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Year 2370Commander Marisa Kennedy paced the length of the apartment with experienced steps, softly humming a gentle lullaby. Cradled in her arms, a soft little bundle wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket babbled and squealed with no intention of falling asleep. She stared up at her mother out of incredibly blue eyes, tiny hands waving expressively with each happy shriek.
After a few minutes, Marisa stopped walking and looked down at her daughter with a motherly frown. Singing did not seem to be doing the job. The baby was supposed to be drifting off into a deep, peaceful sleep right now, or so the parenting books said. But they obviously had not been written with her daughter in mind.
The infant jabbered on in endearing baby talk that Marisa could not help but smile at. But there was a time for talking, and a time for sleep. Now, well past 2100 hours, it was definitely a time for sleep.
Marisa decided to try something else. She snatched the pacifier off the table and poked it into her daughter's little mouth. Even that couldn't stop her noises – she simply babbled around it. Then she popped it out with her tongue, and it tumbled right down to the floor.
Marisa sighed. Bending carefully with the baby in her arms, she scooped up the pacifier and dropped it on the table again. She could only think of one more thing to try. If it didn't work she might just leave the baby in her crib and go to bed.
She shifted the child onto one hip and walked into the apartment's small kitchen. Taking what was left of her daughter's dinner out of the bottle warmer, she settled the nipple of the half-filled bottle into her baby's mouth and watched her begin to suck it greedily. Marisa shook her head in disbelief.
She resumed the pacing and singing, and saw with satisfaction that all her tactics combined seemed to be taking effect. The baby's eyelids began to droop, and she floated into a state of dreamy lethargy. Her tiny fingers curled loosely around the bottle as slowly, her mouth stilled. Marisa carefully pried it away from her hands and met with no protest. She hummed and rocked steadily, lulling the baby with the consistent motion. And finally, finally, the beautiful eyes closed completely, and the shallow breathing became more deep and regular.
Marisa drifted over to the wooden cradle on the floor near the bedroom door, and bent over it, gently easing the baby girl down into the soft bedding inside. This completed, she pulled the blanket up and tucked it around the tiny body. She continued humming, stroking the fine, silken hair with loving fingers. It was dark, almost black like her own. The rosy, angelic face, so calm in sleep, caused Marisa a rush of maternal adoration. She leaned down and brushed a feather-light kiss on one round cheek.
The baby was asleep. Marisa straightened with a sigh of relief and satisfaction, wandered out into the living area, and stopped by the window, looking out on the night scene below.
San Francisco Bay lay rippling under a bright yellow moon, its dancing waves playfully reflecting the light. The Golden Gate Bridge, vast and powerful, spanned its width. Across the bay, twinkling lights outlined the skyline clearly against the black sky that was liberally sprinkled with stars. It was the stars that drew her attention. Her life was truly up there, not down here, even though she felt a warm contentment with her present situation. A situation that could change at any moment.
She could retire. Retire to stay home with the baby and raise her like a normal child who had a place to come home to everyday, with parents who loved her and were always there for her. But even if she retired, Jason would not – or could not, she was not sure which. She and the baby had become an enormous part of his life, but the rest of him belonged to Starfleet, and that would never change. He had spent his entire life getting where he was now, and she didn't think he could throw away the captain's chair even for his beautiful four-month old daughter. Marisa wasn't sure whether to be proud or bitter about that. Jason was fiercely loyal – it was part of who he was – and in that way it was not his fault. She understood it only too well, but her mother's love could divide and conquer devotion to anything or anyone else. Even Starfleet. The only question that remained was, what would be best for the baby? Maybe no one could answer that question for her.
Marisa was so deep in thought she did not hear the man who slipped into the apartment, carrying a big suitcase which he set down just inside the door. His eyes roamed the room and came to rest on the slender figure of his wife standing at the window. He smiled fondly, but remained silent, studying her with the marvel and pride of a man who has just rediscovered lost treasure. She looked even more beautiful than when he had left her, if that was possible.
