Written post S1ep13 but before ep14 (initially published on Ao3).

The beep from the door startles Michael, and she realises that she was probably falling asleep where she sat on the edge of her bed. What now, she wonders, but still answers.

"Come in."

It's her father. Sarek looks as he pretty much always does, standing there in her doorway but she knows him well enough to see that he is preparing himself for something unpleasant. Then she suddenly takes in his black clothing and kicks herself for not seeing it straightaway somehow. She jumps to her feet – a bad idea, and she stumbles forward and towards the floor.

Sarek catches her before she hits the carpet. "I apologise, Michael. You need your rest. Have you had something to eat? To drink?"

Michael nods, lets him guide her back to the bed. He sits next to her, ramrod straight, while she slumps, resting her arms on her thighs. "Who died?" she croaks.

Sarek looks as surprised as it's possible for him to. "You did, Michael."

She looks at him. "What do you mean?"

"The Discovery was presumed destroyed by the Klingons, with all hands lost, as Admiral Cornwell explained. You... felt gone also."

"So Amanda... Spock?"

"They are currently well. I have informed them of your return. Your mother was unable to communicate verbally how she felt, but she was extremely pleased, as you can image. As was your brother."

Michael feels tears in her eyes. Unbidden the longing comes for Amanda Grayson, for the comfort of arms that seek nothing from you and only to love you. And with that longing comes anger, because now there are conditions to that love, since Sarek told her they were not truly family. Just like Gabriel Lorca's help was about him and not her –

She clenched her fists, her jaw. She did not want to cry, not in front of him. But then, it didn't matter anymore, did it? She had failed to be what he hoped, and she might as well own that failure.

"Don't call them that," she barks. "We are not technically related."

The most irritating thing about Vulcans and their adherence to logic over emotions was that there was no such thing for them as an uncomfortable silence. Sarek said nothing but didn't move, either.

"I..." he started eventually, before pausing. "I have failed you as a father, Michael. I understand that. I was ashamed, as you know. But that shame is nothing compared to the one I feel now, having spoken those words to you. They were another lie. I did it for illogical reasons. I do not understand them all myself. I hope to earn your forgiveness, in time." He stands in front of her and bows deeply. "Regardless of whether I do or not, know this: you are my child. You will always be my child. You have never done anything but put others' welfare –" He hesitates slightly then. "- Emotional and physical – ahead of yours. It is an honour simply to know you."

Michael stares at him – she'd never thought she would hear such words coming from him – and now that she has, it's not joy they bring her. It's grief, regret, rage and want, and need – wordless, overpowering, basic as hunger or thirst.

It's a permission.

Sarek catches her one more time. This time, however, he does not move her back to bed. He stays kneeling with her on the floor, holding Michael to his chest as she sobs, his arms warm and tight around her. It takes her a while to become aware of this, and then she realises something else, as she feels herself growing calmer. There is a deep, soothing humming coming from Sarek, and she is being gently rocked as he murmurs words into her ears that she cannot quite make out.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs back. "I have been away from Vulcan a long time."

"You need no longer apologise to me or anyone else for who you are, Michael Burnham. I tried to change you, as though there was something defective about you. That could not be further from the truth."

Michael doesn't remember what happens after that, at least not exactly. She wakes up in bed, alone she thinks until her eyes adjust to the darkness and she can see Sarek sitting cross-legged in a corner, meditating, still as a statue. Memories come flooding back, then, of feverish nights when she was a child and she would wake to find him exactly like that. Even if she did not move, he somehow always knew she was awake and his eyes would open almost instantly.

And so they do again.

"There is water on your bedside table. You must drink it if you can."

"Thank you, Father."

Sarek nods, but does not resume his meditation. Instead he stands up and turns to look out of the window, his back to her.

She does not need to change him, either.