Ripples in Time
By Jamelia and Rocky
ACT 2
Janeway tugged on the bottom of her formal dress jacket and frowned one last time at her reflection. "I've always hated these things," she grumbled, crossing from the bedroom into the main living area of her quarters. "Whoever designed these dress uniforms seems to have been going for maximum discomfort *and* ugliness at the same time. And managed to get both exactly right. Or wrong, as the case may be."
Chakotay looked up from the couch where he was reading a PADD. "You could always switch uniforms, you know." He smiled briefly. "I think that's what Starfleet was hinting when they sent the specs for the new duty uniforms recently."
"New to us," Janeway corrected him automatically. "They were adopted by all personnel two years after we were 'lost' in the Delta Quadrant." She paused for a moment as she attached the last pip to her collar. "Starfleet didn't exactly order us to switch. In fact, I think they'd be very disappointed if we showed up on their doorstep clad in the latest 'Fleet styles, instead of the uniforms that were standard back when we first disappeared. They want us to look the part of a ship cut off from the rest of the Federation, thousands of light years from home."
Chakotay shrugged non-committaly. "Maybe. But then why waste the bandwidth sending us the specs?"
"So after the formal presentation and welcome home of the 'lost sheep', we can then change back into current officers in a hurry." She attempted a lighter tone. "Hope that's an omen for our readjustment."
He didn't answer.
"Besides," she persisted. "Have you gotten a really close look at those new uniforms?"
"The gray and black looks rather nice, I thought."
"The regular uniforms are all right," she conceded. "At least for the men. Haven't you noticed, though, that the women's tunics look a little snug on top?"
He did look up then. "Got a problem with that?" he said teasingly.
"I know *you* don't," she shot back. "But the new versions of the dress uniform? Absolutely awful. It looks like something a waiter would wear. A waiter for a second-class establishment."
"Then you shouldn't complain about having to wear the current one," he said, his attention back on his PADD once more.
"I suppose you're right," she said. She leaned over his shoulder. "What's that you're reading?"
"The latest fuel consumption reports."
"Sounds like fun."
"Maybe it's not the most fascinating subject, but it is important." He flashed her a smile. "Someone's got to work around here, you know."
"What, you don't think attending the Matriarch's feast is work?" she said in mock outrage.
"It is." His voice had lost its former lightness.
"Then?" She gave him a searching glance as she seated herself beside him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were upset you couldn't attend."
"I'm not upset," he said, turning slightly away from her.
"Annoyed, then."
"I'm not annoyed." He sighed. "Look, I know we have to respect the cultural and societal mores of the different species that we encounter, and it's clear that the Caephidians have a strong matriarchal society. The males aren't valued too highly, apparently, other than as breeders."
Her head came up sharply at the word 'breeders.' She wondered if he was going to get in another dig about her 'daughter Molly'; he'd already teased her quite a bit after the away team had returned from the Batina. "And war leaders, apparently," she reminded him, hoping to change the subject.
"Great. As Tom Paris said, we can make love, as well as war."
"I'm not disputing your prowess in either department, my angry warrior," she said with a smile, as she traced his features lightly with her hand. She stopped. "Chakotay, what is it? This isn't like you."
"What's not like me?" he said, his eyes once more on his PADD.
She reached out and took it from him. "This moodiness."
"I'm not moody." He tried to reclaim the PADD, but she held it away. "Don't you think you should be going, Captain? You don't want to keep the rest of the landing party waiting in the transporter room."
"A few more minutes isn't going to make a difference." She watched as he slid off the couch and walked over to the replicator. "I mean it, Chakotay, if it were anyone else acting this way, I'd say you were brooding."
"I'm not brooding," he said, calling up a cup of tea. "Just...thinking."
"About?"
"Various things," he said evasively.
She waited. Her patience was rewarded when, after a few moments, he sat down next to her again with another sigh. "As we get closer and closer to home, I can't help but wonder what kind of reception we're going to get. The Maquis, I mean."
She caught his gaze in her own and held it. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I will not allow Starfleet to think for even a moment that they can treat any member of my crew differently than the others."
"Even your first officer?"
"Especially my first officer."
"Why?" he challenged. "Because I'm your lover?"
"Because you're a damn good officer who's been instrumental in the survival of this ship over the past seven plus years, that's why." She glared at him. "What I don't understand is why you would even think for a moment that our personal relationship has anything to do with it."
"I'm just wondering what's going to happen, where I'll fit in, once we get back." He forestalled her objection. "Even if the Federation does decide to issue a general pardon to the Maquis."
"I'm sure you could find a suitable position in Starfleet," she said, adding swiftly, "Even without my help."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." He put his drink down on the coffee table, without having tasted it. "Kathryn, did it ever occur to you that I might not want to stay in Starfleet, even if they'll have me?"
She gaped at him, even as she wondered why she found this so surprising. "I know that your past association with the 'Fleet wasn't always smooth, and that your parting was less than amicable-"
"I resigned my commission because I could no longer serve an institution that could blithely sacrifice my people for the sake of a political settlement," he said sharply.
