NOTE: I wrote this AGES ago and totally forgot about it. It's part of the "Time On My Hands" sequence, which also includes "Available Light." With her permission, I stole the central scene of this story from an early chapter of Jordan Trevor's epic "Fall Into Me."
A warning: This could be considered "kidfic," if not precisely "babyfic." Read at your own risk.
NEVER YOUNG
11 29 12
"Never Young"
Over the rim of my coffee cup, I watch the young human seated opposite me.
He stares across the Academy commissary at a table full of pretty female Cadets. His dark eyes, framed by impossibly long eyelashes, are intense. When he turns back to me I spy a tiny cut on his smooth cheek. He's nicked himself shaving this morning.
He must be very young.
I've been retired from the Admiralty for five years, home for twenty-five. This boy may not know my face, even if he knows my name. The most famous part of my story – if not the most personally fulfilling part – began and unfolded and ended before he was even born.
He catches my eyes on him and gives a slight, serious nod before he dives back into his lunch.
The commissary is crowded. It's late in the first term but these Cadets, most of them first-years, still haven't located all the off-campus eateries yet. There is a handful of instructors mingled among the Cadets, a dozen or so civilians – visitors, specialists, support staff – and a few retired guest lecturers like me. I strolled through the sunlit Academy grounds and arrived at the commissary after giving my annual Command School lecture this morning: "Strong Leadership in Times of Uncertainty," known fondly among my former crew as "Faking It with Style."
I glance slowly around the large room. There are a few Cadets who seem familiar to me; I must know their older siblings, maybe their parents. But even though most of them are strangers, I can still identify many of them by type – the cocky ones relishing their first taste of independence, the uncertain ones hoping to prove themselves to themselves, the driven ones daring the Universe to challenge them on a grand stage.
Among them are the loners, the quiet, wounded ones who came to Starfleet in the hopes of making a better life for themselves. These are the ones who make my heart ache. The aftermath of the wars has left too many young people adrift, even after all these years. The Academy Commandant has made them his special project since he began teaching here more than twenty years ago, and even more so since he assumed the Commandant's office. He seeks these particular young people out and offers them guidance and refuge here. He sees too much of himself in them to let them flounder alone.
The Cadet seated across from me was by himself when I walked in, his straight back turned to the wall, his wary eyes on the door. He offered to give up his table when I entered with my coffee cup and found all the tables full. I decided to take this as an act of charm and chivalry rather than mere deference to my advanced age, and waved him back into his seat. I joined him at the table and we sat in silence until the group of girls walked in.
He can't keep his eyes off them. I wonder which one he's pining for. The human brunette who nervously covers her mouth when she speaks? The hollow-cheeked Bajoran with the haunted eyes? The willowy Vulcan whose practiced disdain hides her uncertainty?
They're so young, all of them.
The boy catches me staring at them, too, and blushes. I smile again and sip my coffee.
He nods toward my civilian dress. "What brings you here today, if I may ask?"
My god, he really doesn't know who I am. I find this…refreshing.
"Guest lecture," I say carefully. "And then I was hoping to meet someone here for lunch."
The boy starts to rise. "Then I should –"
I reach across the table and pat his hand. "Not at all. I think my party must be running late."
In fact, I wonder what's holding them up. I imagine my husband is in his office disciplining a wayward Cadet in his gentle but firm way. The Cadets adore him. I don't blame them. So do I.
As for the rest of them, it could be anything. An experiment too delicate to leave. A sculpture too fragile to abandon. An engineering report too absorbing to set aside, even though they all know we're supposed to beam out to Indiana in less than an hour.
The young Cadet hesitates. "Really," I reassure him. "They'll be here when they get here, and not a moment sooner. Sit and finish your lunch."
After a glance over at the girls' table, the boy sinks back into his chair.
I tilt my chin toward the table that has so captured his attention. "Which one?" I ask.
He gives me a startled look. "Ma'am, I don't—"
I can't help but smile at him. "I have sons just a little older than you. I know that look on your face." I explain. "And I was a young girl once, believe it or not. Maybe I can give you some good advice. Now. Which one?"
He chews his lower lip and appears to be weighing the risk of telling me against the relief of telling someone. His prominent Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "The Bajoran," he finally murmurs. "Her name is Lishta. Caree Lishta."
I roll the name around in my head. I know a handful of Bajorans, but the family name – Caree – is unfamiliar to me. "You've spoken to her?"
The boy nods. "We're friends."
