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FIC: "Mother-In-Law's Tongue" [ST:DSC | Cornwell/Lorca | general audiences]
Fandom:Star Trek: Discovery
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca
Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Gabriel Lorca
Notes: Babyfic. I mean unabashed schmoopy newborn fic. I don't even like babyfic, it just seemed like a handy way to get some headcanons and worldbuilding out.
Summary: He hates Starbase Four, but it's a good place to raise kids.
Starbase Four was deep in Federation space, almost exactly between Earth and Vulcan. It was Starfleet's oldest working starbase, a hub for civilian and fleet traffic, and about as close to home-like as you could get without actually being on Earth. It was a popular choice for long-term assignments. A good place to raise kids.
Gabriel hated it. The artificial sunlight set his teeth on edge, and the ubiquitous plants -- carefully chosen for air purification and oxygen production -- only served to remind him that the station wasn't Earth.
If you were going to live in space, in his opinion, you should just accept that you were in space.
At least this posting was temporary, he thought as he cleared the docks and checked the residential listings. The only person he knew who disliked Starbase Four as much as him was Kat -- and she was here for at least three years.
He was here for six months. Too long to stay in one place, but he had volunteered.
And he was late.
*
Kat was quartered in the newest part of the base, where officers were accommodated in townhouse-style prefabs with open sitting areas set against the tall windows that looked out at the stars. More places for spider plants and mother-in-law's tongue to grow. Room for kids.
Kat's mother met him at the front door, a phaser rifle in her hand.
"They're sleeping," she said. "Wake them up, and I'll make sure your body is never found."
"Can I see them?"
"The fuck did I just say?"
He nodded at her weapon. "No power cells. I'll risk it."
"You think I need a weapon to kill you, Gabriel?"
"Good point."
"Come and sit outside."
Yvonne Cornwell was short and stocky, nothing at all like her tall, slender daughter, a tough spacer who had started out in the private security forces of one of the frontier space stations, and only enlisted in Starfleet when the last of the private organisations was swallowed up by the Federation. She claimed to have been planetside exactly once in her life -- to attend Kat's graduation from the Academy -- and considered Earth overrated.
She was also one of the most terrifying people Gabriel had ever met. So he resisted the urge to point out that they were not, technically, outside.
Kat's courtyard held the inevitable plants, along with a little table and chairs beside the window, so she could look out at the stars. It was nice. Domestic.
Yvonne had covered the table in phaser parts.
"Kat okay with this?" he asked, nodding at it all.
"You think I walk around the station with live phasers? The power packs are all secured. These just need recalibrating."
"Want a hand?"
"Please."
They worked in near-silence for half an hour, punctuated by an occasional remark from Yvonne about fancy fucking toys that broke once a week and useless stun settings that wouldn't stop a dog.
"Have you ever actually seen a dog?" Gabriel asked.
"I've seen pictures," said Yvonne. "Let me guess -- you had some kind of animal when you were a kid."
"I had a cat."
"Of course you did."
Silence fell again, until Yvonne stirred and said, "Tea?"
"Please."
She returned with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses, and waited until he had liquid in his mouth before she said, "So, do your mothers know about--" She nodded at the house.
He swallowed and said, "No."
"You gonna tell them?"
It was a question he'd been turning over in his mind for almost a year.
"No," he said.
*
Kat's first message had arrived at 0205, halfway through a long night shift on the Shelley. It was a deep space assignment, and subspace communications were limited; they mostly communicated by text.
She wrote, I just turned thirty, and I have a promotion to lieutenant-commander and a three-year assignment to Starbase Four lined up. I'd like to have a baby.
She followed up a few minutes later with, In case that was unclear, I'm asking if you would be interested in being the father. You don't have to reply right away. Think about it.
He was still turning the concept over in his mind when a third message arrived an hour later: To clarify (further), I'm not proposing monogamy, formal commitment or cohabitation. I want to have a child. By myself or in a co-parenting arrangement, we can work that out.
Moments after that, she added, And for the management of your ego: yes, you are the first person I've asked, but please be sure that there are other candidates if you decline.
That made him laugh, and he replied, I was about to say yes, but now I realise you meant to send these to Chris Pike.
At 0330, his console chimed and a new message arrived: Fuck you, Gabriel.