"Yes, I know," she reassured him. "But I thought, once aboard Voyager-"
He interrupted once more. "It was because of you, Kathryn. What you offered me and my crew. Despite the fact that we were wanted criminals, you offered me the chance to work with you instead of against you. And the way you treated all of us as equals from the very start." He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "Not too many other Starfleet commanders would have reacted the same way. Probably would have had us thrown in the brig instead for the next seventy years, or however long it would take till we got home." His lips twisted in an ironic smile. "I suppose we were very lucky that it was Voyager who was sent out to arrest us, and not some other vessel."
Her brain could not get past his initial statement, his implication-no, his assertion-about the Maquis. Somehow, she hadn't given much thought over the years that the more 'diverse' elements of her crew hadn't fully accepted the Starfleet way, that instead they served solely out of a sense of personal loyalty to her, the captain who offered them a way, however tenuous, of getting back home.
She looked over at Chakotay once more, studying him more carefully than she had in some time. Ever since Prixin, when she had decided to allow their relationship to progress to the intimacy they both had wanted for so long, she hadn't stopped to analyze very much, content to live in the moment, even as the light years separating them from home became fewer and fewer. With a sudden pang, she realized that coming home might take away the most precious thing the Delta Quadrant had given her. Her own plans were somewhat nebulous, but it had never occurred to her to wonder if in the future Chakotay would still be there by her side.
She strove to keep her voice steady. "So you're saying you're going to leave Starfleet? What will you do? Where will you go?"
He shook his head slowly. "I don't have any answers. Not yet. And besides, it may not be up to me. Or even you, for that matter."
A sudden chirp from her comm badge made them both jump. "Transporter room to Captain Janeway." She recognized the crisp tone of Ensign Mulcahey.
"Janeway here."
"The away team is assembled, Captain."
"Thank you, Ensign. I'm on my way." She turned back to the man she'd come to depend on so much over the years. "Chakotay-"
"Go, they're waiting for you." He made a shooing motion with his hands. "We can continue this another time."
"All right." She gave him a quick kiss. "Take care of my ship for me."
"I always do."
"I know. And I appreciate it." She gave him one last lingering glance before she headed out the door.
"Just what. . . I don't need . . . tonight . . . when I've got . . . so much to do . . . figuring out how . . . to get the drive fixed . . . so we can get . . . back on track . . ."
Every guttural phrase B'Elanna muttered was punctuated by a vigorous-almost vicious-stroke of her hairbrush, relentlessly dragged through her thick mane of hair. She didn't stop until it didn't dare *not* gleam in the light of the dressing table mirror. The last thing she needed tonight was to attend a diplomatic function. She was the chief engineer! She had responsibilities to her crew mates and to her ship. She never enjoyed getting all gussied up for functions like this anyway. Why did it always seem she was forced into doing something like this when she already had so much to do?
Adding insult to injury: B'Elanna could smell the heavenly scent of fresh popcorn wafting out of the popper. Leave it to Tom to replicate an ancient machine for popping corn instead of just ordering the stuff already made from the replicator, but she had to admit it tasted better that way.
A little more lipstick, another puff to her nose, and B'Elanna was as ready as she would ever be. As she stalked out of the dressing room, B'Elanna grumbled beneath her breath about sacrifices made for people who didn't even notice what was being given up, not really expecting any answer. Her husband and daughter, clad in matching rust-colored sweatsuits, were far too busy to pay any attention to her anyway.
Her mood was not improved by the sound of her daughter gurgling with delight at her father. Tom, of course, was encouraging her, growling, "Are you swinging that bat'leth at *me*, my little Warrior Princess?" His voice was muffled from rubbing his face in Miral's sturdy tummy. Ruefully, B'Elanna decided she would much prefer to join them instead of going to an alien banquet with foods that had a high probability of being either bad for her or horrible tasting.
"Oh, I really wanted to see this movie, too," B'Elanna moaned when she caught sight of the television screen. "I think Hepburn's got better form swinging that golf club than you do, Tom."
"Listen to her, Miral. I think I'm being insulted again-as if it wasn't bad enough being ignored by the Caephidians."
"I don't notice any major damage to your ego, Tom." Despite her pique, which had started as soon as she'd been ordered by the captain to attend the evening's event, B'Elanna's spirits were raised by the sight of her daughter, cuddled up in her father's arms. Sighing, she asked, "Are you sure you don't want to talk me into playing hooky from this dinner?"
Tom grinned back at her, "I'd love to, but the captain would kill me. It's okay. We can watch it again another night, B'Elanna. Tracy and Hepburn in 'Pat and Mike' is one of my favorites. Don't you think Hepburn looks a lot like Captain Janeway?"
"She certainly sounds like her."
She gazed at the screen for a few minutes, enjoying a few scenes from the movie. Most of the time, Tom's movie choices were about as compatible with B'Elanna's as his taste in holodeck programs, but Tracy and Hepburn movies were different. It hadn't escaped B'Elanna's notice that the competitiveness of the couple was not unlike the way the two of them sometimes acted. And the actress did resemble Captain Janeway more than a little, although B'Elanna was not about to admit that to Tom.
