In the Arms of Family
Story by Janet and Christina
Written by Janet, Christina, Cybermum, Diane, Julie,Mary, Penny, and Rocky
Compiled by Janet
Ro rolled her eyes and groaned at that, but she let it stand and took to her feet. "I should go now, but I'll make sure to clear some time so we can all get together for dinner and a nice long visit before Voyager leaves."
"Definitely. Best to check with B'Elanna about when. Until the engines are in perfect working order, she's the one with the tighter schedule." Tom got up and walked with Ro to the doorway.
"I'll do that. Say good-bye to B'Elanna and your mom for me. Good night, Tom."
With a wave, she stepped out into the corridor. Tom stood, staring at the closed door and lost in his own musings-or more properly, riding that emotional roller coaster of his. The ride never seemed to end, even when he thought it was almost over.
"So, what's this project she wants your help with?" B'Elanna said, startling him out of his reverie.
"Oh, um," he mumbled, stalling for time so he could remember what it was B'Elanna was referring to. Yeah, right, something Ro didn't want anyone to know about, including B'Elanna. "Just a few pieces of data Ro wants analyzed in our Sickbay. She didn't want to bother the Doc about it, so she asked me since she knows me."
"I should think she'd have let Doctor Bashir ask the Doctor to do it," B'Elanna said mildly.
He should have known he couldn't have gotten away with his dissembling, but it had been worth a try. He'd have to tell B'Elanna as much of the truth he could dare to and still stay true to his promise to Ro. "Ro asked me not to say anything about it to *anyone* until she had the answers she needed. I don't know for sure what she's looking for, although I have my suspicions. I'll tell you as soon as Ro tells me I can. Is that okay with you?"
"Okay." B'Elanna took his hand and pulled him back to the sofa. As she sat, she dragged him down next to her. Once he had a lap, she climbed onto it with a suggestive wiggle.
"Don't you think Miral might need that lap?" he said, his leer totally belying the surface meaning of his words.
"Not anytime soon. Her grandmother is too busy ooing and ahing over her perfect little toes and skin-which is going to be all wrinkled up like a prune before she lets her out of the tub," B'Elanna sighed. "I'm sure she'll be happy to do the cuddling and story-reading tonight, too."
"Big of you, to share the wealth," he remarked.
B'Elanna leaned next to his ear and whispered, "Miral is in good hands. I need to make sure you are, too."
Tom chuckled lightly. "Didn't trust me with Ro? You don't have to worry about her. If you heard about 'my project,' you heard what she had to say about you."
"Oh, I heard her. I like her, too. I wish she had been on the Liberty instead of Seska! We'd have had a lot less trouble with the Kazon-even if I would have had competition for you."
"Nah. You and I were meant to be," Tom said softly, meaning it with all his heart.
B'Elanna gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I know. But what I meant was, I saw you staring through the closed door after Ro had left, lost inside your head. I'm going to repeat Ro's question...How are you, really? And I want an honest answer-or I'll pound it out of you, like Ro said I would."
He didn't smile at the softening joke at the end. The ache in his heart hurt too much for a smile just then. Joke or not, though, he knew she'd never let it go until he was honest with her. "I can't help it, B'Elanna. Every time I think I've gotten over what happened between my father and me in the past, something comes up to slap me in the face with it again. I really thought that this time, I had earned his respect. I expected him to be as excited by my homecoming as I was. But it wasn't enough for him to meet us here. Hell, I've come a lot further than half way! Have I deluded myself into thinking that anything has changed?"
"Tom, just because he isn't here doesn't mean he doesn't care!"
"He's the *head* of the Pathfinder Project! If he couldn't get away, who could?"
"Hey, do you see *anyone* directly connected with Pathfinder here? I don't!" B'Elanna pointed out. "Ro said it-and I agree with her: There may be things that have to be done connected with our return that we know nothing about-things he simply cannot leave in the hands of anyone else. Accept that!"
