Chapter Text
Being an admiral certainly has its perks.
Kathryn leans back in her desk chair, a fresh cup of coffee sitting warmly between her hands, listening to her assistant rattle off the day’s agenda. Nowhere on the list of today’s activities is there a near-death experience with the Borg, a desperate negotiation for supplies, a battle for survival in hostile space.
Instead, there’s her favorite beverage and sunlight through the windows and the sharp young Bajoran, Torsa Elro, who has been assigned to her in the two months since she’s been home.
“Your 0900 should be here shortly, Admiral,” Torsa says diligently, her back ramrod straight as she stands with her hands clasped behind her back.
They haven’t been working together that long, but Kathryn already has nothing but admiration for the young Bajoran ensign. She’s intuitive and hardworking, but also willing to voice her opinion honestly and articulately when asked. They’ve slipped into a comfortable working relationship, and Kathryn honestly can’t imagine how she’d manage the bombardment of requests for her time without Torsa to manage the chaos.
A ship is only as good as its second in command.
It's a thought that has her nearly sloshing coffee from her cup. Damn it. Her throat closes as dark eyes and a dimpled smile flash through her mind. It hurts just as much as it did yesterday. And the day before that.
Torsa is wise enough not to ask if she’s alright. She just waits, patiently, giving Kathryn a moment before continuing on.
Someday, the memories will fade. Or so her Starfleet therapist tells her. She’ll be able to sleep through the night without dreams, go entire weeks without being caught in the strangling clutch of a memory.
Have a conversation with her former first officer without her heart shattering to pieces.
Not today though.
Today, she closes her eyes for a long moment, counts to ten, and opens them again. There’s only the face of her assistant and the serene interior of her office. And she pulls forth the steadiness to continue on with her day. Until the next time by word or by deed she’s back on the deck of Voyager, staring down the barrel of death with a crew she’d die for. A man she thought she’d live for.
Setting her jaw, Kathryn nods in confirmation of her upcoming appointment, taking a long sip of coffee. The hot liquid spreads warmth though her belly, grounding her in this place, this moment.
It is, after all, a big day. Or what counts as a big day in the land of meetings and luncheons and treaties. This morning she is supposed to meet with the captain who will head the training of a crew that will, eventually, return to the Delta Quadrant.
She’s not entirely sure how she feels about it yet.
There’s a part of her that strains against the idea of being the one who prepares others for an adventure, instead of the one about to embark on it. Just as there’s another part this is unfailingly relieved to finally have dirt beneath her feet again.
“When the captain arrives, just tell him to come right in. I’ll be reviewing some files while I wait. Thank you.” She smiles appreciatively at Torsa and watches her leave.
Time to get to work.
The messages on her comm are mostly business, but there is one that makes her frown. It's from Seven of Nine, and it's as cryptic as it is brief. Guilt crawls along her neck as she realizes she hasn’t spoken to Seven in nearly a month, since shortly after debriefings ended. And this is not the first call that she hasn’t returned.
Seven is fine, she reasons with herself. Even if the young woman is in need of something, Chakotay will always look out for her. He has that way about him, that need to take care of others.
He brings them coffee. Builds them bathtubs.
Enough. Enough thinking about him.
She does make a mental note to reach out to Seven this weekend. Seven has been on DS9, and their schedules would likely not sync up on the days she is in the office anyway. It would be silly to call her today.
Saturday. She’ll call on Saturday.
As the chronometer inches toward 0900, Kathryn grabs a PADD and begins to scroll through the myriad of files that have been sent to her. She finds the one she’s looking for at the bottom, marked with a rank number. It's the information on the captain who’s been assigned to lead Starfleet's first planned mission to the Delta Quadrant. His or her identity was kept fiercely under wraps, and the selection process has been, from what Kathryn was told, grueling to say the least.
Her index finger is hovering over the file when her door slides open with a quiet woosh.
Automatically, she stands, placing her mug and PADD on the desk to greet whoever it is. Thank god she does, because she needs both hands to keep herself upright.
She feels light headed as her heart begins to pound so hard she’s sure she could see it if she looked down at her chest. A tingling numbness settles into her fingers and toes, a tinny ringing filling her ears.
Surely she’s lost her mind.
Familiar blue eyes and dark sandy hair, broad shoulders that she rested her head on so many times. God, he’s just the way she remembers him, just the way he comes to her in her dreams.
Katie, I love you. Marry me.
The room tilts and wavers in front of her eyes, the form standing in her office blurring like a mirage. A ghost.
“Justin.”
************
She’s gripping the back of her chair so hard her fingers ache, trying to keep her knees from buckling.
Justin. Justin. Justin.
He’s right in front of her, and he looks so much like he did when she last saw him. But as her pulse slams like a drumbeat and she feels her heart trying to leap out of her chest, realization forces its way through her tumbling thoughts.
Something isn't quite right.
He’s different.
He’s different because it's not him.
The young man takes a step toward her, concern written across his handsome features, and it’s all she can do not to shrink back from him.
He’s dressed in the familiar red and black of command, immaculately pressed and buttoned and standing in the middle of her office. At once she recognizes the air of a seasoned officer in his stance, his carriage.
It’s not the rogue rakishness of a ranger. This man is Fleet.
“Admiral Janeway, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s Jackson. Jackson Tighe”
Oh.
Of course.
She can see the differences now. The eyes aren’t quite the right shade of blue, more green than cobalt. The face is a little leaner, the cheekbones more pronounced.