So we're doing this the old-fashioned way?
Is that really a yes?
Are you really asking?
Two messages came in simultaneously: It's been on my mind for a while. Promotion was confirmed two days ago. Decided this evening. Couldn't sleep. Had to say something. Some things.
And: Is it really yes?
He replied, I've always had trouble saying no to you.
Deciding was the easy part.
*
"I know I don't have much in common with your parents," said Yvonne, sipping her tea and reaching for the next phaser, "but I wouldn't want to be kept in the dark about my own fucking grandchild."
Gabriel stared into his glass, wishing it held something stronger.
"You're right, Yvonne," he said. "You don't have much in common with my parents."
Save, of course, for their grandchild.
This time the silence between them was awkward. But it was a familiar tension, and he let it stretch between them. Now imagine this every night. Right up until the kid's old enough for an Academy prep school.
Yvonne probably couldn't imagine it. She was one of those people who was perfectly content with her life and genuinely couldn't understand why anyone would want something different. She had earned a field commission and the rank of lieutenant (junior-grade) twenty years earlier, and still held that rank now.
He knew that Kat found her mother's lack of ambition slightly embarrassing; for his part, it was just … weird. His parents were -- well, "power hungry" was one word for Francesca. "Driven by an ideal of service" was her official line. She served twelve years in Starfleet, spending just five on a starship; now she was chief of staff to the Federation's Earth representative.
And Caroline was forever in the background, the quintessential bureaucrat, senior-undersecretary in the Colonial Office, a well-manicured finger in every pie.
Katrina said his mothers were amoral snobs. Francesca and Caroline did not actually say Katrina was a jumped-up spacer trash social climber, but only because that wouldn't be in keeping with the image they chose to maintain.
He loved his mothers, but they were rank hypocrites. So he kept them at arm's length, and his new daughter was a Cornwell, not a Lorca.
He had a family, not a dynasty.
That thought was enough to cool his irritation, so he poured himself another drink and said, "How's Kat doing, anyway? She's sent messages, but, you know--"
"I know." Yvonne ripped a damaged focusing lens out of its socket and said, "Katie's tired. Newborns -- have you been around babies before? Well, they're fucking dull. Sleep, eat, shit, repeat. Not great company."
"She seemed happy in her messages."
"Oh, she is. Over the moon. And in a couple of years, she'll have the energy to appreciate it."
There was movement inside the quarters. A baby started to wail.
"Huh," said Yvonne, checking the time. "Kid slept for almost four hours. She improving."
Gabriel stood, and now he felt uncomfortable.
"Should I go in?" he asked.
Yvonne waved a phaser rifle dismissively. "Only if you want to meet your week-old daughter."
He reached the door just as Kat stepped through it, a small bundle in her arms. There were deep shadows under her eyes, but she gave him a bright smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"What sort of time do you call this?" she asked.
"Look, I was all for ignoring the distress beacon--"
"Liar." She walked over to the table. "Mom, the phasers--"
"They're not active."
"Not the point. And I told you to wake me up when the Shelley got in."
"So you did," said Yvonne. "Are you hungry? I'll replicate you some lunch."
"Clear this up--" Kat sighed as her mother walked away. "Gabriel--"
He was already packing up the phasers, parts and tools.
"I love your grandmother," said Kat to the baby, "but I'm ready to throw her out an airlock. Does that sound good to you?"
"Isn't she a bit young to be an accessory to murder?"
Kat just smiled and pulled his chair beside hers.
"Sit down," she said. "Come and meet your daughter properly."
She was impossibly small, with a wizened little face and a tiny little hand which closed around his finger.
"Sarah," he said softly. "Hello."
Sarah scrunched her face up and whimpered. He pulled his hand back, concerned, but Kat just said, "She's hungry. Nothing personal." She adjusted her top and started to nurse, leaning back so she could put her head on Gabriel's shoulder.
He said, "I thought she'd be more … ugly. Red. Have a weirdly-shaped head."
Kat laughed. "Foetal transporter. Skip the birth canal and most of the pain. Greatest invention since the warp drive.Or maybe it's better. I'm a bit biased. Captain Sadler called me to apologise, did you know? For making you miss the birth."
"I didn't." Gabriel felt a flicker of irritation. "She didn't have to do that. It was a rescue mission, we didn't have a choice."