Finally, she said reluctantly, "I guess I'd better go. I'm supposed to meet Sam, the Doctor, and the captain in the Transporter Room. Don't let her eat that popcorn. She's liable to choke on the kernels. You know what the Doctor said."
"We'll be fine. Have a nice time at dinner," Tom said, settling down on the couch with Miral and absently breaking up pieces of the popcorn so that only the tiniest, softest pieces would end up in Miral's inquisitive mouth.
"Don't miss me too much," B'Elanna called out as she stepped through the door. The only answer was the flickering light of the television set. B'Elanna's family was so engrossed in what they were watching, she doubted they even knew she had gone.
"You look great, Mom."
"Thank you, Naomi," Sam replied, fluffing her hair one more time as they left their quarters. Naomi's comment gratified her immensely. While she had always enjoyed a close relationship with her daughter because of their unique situation on Voyager, Sam could never hear enough compliments like that. What parent could? Especially from someone who was, in human terms, a teenager.
"The cadet dress uniform is pretty nice, too, I understand. I wonder if I'll ever get a chance to wear one?" Naomi sighed dramatically as she followed her mother into the corridor and headed towards the turbolift with her.
"Oh, at the rate we're going, I'm sure you will-once you get to the Academy." Sam smiled sweetly, perfectly aware of the path this conversation was taking.
"You know, I've heard that the Caephidians really value motherhood, especially having daughters," Naomi remarked, a little too off-handedly. "Are you sure it wouldn't be a good idea if I came along with you to represent Voyager?"
Naomi's voice was deceptively mild; her blue eyes shone with sincerity. She was the picture of innocence. Sam unsuccessfully tried to stifle her smile as she said, "The Caephidians also value doing one's duty very highly. And you have an assignment tonight in Astrometrics, don't you?"
Naomi wrinkled her nose in frustration. "Drat. I hoped you'd help get me out of it."
"Dealing with being on duty at inconvenient times is a necessity when you choose the life of a Starfleet officer." Sam kept her voice deliberately mild, not wishing to provoke her daughter unduly, although Naomi didn't really seem upset.
She quickly showed she wasn't as she grinned, "Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?"
"It sure was," Sam gave her daughter a quick hug as they stepped onto the lift. "And you know what? I'm a little disappointed you're not going, Honey. I really wanted to have an excuse to show you off to the Caephidians."
"Next time," Naomi said.
"You bet," Sam replied as the door swished open at Deck 9.
"Betting about what?" B'Elanna asked as she stepped briskly onto the turbolift, tugging at the hem of her dress uniform jacket.
"We were just saying that next time the Caephidians ask us to dinner, we should ask to bring our daughters along with us so we can show them off," Sam said.
"The next time the Caephidians ask us for dinner, I hope I don't have a ship to fix!" B'Elanna replied bitingly. "I'm too busy for nonsense like this! I'd gladly trade places with you, Naomi."
Wisely, neither Wildman responded to this statement. The door opened again almost immediately. "Deck 8. This is my stop," Naomi said. "See you later, Mom. Take notes so you can tell me all about it!"
"Have a good shift, Honey." As the turbolift moved upwards again, Sam sighed, "She's growing up so fast."
"I know what you mean. I can't believe how big Miral is getting. We had to replicate her another pair of shoes this evening because the ones she had were too small already. It's not possible. Wasn't she born only a few days ago?"
"I'm sure it seems like that," Sam agreed. "They insist on growing up right before your eyes, long before we're ready, don't they?" The two bobbed their heads in shared sympathy, acknowledging that universal complaint of mothers.
As they exited the turbolift at Deck 4, a stormy-faced Jenny Delaney stomped into it and grunted, "Deck 8."
"What's with her?" B'Elanna asked, momentarily shaken out of her doldrums at the sight of someone else in a worse mood.
"She's not happy about having to take care of Astrometrics while I'm out having a good time at the palace," replied Megan Delaney as they walked down the corridor to the transporter room.
"There's a lot of that going around," Sam remarked.
"As if I really have time for a diplomatic dinner while we've got so much to do here!" Megan complained.
"Lot of that going around, too," B'Elanna said dryly, exchanging a bemused glance with Sam before changing the subject. "Is the captain here yet?"
"No. The Doctor and Harper, who's got the security shift, aren't here yet, either."
"Well, while we're waiting . . . " B'Elanna tapped her comm badge. "Torres to Carey. Joe? What's the status of the drive? Did you find out what happened yet?" B'Elanna rapidly strode into the transporter room as she received the latest diagnostics results on the slipstream drive. Sam and Megan followed more slowly.
Sam happened to glance over her shoulder towards the turbolift just before the transporter room door closed. "Hold open!" she ordered as she saw two people exiting the lift. "Oh, my!" Sam exclaimed, drawing the attention of her two companions and Mulcahey, the transporter technician on duty.