He knew creeping up on a Starfleet officer was painful mistake, so he took a deep breath and called out softly, "I'm home."
Marisa whirled around, instinctively on guard, but when she saw her husband's smiling face, she launched herself at him with a cry and caught him in a bone-crushing hug.
"Jason," she whispered shakily. "You're home. Safe."
"Of course I am," he laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Marisa let the tears fall as she cried on his shoulder, feeling the shackles of apprehension melt away from her heart. He was here – safe – home. Finally.
She pulled back and kissed him, again and again, almost desperately, as if testing to see if he was real. Jason held her close, letting her release all the anxiety she had been repressing in frantic expressions of affection and relief. When she calmed down a minute later, content to just hold him, Jason murmured quietly against her neck, "And where's my baby girl?"
Marisa pulled back, a brilliant smile on her pretty face, and took his hand. "Over here, asleep, thank God."
He chuckled softly. "A noisy little one, is she?"
"Never a moment's peace."
Jason just grinned as she led him over to the oak wood cradle on the floor. He remembered Marisa telling him how sure she was that their baby would sleep much better in a real, original crib, not a standard Starfleet issue "cage". He had laughed at that. And he laughed now, again, for the sheer joy and excitement of the moment – the moment he saw his daughter for the first time.
He had seen her in holoimages before, but it had not seemed real until this minute. He had cursed all the gods, and Starfleet too, that they had sent him away just days before his first child would arrive. But the Cardassians along the DMZ were getting restless, and they needed a solid, tactically accomplished captain to go keep them in line. Or "ensure they respect the nonviolent mandates of the peace treaty," as his official orders had put it. So he had left, with many tears and kisses on both his part and Marisa's, both knowing that he may never see his child's face.
But here he was, looking down on it with as much father's love as his heart could hold. She was beautiful, and she looked just like her mother. Same delicate features, same soft black hair. He had never seen anything so precious.
"My little Madison," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached up a hand to hold the one Marisa rested on his shoulder. She wove her fingers through his and watched as Jason reached out a finger and softly traced Madison's tiny, delicate ear and soft, pink cheek.
"She's beautiful," he murmured, turning his head to look up at Marisa. Wonder shone in his eyes.
Marisa blinked back her tears and said quietly, "I'll go make us some coffee." She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him alone with Madison.
Jason shifted off his knees and dropped into a sitting position on the floor next to the cradle. He draped his arm over the side and slipped his finger inside Madison's little, curled fingers. In her sleep the baby automatically tightened her fist, squeezing his finger tightly. He grinned. She had a strong grip for such a young kid.
Marisa returned a minute later, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, and handed one to him. He slowly got to his feet, reluctant to take his eyes away from his sleeping daughter, and joined Marisa on the couch a few feet away.
"You weren't supposed to be home for a few weeks yet," she said, snuggling against his warm body. "But I'm so happy you're home."
"So am I." Jason slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. "The Cardassians turned out to be more cooperative than we expected."
"How was it?" she asked seriously.
"Pretty uneventful, actually. We had a few close calls – the Spoonheads don't like to be told what they can and can't do, you know. But overall it was quiet." He paused thoughtfully. "I can't help thinking they're getting ready for something big. They're never quiet for long."
"I was so worried about you, Jason," she whispered huskily, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with her forefinger. "I was so scared you weren't coming home, and you wouldn't see her, ever."
He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "Well I'm home now, without a scrape. Count your blessings."
"I was thinking. . .just before you came in. I was thinking about what we should do."
"About Madison?" he surmised knowingly. When she nodded, he went on gently, "We never planned on having children, Marisa."
"I know, I know." Her head shot up suddenly, and she met his eyes with a concerned look. "You're not sorry, are you?"
"Of course not!" he protested reassuringly. "I love her, more than anything. And I've never been disappointed. Maybe a little surprised, when you told me. . ." He smiled.