"It was good of her. She thinks highly of you."
"I just--" Having resisted his mothers' attempts to influence his career, to keep him closer to Earth, in assignments where he could keep out of danger while meeting the right flag officers, he found he didn't much care to be the subject of unofficial discussions. "I'm just a lieutenant. Crewmen have kids all the time."
"You're a bridge officer. Her chief of security." Kat nudged him in the side with her elbow and said, with a trace of irritation, "Try to get your head around the idea that you've earned this in your own right."
Which was easy for Kat to say: everything she had -- degrees, postings and professional reputation -- was entirely hers.
She had no sympathy for what she called his poor little rich boy routine -- not that anyone had been rich for a century, but his forebears had the foresight to see the social upheaval that would come with replicator technology, and to exchange financial power for the political kind at the earliest opportunity. So he held his tongue and just said, "I should thank her."
"You should. She clearly wants you back on the Shelley when you're done here. Get some short-range missions to go with your deep space and starbase postings, you'll have your next promotion by Sarah's first birthday."
Sarah grunted happily, and Kat moved her to her shoulder to be burped.
"Well," said Gabriel, "since you two obviously agree…"
What he loved best about Kat, next to her independence, was her fierce ambition. Sometimes he wondered if the medical service would be enough for her. An old boyfriend had teased him about falling for a girl just like his moms, but Kat's drive for service pushed her into the hardest specialties, the biggest risks.
He loved that, too.
Kat said, "I have to think about something while she's like this. Otherwise, I feel like I'm just a -- a milking machine." She looked at the spit-up milk on the cloth covering her shoulder and shook her head. "She'll go back to sleep any second. You want to hold her?"
A phaser on overload would be less terrifying.
"Of course," he said, and let Kat deposit their daughter in his arms and show him how to support her head.
Sarah was heavier than he expected, and reassuringly solid. Hard to drop.
Kat put her head on his shoulder, her knee pressing against his, resting one finger in Sarah's hand.
"You tired?" Gabriel asked
"What do you think?"
"Right."
"It's funny." She shifted. "I don't know if I'm more exhausted now than when I did my residency, or if I just had more room to think back then. It's not like I'm so much older now. But this one," she nodded down at Sarah, "seems to take up so much space."
"That's normal, right?"
"I guess so. She just seems more interesting than other babies."
"Your mom's taking a long time."
"She's being tactful. Show some appreciation, it doesn't happen much." Kat straightened up. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"I wasn't joking when I said you weren't my only option for this one's father. But you really were my first choice." She kissed him on the cheek. "You wanna know something else?"
"Yeah?"
"Chris Pike wasn't even a contender."
"Really? I thought you and he--"
"Oh, I love Chris. He's a good guy. But he's…" She frowned, returned her head to his shoulder and finished, "he's not certain. About his career. His life. He thinks too much."
"Not something I've ever been accused of."
Kat snorted. "You think. You just don't make a big song and dance about it. You make decisions, you live with the consequences. I like that."
Carefully, without disturbing Sarah, he managed to slip an arm around Kat's shoulders.
"Sometimes I worry I'll really fuck up one of these days," he admitted.
"Could happen," Kat agreed.
"You'll be the first to tell me?"
"Always."
In his worst nightmares, he fucked up so badly he had no choice but to call on his mothers to save him. Only now, he realised, there was a new variation: that he fucked up Sarah so badly that she'd rather deal with her problems alone than come to him.
"Look at you," he said to his daughter. "You don't even have problems yet. You are so safe. So loved. You're gonna grow up thinking this shithole of a station is home." He paused. "I shouldn't swear, should I?"
"She's already met Mom." Kat returned her head to his shoulder. "I can't believe you took a three-month posting here."
"Three months, then paternity leave."
"Long time to stay in one place," said Kat.
And he wouldn't do it for just anyone. But she knew that.
She straightened up and poured herself a glass of tea. "Is Sarah asleep?"
"Seems to be."
"Let me drink this, then I'll show you her room. Where are your quarters?"
"One level down, I think. They'll be smaller than this. No garden."
"Gabriel," Kat gave him a wry smile, "everyone here has a garden. I might put Sarah in her stroller and come visit tomorrow. We'll bring you a housewarming gift." She put her glass down. "Maybe a plant."
