Disclaimer: Voyager's at the top of my Christmas list this year.

Phoebe Janeway is among my favorite minor characters of all time, so spend Christmas eve with her.

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Year 3: Phoebe Janeway, Christmas Wrapping

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"Bah, humbug!" No, that's too strong
'Cause it is my favorite holiday
But all this year's been a busy blur
Don't think I have the energy

"What do you mean, transports are—?" The reply was muffled with static, but sharp enough to cut off the half-concealed speaker. "But what about communi—" If possible, the static was sounding angry. "Are you . . . yes, of course, I need the . . . fine. Barmy codger."

The connection clicked as Phoebe Janeway stepped out of the communications booth and walked through the holiday traffic at Deep Space Nine. One cause for a brief moment of what might have passed for joy was the fact that the year was finally almost over. For whatever reason, there were more holidays packed into this part of the standard year that any other, thank you insane diversity of earth and the surrounding planets. She was sick of it.

Now the calendar's just one page
And, of course, I am excited
Tonight's the night, I've set my mind
Not to do too much about it.

Admiral Janeway used to be able to part a crowd like a biblical metaphor, but that was one talent Phoebe knew she did not inherit as she shouldered her way past a family of Bolians being accosted by the leery Ferengi bartender. She hadn't bothered to reserve quarters or anything during what was supposed to be a brief stay, so she was on the hunt for some nook — she ran through all the possible excuses she could give to her mother on why she would be spending this Christmas like a hobo.

Goddamned political upheaval.

There was actually a reason the youngest (and now only) Janeway child was traveling through the armpit of the alpha quadrant, though the one she gave the customs officials was only half-true. Yes, artists did enjoy making renditions of horrible suffering and the general unease of the calm before the storm, but nothing cured jilted, petty familial bitterness quite like starving orphans.

Phoebe's acceptance of Mark Johnson probably would have survived his eventual engagement to a new, not dead/missing woman if he had not been so . . . dramatic about his proposal. 'I'm going to start living again . . . and I'd like it to be with you.' Why had she ever approved of him? Sap.

The working vacation provided by her escape to Bajor had left Phoebe burned out — but she had gotten a lot of work done for her next exhibition. Her sponsors had 'gently hinted' that her art had become too nostalgic over the past few years, and Phoebe just wanted to get away from what was becoming the 'Janeway Curse.' Out in the boondocks she could pretend that her mom was happily solving massive, brain-imploding math problems and that Kathy was off saving the galaxy from some nameless generic evil.

Yes, Phoebe thought, as she lowered herself into a corner, imagination is much better than reality at this point.

So deck those halls, trim those trees
Raise up cups of Christmas cheer,
I just need to catch my breath,
Christmas by myself this year.

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