#micheal “mikey” kudo

[alitteraltrashcan7352]

Me: my favorite character from digimon is

Me: *looks at smeared writing on hand* mickey kudo

[tincanspaceship]

5 times Micheal made an incredulous Vulcan face at Phillipa's human shenanigans

Hey! Thanks for the ask, this was such a good and pure concept :D i love my space gays

Words:3888

Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou 

Rating:T

thanks to @pumpkino for this post for the concept of paul’s ice cream and nonverbal days and thanks to @bossgomang for this post about a sherlock au

(psst:find the rent reference)

I.    

          Michael sighed and leant back in her chair, fingertips peaked over her nose. The tears that had been stuffed down sneaked their way out of her eyes. The cool surface of the table froze her calves. She sniffled. Philippa’s hands appeared on her shoulders.

          “Hey. What happened, my Michael?” Philippa dug her thumbs into Michael’s taut neck muscles. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I thought you’d appreciate the company.” Michael wiped her tears away, Philippa still kneading at her shoulders and upper back.

          “It seems you know me well, Captain. Philippa,” she added. “It was my father. Sarek. He…” She trailed off, distracted by Philippa’s massage. “He’s trying to convince me to transfer. He thinks my bond with you is preventing me from my captaincy.” Philippa groaned and rolled her eyes.

          “That’s bullshit, Michael. The good ol’ Shenzhou is your home. We’re your family. I’m sorry, babe. You shouldn’t have to go through this.” Her tone softened and her hand left a reassuring squeeze on Michael’s shoulder, who swiveled her head and stared at Philippa.

          “You called me babe.” Philippa shrugged.

          “I suppose I did. Let’s go do something fun. I feel like doing something fun.” A blush flashed into existence on Michael’s cheeks. She fussed with her padd to hide her face.

          “Sounds good.” Philippa yanked her out of her chair and dragged her all the way to the holodeck. As they stepped inside, Philippa ordered a program to run. A helmet materialized in front of both of them.

          “Put it on, Michael!” Philippa yelled, excited. She threw off her Starfleet jacket and tossed it to the side. Michael’s eyebrow raised of its own accord. Philippa returned Michael’s gaze, who submitted and shrugged off her uniform jacket. The helmet fit snugly.

          “Computer, summon our vehicles!” Two bikes appeared before them. Philippa hopped on one, the frame shockingly red. Michael took the other one, tentative, detailed yellow and robin’s-egg blue. Philippa quickly ran through the controls. Michael listened intently.

          “Let’s go, Michael!” Philippa hummed and sped off down the nearly-flat path, surrounded by poplar trees. Michael smiled, heat curling in her chest. She chased after Philippa, enjoying the simulation fully. She caught up after a few minutes, although she did spend a few moments admiring Philippa’s hair, flying in the wind.

          “I see you made it, slowpoke,” Philippa teased. Michael grinned. She matched her pace to Philippa’s, determined to save this moment in her memory. “Kudos to you. No falls.”

          Philippa glanced sideways and, in one fluid motion, pulled Michael off her bike and threw her over her shoulder. She yelped, but the coil of heat in her chest spread to her tingling fingers and toes. Michael watched as Philippa grinned over her shoulder and pulled over. She set Michael down on a gnarled tree.

          “Let’s do this again, Mikey. Computer, cancel program.”

II.

          Philippa lay sprawled across her desk, dress uniform rumpled. She slammed her shin into the table and immediately recoiled. She groaned and rolled onto her back. The granite pressed against her shoulder blades as she rubbed her eyes.

          “Michael, I haven’t been awake this long since the Academy,” she moaned. Philippa curled her toes. “How does one deal with sleep deprivation, Mikey?” Michael shook her head and handed Philippa another coffee. She pressed her palms to Philippa’s temples.

          “You shouldn’t take four triple-shifts in a week.” Philippa chugged her coffee, hazel liquid spilling from the corner of her mouth. “Especially if you have a very important conference.”

          “Don’t judge me. Computer, dim lights!” Michael sighed and threw a blanket in Philippa’s general direction. It hit her in the thigh.

          “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just have a nap! I promise I’ll wake you up.” Philippa shoved the wool blanket off.

          “No. I’ll make it,” she grumbled, face squished against the stone counter. “Do you have something for my headache?” Michael reluctantly pulled the hypo out of her pocket and handed to Philippa, mumbling something about ‘goddammit, Philippa, go the fuck to sleep,’ with her face a classic neutral disappointment.