"But she's not interested in anything more?"
His sudden shy grin, gone almost the instant it appears, shows deep dimples and lights up his whole face. The way he hides it from me, as if he fears the vulnerability it reveals, reminds me of another very serious, very private man I know. Of course, I never knew him when he was this young, and his seriousness is mostly just an act. "Oh, she's interested."
"But there's a problem?"
He twitches one shoulder in an apathetic half-shrug, but I can clearly see the pain he's trying to hide. I wait, sipping my coffee.
He finally sighs and pushes his mostly full plate away. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but… We both decided we just don't have time for a relationship right now."
"You don't have time," I muse. This boy can't be older than twenty. I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Why do you think that?"
He places his hands flat on the table between us. "She grew up in a Bajoran orphanage. She has four younger siblings who are depending on her to help them make a better life." He taps his own chest. "I left the Omicron colony against my parents' wishes. I have nothing to go back to. We're both trying to get our classes out of the way, graduate early and get out there where we can start doing some good."
The heat of his sudden intensity surprises me. "Those are worthy goals, Cadet."
He narrows his eyes at me as if surprised by my tone, then nods once. "So we don't have time for anything but our studies right now."
I take a long, slow sip of my coffee. The young Bajoran girl – Cadet Caree – is staring at the boy's profile. Our eyes meet and her startled gaze darts back to her untouched meal.
"Is that your opinion, or hers?" I ask.
He licks his lips. "It's something we agreed on."
"Because it seemed like the most practical thing to do."
"Yes. And right now, our classes and duties have to come first. We need to plan for tomorrow instead of giving in to what might make us happy today."
The boy's words, certain and earnest, are a like a phaser blast to my heart. They send me careening back in time to a night I thought I had put behind me, one I haven't thought about in at least twenty-five years. But it rises up in my mind's eye as if it were happening all over again right now, not half a universe and half a lifetime away. I catch my breath, and I remember.
For a long time after New Earth, we kept the ship between us.
It wasn't something we consciously discussed and agreed upon, but I think we both knew it was for the best that we confine our interactions to public areas as much as possible. I don't know how he rationalized it, but I told myself that we needed to be visible to the crew. We'd been gone for three months, after all. They needed the reassurance of our presence.
In truth, I didn't want to be alone with him. I didn't trust myself, not after everything we'd said to each other, and worse, everything we hadn't. I had only just begun to understand him, Chakotay the man, but I knew without a doubt how torn he was to be back on the ship. Some still, small voice urged me to comfort him in his heartbreak. He needed it. I needed it – his closeness, his warm presence, his sly humor and calm kindness.
But I couldn't have it. Not then. Not yet.
So we kept the ship between us. Command consultations were conducted in a quiet corner of the Bridge, post-briefing conversations included Tuvok, and on the rare occasions that he entered my Ready Room, Chakotay always pulled a bewildered crewman or two along in his wake. We spent time in Sandrine's and we still had breakfast together in the Mess Hall most mornings, but the private dinners in my quarters ceased upon our return from New Earth.
I missed him terribly, a fact which became my primary justification for keeping him at arm's length. We had to get back to our strong working relationship as quickly as possible; the friendship would have to come later, as much as I knew we would both suffer for the delay. Anything beyond friendship was completely out of the question now, a loss I felt keenly every hour of those first few days. I wondered if he did. I was half afraid to ask, for fear of opening a crack in our Command presence that we'd never be able to close.
After a few weeks, we both began to slip a little. We lingered over breakfast, discussing the merits of B'Elanna's latest engine modifications long after the rest of Alpha Shift had headed for the Bridge. He came to my Ready Room by himself with Harry's Ops report in hand; I slipped into a secluded booth in Sandrine's to tell him about Tom's most recent shenanigans. I hadn't yet extended the invitation to dinner in my quarters, although I knew I would eventually. It was only a matter of time.
Those stolen moments when it was just the two of us, even if we were careful to keep the conversation to ship's business, felt like the first promising rays of sunshine after a long and lonely night of soul-searching.
Late one evening after powering through the last of the post-Hanon IV reports, we found ourselves in the Mess Hall after the rest of both Alpha and Beta Shifts had retired to quarters. We were in a relatively quiet area of space, well past the Kazon but before our odd sojourn into late 20th Century Earth history. Maybe the circumstances – the ship safe, the crew healthy, the two of us finally finding our footing after New Earth – made us bold that night. Maybe we'd forgotten that Neelix was still puttering around in the galley. Or maybe we'd simply had enough of the polite and professional pretense. I was going on about who knows what, probably imparting some dubious wisdom from my Aunt Martha, when I looked up and found him gazing at me with a mischievous expression I hadn't seen in weeks.
