Kathryn
We easily fall into a routine. Up early, breakfast (more doctor's orders), then we decide on the day's activities. On the days I'm not at Columbia, we play tourist. Biking along the East River walk, a trip to Central Park. We even joined Mom for a weekend at the Lake George cabin.
"You're good for me," I tell him, and I'm only half joking. He just smiles softly.
Usually, after dinner, we take Molly for a walk. On this evening he's a bit pensive, like he wants to talk about something.
"You all right?" I open.
"I'm probably overstepping," he says, "but I've wondered how Dad talked you out of retirement."
Oh, boy. "Let's say Owen probably knew me better than I knew myself at that point," I begin with the edited version of my story.
I tell him how, when I looked at Earth after seven years, I wanted to be relieved, to be elated. Instead, I was empty. I ran on autopilot, shaking hands, answering questions. Guess I didn't fool anyone: After the first session, my counselor sent me to Medical for an antidepressant.
"Mine did, too," he confides. "It helped."
"It does," I agree. "At least I was clear-headed enough to be surprised by the offer I got after the hearings."
"Vice Admiral and the Diplomatic Corps," he fills in.
"Right, and it didn't make sense," I say. "Once we had communications and daily briefings, I realized that everything had changed: Starfleet, the Federation. They crowed about our explorations, but everything else pointed to a Federation that was expecting another fight. Can't say I'm surprised: We still have no reason to trust the Romulans. But I wasn't keen about collecting allies for the next war."
"Is that why you decided to retire?" He sounds puzzled.
"Not quite: There was the business with Seven. I was angry. Hell, beyond angry. I marched into the CNC's office and told him that if she wasn't accepted, they could have my pips back.
"Seven got wind of this and told me that she wouldn't let me throw my career away on her behalf. She didn't quite say it, but she intimated that someone had to stand up for Federation ideals. How true that is, I still don't know." I shake my head. "Not my choice for her, but it wasn't my call."
"Well, you did raise her to be an independent human," he reminds me.
"The thing is, it almost was for nothing. When things settled down, I started to think about this offer, and it hit me: They wanted me out of the way. Hand the woman some shiny metals and send her to sign useless agreements. Or make promises that the Federation had no intention of keeping. I'm sure the images would look great on the newsfeeds."
"Not right," Tom half-growls."Surely they read the mission reports; You ... we … did some good out there." He shakes his head. "So what did they do when you told them no?"
"First, I countered. Asked for a teaching spot at the Academy; figured that would keep me out of the way. They turned me down, so I filed for retirement. I'm still surprised they didn't justwave goodbye. I suspected that your dad had something to do with that. I also suspected he would try to talk me out of it. He didn't disappoint."
"How do you feel about this decision?" Owen asked. I almost laughed; he looked so uncomfortable.
"I'm fine."
He crossed his arms. "I don't think you're fine, Kathryn. Neither is anyone else from Voyager."
"Reading medical reports?" Which isn't legal. And highly unethical.
"No, I've been reading mission reports. You didn't fight the Dominion, but you sure as hell fought a war. All of you. And you all deserve the same support. I fear you're making a decision that will cut you off from that support."
"It might be tough to make counseling sessions while I run around the quadrant playing diplomat."
Owen let the sarcasm go by. "Forget about the Diplomatic Corps. It's window dressing. That's not where we need you. Believe me, it's the one thing Alynna Nechayev and I have agreed on in ages. In fact, she persuaded Admiral Bordson to rescind those orders."
That I didn't expect. Threatening the Commander in Chief was a lousy career move. Owen outlined the deal — I take the bars, then take an extended leave, with six months of it as medical leave.
"Then what?"
He sighs. "Look, there are projects in the proposal stage; one is a perfect fit for you. We want to keep you around so you can get a shot at them." He paused, and I saw a twinkle in those blue eyes; for a moment, I thought of Tom. "And on a practical note, if you do leave, the retirement package for admirals is far better than for captains."