          “You’re sure you won’t be too tired?” Michael said, almost too loud. Philippa flipped onto her back and pressed the hypospray to her neck, the cool metal circle under her jaw. Michael’s poker face cracked as a corner of her lips lifted into a miniature smile. Philippa looked at her, completely confused. Michael grabbed the hypo out of her hand, underlining the engraving of ‘sedative’. Philippa’s gaze turned to a low-lidded glare.

          “Gotcha.” Philippa flipped her off before succumbing to sleep.

III.

          Philippa nodded, grim, as she handed a sleeping bag to Saru. He thanked her with a somber smile, then began to unroll the silver wrap. Michael turned and plucked the last roll from what had been a cartfull.

          “Captain?” Michael offered the bag to Philippa, who had crossed her arms to keep warm. Their breath clouded in front of them.

          “Oh, take it. There’s a blanket in here…” She scraped at the bottom of the bin and emerged with a thin, fraying blanket. 

          “Captain, it’s much too cold!” Michael protested.

          “I’ll be fine.” She turned, blanket momentarily transformed into a cape.

          Michael sighed and set to work unrolling her bag. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing in Philippa’s direction frequently. The woman was shivering something awful. She tried to ignore the urge to swap or both sleep in the bag, the latter of which her brain spent far too much time tossing around.

        “Philippa,” Michael mumbled, pulling herself across the stone ground with her forearms, legs still inside her sleeping bag. Pebbles bit into her stomach. She gritted her teeth. The captain remained huddled under a thin blanket, shivering like mad.

          “Philippa?” Michael repeated, now only a foot from her quaking back. Philippa didn’t respond. “Oh, I told you not to do this!” she muttered. She wrapped an arm under her upper torso, her other hand sliding under Philippa’s knees.

          “M’hael, is tha’ you?” Philippa groaned, through purple lips. She rolled onto her back, landing on Michael’s arms “‘m fine.”  Michael raised an eyebrow and sighed, slipping out of her sleeping bag.

          “No, you’re not, Philippa,” she scolded, before heaving her up off the ground. Philippa curled up against Michael, still shivering. “I told you that you’d be too cold. Listen to your first officer,” she whispered, awkwardly pivoting on her knees. She placed Philippa inside the bag, trying not to jostle her too much. She finally managed to tuck her in, still shuddering.

          “Th-hank you,” she mumbled, face buried in Michael’s foam pillow. “C’mere, Mikey.” She obliged, and Philippa yanked on her thigh, sucking her into the makeshift bed. Michael let Philippa pull her in, reminding herself not to be a hypocrite and pull the same stunt as Philippa had. The Starfleet-issue flannel shrouded them in warmth.

          They lay separate for a few moments before an ‘ow!’ came from Philippa’s direction. Michael flipped onto her other side, finding herself pressed against Philippa’s front, who had apparently done the same. A look of shock spread over her face, lip trembling and a trickle of blood spilling out.

          “Oh…sorry, Michael. It’s nothing. I just bit my lip.” Michael shrugged off her uniform jacket and held it to Philippa’s mouth, the dark navy and crimson barely distinguishable in the low light.

          Philippa attempted not to stare at Michael, now wearing a SHENZ shirt, arms exposed and clearly muscled. She gathered her courage and snuggled into Michael’s form, head buried in her neck, arms around her waist, legs wrapped around Michael’s. She let out a soft sigh.

          Michael shook off her original stiffness and softened, draping a hand over Philippa’s back. She felt her fingertips rise and fall with Philippa’s soothing breaths, perfectly in time to the cloud of warmth blooming across her collarbone. Smooth waves of hair tickled her chin.

          She fell asleep almost as soon as Philippa’s breathing steadied.

IV.

          “Michael, will you wear a costume this time? Please?” Philippa batted her eyelashes rather dramatically.

          “I…No. This attempt to convince me is futile. I will take the graveyard shift.” Philippa grumbled.

          “What if I have a great idea?” Michael sighed.

          “Please, inform me,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her mouth.

          “Sherlock and Watson.”

          “What?” Michael blinked, lifting an eyebrow.

          “Sherlock and Watson. Classic. I know you know who they are, I made you read a collection just a few months back.”

          “I…have to admit, that is intriguing?” Philippa chuckled.

          “You’re Sherlock, of course.” Michael cracked a tiny smile at that.

          “There may be a chance I’m going to participate. Watson,” she added, with a smirk. Philippa grinned.

          “We’ll make a detective out of you yet, Michael. And I know some of our…more introverted crew members would be happy to stay on the bridge.”  

          “I suppose.” Michael spun on her heel and left Philippa to her paperwork.