"What?" I asked.
He smiled. "Hi," he said.
I lowered the padd in my hands, and with it, most of the defenses I'd built up since our return to the ship. My relief at dropping the act must have been ridiculously plain. "Hi, yourself," I said.
His smile deepened. "It's good to see you again, Kathryn."
It was all I could do not to reach out and brush my fingertips across his cheek, a habit I'd picked up on New Earth. "It's good to see you, too."
He leaned across the table toward me. "How are you doing?"
There was no way to pretend I didn't know what he was referring to. If I'd seen his heartbreak upon leaving our New Earth idyll, he must have seen my turmoil as well. "I'm all right," I replied, setting the padd aside once and for all. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my left hand. "How about you?"
"Okay. Better than I thought." His smile became wistful. "It's different, though. Isn't it?"
"Yes. I didn't expect that. Maybe I should have."
"Did you just think things would go back to normal, as if nothing had happened?" There was no accusation in his voice, just genuine curiosity.
I answered him as honestly as I could. "I don't know. I suppose I should have realized that now that we know each other so well, our command relationship would change."
"Actually, I think we're doing pretty well professionally. The ship is in one piece, the crew are happy, and we're as united as we've ever been."
"All true," I said. "But?"
"But…" One corner of his mouth turned up in a wry grin. "Would it be crossing the line if I told you how much I've missed you these last few weeks?"
I fought down the sudden butterflies in my belly, and once again, my fingers itched to touch him. I kept my chin firmly planted in my left hand and buried the right one beneath my thigh, just to still the furtive movement. "Probably," I said. "And it would definitely be crossing the line if I told you that I've missed you, too."
His eyes raked over my hair, my face, my fingers curled around my chin. "I know you better than I've known any commanding officer I've ever had. When we first got back, it was difficult for me to separate the Kathryn I know from the Captain I serve." He leaned back in his chair, and his smile became wistful. Maybe even a little sad. "It's getting easier now, but I don't like it. I don't want to lose Kathryn."
Quickly, before I could finally reach out to him, I curled my left hand around the padd I'd discarded a moment before and pulled it into my lap. "And I don't want to lose Chakotay," I said. "You mean too much to me to let go."
"You don't have to let go, Kathryn," he said softly.
I raised my chin at him. "My position-"
"I know what your position is, and I understand the demands it places on you." He held my eyes for a long moment. "I also understand the demands you place on yourself. But you don't have to. Not with me."
"Chakotay…"
He shook his head lightly. "Friendship, Kathryn. I'm only talking about friendship."
"Are you sure that's all you're talking about?"
He leaned across the table toward me and it was only then that I realized his hands were hidden beneath the table, too. It was that detail more than any other, the fact that both of us longed to close the distance between us but knew we couldn't, that put the lie to the entire conversation. As if in confirmation, his voice dropped to a near whisper. "What more would I possibly be talking about, Kathryn?"
In an instant, the space between us became charged. This, I realized, was a moment that could change everything between us. If I told him the truth, that I could see myself falling in love with him, ship and duty and distant fiancé notwithstanding, our professional relationship might change irrevocably, and I couldn't allow that. And if I lied to him, if I told him that friendship was all he could ever expect from me even if we got back to the Alpha Quadrant, our personal relationship might never recover.
Unwilling to sacrifice either, I didn't know what to say. Over the many years we've been together, the depth of my feelings toward him has often rendered me speechless. But this was the first time, and it hit me with such force I almost gasped out loud.
Before I could think any further on the effect he'd just had on me, the Mess Hall door slid open and Sam Wildman rushed in, little Naomi clutched to her chest. Sam looked as harried as I'd ever seen her, disheveled and bewildered, and no wonder. Naomi, just about six months old at that time, was rigid in her arms. Her little head was thrown back, her whole body stiff with anguish, and she was sobbing at the top of her lungs.
Chakotay and I both jumped up from the table. "Ensign Wildman! You seem to have a problem," I said.
Sam rushed into the room. "Is Neelix here? Naomi's teething and sometimes he can calm her for me."
I stepped toward the galley, where Neelix was already yanking off his apron and reaching out for Naomi. But before he could complete the gesture, Chakotay whipped past us both in a blur of red and black, darted to Sam and plucked the squalling baby from her arms.