"No."
"Growing up on K-4, people used to give seedlings as baby gifts. Ease the stress on the life support systems."
"You know that's mostly symbolic, right?"
"No one likes a smug planetsider, Gabriel."
"You do."
"A bit." She drained her glass and put it down. "Come inside. Put Sarah in her cot, and let's have some lunch."
We're not really outside, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Sarah would also grow up thinking planets were overrated. He was going to be the odd man out in his new family.
She made a snuffling sound as he stood up, but didn't wake.
He followed Kat inside.
Endnote
Mother-in-Law's Tongue is one of the oxygen-producing plants NASA recommends for future space ... stuff. Its scientific name is Sansevieria trifasciata, which is why my household's plant is named Sansa.
Star Trek has a looooooot of characters raised in "traditional" nuclear families with a dad in Starfleet and a mother who cooks meals from scratch and spends a lot of time in tie-in novels sitting in the kitchen and looking melancholy. This has been a pet peeve of mine ever since Jeri Taylor decided that Kathryn Janeway's mother was a home maker instead of a mathematician.
So Kat gets her as-working-class-as-you-can-be-in-the-twenty-third-century single mother, and Gabriel gets ... look, I kind of conceived his mothers as Frank and Claire in House of Cards, only lesbians and not literally murderers. They're just the types of loving, distant parents who, if their son was replaced by his Mirror Universe counterpart, would only notice insofar as they think it's good that he finally has his priorities in order.
I assume that they will find out about their secret granddaughter sooner rather than later, since Starbase Four is exactly the kind of posting they wish Gabriel would take, but I can only imagine it would go down like a post to r/JustNoMIL.
My agenda for 2018 is Casually Bisexual Lorca. I decided to get a head start, on account of all the heterosexuality and procreation going on.
(My other agenda is Kat/Chris Pike. It's a thing.)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca
Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Gabriel Lorca
Notes: Babyfic. I mean unabashed schmoopy newborn fic. I don't even like babyfic, it just seemed like a handy way to get some headcanons and worldbuilding out.
Summary: He hates Starbase Four, but it's a good place to raise kids.
Starbase Four was deep in Federation space, almost exactly between Earth and Vulcan. It was Starfleet's oldest working starbase, a hub for civilian and fleet traffic, and about as close to home-like as you could get without actually being on Earth. It was a popular choice for long-term assignments. A good place to raise kids.
Gabriel hated it. The artificial sunlight set his teeth on edge, and the ubiquitous plants -- carefully chosen for air purification and oxygen production -- only served to remind him that the station wasn't Earth.
If you were going to live in space, in his opinion, you should just accept that you were in space.
At least this posting was temporary, he thought as he cleared the docks and checked the residential listings. The only person he knew who disliked Starbase Four as much as him was Kat -- and she was here for at least three years.
He was here for six months. Too long to stay in one place, but he had volunteered.
And he was late.
*
Kat was quartered in the newest part of the base, where officers were accommodated in townhouse-style prefabs with open sitting areas set against the tall windows that looked out at the stars. More places for spider plants and mother-in-law's tongue to grow. Room for kids.
Kat's mother met him at the front door, a phaser rifle in her hand.
"They're sleeping," she said. "Wake them up, and I'll make sure your body is never found."
"Can I see them?"
"The fuck did I just say?"
He nodded at her weapon. "No power cells. I'll risk it."
"You think I need a weapon to kill you, Gabriel?"
"Good point."
"Come and sit outside."
Yvonne Cornwell was short and stocky, nothing at all like her tall, slender daughter, a tough spacer who had started out in the private security forces of one of the frontier space stations, and only enlisted in Starfleet when the last of the private organisations was swallowed up by the Federation. She claimed to have been planetside exactly once in her life -- to attend Kat's graduation from the Academy -- and considered Earth overrated.
She was also one of the most terrifying people Gabriel had ever met. So he resisted the urge to point out that they were not, technically, outside.
Kat's courtyard held the inevitable plants, along with a little table and chairs beside the window, so she could look out at the stars. It was nice. Domestic.
Yvonne had covered the table in phaser parts.
"Kat okay with this?" he asked, nodding at it all.
"You think I walk around the station with live phasers? The power packs are all secured. These just need recalibrating."