          “Hmm, my dear, I think you’ll be a fine captain one day,” Philippa muttered to herself. She groaned and returned to her menial task until the blue padd displays blurred with the text.

          Michael stuffed her hands into her pockets as Philippa buttoned up her cape and fixed Michael’s collar. She placed a hat over Michael’s unruly curls. Michael looked up, although unable to see anything except the coils of her hair. She brushed them out of her eyes.

          “This is…strange.” Michael looked at Philippa’s own costume, overcoat almost brushing the ground. Philippa tilted up her own hat at a dynamic angle.

          “Happy Halloween, Michael. Ready?” Philippa linked their arms and led her down the hallway. Michael leant over and straightened Philippa’s tie, securely tucked in her waistcoat. “Thank you, Sherlock.” Michael chuckled.

          “Whatever you say, Watson.” They arrived at the holodeck, doors held open. Philippa disentangled their arms and slipped inside. Michael attempted to follow her. She failed, disoriented by the loud music and the skeleton that had walked in front of her. She scanned the room for Philippa’s hat. It peeked out from behind Saru. Michael shuffled through the crowd until she arrived at Philippa’s side.

          “Good evening, Michael.” She held out an apple on a stick, covered in a vaguely brown translucent coating. Michael took it, tentatively.

          “What is that?” She inspected it from all sides.

          “It’s a candy apple. Someone did their homework,” Philippa shouted. Michael took a bite. She swiped the juice off her chin with her sleeve. “Does the ever-stoic Michael Burnham approve?” Philippa teased.

          Michael smirked. “I approve.” She picked a piece of apple skin off the corner of Philippa’s mouth. “Happy Halloween.” Philippa grinned.

V.

          Michael’s finger twitched as she handed Keyla her gift. The cool ceramic chilled her fingertips, leaving a strange tingling sensation that spread across her palms when Keyla took it, one hand across the base.

          “Oh! Thank you so much, Commander.” Her eyes were fixed on the flowering bush in her hands. Michael bowed her head and stepped aside, Connor having shown up and started to play with the petals. He picked one and placed it behind Keyla’s ear.

          Michael’s fake cheer melted off her face as she pivoted on her heel to leave. A familiar hand squeezed her shoulder. She almost dropped her gift, a print collection of poems tucked neatly in the crook of her arm. She heralded a look to her side, where Philippa’s profile stared ahead, partially obscured by wavy sheets of hair, glowing pink-yellow-green in the strange party lighting. Her own gift, a bottle of wine, was held in a mirror image of Michael’s book

          “Hey. What do you say to escaping to your quarters? I have something for you.” Michael mumbled a quiet ‘me too’ in response before taking off in the direction of the direction of the turbolift. Philippa grinned and followed her down the corridor, the woosh of the doors masked by the blasting music. The noises ceased halfway down the hallway. Philippa lagged behind, watching the carpeting depress under Michael’s footsteps. She almost walked into the turbolift doors. Michael chuckled and held the doors open.

          “Thank you, Michael,” Philippa mumbled, embarrassed. Michael grinned and followed her into the elevator.

          “Deck 5,” Michael stated. The humming of the lift lined up with the pulse of her heart. She clenched her hands at the small of her back, her knuckles white. She stared at an unspecified point on the wall until the elevator stopped. Philippa ran ahead, slamming her hand into the reader. Michael stared at her and continued her more reasonable pace to her quarters.

          She slid open the doors and yanked her boots off. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Computer, dim lights,” she mumbled. She padded over to her bedroom, socks protecting her from the cold tiles. She pulled her gift for Philippa off her bookshelf, the smooth cardboard shining in the starlight. she tilted it, curious. The cream colour blended with her Starfleet-issue blanket.

          She snapped herself out of her trance and slipped her pillow out out of its sleeve, replacing it with the glossy folder. “I suppose that will do, for now,” she mumbled, toes brushing against the floor rhythmically.  Her feet led her back into the main section of her quarters.

          “Made it!” Philippa’s disembodied voice made Michael flinch. She glanced around the room. Philippa was halfway out of the Jefferies tube, holding her wine and a small rectangular box. She giggled. Michael sighed and covered her forehead and eyes with her hand. Philippa rolled out of the tube with ease and set her items down on the table next to Michael’s pillowcase.

          “Very dignified, I see.” Michael teased. Philippa fit the cover back on the informal corridor.

          “Oh, hush. Glasses?” Michael fished around in a cabinet and emerged with wine glasses. Philippa yawned and stood up. her hand grabbed the box, almost knocking over her glass. She handed the box to Michael. “You first, my Michael.”