What happened next is so fresh in my memory that it could have happened just this morning, not all those years ago.
Chakotay pressed Naomi to his heart, tucked her tiny head up under his chin, and closed his eyes. While Sam and Neelix and I watched, transfixed, he deliberately slowed and deepened his breath so that Naomi was rocked gently by the rise and fall of his broad chest. He began to chant softly into her ears – chukah, chukah, chukah – and knead her back with his fingertips.
As if someone in the room had thrown a switch, Naomi stilled and quieted.
She snuggled into his warmth, her tiny fists twisted in the fabric of his uniform, sighed once, and fell asleep.
Before I could say anything, before I could even find my voice, Chakotay turned back toward me and opened his eyes and the tenderness and hope in them…the depthless love in them…took my breath away. This is what I want, his expression seemed to say. This is what I need.
His words from New Earth came back to me in a rush.
I can't sacrifice the present for a future that might never happen.
In that moment, trapped between the happiness and heartache of New Earth and the untold, unknowable years ahead of us, I knew that if I didn't let him go, he might never have the chance to hold his own child in his loving arms like this…but that if I did let him go, the child he held would not be my child.
The thought – the notion that I might someday want to have a child with my own First Officer – should have terrified me.
It didn't.
What did terrify me was the realization that he deserved so much more than I could give him…but that ultimately the decision to move on would have to be his, not mine. I could let him go, but it would be up to him to actually leave.
So what I did next…what I did next was unconscionable. But even if I had the means to turn back the clock and stay my hand, I wouldn't do it. I can't regret it, and I won't take it back.
I took a step toward him. Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and brushed my fingertips across Chakotay's cheek, and when I lowered the caress to take in the baby's downy head, too, I swear I felt him tremble. I wrapped my hand around Naomi's little head so that my fingers stayed in contact with his warm skin.
In the silence of the Mess Hall, we stared at each other for a long, charged moment. "What is it?" he finally whispered. "Tell me."
I gave my head a little shake. "You're a natural at this," I said, my voice equally low.
"I love children."
"This one certainly seems to love you."
Even in the dimness, I could see that his eyes were wet. "Kathryn…"
Before he could complete the thought, Sam moved to take her daughter from him. "You've been holding out on us, Commander."
The moment broken, he forced a smile as I stepped away. "Just doing my duties as First Officer," he said. "One of the perks of the job."
"I hope you don't mind if I call on you again, sir," Sam said.
"Not at all. In fact, I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
Sam settled the sleeping baby on her shoulder. "Thank you, sir. I should probably put her to bed."
I patted Sam on the back as she turned away. "Make sure you get some sleep, too, Ensign."
"Oh, I will," she said. "I've learned to take my breaks when I can get them. Good-night, Captain. Commander." Neelix called out his own good-nights, and in an instant they were gone and I was alone with my First Officer again.
Torn between the urge to throw my arms around his neck and the inescapable knowledge that I couldn't, I looped my arm through his and tried to drag him in Sam and Neelix's wake. "If I'm not mistaken, we both have to be at work in a few hours, Commander. I think we should -"
With a slight tug, he pulled me back to him. "Kathryn, I want to tell you-"
I cut him off. "I know you do. But I can't hear it. Not right now."
His shoulders slumped. "How are we going to do this?"
"I don't know yet. But we will. Somehow we will get through this. We will get this ship and this crew home, and then…"
"But how soon?" he asked, pulling his arm from mine. "What if it takes us fifty years to get there? What if…" He swallowed hard. "What if I don't make it?"
"You will. We both will. We will not die out here, Chakotay. I simply won't accept it."
"That's not what I meant," he said, his face dark. "And you know it."
I let out a long, slow breath. "I know. And if that day comes..." I swallowed hard. "It will be your right, and I would never take it away from you. If that's your choice, as long as it makes you happy, I will support you however I can."
"But it wouldn't be your choice."
"It's not my choice to make. I have no choice."
Just for a second, he looked like he wanted to argue with me. Instead, he turned away. "I hate this. I hate that our present has to be an obstacle to our future. I wish I had known you when we were younger."
"But if we had met when we were younger, you might not be here with me now. And I wouldn't trade that for anything."
"What if 'now' is not enough for one of us?"
I gave him a crooked smile. "Then we'll get through that, too. Somehow, we will."
"It won't come to that, Kathryn."
"You know that's a promise I won't hold you to."