She smiled back. "I remember. But seriously, Jason, what are we going to do? A starship is no place for a child," she said firmly.
"I agree."
"You do?"
"Of course. Children don't belong on a ship where death is an hourly possibility."
Marisa sighed. "It just won't work, both of us being active officers. I have to retire."
"Retire?" Jason sounded genuinely shocked. "You just got promoted a year ago!"
"I don't see how that makes any difference. Madison needs at least one parent at home with her all the time. She doesn't deserve the life of a Starfleet child--always living with relatives, or foster parents, while both parents risk life and limb every day. Most of them wind up orphans, Jason, and I won't let that happen to her!"
"Shh. . ." Jason patted her shoulder comfortingly as her voice rose in desperation. "I wouldn't let that happen either. But listen to me, just for a minute. With this treaty so shaky, Starfleet needs every officer they have on a ship, out there, ready to defend the Federation at a moment's notice. You're one of the best, Marisa, and they're not going to let you go without a fight."
"I don't give a--" She broke off and took a deep breath. "I don't care, Jason. They have to understand. I didn't plan on getting pregnant, either. They told me I couldn't have children, and I accepted that a long time ago. But now that Madison's here, healthy, beautiful. . .I love her even more because she's a 'miracle baby'. And I mean to give her the childhood she deserves."
"So do I. I'm just asking you to wait, a little while at least, until this treaty stabilizes a little more."
"It might be years, if ever."
"But it might not be. Look at it this way, you're defending her home, making sure she has a home to grow up in!" His voice lowered persuasively. "When she grows up, she'll thank you for the sacrifice."
Marisa sat up with a deep sigh, setting her coffee mug on the coffee table. "You make it sound so simple."
"Because it isn't as complicated as you think." Jason rubbed a comforting hand up and down her back. "What do you say?"
Marisa lifted her eyes to look at the tiny baby sleeping so peacefully underneath her pink blanket. "I don't think I can leave her, Jason. She's so young, so small. . ."
"So beautiful." Jason watched her, too, and both parents' eyes shone with pride and love. "It's going to be hard. Almost as hard as leaving you." He leaned over to kiss her neck.
"Almost?" she teased, wiggling in closer.
"M-hm." He swept her hair out of the way for better access to her neck.
Marisa laughed and pushed him back on the couch, swinging around to sit on his lap. Snaking an arm around his neck, she pressed her forehead against his and traced his lips with her finger. "You can be very persuasive, you know?"
"So you're going to wait?"
"M-hm. . ." She cocked her head to brush her lips against his. "How long until they send you out again?"
Regret flickered in his brown eyes. "Three days," he answered quietly.
"Well, let's make the most of them. . ." She wrapped both arms around his neck and caught his lips in a deep, passionate kiss.
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Six weeks later
Marisa hugged her baby to her chest and struggled to control her tears. How had she ever let Jason convince her not to retire? At the time, leaving Madison behind to defend her homeland had seemed like such a noble sacrifice. Now all she felt was overpowering fear and guilt.
She cradled Madison close, watching as the baby jabbered on, completely oblivious to what was going on around her. Her big blue eyes gazed curiously up at her mother as her happy mouth opened in an excited shriek. Marisa smiled, swiping at her tears with one hand and holding Madison securely with the other.
"Now don't you worry about her," Judy Gallimore told Marisa gently. "I'll be with her every minute."
Marisa tucked the pink blanket more securely around Madison's squirming body. The baby squealed and waved her arms in wild circles, kicking excitedly inside her blanket.
Marisa felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned her head to see Captain J. W. Henley looking down on her sympathetically. He understood how painful it was for his first officer to leave her only child behind.
"We have to leave, Marisa," he said gently. "We're due on the Century in fifteen minutes."