          “Why, thank you, my Philippa,” she said, sarcasm lacing her words. She chuckled and accepted the gift. Her fingers picked at the corner until a piece came loose. She tugged at it, the flat white ripping in two. She folded it open, carefully. It revealed a lemon yellow notebook, roughly the size of her palm. She ran her fingertips against the canvas cover, tracing the spiral wire.

          “Open it!” Philippa exclaimed, grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners. Michael flipped open the front cover, gripping it in one hand. Striking lines, drawn with a silver marker, coalesced into a picture of her. She trailed the guiding lines with her fingernail. The stardate was scrawled at the bottom. “One year ago? You’ve been working on this for a year?” Philippa bounced on her toes. She nodded

          “It’s one every week. Fifty-two total. I hope you don’t, uh, mind?” Michael smiled, warmth radiating.

“Philippa, of course I don’t mind! Thank you.” She gave Philippa a crushing hug. The older woman smiled.

          “Oh, I think any chance to draw a beautiful girl such as yourself should not be passed up.” Michael blushed furiously. She abruptly pulled her gift off the table.

          “Your turn.” She handed the sack to Philippa, cheeks bright pink.

          “Thanks, Michael.” She reached into the bag, fingers clamping around the gift. It emerged from the pillowcase still shining. She stared at the record, the word ‘celestial’ printed on the front in a typewriter style, enclosed in parentheses. The black lettering was tiny, in the centre of a sheet of cream. She flipped it over, the album tracks printed on the right, numbers lined up against the side. “I…Michael, I have a feeling this is very deep. What is it?”

          Michael slid over to her side, pointing at the first track. “That’s you. I mean, it’s your DNA, converted to notes and played-the next,” she slid her finger down, “it’s the Shenzhou.  All the engine sounds, machine humming…ambient noise. After-that’s Earth. I assigned the different elements as different instruments, then had the computer generate music using each instrument as often as its corresponding element occurred. The Sol system, I used a photo and used colours instead of elements. Do you remember the asteroid belt we passed a few months ago?” Philippa nodded, captivated. “Some of the asteroids lined up perfectly with guitar chords. I used those to make that track. I took each quadrant after that and used a combination of colours, amount of elements, and the magnetic fields of planets we knew. And two more-that one’s the whole galaxy. I merged each quadrant together. The last one’s me. My DNA, like you.” True to Michael’s word, the last track was titled ‘me’. Philippa stared at Michael, stunned.

          “Thank you, oh, you have well and truly outdone yourself.” She set it down on the table as if it were made of eggshells. They talked until the computer reminded them their shift had started.

+1

          Philippa slung her backpack over her shoulder as Michael approached her in the library. She set her book back in the small slot in the row of fading paperbacks. Michael looked at her, hands clasped behind her back. Philippa scoffed.

          “I thought I taught you better than to wear Fleet-issue clothes off-duty,” she scolded. Michael managed a weak smile.

          “I…didn’t know what to wear. What are we doing?” Philippa grinned cryptically.

          “You’ll see. I brought clothes for you.” She threw the backpack at Michael. “Go change.” She gestured in the general direction of the washrooms. Michael obeyed, bowing her head slightly, and left. Philippa watched her go. She plucked her book off the shelf again, opened it to page forty-six, and continued reading.

          Four minutes and twenty-three seconds later, Michael emerged from the bathroom. She chucked the bag back at Philippa, who caught it, still reading. She looked up.

          “Philippa, why?” Michael shoved her plaid sleeves back up her forearms. They slid back down. She stared at the cuff in defeat.

          “Blending in.” Philippa clapped the book back together and left it on the arm of the chair. She jumped up. Michael sighed. Philippa grabbed Michael’s left wrist. She expertly rolled up the sleeve. She switched arms and repeated the motion under Michael’s confused gaze. Philippa patted her shoulder. “Perfect. Do you like it?”

          Michael shoved her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know. I do have a certain…fondness for this hat, I must say,” she said, adjusting her red and white baseball cap over her curls.

          Philippa grinned, prideful. “I’ve raised you well, Michael.” She blushed and stared at her red canvas shoes. Philippa scanned Michael’s full outfit and smirked in approval.

          “That you did, Philippa. Thank you.” Philippa chuckled. Michael picked at the pocket of her jeans. “Shall we go?” Philippa smiled and spun on her heel, pulling Michael along by her bicep. She almost tripped. The flannel rubbed against Philippa’s palm.

          “Mm. Michael, close your eyes.”

          “Philippa, there are stairs.”

