Homecoming - Christie Golden [26]
“I was quite jealous, you know,” she said, cutting to the chase.
Janeway looked over at the younger woman. “Really?”
[74] She nodded her head earnestly. “Really. It was always Kathryn this, Kathryn that. He had such a great relationship with you that it was like you were always present, even when it was just the two of us.”
Janeway put her elbows on the table and regarded the young woman intently. “I’m no threat to you, Carla.”
“Oh!” Carla’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, Kathryn, no, that’s not what I meant! I meant that you seemed like such a wonderful person that I was jealous of Mark for having been so close to you. I wished I’d known you, too. I wished I’d had a Kathryn Janeway to go to with all my problems. And now—well, look at you! You’re a hero, and my house is a mess and my soufflé fell!”
No wonder Mark had fallen in love with this beautiful woman. What a generous spirit she had. On impulse, Janeway rose and embraced her. Carla enthusiastically returned the hug. Mark returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and grinned at the sight.
“You’re a lucky man, Mark Johnson,” said Janeway, pulling apart a little way from Carla. The younger woman’s eyes shone with pleasure.
“Yes,” he said, looking from one of them to the other. “Yes, I certainly am.”
She hadn’t wanted to leave, and it was clear that Mark and Carla didn’t want her to, either. They even offered her the guest bedroom as the night grew late and threw in a tempting offer of homemade waffles for breakfast, but she declined. When she transported out, to rematerialize in the strange, unfamiliar apartment, Janeway wished she had accepted their generous [75] invitation. Tonight, with Mark and her new, wonderful friend Carla, was the first time she felt really “at home.”
As she puttered about, delaying getting into the strange bed, she realized what it was that made her so reluctant to claim this space as her own. She missed Voyager. She missed the sounds of the vessel, the feel of the chairs and the bed, the wide starfield that she would often gaze at for a long time before finally drifting off into a restless sleep.
It was late, almost two in the morning. Yet, she sat down and tapped the small viewscreen on the table. The sound would be soft, she knew. If he didn’t want to answer, he wouldn’t have to. No insistent combadges, not anymore.
His face appeared on the screen. Like her, he was fully dressed and seemed wide awake. “Hi,” he said, smiling.
“Hi,” she said feeling her own lips stretch into a grin.
“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Chakotay.
“Nope.”
“Funny, me neither.”
“Too quiet. No Borg attacks at all.”
“Know what you mean. And no starfields to go to sleep by.”
She shook her head.
“Want to come over for some coffee?” he asked.
“The real stuff?”
“But of course. That’s half the reason we came home, isn’t it?” His smile faded slightly.
“What is it?” Janeway asked. Over the last seven years, she had learn to recognize every expression that flitted over that dark, handsome face.
“I’m planning on taking a trip shortly,” he said. “A [76] very important one. I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me.”
Seven felt awkward sitting doing nothing in the shuttle. She was more used to piloting them than being a passenger in them, and the nervousness the young ensign displayed only added to her discomfort.
Nearly everyone else aboard Voyager had some relative or friend they were staying with who had been at the banquet. The only contact Seven had was her Aunt Irene, who was ill and unable to attend. When Admiral Paris had learned of this, he had made a gallant show of having one of his protégés formally escort her to her aunt’s home in the country. Seven protested, saying that she could simply use a transporter. Paris would have none of that. And when Chakotay offered her a lift instead, Seven had decided to accept Admiral Paris’s offer. Now she wasn’t so certain.
“It really is an honor to be the one selected to escort you home, ma’am,” said the youth. His voice didn’t quite break, but he was certainly more a boy than a man.