In his heart, he just couldn't wash away the feeling that his father could have come, if he really wanted to, but Tom said, "Maybe you're right."
"I *am* right. Do you know why Anne Carey and the boys are here?"
"She's the head of the Voyager Family Association."
"She is, but that's not how she got here. Your father pulled the strings to get all four of them on the starship from Earth because at the last minute, he couldn't come. In fact, your parents were supposed to be on the ship with Gretchen Janeway to be here before we were, but your father had to cancel because he couldn't get away. They rescheduled for another ship few days later, but when he still couldn't come, he made arrangements to squeeze Anne and the boys on the ship to keep your mother company. That doesn't sound like he didn't want to come to me."
"Where did you hear all of this?"
"Anne told me at Vic's tonight, before we came home."
Tom shrugged his shoulders. Maybe she *was* right.
"Hey, do you see any sign of *my* father here? Fat chance!"
At the bitterness in her voice, Tom closed his arms around her tightly, hugging her as close as he could. Here he was, wallowing in his own pain, when B'Elanna had her own troubles. At least his mother was here, whereas B'Elanna's mother was in Sto-Vo-Kor. And if John Torres had tried to contact them via subspace to welcome his daughter home but had missed them, they'd surely have gotten a message to call him back. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna. I'm an idiot."
"No, you're not. You're just pig-headed sometimes."
"At least it's only my head that's a pig now," Tom said lightly, making B'Elanna laugh.
"Yeah, well, it depends on how often I catch you in Vic's program before I can be the judge of that," she said, but her smile was genuine, and his own mood lightened measurably.
His mother's voice made both Tom's and B'Elanna's heads whip around. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said hesitantly.
"Not at all," B'Elanna said teasingly. "I was just keeping Tom's lap warmed up for Miral. She likes to 'hog' it all the time."
"Touché," Tom said, as B'Elanna slipped off his lap and his mother carried a chortling Miral to his outstretched arms.
As Miral settled into her father's arms, Alicia remarked, "I see Ro has gone?"
"Yes, a while ago. She said to say good-bye to you," Tom said.
"I should be going, too. Gretchen will wonder where I've wandered off to."
"I'm sure she'd know right where to find you, but I'll walk you to the guest quarters," B'Elanna said. "It's Tom's turn tonight for 'bedtime duty', and it's *get-ting...ve-ry...late*."
"Yes, ma'am!" Tom said, a salute implicit in his tone. "So, Miral, what will it be tonight? You want 'GreenEggsandHam'? Or 'HoponPop'?"
"G'eenEggs!" Miral said, pushing herself out of her father's arms to run and get the bound book on her shelf.
"C'mon, Alicia. They won't even notice we're gone," B'Elanna said.
Alicia stayed at the doorway, smiling at Tom as he read the opening pages of the story to Miral, before moving through the door with B'Elanna. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother slip her arm around his wife's shoulder and just barely heard her say, "I never thought I'd see the day...I'm so happy to see Tom so happy. And you, too, B'Elanna."
He didn't hear his wife's reply, as the door slid closed behind them, but he was certain he would be gratified by her response. It was wonderful to see how quickly his mother and B'Elanna had taken to each other-not necessarily something that happened between mothers-and daughters-in-law, from what he'd heard. He would take comfort from that, just as he did from the very presence of his precious little girl, who was starting to rub her sleepy head into the side of his chest as he read the line, "I do not like them, Sam-I-Am," for the fourth time.
He would take what comfort he could in all of that, and ignore the dull ache in his heart that had lived there, for as long as he could remember, when he thought of his own father.
Commander Craig took the menu the Bajoran waitress offered him and glanced at it. He didn't feel like hesperat tonight, but he would ask about the special. He pulled out his PADD and activated it. He turned at the sound of voices. It was Lieutenant Paris and his wife. They didn't notice him as the hostess escorted them toward the back.
He didn't start reading. Two male voices from the booth behind him, caught his attention. "Aren't they from that Voyager ship?"