          “Fine. Just…stare at the ground.” Philippa lessened her grip on Michael’s arm.

          “Is that an order?”

          “Maybe,” Philippa teased. Michael grumbled as Philippa led her outside. She watched the pavement turn to grass and back again. Philippa’s shoes slid against the cement.

          “You know, I know where we’re going. There were two events on the library calendar and I think storytime for toddlers isn’t very…intriguing.” Philippa sighed and released her arm.

          “I can’t believe I thought I’d actually be able to fool the legendary Michael Burnham,” she muttered.

          “Also I’ve seen your work calendar,” she added, with a sly grin. Philippa groaned. They turned the corner to find an overwhelming mass of people, almost all dressed in vibrant colours and surrounded by rainbows. Michael gaped, sounds blurring into incoherent static. Philippa flicked her backpack around and rummaged inside. Michael openly stared.

          “Welcome to Pride, Michael.” She whipped around to find Philippa shrouded in a cape of varying pink stripes. Michael blinked. “Stay still.” She swiped her fingers across Michael’s cheek, leaving a smear of pink-purple-blue across her face. Michael inspected the face paint colours from a distance.

          “You do know me well, I suppose. Can I…ask you something?” she said, awkward.

          “Go ahead,” Philippa responded, her voice soft.

          “I don’t mean to intrude…your cape? I thought you were-I mean…” She trailed off, coughing.

          “I’ve learned from my mistakes, Michael. That’s all.” She checked her watch. “I have a few friends coming. I told them to meet us here. And–there they are.” She sprinted off in the direction of a pale man with an ice cream cone and a drag queen in a flowered skirt and green sweater. Michael followed at a more sensible pace.

          “Hugh! Fabulous as ever, I see,” Philippa chuckled. She gave him a hug. “Hey, Paul. How are you?” He smiled. “Not in a talking mood?” Paul nodded. Philippa hugged him. “I miss you two. This is Michael, my XO.” Michael shook Hugh’s hand.

          “Nice to meet you, Michael. I’m Hugh, here’s my partner, Paul.” Michael smiled.

          “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Philippa glanced at Paul’s ice cream.

          “You never change! Mint and bubblegum aren’t a good concept,” she scolded, laughing. Paul stuck his tongue out. Philippa patted his bicep.

          “Michael, let’s go get some ice cream. And let’s not get some unholy combination.” Hugh chuckled. Michael scanned the road.

          “She’s cute,” Hugh whispered into Philippa’s ear. She instinctively punched him in the gut.

          “Shut up. To your left, Michael!” She ran after her, glaring at Hugh, who wiggled his eyebrows. She scoffed and arrived at Michael’s side.

          “Strawberry with rainbow sprinkles?” Michael smirked. Philippa nodded, cape swishing around her ankles. Michael punched their order into the replicator and handed Philippa her bowl. They stepped aside to let a young woman place her request and sat on a nearby bench. Michael took a bite of her chocolate dessert. Her fingertips froze against the paper.

          “I love strawberries,” Philippa mused, completely zoned out. She tossed her empty bowl and spoon in a recycler nearby.

          “How did you finish that so quick?”

          “It was delicious.” Michael shrugged and finished hers, depositing the waste carefully on the recycling display. Philippa smiled. “Let’s keep going. I think there’s a park down that way.”

          “There is. I checked the maps before we landed,” Michael stated. She extended a hand. Philippa gripped her wrist and heaved herself up.

          “You think of everything.” They started left, skirting the sea of people. Michael gazed at the flags hanging from a tall office building. She tucked her hat lower over her face. Philippa’s cape flapped in the wind.

          “Thank you for taking me here, Philippa. I…think it’s perfect.” She stuck her hands in her jean pockets.

          Philippa smiled warmly. “That’s what they’re aiming for, Michael. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She shook out her ponytail and let her curls fall around her shoulders. Michael looked at her, cheeks reddening. She stared at the ground to avoid Philippa’s gaze.

          “Michael? Is something wrong?”

          “On the contrary. Philippa, it’s amazing. You are amazing.” She buzzed with anxiety like some sort of tiny insect on a sugar high. “You’re gorgeous.”

          Michael whipped off her baseball cap and kissed Philippa, arm around her waist. Strawberry lingered in her mouth. She felt Philippa relax and press her palms across Michael’s cheeks. Her fingers toyed with Michael’s coiled hair. Philippa pulled her lips off Michael’s and exhaled. She raised an eyebrow in a perfect mimic of Michael’s classic expression. Michael giggled.

          “I love you, Philippa.”

          “I love you, too, Sherlock.”