Notes:
I posted "The Catsuit Woman" in July 2019, 1 months before I lost my spouse of forty years, and it was never meant to be anything than a one-shot. I have mostly written MirAndy (Devil Wears Prada) fanfic since that bug bit me in 2011, but when I stumbled upon this story while going over my long list of fanfics, I reread it and then it wouldn't leave me alone.
I hope there will be an interest in J/7 still, as I owe this pairing a LOT. If not for them, I wouldn't be where I am today with my writing, and I wouldn't have the friends I have, whether J/7 fandom or DWP.
So, here's the next chapter - and as usual - I won't commit to a certain amount of chapters as my stories always run longer. :-) *grin*
Chapter Text
Weeks after the Voyager party, I'm still trying to reconcile with the idea that, one, I kissed a strange woman, and two, that I let her slip away without getting her contact information. Sure, it should be easy enough for me to access the student roster for the students at any academy…even if Annika didn't specify which one. If she is trying to get her grades up, or add new subjects to her portfolio, to increase her chance to join the elite scientist at Daystroms.
Stepping out of my shower, I frown as I feel myself flinch at the view of San Francisco from my window on the 112th floor. My old house was gone, sold when everyone at Starfleet thought I was dead along with the rest of my crew. I wouldn't have wanted to go back there anyway. My dog, Molly, died six months before our return, and that made it too, hard. She was only three when I left, I never got to see her puppies or help decide who would get to buy one of them. She could have lived to be twenty years old if someone had paid attention enough to notice she was not doing well. And by someone, I mean Mark. He dared to be at the first meet and greet when we were transported from orbit to the camp set up for us. How he figured bringing his wife would be a fantastic idea, I'll never know. I simply nodded, thanked him for coming, and then spent the evening hugging my mother and sister.
I wrap a robe around me and sit down at my desk.
"Computer. Look up information about Annika Hansen, a science student, age between twenty-five and thirty."
"Cadet Annika Elisabeth Hansen, born on Deep Space 4 science station, to Erin and Magnus Hansen, both doctors of exobiology, in 2350. Cadet Hansen's parents left DS4 in 2024 on a grant to study the Borg Collective, an endeavor that resulted in their mysterious disappearance. After ten years without sign of life, the Hansens were declared dead. Cadet Hansen moved to Earth where she was placed in the custody of her father's older sister."
The computer stops and I glare at it. "Go on."
"There is no information regarding subject Cadet Annika Hansen between 2370 and 2376."
What? I get up and pace between the living area window to the door and back again. What had happened to Annika then? Even the most clandestine events were available to me as an admiral with ever-growing security level clearance. I was certainly privy to civilians' information.
"Is there truly no record of where she was and why at that time slot?" I pull off my robe and begin dressing. I'm not too fond of putting on my dress uniform to schmoose at some party but today is different. Vital. I need to make sure the part of my crew that originates from the Maquis, the rebels that fought against the Cardassians after the war ended, have their record scrubbed. I have several admirals on my side, spearheaded by Admiral Paris, Tom's father. Tom Paris, whom I plucked from prison and made a provisional lieutenant in the Delta Quadrant seven years ago. Admiral Paris's gratitude will facilitate everything I need to be done if humanly possible. Starfleet brass aren't stupid. They know Voyager is still golden when it comes to popularity throughout the Alpha Quadrant.
"Computer. Continue from 2376." I listen intently as I walk over to the vanity and begin putting on makeup. Rather than using a derma wand and making herself look perfect, I prefer some eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, the old-fashioned way. Having grown up in Bloomington, Indiana to a traditionalist mother and an Admiral father, no wonder I'm full of contradictions.
The latest one being utterly amazed and enthralled by Annika Hansen, jazz singer by night, science student by day.
"Annika Hansen reappeared in records in early 2376, and resumed living with her relative, until she had the means to rent a studio apartment in San Francisco. There, after several aptitude tests, necessary to make up for never attending university, she enrolls in Star Fleet, specializing in Transwarp Field Theory and Cognitive Augmentation. Ms. Hansen has so far received the highest marks in Transwarp Field Theory and Cognitive Augmentation. She has yet to conquer the same grades when it comes to Team-based Operation Efficacy.
Ms. Hansen has received a promise of a full scholarship if she ends up qualifying for the Daystrom Institute Entry Level course."
I don't know what the latter entails. Even as a scientist, I was always going to space, with my eyes on commanding a spaceship one day. I would have perished being stuck in a lab, even on a spaceship—even if I did enjoy getting my hands dirty now and then in the Delta Quadrant.
"Computer. What are Cadet Annika Hansen's current credentials at Star Fleet Academy?" I attach my new insignia, which I have yet to get used to along with the rank of admiral, and begin using a new tool for doing one's hair—which makes me truly nervous as it is remarkably similar to the operating part of a Borg surgical arm.
"Cadet Hansen's entry aptitude tests to Star Fleet have shown a far above average understanding of theoretical physics, advanced mathematics, and cybernetics. Her spatial reasoning and problem-solving skills were noted as exceptional, surpassing even Starfleet Academy averages…" The computer continues to list how Annika is emotionally challenged when it comes to joint assignments and in communicating with fellow students. "While her academic performance is exemplary, her interpersonal interactions are often described as direct and occasionally lacking in social nuance."
I don't ask for examples, as there has to be an end to such intrusiveness, and besides, getting flagged by some student counselor for attempting to enter personal information that goes beyond grades or occupational matters is not going to be in my favor the next time I—
I stop myself from completing the sentence and check the PADD next to the computer. My ride is waiting for me downstairs and I send a message telling the driver to ascend to my balcony. Sure, I could take the lift down, but that'd be a rookie mistake. I know now that the risk of sharing the lift with a Voyager aficionado who has followed our fate in detail since they heard we were indeed alive. The woman whom I spent such quality time with in the lift last time, had gushed over me to a degree where I feared she might propose to me before we reached ground level.