"*Yep, big heroes*. Did you see the shipload of reporters that arrived today? Shit, after we beat the Breen in the Glaroom sector I didn't see one reporter."
Commander Craig bit his lip in complete frustration. Just which admiral had authorized this ship of family and press? He guessed Paris. It was bad enough that Voyager had been intercepted by Romulans...and that Mrs. Kim had somehow guessed Deep Space Nine would be Voyager's final destination. She was outspoken and tended to talk to the wrong people. He frowned at the sight of Mrs. Kim talking to two Ferengi, whom he'd been told were representatives of some Ferengi paper. He hadn't granted any Ferengi reporters press passes, but that meant nothing on this station. He glanced down at his PADD again. His main goal was to make sure Captain Janeway and her senior staff did not talk to any press.
He understood why she was annoyed with Starfleet admiralty, but orders were orders.
"Claude Jean!" a voice said.
"Yes? Oh, hello, Ms Newton." He maintained his professional smile at the sight of the older reporter from the Federation News Network.
"Why is Voyager still here after five days?"
"Repairs, Cassie," he said. "Once repairs are complete, Voyager will return to Earth."
"And what then?"
He hesitated. "I believe Christmas. Though the Voyager crew has their own festival, something called Prixin."
"Come on Claude Jean, that's not an answer."
"Cassie, you know better. Questions will be answered at the press conference when Voyager returns to Earth." Well, so much for a quiet dinner.
"It was worth a try. I was hoping for an exclusive. But, we need something to report. Since you don't want to answer questions about Voyager, perhaps you can answer this one: why are more resources being sent to Cardassia than Bajor?"
Why the hell had that question come up? She continued speaking as she chuckled. "Perhaps I should talk to Colonel Kira?"
"Federation policy in this region is for the betterment of all inhabitants," Craig said, quoting the oft used phrase.
"I'll get a better answer from the Bajorans. And you have no control over them," she smiled knowingly. "And I'll bet Starfleet is keeping you in the dark too?"
They were, but he wouldn't admit it. "Excuse me, but I need to return to my work." He contacted Enterprise as he stood.
"Commander, I would like to ask some more questions. Why is Mrs. Kim..." She ran after him. "-Wait!"
He smiled as he felt the transporter beam. When he rematerialized on the Enterprise, he hit his combadge. "Commander Craig to Commander Riker, I need to contact Starfleet, Admiral Hayes office, immediately."
"Admiral Hayes, may I ask what exactly is going on?" Craig asked the image of the man.
"You are assigned to Voyager to..."
"Sir, I know my assignment. But why has no one been told what is going on? I'm being asked questions I can't answer, and, with all due respect, sir, that is not a good way to keep the press quiet. And Deep Space Nine was a poor choice to have Voyager stay. It offers the Bajorans easy access to the press." Was it his imagination, or did Hayes seem pleased with that? "Sir, what is going on?"
"That is confidential..."
"So, you are going to prosecute?"
"I didn't say that either. Just keep the Voyager crew away from the press. If anyone asks, just say that a thorough review is standard after any lengthy mission."
"Yes, sir." Craig closed the link, feeling even more frustrated than just five minutes ago.
Mariah Henley walked down the main corridor of the Promenade level, her mind intent on doing some long over-due shopping. Lora Jenkins, Jamie McMinn, and Julia Harper had been raving about a particular dress boutique, and after seeing the clothes they'd purchased, she made up her mind to take a look for herself.
Like the other Maquis, she'd lost all her personal possessions at the beginning of the journey when the Liberty was destroyed, and so she was determined to replenish her wardrobe now that they were back in the AQ. Somehow, not very much of what she'd seen on the journey had appealed to her sense of taste. The rest of the crew seemed to have no problem. The Delaneys, for example, were constantly picking things up at the various stations and planets of the Delta Quadrant, but Henley had privately decided to wait.
And now the time had come, and, she thought in a brief burst of extravagance, money would be no object, though according to Lora, Jamie, and Julia, the boutique's merchandise was not only elegant, but also reasonably priced. She certainly hoped so. Until her backpay from Starfleet came through-if it ever did, she reminded herself wryly-she certainly couldn't afford to splurge *too* much.
