It has been said that the dead of winter, when all the world is so impossibly cold, is when Earth is at its most beautiful. I don't remember who said that, but I think I read it in a poem once - long ago before life was changed. I didn't understand it back then but now, standing here in this frosted landscape with every blade of grass and every twig crystallised in perfect silence, and my breath clouding the still air, I get some sense of that truth. I see things differently now; now I've travelled to the end of the Universe and back.
As I crunch through the brittle surface of last night's snow, feet sinking into the powder beneath, I push my hands a little deeper into my fur lined pockets and hunch against the biting frost. Many would be wishing for a warm hearth and a hot drink - wishing away these stolen moments in a peaceful world, but I turn my face toward the low, golden sun and feel thankful to be alive. It was not so long ago when I wondered each morning if I'd ever see home again.
Peace and quiet was hard at first, even though it was all I'd dreamed of whilst we were out there. It took time to relearn how to be still, how to slow down; and relaxation - well I'm still working on that. I smile as a beloved face forms in my mind; he's expended so much of his own limited energy trying to get me to relax, especially these last few months. I bring a hand, still encased in its protective pocket to my belly, a rush of emotion accompanying its instinctive stroke over the bump that's slowly expanding there. The part of him that is now growing within me makes me feel so close to him now, even though we're apart.
It's hard having a relationship over subspace; harder still when he was right at my side for so long. We are finally able give in to our feelings for each other and he's whisked away - not of course before leaving behind the most precious gift he's ever given me but, as much as I love and want this baby, not sharing every second of our new grand adventure with him feels strange. In many ways I'm more daunted by this than I ever was about a seventy five thousand lightyear journey and I want him home so desperately.
My toes have begun to feel numb through my boots, so I push on through the snow until I reach the bridge where the snow has been swept away and left in powdery piles against the sides. Taking my hands out of my pockets I lean over the ornamental railing to peer downward - despite the temperature of the day the cold metal is still a shock as my forearms brace against it. The water below is frozen, the sun glinting off it in a dull glow and a part of me mourns that I can't see my reflection. It's been a long time since I stood on this bridge; I've thought of this place so many times over the years, but I guess I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I won't see my face in the still water as I'd always pictured I would in this moment. Next time. Maybe he'll be home by then.
"Katie!" My mother's shout echoes from away behind me beyond the tree line that shields her from view as I glance over my shoulder.
"I'm over here Mom!" I hear her less than careful steps crunching along the path toward me. I try not to wince at the lack of reverence she shows for the virgin snow I'd trodden so gently minutes before. She comes into view around the bend.
"Kathryn, you'll catch your death out here this long - and you don't even have a scarf or gloves!" She tuts at me and I can't help but laugh - the euphoria of finally being out here on such a beautiful day has lifted my mood tenfold. She stops in her tracks and frowns, "We need to head home for dinner; goodness knows someone has to remind you to eat. My grandchild isn't going to grow strong on romantic views".
There's a lightness in the tone of her last sentence. I can tell she takes pleasure in seeing me out here despite her fretting - the effect this place has on me is hard to disguise. I walk towards her and she offers an arm for the short walk back to the shuttle.
The days slowly lengthen and with them my stomach fills out, as I count the unknown days until his return. All I know is it's 147 fewer to wait than when he left.
The lake has long since thawed and now when I stand on the bridge and stare downward my reflection stares right back at me like I had always dreamed. It's a surreal moment where I begin to question reality - is this really happening? Did we make it home? Am I really carrying his child? It's the fact that my reflection is not accompanied by another that confirms it is all true. The fact that he's half way across the quadrant and I've never been any good at waiting.
I drop the smooth stone I'm holding and it shatters the mirror below, the ripples forging their way outwards in rings that are so regular, so perfect that I cannot fail to find them calming; even when they disturb the little fish that lurk in the shallows as they lap at the shore. I watch for long minutes until my face re-forms itself; there's something oddly spiritual in watching what you've seen destroyed be remade again. Maybe the fact that I'm so different now is okay - that I really am still me underneath everything. Or maybe I'm going crazy.