Marisa nodded wordlessly, lifted Madison, and handed her into Judy Gallimore's waiting arms. Judy arranged the baby on one hip and pulled Marisa into a tight hug with one arm.
"Try not to worry, okay?" she whispered, patting Marisa's shoulder. "She's in good hands."
"I know." Marisa managed a smile, squeezed her baby's little hand on last time, then squared her shoulders. She turned to Captain Henley and nodded. "I'm ready, sir."
"Good." Henley laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and guided her away. Marisa heard Madison's happy squeals above the murmur of the crowds in the lounge. She never looked back.
Judy watched her leave, then looked down at Madison's smiling face. The baby clapped her hands and bounced eagerly on Judy's hip, oblivious that she would never see her mother again.
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Year 2371
Jason Kennedy sat in the messhall of the U.S.S. Orion, idly pushing his replicated pasta dinner around on his plate. His mind was light-years away, back in San Francisco with his daughter and somewhere in the galaxy with Marisa. She had been sent out three months ago on an exploration mission that could last anywhere from six months to six years. He could only imagine how hard it had been to leave Madison, judging by his own struggle when he had to go. He knew Madison was in good hands. The Gallimores were lifelong friends, and Judy had raised five of their own children. But even that knowledge could not comfort him much.
"Looks delicious. Mind if I join you?"
Jason dragged his eyes away from his cold, uneaten dinner and looked up into the face of his first officer, Commander Yanhara Jeune. Jeune took a seat across the small table as Jason shook his head, and surveyed him sympathetically. "Missing the family?"
"Like hell." Jason glanced up in mild surprise. "How did you guess?"
The Trill woman smiled and rested her chin on her fist. "I've known you long enough. Besides, I hardly see you doing anything else lately."
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm setting a bad example for the crew."
"Actually, I think it helps. Makes them realize you're human, too."
"The biggest obstacle of any Starfleet captain – convincing the crew they're actually flesh and blood, not some superhuman force."
Jeune laughed. "You captains got it rough."
"You can say that again," Jason muttered, suddenly sober again.
Jeune cocked her head and looked at him with concern. "You really are feeling down, aren't you?"
"I guess so. It's just. . . My daughter's a year old today, and I've spent exactly three days total with her since she was born."
"It's her birthday?" Jeune asked. "No wonder. It must be hard for you."
Jason pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, eyes focused thoughtfully somewhere on the tabletop. "I'm missing her childhood. I don't think I'd recognize her now."
Jeune reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "It's not your fault, Jason," she told him earnestly. "There's nothing you can do for her now. I'm sure she's safe and happy. She's a child--too young to realize much yet. You'll be back before she misses you."
"Sure," Jason sighed half-heartedly. "I hope you're right."
"Of course I am," Jeune smiled. "She's got a lot of childhood left."
Jason nodded, but his commbadge beeped before he could respond.
"Lieutenant Michaels to Captain Kennedy."
"Kennedy here."
"There is an incoming transmission for you, sir, from Starfleet Command."
"I'll be right there. Kennedy out." Jason patted Jeune's arm. "Thanks, Yan."
"Anytime."
He nodded, and quickly left the messhall. Several minutes later, the turbolift delivered him to the bridge. "Transfer to the message to my ready room," he called to Michaels, the ops officer, as he passed into his ready room.
Jason sat down behind his desk and pulled his computer closer. He tapped a key on the terminal, and the Starfleet insignia blinked away, replaced by the face of a very grave Admiral Clarke.
"Admiral," Jason said, slightly surprised. "How are you, sir?"
"Fine, Captain, just fine." He hesitated, visibly uncomfortable, and Jason could see his hands fidgeting on the table in front of him.
"Admiral?"
Clarke shifted in his chair, then cleared his throat and plunged ahead. "Jason, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."
Jason's pulse immediately quickened and his mouth went dry. "Is it. . ."
"Marisa," Clarke finished quietly. He looked suddenly old and very weary. "She's dead, Jason."
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