to the floor, wiping sweat from her hairline before redoing a loose messy braid.
"You did well."
Insultingly Michael continues to jog on her feet, looking at the picture of energy as she does warm-down exercises. Her exercise clothing is weighted and designed to create more resistance. Philippa can't help but smile at the odd picture they make.
***
"May I buy you a tea to say thank you?"
"No thanks is necessary; my service is freely given and far from expert."
Philippa wants to argue that point Michael just took her through more routines in 90 minutes than she knew existed for such a severe injury at her age. There is still underlying pain and protest in the troublesome right leg, but far less than usual. If the former Captain weren't fully aware of her commander’s career path, she would swear Michael Burnham wore healers robes.
"Then at least let me make an effort to be social for once," Philippa insists with a gentle smile.
"There is an excellent restaurant a few blocks from here," Michael offers. "Shall we meet at the doors in 10 minutes?"
"Sounds like an excellent idea, but I insist on paying."
Philippa doubts she is fooling Michael, but she does her best not to limp as she heads to the changing room. The workout is for rehabilitation, but doesn't mean the exertion comes entirely without cost. The tingling in the foot is sharp and hot, but she feels invigorated by the small progress; it almost makes the sleepless nights worthwhile.
She changes in a hurry, but suddenly feels self-conscious about her casual clothes and voice hoarse from occasional use and long walks in the thin, dusty air. Philippa cannot remember making a new friend in the last decade, and certainly not since the injury and the first Klingon strike. The casual conversation feels daunting, even with a fellow Starfleet officer.
Mindful of timekeeping sensitivities, she enters the lobby precisely at ten past the hour. Michael is already by the door conversing quietly with a tall Vulcan woman. The interaction isn't pleasant judging by the tense set to Michael's shoulders and the clipped tones. The voices cease as Philippa approaches, and the elder moves away with a few words to fast for her rudimentary grasp of the language.
"What does kitork rikup'esmean?" Philippa asks as they walk towards the restaurant
Michael walks stiffly, seemingly lost in her thoughts and whatever this woman said to her. She looks cold in her thin tunic, but has clearly refused to put on a sweater. Philippa feels oddly protective without knowing the circumstances.
"It is nonsense, both in terms of definition and grammar. It’s a vague notion from Preform times that feel out of favour and therefore modern usage. I am polluting Vulcan and weakening the society as a whole."
***
"How are you finding the Starfleet Vulcan Office? Resenting the desk duty soon after your promotion?" Philippa asks wait for a table.
"On the contrary, I find this posting meaningful and engaging. Vulcan is at the centre of the war effort. I find the resistance to administration a strange feature of Starfleet personnel. No duty has intrinsically less value than another, yet you are the seventh person to offer such sentiments." Michael looks genuinely baffled by the consolation
"I'm afraid that it is a failing of both the young and the old to venerate the concept of action and glory, especially for the newly promoted. Maybe it comes from a fear of not measuring up to the lofty ideals that founded the Federation."
"Your speculation may have merit, however; I find satisfaction in performing administrative tasks well and ensuring the functioning of the system, glory or not." Michael agrees with a small shrug
"Don't let Oskar hear you say that. He'll have running audits and stocktake for the remainder of your tour right behind recalibrating tricorders and replicators."
"My love of efficiency is far from a secret, Captain; thus my duties are many and varied. Captain Thompson displays a passion for animal conservation so my primary 'unofficial duty' is advising him on keeping a rare Selhet subspecies alive and thriving in the Earth climate.”
"I was pleased when Sarek mentioned your assignment. Oskar is the best of men and about as liberal as they come. He would not hesitate to respect the wishes of a Vulcan-raised officer."
The spread before them contains a broad range of Vulcan fruits and savoury snacks. Philippa suspects that they were chosen for human palates, as there is more sugar than the natives are generally comfortable with given the alcoholic effect of too much sugar or cocoa. Thankfully she enjoys this diet and doesn't miss many of the comforts from her home system. Any time she has a craving for Malaysian dishes, her brother's recipes are all a replication away.
