Prompt 41: "Go back to sleep." (Janeway Family)
Episode: "Star Trek: Voyager: Mosaic" by Jeri Taylor (Novelverse)
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Gretchen Janeway was washing dishes in the kitchen when Edward came out of his office to join her. She knew some of the other Starfleet spouses thought she was silly and old-fashioned, when it was so much easier to just put used things in the recycler and replicate new ones every time, but what if the replicator broke? Besides, there was something satisfying about attacking a big greasy soup pot with a scrubbing pad until it shone. She believed in putting in the hard work to preserve something good. This applied not only to her kitchen, but to her marriage as well.
Even when her husband was being completely clueless.
"How is she?" Edward asked.
"Asleep, I think. She had a hot shower and some chicken soup, and of course Phoebe wanted some too, so we basically had a second dinner. I just hope she doesn't get sick."
It had been a nightmare of an evening. First, eleven-year-old Kathryn hadn't come home from her school's tennis match. None of her teammates had known where she was, only that she was inconsolable after losing to a rival school. Then a massive Indiana thunderstorm had rolled in, the kind that had always frightened Kathryn since she was a baby, no matter how often her father explained to her that it was only air currents and electricity; the very worst weather for the child to be lost in.
Edward had flown out in a hovercar to look for her and Gretchen had stayed home, wrestling with her fears, while eight-year-old Phoebe's creative imagination came up with ever more dramatic scenarios for her daddy and big sister, from alien abduction to time travel, all ending in their triumphant return. (Which was oddly reassuring, bless her younger daughter's heart; perhaps she had sensed that her mother needed a story with a happy ending.)
By the time Edward had finally come home, carrying a muddy, soaked, exhausted Kathryn in his arms, Gretchen had felt at the end of her tether, but she couldn't break down; she had to comfort her older daughter first. Now her anxiety had boiled down to a quiet, but powerful anger, and she was determined to use it where it would do the most good.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." Edward smiled and patted her on the back. "Our Goldenbird's as tough as a Tarkalean hawk. Think about it – how many kids her age could have made it through that as far as she did?"
He nodded at the window in front of them, through which they could see almost nothing, except a reflection of the kitchen and themselves. It was pitch dark outside, the light from the neighbors' house nothing but a speck. It wasn't thundering anymore, but raining so heavily that the peonies in her garden would be crushed by morning. She thought of the white flower heads losing their petals, then Kathryn's white face, and she wanted to throw something.
Instead she picked up a bowl out of the hot, soapy water and began to scrub.
"So you're proud of her?" she asked tightly.
"Shouldn't I be? I mean … it was a foolish thing to do, of course. If she were a crewman, I'd report it. But when the storm came down, she followed survival guidelines as best she could. She stayed put, found shelter … she even used the time to crack that math problem I gave her."
A math problem, for God's sake. Normally Gretchen loved the way that Edward challenged his daughters intellectually; there was nothing more beautiful than the way their faces lit up when they ran to him with the right answer. But that evening, while tucking a sleepy Kathryn into bed, she had distinctly heard her daughter murmur: "I got the answer, but I lost the game … I'm sorry, Daddy."
Gretchen sat the wet, clean bowl down on the drying rack and reached for another. Her scrubbing pad squeaked.
"She's not your crewman yet, in case you hadn't noticed. She's your daughter. Doesn't it concern you at all that her first reaction to losing a sports match was to punish herself?"
Edward's blue eyes widened, as if he hadn't even considered it in that light, but then he shook his head. "She takes after me, that's all. She's ambitious. She took it too far tonight, of course, but that'll sort itself out when she gets older. Would you want her to be complacent about losing?"
"Well, no … "
Edward's ambition was something she had loved about him from the beginning. It aligned with her own philosophy of hard work. They both wanted to make the world a better place, she by keeping alive the crafts of the past, he by leading Starfleet into the future. No, she wouldn't want a child of theirs to be complacent … but there was a lot of gray area between complacency and throwing yourself into a thunderstorm.
"She does take after you," said Gretchen. "That's why she admires you so much. And that's exactly why you need to be mindful of how much influence you have over her. She needs to know … "
"Yes?"
"She needs to know that you still love her, whether she wins or not."
Edward looked astonished.
"Of course I do," he said. "I thought that was obvious."
"Not always. Not to a child."
God, this man, this seasoned diplomat who could face down Cardassians without breaking a sweat, couldn't even tell what his own daughter needed. It would have been infuriating if she didn't love him so much.
Of course it was obvious to him that he loved both his children. It was obvious to Gretchen too, every time he looked at them, but he was not a demonstrative man. This was almost the same argument they used to have when they were dating. She'd ask him why his calls and messages were so short when he was on a mission, and he'd say he didn't want to waste her time with unimportant details. She'd argue back that no details of his life were unimportant to her.
He'd grown more communicative since then, and she'd grown more patient. It had been worth it then, and it was worth it now.
She could almost see his mind at work behind that high forehead and swept-back hair, auburn already streaked with gray. Being a man of action, he considered her advice, decided he agreed, and put it into practice at once.
"Should I talk to her?"
"Only if she's still awake."
"Right."
She wiped her soapy hands on her apron and followed a few steps behind him as he made his cautious way to Kathryn's bedroom. He was a tall, sturdy man and their house was old, with wooden floorboards that squeaked alarmingly unless you knew which ones to avoid. Watching him pick his way around them always made her smile, even at a time like this.
"Kathryn?" he whispered, peering through the crack in the door.
"Huh … Daddy?"
He walked in and crouched next to her bed, so that when she sat up against the headboard, they'd be at eye level. Gretchen must have seen him like that hundreds of times whenever he was home, telling the girls stories or watching over them when they were sick.
He spoke to his daughter in a low voice, too quiet for her mother to hear, but she didn't eavesdrop. Some things deserved to be private, even in a family. It was enough just to watch their silhouettes, lit up by the Starfleet commbadge-shaped night light beside the bed.
"I know, Daddy. I thought that was obvious." Kathryn's child voice carried all the way down the hall. Despite the pitch, she sounded so much like her father that Gretchen hid a laugh behind one hand. "But I hate losing."
"I know," Edward rumbled, "So do I … and the worst would've been losing you. So don't you ever pull a stunt like this again, do you hear me?"
"I won't."
"Now go back to sleep. That's an order."
"Aye, sir."
Kathryn only called him sir when she was either very upset or very happy. Judging by the way she snuggled down into her pillow, though, and let him kiss her on the forehead before tiptoeing away, tonight it was the latter.
Her parents went back to the kitchen, exchanged quiet smiles, and she handed him a towel so he could dry the dishes.
"Gretchen?"
"Hmm?"
"You're a very wise woman. For the record … " Edward put his hand on the small of her back, dish towel and all, and pulled her into a sweet, lingering kiss.
"Oh, that was obvious too," she said. "But like I said, it never hurts to have a reminder."