Her mind intent on following the directions she'd been given, she almost didn't notice when she passed by the row of public comm booths. But something made her look up just then, and almost involuntarily, she halted. She'd already spoken to her family-those who'd survived the war-a few days earlier, but now she knew there was one more call she needed to make.
She tapped a request for general information into the comm unit's data banks, and after a bit of searching, found the name she was looking for, as well as a current access number. And then she hesitated, and almost immediately cursed herself for being a coward. This wouldn't be the most pleasant conversation she'd ever had in her life-in fact, it would probably be extremely awkward-and yet she had no choice. She punched the call through. There was quite a delay until someone picked up, and during those interminable seconds she almost hoped he wouldn't be in, that she could discharge her obligation by simply leaving a message. And then his image appeared on the screen.
::Mariah?:: Mitch Dalby said incredulously.
"Hello, Mitch," she said quietly. "How are you?"
The look of surprise faded quickly, replaced by the intensity she'd always associated with him. His dark eyes burned, as if he could see deep inside her. A wave of regret passed through her, catching her by surprise. She and Mitch had called it quits years before, and she didn't expect any of the old feelings to surface let alone so quickly. But when he looked at her that way...
::I'm good,:: he said, and smiled. ::Keeping out of trouble, at any rate.::
"Good," she echoed.
::And you?::
"I'm fine." She cast around for something to say. "Voyager made it back. We're docked at Deep Space Nine."
::I heard.::
"From the news reports," she said. Doubtless Voyager's return was pretty big news.
He brushed an errant lock of hair out of his eyes, a mannerism she remembered of old. ::No, from Anne Carey. She called me before she left.::
"Anne...you mean, Joe's wife?" He nodded. "I didn't realize you knew her."
::We've become pretty good friends, actually, working together on the Voyager Family Association newsletter, and other activities.:: Mitch studied her carefully. ::A lot of the families have become close. Shared situations and all that. It's been a comfort, let me tell you.::
She nodded. That made sense. Except..."But why would you-" She caught herself before she could finish the sentence. "Sorry."
He smiled mirthlessly. ::You wanted to know why I bother, now that Ken is gone.::
Mariah flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that was pretty insensitive of me." He opened his mouth, but she went on, "Actually, Ken is the reason I'm calling."
::I see.:: His expression was unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was disappointed or not. Had he hoped for a different reason on her part?
"Yes, I wanted you to know that Ken really made something of himself, out there in the Delta Quadrant. There were some adjustment problems, of course, in the beginning-" she paused, remembering how Tuvok had selected her and Ken, among others, for some 'remedial training'-"but once that was past, Ken became a valuable member of the crew. And he died bravely, helping to retake Engineering from the Borg. You can be proud of him." Despite her best efforts, her voice shook slightly on the last phrase.
::I am,:: he said quietly, looking at something out of her field of vision. ::I appreciate your taking the time to call and tell me this yourself.::
"I cared about him very much, you know. He was a hell of a good friend, and we'd been through a lot together."
::Yes.:: He met her gaze squarely once more. ::And it means a lot to me that you're the one telling me.::
She shook her head sadly. "Mitch..."
::Don't say it,:: he interrupted. ::I know. You and I, we ended a long time ago. But I want you to know that I still care about you. When I heard that the Liberty had vanished, and so had the Starfleet ship sent to capture it, I was sure you were all dead. And I mourned for all the good friends I'd lost. Then, a few years later, the news came that you were still alive. The first person who came to my mind, after Ken, was you.:: He cleared his throat. ::I'm glad you've got your second shot at life, even though Ken no longer does.::
She didn't know what to say, felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you, Mitch." She took a deep breath. "I also wanted to tell you that I saved Ken's personal effects. I'll drop them off as soon as we get back."
::I appreciate it.:: The silence fell between them once more.