The whirring sound of the small hover taxi brings me out of my reverie, and I lock my computer before I check that I wear the new combadge that gives me access to the inner regions of Star Fleet headquarters.
#
After entering Star Fleet and being scanned as if they suspect me to be one of the Founders. I had read up on the species, the shapeshifters, and remembered meeting Odo, the constable on Deep Space 9, where Voyager had been moored before heading toward the Badlands in pursuit of Chakotay's ship. Odo had been gruff, but trustworthy, and the idea that he could turn into pretty much anything, even an inanimate object, had fascinated me.
The scanner consists of five parts, reading my bio-signature, and scanning for any contaminant, viruses, or contraband. The last arch hums in a way that makes my teeth ache, and I know why. This scanner looks for any chroniton emissions. I know that the time ship Relativity doesn't make itself known, or if it does, it erases those memories for the most part. That said, some of my adventures in the Delta Quadrant has allowed me to retain some of the memories, and the first time I was subjected to a chroniton scan, the alarms went off as if I was carrying a weapon of mass distraction.
This time, I'm fairly certain it's added into my file that I'm no danger to anyone, despite my illegal chroniton emission value. I go through and continue into the auditorium. There are going to be a couple of hopefully interesting seminars before the schmoozing begins, and this is the part that I look forward too.
I find my seat—on the first row, what do you know—and sit down next to Admiral Paris. He squeezes my hand warmly.
"Good to see you again, Admiral. I just came back from my visit with Tom and B'Elanna. Not to mention my granddaughter." His blue eyes glitter. "She's going to be a handful, I can tell already."
"Just like her mother." I chuckle, thinking back to how many times I've butted heads with B'Elanna. And how many times she's saved Voyager—i.e., us all. B'Elanna is one of the reasons that the Maquis stands a chance of avoiding even more rigorous interrogations in the hands of Section 31, Star Fleet's clandestine branch. After meeting his daughter-in-law and his granddaughter, he had taken it upon himself to fight for B'Elanna and the rest of Chakotay's crew.
"Ain't that the truth." Admiral Paris snorts. "I asked what I thought was an innocent question, and she was in my face, snarling at me while challenging me to a bat'leth fight."
"To the death?" I raise an eyebrow.
"No. Just to first blood. I won't lie. Part of me wanted to take her on, because I find the bat'leth such a contradictive weapon. Elegant and crude at the same time." Admiral Paris shook his head. "The presence of their baby girl put that thought to bed. Perhaps for the best."
"Perhaps." I nod, but can't hide a broad grin. Miral Paris has changed her parents' lives forever like children tend to do. And even if B'Elanna will no doubt simply rip the head off anyone who might be stupid enough to place any of her family units in jeopardy, it's still going to be different.
The vast auditorium fills behind us and I get a weird sense of vertigo when I turn to look up the steep rows of seats. This auditorium holds four thousand individuals and is almost at full capacity.
"Great turnout," Admiral Paris says "The topics vary, but the keynote speaker is especially interesting. This cadet is not about to go into space, as I understand it, but their approach to their topic is promising. You should find it right up your alley, Kathryn."
Interested now, I settle in more into my seat and bless whoever decides to lower the lights overhead. I had poured over my computer at work for days, and it doesn't take much to ignite one of my headaches.
A tall woman that I recognized as one of my peers at the academy back in the day, Commodore Angelini, strode over to the podium. She raised her hand when cadets in the back began to applaud enthusiastically.
"Calm down. This is not a concert." She sent the nosebleed section a mock glare. "Although, the way our first contributor is changing the way we regard this topic, she will become a star in her field. Or, should I say fields? Cadet Hansen joined the academy two years ago to ensure the degrees she needs to further her research."
Cadet Hansen? I flinch but also realize that there are more people in the world name Hansen than Annika.
"She will discuss her groundbreaking cognitive augmentation research and its potential applications in the study of cybernetic life forms and highly advanced civilizations, such as the Founders, Species 8472, the Borg, and the Q. I believe her comparisons to Khan Noonien Singh and his following offers a particularly enlightening perspective." Commodore Angelini takes me by surprise by motioning to me. I believe her comparisons to Khan Noonien Singh and his following offer a particularly enlightening perspective." Commodore Angelini takes me by surprise, motioning towards Admiral Janeway. "I would imagine that our own Admiral Janeway, finally back where she belongs, has valuable insights to share with Cadet Hansen, having learned 'on the job,' as it were."
Now the cadets in the back go crazy and even whistle and I return Angelini's bright eyes with a level ten death glare of my own, but it's too dark where I sit as it has no effect.
"Join me in welcoming Cadet Annika Hansen."
Oh. Fuck. I swallow hard as a completely different Annika than the one I met at the Voyager party. This Annika has her hair in a much more severe twist, wears a uniform like my own, but with science blue where mine is command red. She strides along the stage and it's obvious that she's used to performing. She leaves out the sensuality she had displayed when singing, but her voice, that low alto timbre is unmistakable.
This is the woman that kissed me, and whose lips I devoured on the balcony under the stars. As long as she wasn't a peer of sort, I could imagine being my being overwhelmed was just that. A temporary bout of insanity where I allowed my firm grip of my command mask to slip. Now I see her, dressed like me, no matter her position, and her intelligence is undeniable as she locks her eyes on me for a few moments. She raises her left eyebrow and I think I see the tiniest of smile before she starts her presentation on the large screen behind her.
And this is when I know that no matter what happens afterward, I'm forever changed.
Continued in part 3