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With the snowy dreck of Dannus V blowing around them, Michael's puffs of breath warm Philippa’s face. The younger woman's gloved hands then trace the edge of Philippa’s leather coat downward, their fingers mingling loosely. Neither care if that omnipotent bastard with his mysterious temporal door is watching.
“This cannot be the only answer,” Michael says.
“But, it is the only one we have,” Philippa replies, shifting her forehead back and forth against Michael's, each heightened nerve in her body screaming, as she tries to absorb each facet of Michael's essence as her own.
Michael's voice cracks. “Philippa—"
"No—When you found me, I had already lost you." Philippa's voice remains raw and low against her throat. She doesn’t want to remember being Emperor or Lorca's betrayal or losing her Michael. Instead, she wants to laugh, then obliterate all around her at arms' length until her limbs are jelly and the universe feels her imperial rage cutting through it like the degenerative pain shooting through her nerve endings. "I was already dead.”
"Death is inevitable," Michael says.
"So are endings, Number One." Michael's former moniker catches, and the envy towards the other Georgiou stirs in Philippa's chest. Philippa's gaze meets Michael’s and she pulls her gloves from each hand. “Even your stoic Philippa understood the value of time.”
“You're not her."
“I wish I could believe you.” Philippa touches one cheek and then the other, holding both. She leans in and their lips meet.
Their mouths push and pull in a soft but heavy cadence that deepens as Michael's hands settle against Philippa's lower back. The former Emperor would be lying if she said she hadn't ever considered this possibility, but all of her considerations contained much more leather and far fewer snowflakes.
The kiss tapers, and Philippa's heart lurches. Her forehead settles against Michael's shoulder.
"It is well-established that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time," Michael says. "You are my Philippa. What I feel for you belongs to you."
"Ladies—" Carl reappears and Philippa's whispered Klingon obscenities into Michael's chest don't go unnoticed. Michael's arms tighten around her and the pressure of the embrace soothes Philippa's immediate agitation. "It is time."
Michael brushes a kiss against her temple before Philippa drops her arms to turn away. She is almost to the door when she turns back, the tears refusing to fall. Philippa holds the traditional Vulcan salute, and Michael nods.
There is little to see past the gateway's temporal swirls, but something emanates from within Philippa. The something is close to a voice, but yet expresses itself without words like an emotion or memory she can't yet place. She closes her eyes and takes the first step.
Time blurs around her, fading in and out as the pain of her temporal disease expands and contracts with each tenth of a nanosecond. Philippa is falling but yet there is no ground, flying but without wings and a sky. She can see herself, see all of time and space and the cosmos and where the lines between realities begin and end.
She sees the rise and fall of the Terran Empire both with and without her, the rise and fall of countless other Empires, of races she cannot comprehend and in languages she cannot understand.
Something in the shape of a person approaches, grey and light and not contoured with features but familiar in silhouette and height to Philippa. The shape merges into her and new memories align among her own in her subconsciousness.
Everything disappears.
When her eyes open, Philippa lies on a standard Starfleet bunk with a light grey blanket. Her legs swing over the side of the bunk and she shuffles barefoot to the expansive window on the far side of the room.
The Crepusculan homeworld, her brain supplies, as though she has been here before though she is sure she has never been. The positioning and trajectory of the desert planet in front of her suggests standard orbit.
"Computer, what is today's date?" Her voice shakes because she knows the answer even without the computer confirming it. In the corner of her eye, she sees a telescope as well as a neatly folded pile of linen with goggles sitting on top waiting for her.
"The current date is stardate 1207.3."
Philippa exhales.