"Want a hand?"
"Please."
They worked in near-silence for half an hour, punctuated by an occasional remark from Yvonne about fancy fucking toys that broke once a week and useless stun settings that wouldn't stop a dog.
"Have you ever actually seen a dog?" Gabriel asked.
"I've seen pictures," said Yvonne. "Let me guess -- you had some kind of animal when you were a kid."
"I had a cat."
"Of course you did."
Silence fell again, until Yvonne stirred and said, "Tea?"
"Please."
She returned with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses, and waited until he had liquid in his mouth before she said, "So, do your mothers know about--" She nodded at the house.
He swallowed and said, "No."
"You gonna tell them?"
It was a question he'd been turning over in his mind for almost a year.
"No," he said.
*
Kat's first message had arrived at 0205, halfway through a long night shift on the Shelley. It was a deep space assignment, and subspace communications were limited; they mostly communicated by text.
She wrote, I just turned thirty, and I have a promotion to lieutenant-commander and a three-year assignment to Starbase Four lined up. I'd like to have a baby.
She followed up a few minutes later with, In case that was unclear, I'm asking if you would be interested in being the father. You don't have to reply right away. Think about it.
He was still turning the concept over in his mind when a third message arrived an hour later: To clarify (further), I'm not proposing monogamy, formal commitment or cohabitation. I want to have a child. By myself or in a co-parenting arrangement, we can work that out.
Moments after that, she added, And for the management of your ego: yes, you are the first person I've asked, but please be sure that there are other candidates if you decline.
That made him laugh, and he replied, I was about to say yes, but now I realise you meant to send these to Chris Pike.
At 0330, his console chimed and a new message arrived: Fuck you, Gabriel.
So we're doing this the old-fashioned way?
Is that really a yes?
Are you really asking?
Two messages came in simultaneously: It's been on my mind for a while. Promotion was confirmed two days ago. Decided this evening. Couldn't sleep. Had to say something. Some things.
And: Is it really yes?
He replied, I've always had trouble saying no to you.
Deciding was the easy part.
*
"I know I don't have much in common with your parents," said Yvonne, sipping her tea and reaching for the next phaser, "but I wouldn't want to be kept in the dark about my own fucking grandchild."
Gabriel stared into his glass, wishing it held something stronger.
"You're right, Yvonne," he said. "You don't have much in common with my parents."
Save, of course, for their grandchild.
This time the silence between them was awkward. But it was a familiar tension, and he let it stretch between them. Now imagine this every night. Right up until the kid's old enough for an Academy prep school.
Yvonne probably couldn't imagine it. She was one of those people who was perfectly content with her life and genuinely couldn't understand why anyone would want something different. She had earned a field commission and the rank of lieutenant (junior-grade) twenty years earlier, and still held that rank now.
He knew that Kat found her mother's lack of ambition slightly embarrassing; for his part, it was just … weird. His parents were -- well, "power hungry" was one word for Francesca. "Driven by an ideal of service" was her official line. She served twelve years in Starfleet, spending just five on a starship; now she was chief of staff to the Federation's Earth representative.
And Caroline was forever in the background, the quintessential bureaucrat, senior-undersecretary in the Colonial Office, a well-manicured finger in every pie.
Katrina said his mothers were amoral snobs. Francesca and Caroline did not actually say Katrina was a jumped-up spacer trash social climber, but only because that wouldn't be in keeping with the image they chose to maintain.
He loved his mothers, but they were rank hypocrites. So he kept them at arm's length, and his new daughter was a Cornwell, not a Lorca.
He had a family, not a dynasty.
That thought was enough to cool his irritation, so he poured himself another drink and said, "How's Kat doing, anyway? She's sent messages, but, you know--"
"I know." Yvonne ripped a damaged focusing lens out of its socket and said, "Katie's tired. Newborns -- have you been around babies before? Well, they're fucking dull. Sleep, eat, shit, repeat. Not great company."
"She seemed happy in her messages."
"Oh, she is. Over the moon. And in a couple of years, she'll have the energy to appreciate it."
There was movement inside the quarters. A baby started to wail.
"Huh," said Yvonne, checking the time. "Kid slept for almost four hours. She improving."
Gabriel stood, and now he felt uncomfortable.