"So what are these projects he wants you to wait for? Is Columbia one of them?"
"No, it's not, and that's a story for another day. As for what Owen has in mind, damned if I know."
ooo
Tom
Well, things are looking up. I signed a contract to code Karlo's holographic art and set up the emitters in Draso's gallery.
My contract is structured with half the payment upfront and the rest after Karlo's gallery opening. Good thing, because I need to set up a holodeck, and Kathryn's place is too small. But this is a popular area, and finding a place could be tough.
Thank God, luck is still with me: I'm a registered business owner in San Francisco, so that makes New York's process a lot easier. And having a contract in hand puts me on the priority list for a workspace.
Nico recommends a housing agent; even offers to come along when I look at places. "He said something about working construction when he was in school," I tell Kathryn.
She shrugs. "One of us should know what we're doing."
ooo
Kathryn
We meet Nico and the agent, Marie, in front of a square building about 2½ stories tall. A storefront with an attached garage bay — both in need of maintenance.
"Kind of big," Tom remarks.
"I understand, but we just have three buildings available that fit your space requirements," Marie explains. "A couple of the big warehouses are being divided into studios, but completion is still six months off, and you need immediate occupancy."
She studies the building for a moment. "Don't worry about the outside," she finally says. "We'll clean it up before the move-in date."
It's musty inside. "This been vacant for a while?" I ask, and Marie nods. Tom looks over the garage, and Nico heads into the main room. A second later, we hear, "Holy shit! Marie, you need to see this."
Tom follows us in: There's a pile of rubble in the main room, courtesy of the hole in the ceiling above us and the one on the next floor up. "There's a hole in the roof," Nico declares. "Look at the water damage on the walls."
"There's water damage in the garage, too. I think I'll pass," Tom says, and Marie shakes her head. "I apologize; this should not have been on the occupancy list. I'll be reporting this."
We look at the next one, which Tom rejects, and Marie leads us to a building near the old pier. "This is the last available listing," she says. "If it won't work, I'll find a temporary option until the new studios open."
This one's a compact, two-story brick structure that once housed a business. The second floor stretches over a garage door, and the brick is styled into arches above the upstairs windows. Tom's eyes light up: We might have a winner.
The inside is fairly spacious. The second floor is a large loft; the first floor is carved into a few rooms. Tom goes off to measure the garage; Nico takes a look around the building. Marie and I climb the stairs to the loft.
"That's a nice view," she remarks. It certainly is: It, like the pier, faces the channel, with New Jersey across the way. A nice place for painting or watching sunsets, I muse.
I go down to check on Tom. "So, what do you think?" I ask quietly.
"The garage will make a nice holostudio, and Nico tells me the place has 'good bones,' meaning it won't fall down," he chuckles. "Anyway, we made a deal. He'll help me put up the hologrid boards and other handyman-type stuff in exchange for my piloting skills." He grins at my raised eyebrow. "It's for his sculpture in Wisconsin: he's doing the pieces here, needs to move them up there."
Above us, Nico and Marie are talking about the building's potential. "It would make a nice studio," Nico says. "Or home and studio," Marie says. "This area allows for conversions, too." Tom briefly raises an eyebrow. I stay neutral. It is an interesting thought, but this would be a major project.
Tom decides the building will work, so Marie will take care of the details and call with a move-in date.
"The place is big enough that I can move all my stuff in," Tom muses as we head home. "That will save the storage credits."
All my stuff? Something drops in my gut. "Moving out?" I ask lightly.
He gulps. "I could if you want. I understand if you want your apartment back," he says carefully.
"Actually, that's a 'No, I don't want.' I enjoy having you around," I say truthfully. What that means, I'm not sure yet.
He breathes what I take to be a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Otherwise, I'd have to get a sleeping bag. All I have in storage is my holographic gear, plus some clothes and sports equipment." He shrugs. "B'Elanna took Miral's bed. The rest belonged to the apartment or the hotel."