The world is starting to wake up from its long winter sleep - the birds are singing and buds beginning to unfurl everywhere I look, the snowdrops and crocuses decorating the grassy places away from the path. The water is teeming with life and somehow it's impossible that he isn't here to see this with me. I try not to get angry - the baby stirs to distract me from my downward spiral and I trace my fingers over the trail of bubbles beneath my skin.
"You never let me wallow for long, do you little one? Your Daddy will be home soon." I wonder if it's learning my voice, maybe even learning his we talk so often. Somehow this makes me feel so happy I'm wiping tears from my eyes. Perhaps it isn't even aware that he's far away. I hope that's true.
I take a walk under the trees; the growing canopy feels like a cool blanket protecting me from the sun as it rises higher in the sky. I am captivated for a few moments by the soft curl of an emerging fern in the shadow of a great oak. I marvel at how something so delicate can survive in such a harsh world; some days after all that I've seen I wonder how anything can survive. The infinitesimal chances of any life existing at all, let alone continuing to exist in all corners of the universe simultaneously encourage and terrify me.
Perhaps these kind of deep thoughts are something all people go through under the looming spectre of impending parenthood. Or perhaps without a ship to captain, and without him to distract me I have too much time to think. My need for him to come home grows with every passing day. How big is the Yaris Nebula anyway? How long can it possibly take to chart some big old cloud in space?
Well now I know I'm not myself. I never thought I'd come upon the day when I scoffed at science. Good thing I'm meeting Seven later for coffee, she'll put me back on an even keel with her flawless reports and poorly masked curiosity about my pregnancy. She tries so hard to be sensitive but really I'm sure she views it all as another piece of intriguing science. Maybe once the baby's here she'll understand - I remember vividly the first time she held Miral, a heady combination of fascination and abject terror.
The chronometer in my satchel shrills loudly, scattering birds left and right from the trees above. I almost feel a sense of shame at disturbing the peace of this place. It's time to head back and I reluctantly turn from my sanctuary once more.
It's so hot - the sun is beating down and baking the already parched ground that is unforgiving beneath my aching feet. I wonder that my mother suggested we come out here today given the weather - it's beautiful but I've been struggling with the heat for a few weeks now as the baby's arrival draws ever closer. We walk down towards the bridge and I get a sudden urge to take off my shoes and dangle my feet into the crystal clear lake - she helps me seat myself on the bank and soon the cool water is lapping against my feet; relieving and renewing.
I've never been one for believing in any kind of higher power beyond the ineffable scientific mysteries of the universe, but I have to confess that I've started to pray he'll make it home in time. I don't know who or what I'm praying to, but for the first time in my life it feels like the most natural thing in the Universe; the sensation of pressing my hand to the Okuna and letting his words guide me into some other place rises strong in my memory. Missing him has become such an integral part of my daily routine that although my desperation to be in his arms grows with every passing hour, it becomes harder and harder to envisage that moment when we're finally together again.
My mother leaves me to my thoughts, retreating back to the cool interior of the shuttle just beyond the trees. A part of me longs to go with her but the heat is as addictive as it is unbearable and the tranquility of the lake mesmerises me as I breathe in the sweet air, trying to let go of all my burdens both future and past; drawing on my inner strength. A welcome cool breeze rises out of nowhere, gently rippling my hair, and I close my eyes and relax down into my bones; a hand resting on my belly where the baby's feet stretch my skin - I feel it reach out at the contact, soles pressing into my open palm.
I don't know how long it is before I hear footsteps on the path behind me - it only feels like a few minutes but it must be much longer than that if she's ready to leave. She approaches slowly and I keep my eyes closed, chin raised as my face seeks the soft caress of the gentle wind and the sun's warmth; reluctant to leave this place once again.