And he's too young, and not just in years. There's no scar on his left cheek. No suspicious narrowing of his eyes.
It's Justin’s brother.
“Jackson …of course."
Of course I thought you were your dead brother and just nearly fainted in the middle of my office.
"I apologize, I haven’t had breakfast and I was just so surprised.” Much to her own surprise, she says it with barely a quiver to her voice, quickly smoothing the rawness in her throat.
Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. What a fool she's making of herself. It’s been over twenty years. She survived seven years in a hostile quadrant to melt at the feet of a young captain at headquarters?
Honestly.
“I am a few minutes early. I’m so sorry I caught you off guard. Your assistant told me to come right in.”
Told him to come right in?
Kathryn studies him, feeling her equilibrium return. He’s so much older than the last time she saw him. When Justin died he was a kid really. Is he 15 years younger? Eighteen? It must be close to that. She can’t remember exactly, only calling to mind the tear-streaked face of a sandy haired boy at the funeral, watching her with anguished blue eyes. A boy just on the brink of manhood. The image makes a lump rise in her throat.
“You’re Starfleet,” she says slowly, her eyes counting the pips on his collar.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her mind still feels hazy, and her heart is pounding, albeit more slowly, in her ears. She’s struggling to put all the pieces together.
“I am. Have been for a long time now. ”
He’s a captain. Here. Oh god.
He’s the captain leading the mission to the Delta Quadrant.
Flushing, she straightens up, ignoring the way his face still wavers a bit in her vision. She’s making an utter fool out of herself.
“You’re the captain who will be heading the return to the Delta Quadrant?” She phrases it as a question even though she already knows the answer.
“I am. It's a little embarrassing how excited I am to get the assignment. There were at least a dozen who signed up. Not entirely sure how I was lucky enough to be chosen.” He flashes a wide grin at her and Kathryn finds herself managing a small smile in return.
That damn Tighe charm clearly didn’t skip this one.
Bolstered by his easy demeanor, she feels the tightness in her shoulders loosen just a bit.
“I had no idea you’d even joined Starfleet. I’m delighted to be working with you.”
There, much more professional.
She extends a hand across the desk and clasps his firmly, ignoring the warmth that spreads up her arm, the jitters in her stomach. Internally, she’s dying to study his file, to find out what he’s been up to all these years.
The confidence he radiates falters for just a moment, his eyes turning warm with compassion, “I was hoping it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you. Given Justin and…”
Kathryn waves a hand dismissively, “Of course not. That was a long time ago.”
And yet, she still remembers every detail. Even now she swears she can smell the fuel in the air around them, hear the crunch and screech of twisting metal grating against sucking ice.
She switches gears immediately, “Would you care for some coffee?”
Jackson relaxes again, his shoulders settling with a hint of the cocky tilt she knows too well, and nods. “Absolutely. I’m only two cups deep today. I operate on a four cup minimum, personally.”
As Kathryn moves to order some up from her replicator, she watches him fold his lanky frame into one of her chairs. With her equilibrium returned, she wonders what this will be like, working with Justin’s brother. What kind of man is he?
How different is he from the man she loved? How different is she from when she loved his brother?
Once the coffee is poured and the awkwardness begins to fade, the meeting goes well. It's just the usual introductions, though those are hardly needed in this case, and she learns about his career in Starfleet to this point. They begin to discuss a few names on the potential crew roster, and also trade stories about their families. Despite her initial shock, it's easy and delightful talking with Jackson. While his mannerisms echo Justin in many ways, he’s articulate, insightful, and sharp in his own right.
"I'd like your input on the crew," he says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, the hand gripping his mug resting on his knee.
She's genuinely surprised. Her assignment is to train, to educate, to help plan the mission. The crew isn't hers to choose or command.
"I've been given free reign to pick from the approved applicants, but I told Headquarters it would be a joint effort."
"I -I'm flattered you want my opinion. But why? You must have people you know. People you want on your ship."
He looks contemplative, his other hand coming to rub the shin crossed over his knee.
"Did you know anyone on Voyager before your mission?"
He knows the answer. It's well published.
"Yes. Tuvok."
"One man. One of 150. Yet those people came together like they had served together since the academy. They would have died for each other."
She has to break from the intensity of his eyes then, looking at the maple tree that soars outside her window.
"Yes," she says softly, "they would have. We would have."
"That's what makes a mission of this length, this level of risk, work well. That bond. I want you to help me find it."
She nearly objects, says it's impossible. But he's so sincere, so passionate.
He understands.
"Alright then. I'll do my best. No promises."
By the time they’re done and he extends his hand again to clasp hers, any sense of unease has fled. For the first time since coming home, she’s truly excited about her position as an Admiral.
“Admiral, it's been a pleasure. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be involved in this assignment.” Jackson raises his mug in appreciation with his other hand, draining the last swallow, before putting it on her desk, “Excellent coffee, by the way.”
“Likewise, Captain. We’ll meet Monday to assess the files of the crew?”
“I’ll look forward to that.” He nods and releases her fingers, smiling broadly before turning to leave.
He strides out of her office with a swagger that’s so familiar it nearly takes her breath away. There’s a lingering energy in the air after he leaves. She remembers for a moment, a young cadet who was fearless and wild and untouched by loss and heartbreak. The person she used to be.
It's a memory tinged with a sweet bitterness that ebbs down to her soul.
But the feeling passes quickly enough. Running her hand over her forehead, she settles back in her chair with a PADD propped in her hand. She pulls up the file for Jackson Tighe, and begins to read.