"Well, I have to get going," she said, a bit awkwardly.
He nodded. ::Take care of yourself, Mariah. I'm very glad you called.::
"So am I," she answered, and suddenly realized that it was true.
Vedek Capril picked up a single taper and lit it from the flame above the alter. His lips moving soundlessly, he touched the flame to a tall white candle. It sputtered for a moment and then took hold. Without pausing, he proceeded to light the rest of the candles before him. Janeway thought the arrangement vaguely resembled a double trapezoid; she had seen that shape elsewhere, in the pattern of the murals along the walls, and guessed that it had a symbolic meaning. The air was thick with the smell of incense.
The small Bajoran shrine on the station was filled to overflowing. Not only was the senior staff and several of the crew of Voyager present, but also a number of Bajorans-and not just station personnel. Celes, Gerron and Tabor stood with their relatives, close by the sides of other families who had not been so fortunate as to see their loved ones return. In addition, there was a sizable crowd on the Promenade outside, watching on the numerous viewscreens that had been erected for the occasion. The ceremony was being broadcast to Earth as well.
His task completed, the Vedek turned to face the assembled throng. His billowing robes were the color of flame; the carefully draped folds seemed to rise and fall in time with the fires burning at the altar. The tight orange skullcap he wore gave his head an oddly elongated shape, accentuated by the fact that his face was mostly hidden in the shadows. Janeway supressed a shiver.
"All that was, is. All that is, shall ever be." His rich baritone echoed in the confined space. "To the Prophets, the passing of a millennium is but a single instant, and yet a single instant lasts for eternity. All of life is a continuous chain, with those who came before and are no more, and those who are yet to be. For those who have ended their journey, as well as for those who still tread upon an earthly plane, we say: Terse Polder impart Bern. Bengal veteran Ulan steno. Walk with the Prophets."
Janeway bowed her head as the Vedek continued. "We mourn today those who gave their lives so that others might live." Originally intended just for the Bajoran dead, the memorial service had been expanded to include all of those who had lost their lives in the Delta Quadrant, whether Maquis or Starfleet, Equinox or Voyager. "We consign these souls to the Prophets, that they may help them find their way."
He began the death chant, pausing periodically in the liturgy to include the names of the dead. "John Cavit, Henry Fitzgerald, Benara Stadi"-members of the Voyager senior staff who had died en route to the Delta Quadrant. "Bond Loran, Ulan, Michael Blacken, Tri Kendall"-crew from the Liberty who had not survived the Caretaker's wave. So many dead before the journey could properly be said to have begun. "Lynn Sanders, Iota Katchatori, Sergei Bratsilov, Kale Mikov, ullon"-from the Equinox crew.
Among all three ships were a fair number of Bajorans, easily distinguished in the chant by the special honorific added to their names. Ullon-with the Prophets. After a long recitation, the Vedek then began the even longer list of those who had died in the Delta Quadrant itself. So many names, spoken in the order in which they were lost. The Vedek's voice droned on and on; occasionally a name or two would intrude upon her consciousness with greater clarity.
"Kurt Bendara. Peter Durst. Timothy Hogan. Michael Jonas. Lon Suder."
Janeway, listening impassively to the recital, had a bad moment when she wondered if Seska would be among those mentioned-how many of those present knew of her subterfuge, that she was really a Cardassian spy masquerading as a Bajoran? The captain relaxed marginally when Vedek Capril moved on to the casualties of their third year. Seska had not been mentioned at all.
"Mantor Katzav, ullon. Dorrance Lem, ullon. Anhi Jetal. Marie Kaplan."