"Should I go in?" he asked.
Yvonne waved a phaser rifle dismissively. "Only if you want to meet your week-old daughter."
He reached the door just as Kat stepped through it, a small bundle in her arms. There were deep shadows under her eyes, but she gave him a bright smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"What sort of time do you call this?" she asked.
"Look, I was all for ignoring the distress beacon--"
"Liar." She walked over to the table. "Mom, the phasers--"
"They're not active."
"Not the point. And I told you to wake me up when the Shelley got in."
"So you did," said Yvonne. "Are you hungry? I'll replicate you some lunch."
"Clear this up--" Kat sighed as her mother walked away. "Gabriel--"
He was already packing up the phasers, parts and tools.
"I love your grandmother," said Kat to the baby, "but I'm ready to throw her out an airlock. Does that sound good to you?"
"Isn't she a bit young to be an accessory to murder?"
Kat just smiled and pulled his chair beside hers.
"Sit down," she said. "Come and meet your daughter properly."
She was impossibly small, with a wizened little face and a tiny little hand which closed around his finger.
"Sarah," he said softly. "Hello."
Sarah scrunched her face up and whimpered. He pulled his hand back, concerned, but Kat just said, "She's hungry. Nothing personal." She adjusted her top and started to nurse, leaning back so she could put her head on Gabriel's shoulder.
He said, "I thought she'd be more … ugly. Red. Have a weirdly-shaped head."
Kat laughed. "Foetal transporter. Skip the birth canal and most of the pain. Greatest invention since the warp drive.Or maybe it's better. I'm a bit biased. Captain Sadler called me to apologise, did you know? For making you miss the birth."
"I didn't." Gabriel felt a flicker of irritation. "She didn't have to do that. It was a rescue mission, we didn't have a choice."
"It was good of her. She thinks highly of you."
"I just--" Having resisted his mothers' attempts to influence his career, to keep him closer to Earth, in assignments where he could keep out of danger while meeting the right flag officers, he found he didn't much care to be the subject of unofficial discussions. "I'm just a lieutenant. Crewmen have kids all the time."
"You're a bridge officer. Her chief of security." Kat nudged him in the side with her elbow and said, with a trace of irritation, "Try to get your head around the idea that you've earned this in your own right."
Which was easy for Kat to say: everything she had -- degrees, postings and professional reputation -- was entirely hers.
She had no sympathy for what she called his poor little rich boy routine -- not that anyone had been rich for a century, but his forebears had the foresight to see the social upheaval that would come with replicator technology, and to exchange financial power for the political kind at the earliest opportunity. So he held his tongue and just said, "I should thank her."
"You should. She clearly wants you back on the Shelley when you're done here. Get some short-range missions to go with your deep space and starbase postings, you'll have your next promotion by Sarah's first birthday."
Sarah grunted happily, and Kat moved her to her shoulder to be burped.
"Well," said Gabriel, "since you two obviously agree…"
What he loved best about Kat, next to her independence, was her fierce ambition. Sometimes he wondered if the medical service would be enough for her. An old boyfriend had teased him about falling for a girl just like his moms, but Kat's drive for service pushed her into the hardest specialties, the biggest risks.
He loved that, too.
Kat said, "I have to think about something while she's like this. Otherwise, I feel like I'm just a -- a milking machine." She looked at the spit-up milk on the cloth covering her shoulder and shook her head. "She'll go back to sleep any second. You want to hold her?"
A phaser on overload would be less terrifying.
"Of course," he said, and let Kat deposit their daughter in his arms and show him how to support her head.
Sarah was heavier than he expected, and reassuringly solid. Hard to drop.
Kat put her head on his shoulder, her knee pressing against his, resting one finger in Sarah's hand.
"You tired?" Gabriel asked
"What do you think?"
"Right."
"It's funny." She shifted. "I don't know if I'm more exhausted now than when I did my residency, or if I just had more room to think back then. It's not like I'm so much older now. But this one," she nodded down at Sarah, "seems to take up so much space."
"That's normal, right?"
"I guess so. She just seems more interesting than other babies."
"Your mom's taking a long time."
"She's being tactful. Show some appreciation, it doesn't happen much." Kat straightened up. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"I wasn't joking when I said you weren't my only option for this one's father. But you really were my first choice." She kissed him on the cheek. "You wanna know something else?"