Strong arms encircle me, running down my arms and over my belly, and for a moment I think I've fallen into some kind of trance, or dream state until his lips on my neck snap me into the present. I try to turn but I'm too heavy and my wet feet fail to get enough purchase on the grass. His soft laugh rumbles in his chest where it presses against my back as he sinks down to his knees.
"I missed you so much; both of you. But I'm home now." His breath raises goosebumps behind my ear and the shiver travels down my side. I try again to turn and this time he helps me, his arms beneath mine as he pulls both of us to our feet. A flash of betrayal hits me when I realise how he and my mother must have cooked this up between them, but the fact that we are reunited now - here in this place that was where I most longed to bring him for so many years - is so indescribably perfect that I instantly forgive them, and am moved by how much I am loved.
I face him, the long imagined embrace made a little awkward by the baby, but the way he looks at me when we ease apart more than makes up for it.
"Look at you. I didn't think it was possible but somehow you're even more beautiful". He always did know exactly what to say. All the pain and uncertainty of the past months are instantly forgotten as those perfect lips meet mine and I lose myself in his kiss.
The mist curls over the lake like fingers. My feet crunch through piles of crisp, dead leaves as we round the corner and my beloved little bridge comes into view. The trees on the far side stand resplendent in their coats of red and gold, every now and then a solitary leaf detaching from its bough and floating down until it rests to float on the water. I look down to where a small flotilla of the leaf-boats have gathered under the low hanging branches, a single moorhen pushing its way through them as it swims in stilted strokes out towards the open water.
My feet land on the first plank of the bridge - surer than they have felt since we returned to earth; surer in fact that they have felt in a long, long time. Today we will cross to the other side - the first crossing for me in almost ten long years; the time of waiting is now over. Before we make our symbolic journey across to that little island that is everything I could call paradise, I take a pause on the bridge to reflect - forearms resting on the balustrade as they had some nine months earlier. But this time, a second pair of arms rest on the damp metal beside mine, and I turn to my right to look into his eyes.
I'm glad that he's stopped dying his hair and allowed that pepper-dusting to return to his soft curls. It's a little longer now, but still brushed up off his forehead so his tattoo is displayed with pride. He smiles back at me, the dimpling in his cheeks as irresistible as it ever was - his right hand slides over to cover mine as he turns towards me; his left arm coming up to curl protectively around the swaddled bundle that is barely visible inside his jacket. I reach on tip toes to peek inside - our tiny daughter is still fast asleep, head turned to the side with her ear pressed against her daddy's heart.
I can't resist reaching a hand forward and brushing it against her cheek; after I've stroked her impossibly soft face a couple of times he catches my hand and raises it to his lips. The mist is still swirling around us - blanketing us in a way that feels incredibly safe, and that makes me feel like my little family is the only thing that exists in the whole galaxy. I've finally learned to stop questioning the impossible circumstances that have led us to where we are today, and just accept the blissful reality that is my life.
In the months and years to come, there will be boat trips here, there will be picnics and birthdays, tree climbing, swing building and long leisurely swims in the glinting water. The crew will reunite here to commemorate our extraordinary achievement, and celebrate the progress we all continue to make in our lives.
He slides our hands down now, leading me forward,
"Shall we?" I follow his lead, making our way past the peak of the bridge and down the other side - the anticipation mounting with each additional step. Almost at the exact moment that our feet hit the rough earth on the other side, my family's old lake house comes into view; its familiar white boards standing out from the trees with their fresh paint. I pull the keys from my pocket as I feel my pace begin to quicken - almost involuntary and he speeds up to stay with me.
The key turns easily in the lock and I push the door - everything is so familiar and yet so new - I manage even in my excitement to take a moment to just breathe it all in. His arm comes to my shoulders as he pulls me in against his side, his face turning to nestle into my hair and he whispers,
"Welcome Home Kathryn".