Janeway glanced around the room. Most of those present had their heads bowed; with some surprise she spotted other Starfleet officers, including some from the Enterprise. She hadn't noticed them earlier, as their gray uniforms blended into the shadows. The Voyager crew by contrast stood out, their old-style uniforms incongruous notes of color in the dimness. Earlier, Janeway had thought long and hard over what to wear to this ceremony. As the majority of those being commemorated had died in the line of duty-Starfleet duty-civilian clothes hadn't seemed appropriate, although Chakotay and B'Elanna and many of the other Maquis had chosen to wear their old Maquis-style garb to honor their fallen comrades. The new Starfleet uniforms were still too alien for her; better to wear the clothing which for eight long years had been the symbol of Starfleet in a far-flung region of space. Commander Craig shot her a look of disapproval when she happened to look in his direction, but Janeway found that for once she did not care about the 'proper' protocol.
"Lindsey Ballard, Amanda Crag, Timothy Lang, Honto Zielan."
Avoiding Craig's baleful glance, Janeway turned away, her gaze falling on the two highest ranked Bajoran officials present: Colonel Kira Nerys and Lieutenant Ro Laren. She had met Kira briefly years before, when Voyager left for the Badlands. Janeway respected the Colonel for her years of service on the station-first as second in command, now as commander-and for what she had accomplished during the recent war, but Ro was an unknown entity. Voyager's captain knew her only by reputation, that Ro had been a Starfleet officer who'd abandoned her commission to fight for the Maquis, and now years later had risen to be Chief of Security on the station.
Janeway studied the two women more closely. They were of a similar height and build, had roughly comparable coloring, but there the similarities ended. It was more than a difference in features, or the fact that Ro, unlike other Bajorans, wore the traditional earring on her left side. Kira's emotions could be seen clearly, the look of compassion etched upon her face as each name was said. Her lips moved in silent sympathy, uttering the Bajoran honorific-for all the dead, not just her fellow countrymen. Ro, on the other hand, was stoically silent, her posture rigid, her expression unchanged. Janeway guessed that Kira was of a more religious nature, a true believer, whereas Ro gave the appearance of a hard-bitten cynic, though she was undoubtedly remembering losses of her own. How could she not?
"Mortimer Harren, Kenneth Dalby, Elizabeth Ashmore, Pablo Baytart, George Redman."
So many memorials, Janeway thought, suddenly wanting to scream, to do anything to blot out the doleful recital. How many times over the years had she stood in this same position on Voyager, commemorating the dead? Too many, and yet she could never, would never, get used to it. She was grateful that this time she was a mere spectator, not the one who was conducting the ceremony, bearing the weight of everyone's emotions. So many funeral services, they each stood out starkly in her mind-whether it was conducted by a cairn of rocks on an alien world, or in front of a shiny duranium tube about to be launched from the torpedo bay. And then each year the communal memorials, during the Prixin celebrations and the Days of the Past.
Yet this ceremony was different. This service at the station shrine was the first of many that would undoubtedly be held now that the ship had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Meetings and memorials-that was what she could look forward to, over the next several weeks. Endlessly repeated on a score of worlds, encompassing countless traditions and beliefs. But all with an underlying similarity of purpose. Despite the repetition, she knew it would not get any easier to bear.
At her side, Chakotay was lost in his own thoughts, his head unbowed, his eyes fixed unseeingly at the reflection of the flames dancing on the walls. She knew he grieved just as deeply as she if not more so. Not for the first time she envied him for his ability to let go, to allow himself to feel, to not be afraid to express his emotions publicly. Her own 'captain's mask' was firmly in place. Later-when she was alone-later, she would allow herself to grieve.
Out of the corner of her eye, Janeway noticed Commander Troi giving her a sympathetic look. Janeway looked away quickly. In a corner of her mind, however, the thought arose that many of the crew might possibly benefit from talking to a counselor, if not now then in the weeks to come. After the 'circus'-as she was starting to privately refer to their upcoming arrival at Earth and the publicity it would undoubtedly generate-was over. But she herself didn't want to think about the kind of in-depth soul-searching that would require. That was a luxury she didn't have time for now. Her ship was home, but as she was beginning to realize, her task was not over yet.
"Bental vetan ullon sten. Walk with the Prophets." Capril's deepset eyes met hers for an instant. "Our paths have been laid out before us; we follow where they will lead."