Chapter Text
Michael left the security office after informing Commander Landry of Captain Georgiou’s invitation to spend the evening in her quarters. And, while Philippa might have given her free rein to move about the ship, Landry neither liked nor trusted Michael, regardless of their captain’s trust in her.
She got the feeling that—like most people—to Ellen Landry, chief of security for the Federation starship Discovery, Michael Burnham was a traitor, a criminal, a mutinous first officer who had assaulted Captain Philippa Georgiou … who had tried to take control of the starship Shenzhou in order to start a war with the Klingons … who had, indeed, started a war that had not only destroyed Shenzhou, killed many of her crew and nearly cost Captain Georgiou her life, but had so far, had destroyed dozens of ships, and had already cost the Federation thousands of lives.
So, if it were up to Landry, Michael Burnham would have been shot after her court martial; not sent to prison because of Starfleet’s weak ‘no capital punishment’ rules and a still wheelchair-bound Captain Philippa Georgiou’s plea for mercy …
If it were up to Landry, Michael Burnham would have suffocated to death in a cold, powerless prison transport, once space-borne microbes had drained the shuttle’s systems of all energy; not rescued by Captain Philippa Georgiou and conscripted into duty aboard the USS Discovery after serving less than one year of her life sentence for mutiny …
If it were up to Landry, Michael Burnham would have been shackled to her work station when needed on duty … and shackled in the brig when not needed; not allowed to again wear the beloved uniform she had defiled and betrayed, quarters with a comfortable bed, replicator rations to use on frivolous items like dresses … or given free rein to move about Starfleet’s most advanced ship by Captain Philippa Georgiou!
All this Michael thinks each time she meets Landry’s gaze … each time she meets the gaze of most crewmembers of the starship Discovery. So, she’d acquiesced to Landry’s ‘security restrictions’, including reporting all movements outside of her duty shift and adhering to a strict curfew—2200 hours sharp!
Michael felt distinctly nervous as she smoothed a wrinkle from her dark blue dress; Philippa had gifted it to her and had asked her steward, Yeoman M’Kiliss to deliver it to her, requesting that she wear it tonight. It complemented her dark skin and made her feel beautiful in a way she hasn’t felt in a very long time.
I love Philippa.
She could admit that simple truth to herself now. But she also knew that a part of her feared that she would do something wrong—push too soon for everything she’d longed for … ached for … dreamed about during all those long months in prison … and even before that—and ruin the fragile bond that was reforming between them since she had come on board Discovery a month and a half ago. It all conspired to leave her feeling less than confident about herself and her abilities—a state she hated but felt every day now.
On Shenzhou, Philippa’s advice had always been to just trust her instincts, and that wisdom had rarely steered Michael wrong—except that last day before the war. So, she needed to follow Philippa’s lead … trust that they would both know if they were ready to move beyond friendship.
As she rounded the corner, she ran into Cadet Sylvia Tilly, her arms loaded with PADDs, which spilled everywhere as she tried to avoid Michael and failed.
“I-I’m sorry, Michael,” her work partner said uncertainly as she knelt to collect the scattered PADDs; Michael crouched helped her gather them.
“That is quite all right, cadet,” she said kindly. “It was as much my fault as it was yours. I was not paying sufficient attention to where I was going.”
“Thank you,” Tilly said as they stood. “That’s a b-beautiful dress!” she blurted out, before breaking eye contact nervously, leaving Michael puzzled.
“Thank you; I believe it is textile pattern number 1472, if you wish to obtain one,” she explained, hoping to dispel some of the young woman’s nervousness.
“Thank you,” Tilly repeated, her eyes still downcast as Michael left, wondering about the girl’s sudden change in demeanour. In the past few days, Tilly had become withdrawn around her—timid and jumpy—unlike the bright, outgoing girl she had been when Michael had first come aboard.
Most likely, some concerned crewmember had spoken to Tilly regarding the negative effects that associating with The Mutineer, Michael Burnham, might have on a cadet’s budding career.
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