"I know." His fingertips, when they brushed a lock of hair away from my cheek, were very warm and soft. "But for now, it's a promise I want to make."
Arm-in-arm, before one us said too much, we left the Mess Hall. We wandered the ship's corridors in silence, until we reached my door, where we turned and stared at each other again. "Dinner tomorrow?" he asked. "I'll cook for you. Anything you want."
"A big salad with sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese?" I offered, the echo of a conversation from long ago.
He grinned, clearly pleased that I remembered. "Eggplant parmesan and roasted asparagus. The replicator can't do black raspberry pie, I'm afraid. I checked."
"Tiramisu, then. And I'll bring a bottle of wine."
We exchanged quiet good-nights, and I keyed the entry into my quarters. As I stripped off my uniform, I saw again in my mind's eye my First Officer, my beloved Chakotay, with a tiny baby tucked under his chin, my hand cupped around the baby's sweet head. I hoped against hope – I vowed – that the next time I repeated the gesture, the head cupped in my palm would be covered with fine, dark hair, and there would be tears on both our faces.
As I stare at the young man across the table from me, that night and everything it meant to us comes back to me in a whirl of memories.
We almost didn't make it.
We almost let the insecurity of the future compromise the potential of the present, and in our uncertainty, we almost missed each other.
I set my empty coffee cup down and fold my hands on the table near the young man's. "Tell me, Cadet. Were you convincing, when you made this argument to yourselves?"
He blinks uncertainly at me. "I don't-"
"What's your name?"
His blond brows draw together in a frown. "Cadet Third-Class Eric McNabb."
"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Cadet Third-Class Eric McNabb. Because I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice." My voice takes on the old tone, the one my husband calls The Voyager Voice, the one my children know simply as The Mom. "Are you ready?"
The boy nods quickly, his eyes wide.
"Your classes here are not something you get 'out of the way.' You'll learn more if you get in the way of them. And this place," I wave my hand to take in the entire Academy. "This place is not an escape. Starfleet is not a means to an end. It's not just a job. It's a way of life."
"I know that, but-"
I raise an eyebrow at him. He closes his mouth. "It's a way of life, but it doesn't have to be your whole life. It shouldn't be your whole life. But if you aren't careful, it will devour you. Inexorably, thoroughly, and long before you realize it."
He gives me a sidelong glance, eyeing my civilian dress again. "All right," he drawls.
"You are young and idealistic now, and you think that this is what you want: To be consumed by something larger and more important than yourself."
That stops his look of polite indulgence. "Yes," he whispers. "That's it exactly."
I nod. "I felt that way once, too. And I encourage you to hang on to your idealism for as long as you can. But strive for balance between your idealism and your own happiness. You don't have to trade one for the other. Realize that the 'something larger' you serve is large enough to contain both." I lean across the table, holding his gaze. "Realize it before I did, Cadet, when it was almost too late."
He swallows hard. "All right," he says.
I smile. "Above all, make today count. Because this is it. This is the only day that matters. And it won't come again." I nod towards Cadet Caree. "She's here today. She may not be tomorrow. If you're meant to be together, don't wait to find it out, and don't waste this precious time."
He gives me a slow nod of understanding. "I won't."
I pat his hand. "Good," I say. "I'm glad."
A hush falls over the commissary as I withdraw my hand, and then a shout rings out. "Commandant on deck!" Every Cadet in the room, including Cadet Third-Class Eric McNabb, jumps up and snaps to attention.
I feel a chuckle rising in my throat, but suppress it. I turn and look over my shoulder to find my husband standing in the doorway, handsome as always in his uniform, but with a look of slight embarrassment on his face. He claims to hate this part of the job, but I happen to know his inner hard-ass won't allow him to dispense with the tradition. "At ease," he calls out, then waves both hands at the room in general. "As you were."
The Cadets all sit down again and return to their lunches.
The Commandant strides over to my table and places a hand on my shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, Kathryn," he says, and leans over to kiss my cheek. I turn my head and catch his lips on mine. We may have both slipped into paunchy old age, but a kiss on the lips, even just a peck, makes the years fall away in an instant and we are both younger, if not youthful, and desperately, dizzyingly in love.
Younger…but not as young as my dining companion McNabb, who is standing in frozen shock. He gasps when we kiss and blushes furiously, his eyes wide.
Chakotay grins at him and extends his hand. "Thank you for keeping my wife company, Cadet…"
"Cadet Third-Class Eric McNabb," the boy declares. He looks down at me. "Admiral Janeway?"