"This restaurant is known for creating light food between main meals. Amanda wishes to know if you will join us for the evening. She requests that I play the harp and the piano. My talent is mediocre at best, but you are most welcome."
***
"Welcome to our home, Captain."
Philippa supposes a diplomat's wife hosts guests with frequency, but it still surprises her how easily Lady Amanda Grayson accepts her into their private space, thoughtfully turning down the internal temperature controls to something approaching an Earth climate.
"Thank you for hosting me."
"Sarek and I make our home open to many Starfleet officials and humans who are staying on Vulcan for long stretches,” Amanda confides with a smile. “I am just glad Michael finally convinced you to take a break - although there is certain hypocrisy there, given my family's workaholic tendencies."
Amanda Grayson looks genuinely at home in these surroundings and every inch the wife of a noble Vulcan House. Her long dark hair is resting comfortably against the robes and silver jewelery. She switches quickly between Vulcan and Standard. Philippa suddenly remembers that many Vulcan families prefer not to rely on universal translators, unless there is no other option.
"Your husband and adult children are healthy and functioning well."
Michael replies from her position, chopping vegetables and stirring the broth.
"Spock completed training for the Trials with a broken arm and borderline apoxia, the definition of an unreliable narrator."
Philippa smiles at the easy comradery between the two women. The many months of rehabilitation were taxing beyond measure both physically, and pathologically stubborn pride meant that she kept many well-wishers away – including, to her shame, the surviving members of her crew. Her brothers understood and returned home after her condition had stabilised, and she began moving again. Whatever rehab unit Philippa travels to there will have care package waiting. Staying with a family is a rarity, especially on Vulcan.
"It must be a delight having Michael stationed near Shi’Kahr for the next year or so, although the circumstances are far from ideal," Philippa comments as she sips a refreshing drink unique to Vulcan.
"Right now I am content with anywhere within a few lightyears of 40 Eridani. It is likely that Spock will visit as well to serve as an unofficial liaison to the VSA. His visits are always fleeting."
Michael's music is far from average, and Philippa enjoys the peaceful melody as Sarek joins in with his drum beat. They switch between modern and traditional songs that are popular in all corners of the galaxies. Amanda sings for a few pieces and takes up the piano for a few earth favourites. Philippa is too self-conscious about her still healing hands to make an offering, though the lessons from childhood come flooding back.
***
"I am attempting to write a novel, which still sounds strange to say, but there are thirty-thousand words and three drafts to attest to the reality."
Philippa waits for the onslaught of questions the statement usually provokes. To be fair the idea of writing fiction is a somewhat radical shift for the former Captain and lifelong academic. A few colleagues do make the change, but usually, these people have a streak of creative writing in either their genes or their background. Philippa can claim no such advantage, merely a persistent desire to escape the confines of reality for a while.
The silence in the estate's guestroom isn't uncomfortable, but Philippa should know better than to test the waiting capacity of one raised on Vulcan. Michael may serve on a human crew and interact with few from home, but her every gesture demonstrates a lifetime of meditation and mental discipline.
"Would you like an exclusive insight into the plot as partial payment for my new exercise plan?" Philippa quips, finally breaking the quiet.
"Few in my family pursue the creative careers, but it is my understanding that manuscripts are deeply personal. The details are yours to share alone, not mine to solicit."
"My family is half proud, half concerned that my manuscript is a post-retirement crisis, though I did promise not to write about a fictional Starship Captain," Philippa says with a chuckle.
"You are an accomplished writer and academic - these talents will translate to many areas, especially as you have an appreciation for the Arts and traditional opera."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence. I may recruit you to be a first reviewer."
"If you wish."
Philippa marvels at how spending time with Michael and her family has such a profound impact on her mood and for once she is looking forward to an appointment in her schedule. Having engagements that do not involve therapy or physical rehabilitation is a foreign concepts. Michael Burnham is one of the few people to consider her dream of writing as more than flight of fancy.
Just maybe she has a new friend on Vulcan