"Yeah?"
"Chris Pike wasn't even a contender."
"Really? I thought you and he--"
"Oh, I love Chris. He's a good guy. But he's…" She frowned, returned her head to his shoulder and finished, "he's not certain. About his career. His life. He thinks too much."
"Not something I've ever been accused of."
Kat snorted. "You think. You just don't make a big song and dance about it. You make decisions, you live with the consequences. I like that."
Carefully, without disturbing Sarah, he managed to slip an arm around Kat's shoulders.
"Sometimes I worry I'll really fuck up one of these days," he admitted.
"Could happen," Kat agreed.
"You'll be the first to tell me?"
"Always."
In his worst nightmares, he fucked up so badly he had no choice but to call on his mothers to save him. Only now, he realised, there was a new variation: that he fucked up Sarah so badly that she'd rather deal with her problems alone than come to him.
"Look at you," he said to his daughter. "You don't even have problems yet. You are so safe. So loved. You're gonna grow up thinking this shithole of a station is home." He paused. "I shouldn't swear, should I?"
"She's already met Mom." Kat returned her head to his shoulder. "I can't believe you took a three-month posting here."
"Three months, then paternity leave."
"Long time to stay in one place," said Kat.
And he wouldn't do it for just anyone. But she knew that.
She straightened up and poured herself a glass of tea. "Is Sarah asleep?"
"Seems to be."
"Let me drink this, then I'll show you her room. Where are your quarters?"
"One level down, I think. They'll be smaller than this. No garden."
"Gabriel," Kat gave him a wry smile, "everyone here has a garden. I might put Sarah in her stroller and come visit tomorrow. We'll bring you a housewarming gift." She put her glass down. "Maybe a plant."
"No."
"Growing up on K-4, people used to give seedlings as baby gifts. Ease the stress on the life support systems."
"You know that's mostly symbolic, right?"
"No one likes a smug planetsider, Gabriel."
"You do."
"A bit." She drained her glass and put it down. "Come inside. Put Sarah in her cot, and let's have some lunch."
We're not really outside, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Sarah would also grow up thinking planets were overrated. He was going to be the odd man out in his new family.
She made a snuffling sound as he stood up, but didn't wake.
He followed Kat inside.
end
Endnote
Mother-in-Law's Tongue is one of the oxygen-producing plants NASA recommends for future space ... stuff. Its scientific name is Sansevieria trifasciata, which is why my household's plant is named Sansa.
Star Trek has a looooooot of characters raised in "traditional" nuclear families with a dad in Starfleet and a mother who cooks meals from scratch and spends a lot of time in tie-in novels sitting in the kitchen and looking melancholy. This has been a pet peeve of mine ever since Jeri Taylor decided that Kathryn Janeway's mother was a home maker instead of a mathematician.
So Kat gets her as-working-class-as-you-can-be-in-the-twenty-third-century single mother, and Gabriel gets ... look, I kind of conceived his mothers as Frank and Claire in House of Cards, only lesbians and not literally murderers. They're just the types of loving, distant parents who, if their son was replaced by his Mirror Universe counterpart, would only notice insofar as they think it's good that he finally has his priorities in order.
I assume that they will find out about their secret granddaughter sooner rather than later, since Starbase Four is exactly the kind of posting they wish Gabriel would take, but I can only imagine it would go down like a post to r/JustNoMIL.
My agenda for 2018 is Casually Bisexual Lorca. I decided to get a head start, on account of all the heterosexuality and procreation going on.
(My other agenda is Kat/Chris Pike. It's a thing.)
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(I haven't watched any of Disco past the first 2 eps, but if I ever do, your fics will be top of my list.)
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"Sometimes I worry I'll really fuck up one of these days," he admitted.
"Could happen," Kat agreed.
"You'll be the first to tell me?"
"Always."
OMINOUS FORESHADOWING IS OMINOUS.
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IT SURE IS.
(Also there's a recurring theme in some Lorca/Cornwell fics where she is super forgiving and goes easy on him when he breaks regulations and/or screws up? And I just think that's ... not really a positive. Especially since, from what we actually see, she's the flag officer riding him hardest.)
(...metaphorically. And otherwise.)