"Not anymore," I say. "Call me 'Kathryn.'"
"I don't think..." he begins, then frowns in confusion. "I mean… I should go." He starts to bolt from the table, but Chakotay waves him back to his chair.
"Nonsense, Cadet," he says. "Finish your lunch." He sits down next to me, his arm around my shoulders. "What were we talking about?"
McNabb glances over at Cadet Caree, who is staring at us all. I lay my hand on Chakotay's thigh to get his attention and incline my head toward the girls' table. "We were talking about not sacrificing today for a tomorrow that might not happen."
Chakotay laughs softly. "One of my favorite topics," he says. "And a very good advice for a young Cadet."
"Or a starship Captain," I say.
"Or a starship Captain." Chakotay echoes. "You be sure and listen to my wife, Cadet. She usually knows what she's talking about."
I elbow him in the side. "Usually?"
Chakotay laughs. "Always."
The Cadet gives us a bewildered look. I can almost feel the waves of anxiety and confusion rolling off him as he dives back into his lunch, clears his plate and stands. "Permission to be dismissed, sir?" he begs.
Chakotay gives him a thoughtful look. "McNabb," he muses. "Are you the boy from the Omicron colony?"
The boy gulps. "Yes, sir."
Chakotay glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and I nod. "I assume you're not going home for the fall furlough?"
"No, sir."
"My wife and I host a few cadets every year," he says. "Especially those who have nowhere else to go. If you'd like, you're welcome to stay with our family through the break." Chakotay nods toward the girls' table. "And your friend as well. Cadet Caree."
I stare at my devious husband, who winks at me. He claims he doesn't follow the Cadets' social lives. I've always assumed he was stretching the truth; now I know for sure.
The Cadet fidgets on his feet and glances at me. "Ma'am, I-"
"It's 'Kathryn,'" I say again. "And all evidence to the contrary, Eric, I don't bite. We have more than enough room at the house. Soft beds, plenty of quiet, and privacy if you want it. It's a place to rest and recharge, and you're welcome there." The Mom in me eyes his whippet-thin frame. "Frankly, dear boy, you look like you could use a home-cooked meal."
"Just don't let my mother cook it," a deep voice says, and my firstborn rounds the table, leans down, and places a kiss on my cheek, narrowly avoiding my disciplinary swat. "Hi, Mom," Igasho says. "Dad."
His brother Izel, following as always in Igasho's wake, repeats the gesture and shakes hands with his father. "Sorry we're late." He hooks a thumb at Igasho. "My brother here kept stopping to flirt with the grad students."
On the rare occasions when I still wish I had known my husband when he was a young man, all I have to do is take a long look at my boys, and I can see him. Both tall, dark, and broad, these boys – young men in their twenties, now – are the image of their father, right down to their roguish good looks and their penchant for blondes. A part of me is rather relieved I didn't know what Chakotay was like when he was younger, if he was anything like these boys.
A moment later, our little changeling jogs up to the table: Nina, petite and more fair of complexion than her brothers, with dark auburn hair and freckles. "Sorry," she breathes. "I had to run something over to the Xenobiology Lab."
"Did you have to," Igasho teases, "or did you just want to see if Shen was there?"
"No, I had a report for Commander T'Let," Nina protests. She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Shen just happened to be there."
I laugh at my trio of nitwits, my sweet girl and my mischievous boys, two in their Starfleet uniforms, the third in brown trousers and a paint-stained work shirt.
I am inordinately, insanely proud of these three.
And I am acutely aware in this moment just how close I was to never knowing them.
I slide my hand into Chakotay's and look up again at Cadet McNabb, who is trying very hard not to gawp at us all. "You'll come for the furlough," I say again, and he nods. "You'll bring your friend. And you will figure things out, before you lose the chance."
"Yes, ma'am," he says. "I mean…Kathryn." He glances uncertainly at my husband. "And, sir…thank you. Thank you both."
Chakotay nods toward the girls' table. "We'll be in touch with directions and plans, Cadet. Dismissed."
The boy turns sharply and makes a beeline for Cadet Caree.
Nina rolls her eyes at us. "Are you guys matchmaking again?" she groans. "You are surely old enough to know better by now."
Chakotay rises and pulls me up after him. "I don't think we'll ever 'know better,' Nina," he says.
"And we'll never be 'old enough.'" I rise up and place a long, lingering kiss on my husband's luscious lips. "Because luckily for us, we were never young."
-THE END-