![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Title:Home
Author: Rina
Rating: G
Summary: In the few times she allowed herself to imagine making it home, Kathryn Janeway expected to feel so much more than she did now.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager, its characters, and settings are the property of Paramount Pictures. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I make no profit from writing or sharing this.
A/N: Written for
ladykatyjane. This originally came to me as the short, quick scene it has ended up being but soon thereafter became the opening scene to a longer J/C fic, specifically a tie-in to Isabo's Shirt by Kirsten Beyer. I have my doubts that story will ever happen, though, as longer stories just aren't my forte and my inspiration for writing Voyager fan fiction is waning. Maybe someday I'll write the rest of the story (never say never), but for now, this scene can stand on it's own and it's time to let it out into the wild.
--
In the few times she allowed herself to imagine making it home, Kathryn Janeway expected to feel so much more than she did now. She never counted on feeling so unsettled, so neutral. Seven years of being alone in the Delta Quadrant with all the close calls, either just missing their chance or not being able to complete a mission with success, occasionally making great strides in their journey but often swallowing the bitter pill of failure, and this time they succeeded.
"We made it."
Even as she moved and spoke normally, she couldn't shake the feeling that time should be moving faster. She stood in the middle of her bridge, still tense from their battle as she stared ahead at the viewscreen. It wasn't processing quite yet, not even with half the fleet before her.
It still failed to register even as she spoke with Owen Paris. Even as some disconnected part of her noted how aged he seemed now and even as she cut off his questions, she felt like she was moving in slow motion.
"It'll all be in my report."
Somehow, at that moment, the whole thing seemed anticlimactic in spite of the fact that their arrival was anything but that. She knew she ought to feel joyous, accomplished, excited. She should be bursting with pride for her crew. She would see her family soon. Why didn't she feel thrilled about that? And where was the relief she thought she would feel from having this burden finally lifted from her? Instead, an unsettling numbness overtook her.
She murmured her thanks to Admiral Janeway, meaning it more on behalf of her crew than from herself.
"Sickbay to Lieutenant Paris." The doctor interrupted her musings. "There's someone here who'd like to say hello."
Time suddenly sped up when she heard the whimpers through the comm system.
Finally feeling the first niggling of something, she gave Paris a genuine smile when he turned to look back at her in awe as the cries of his newborn daughter resonated over the comm.
"You'd better get down there, Tom."
As Tom rushed off the bridge, she turned and asked Chakotay to take the helm in Tom's absence before settling into her chair and fixing her gaze on the viewscreen. Her world still seemed off kilter, but a small piece within her seemed to aright itself as she gazed once again at that blue marble.
"Set a course . . . for home."
Home. She was home.
Author: Rina
Rating: G
Summary: In the few times she allowed herself to imagine making it home, Kathryn Janeway expected to feel so much more than she did now.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager, its characters, and settings are the property of Paramount Pictures. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I make no profit from writing or sharing this.
A/N: Written for
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
--
In the few times she allowed herself to imagine making it home, Kathryn Janeway expected to feel so much more than she did now. She never counted on feeling so unsettled, so neutral. Seven years of being alone in the Delta Quadrant with all the close calls, either just missing their chance or not being able to complete a mission with success, occasionally making great strides in their journey but often swallowing the bitter pill of failure, and this time they succeeded.
"We made it."
Even as she moved and spoke normally, she couldn't shake the feeling that time should be moving faster. She stood in the middle of her bridge, still tense from their battle as she stared ahead at the viewscreen. It wasn't processing quite yet, not even with half the fleet before her.
It still failed to register even as she spoke with Owen Paris. Even as some disconnected part of her noted how aged he seemed now and even as she cut off his questions, she felt like she was moving in slow motion.
"It'll all be in my report."
Somehow, at that moment, the whole thing seemed anticlimactic in spite of the fact that their arrival was anything but that. She knew she ought to feel joyous, accomplished, excited. She should be bursting with pride for her crew. She would see her family soon. Why didn't she feel thrilled about that? And where was the relief she thought she would feel from having this burden finally lifted from her? Instead, an unsettling numbness overtook her.
She murmured her thanks to Admiral Janeway, meaning it more on behalf of her crew than from herself.
"Sickbay to Lieutenant Paris." The doctor interrupted her musings. "There's someone here who'd like to say hello."
Time suddenly sped up when she heard the whimpers through the comm system.
Finally feeling the first niggling of something, she gave Paris a genuine smile when he turned to look back at her in awe as the cries of his newborn daughter resonated over the comm.
"You'd better get down there, Tom."
As Tom rushed off the bridge, she turned and asked Chakotay to take the helm in Tom's absence before settling into her chair and fixing her gaze on the viewscreen. Her world still seemed off kilter, but a small piece within her seemed to aright itself as she gazed once again at that blue marble.
"Set a course . . . for home."
Home. She was home.