They should bring back Jenny. She was fantastic.
I own nothing.
It seemed as though she was always one step behind.
Her one desire was to find her parent. He'd loved her, she'd loved him, she'd died and he'd taken off.
Yeah. Things were complicated.
She was tracking him. Not an easy task when he could travel through time as well as space. The technology in her shuttle wasn't quite that advanced. But she'd programmed some of the more useless instruments to detect his ship's energy signature. Whenever it beeped, no matter what she was doing, she would hop in her ship and towards the signal. Almost always, when she reached the source, he'd gone off somewhere else, leaving the civilians of planets (if there were such) with stories of his apparent success for them to pass off to her.
It was rather frustrating, knowing she was always one step behind him.
Why couldn't he stay long enough for her to catch up? Why did he have to bolt right away to save another world? She knew it sounded very childish, but she desperately wanted to see him again. Her last sight of him was as her eyes were closing in apparent death.
He hadn't stuck around for the 'funeral'.
She didn't hold that against him. If only she could see him again, tell him she hadn't died. She bet he'd be happier.
She understood him. She'd had friends die too, while she lived an exceptionally long life. She was almost 65 now, and hadn't aged in looks at all. She'd watched Hath, Human, and dozens of other species die barbarically. She knew how loss felt. She'd done as he still did, saving planets and rescuing colonies, having adventures and running.
The red-head hadn't been kidding when she mentioned all the running.
She loved it, though. It was almost as exciting as landing on planets for the first time.
The scanner on her dashboard beeped. The one she'd reconfigured to pick up his ship. She smiled.
He was very close.
Her shuttle caught up with the box very soon and she opened the hatch. Another thing she'd discovered. She didn't seem to require oxygen, an ability she shared with him.
Crouching by the silver handle, she produced a bobby-pin from her ponytail. After 1/2 a minute of work, a satisfying click was heard. She smiled at the blue door. Normally that wouldn't work, but the ship recognized her and, thus, granted her entry.
Hand on the knob, she suddenly hesitated. What if he didn't remember her? What if he'd changed? What would she say to him?
Before she lost her nerve completely, she pushed the door open, alerting him.
He'd been standing by the console and had turned at the squeaking sound. For a moment, they just stared at each other.
He hasn't changed. His eyes were wide and dumbstruck, body held ridged, hair amazing.
She felt a grin slide over her face. This was the moment she'd been waiting for for over 45 years.
"Hello, dad."