Starlight and Lullabies
By Ralkana

Disclaimer – I don’t own them; Paramount does. If I owned them, I think they’d have been much, much happier.

Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

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I stare out the viewport, watching the stars streak by. Though I’m definitely no stranger to insomnia, this particular bout has caught me by surprise. I’ve been able to sleep through the night peacefully for about a year and a half now, but tonight is different. The reason for my usual peace is right beside me—as always—and the reason for my unusual insomnia is in the next room.

I hear his breathing change as he shifts next to me. Careful not to wake me, he removes his arms from around me, sitting up slowly and easing himself off the bed. Though I’m expecting him to pad toward the bathroom, it really doesn’t surprise me when his steps veer in the other direction. I should have known where he was heading.

The movement from the other room stills, and my natural curiosity—my sister would call it nosiness—gets the better of me. Carefully, just as quietly as he did, I get up and tiptoe to the doorway, popping my head around it for a peek. The tableau brings tears to my eyes.

He is standing, simply watching her sleep, and the streaking starlight plays off his bronze back. His dark hands rest on the ornately carved cradle—carved by his own hands, from wood of a source unknown to me—and his sleep-tousled head is bowed, as if in reverence.

Though I cannot see his eyes, I know without a doubt how they appear. Obsidian pools, filled with love and wonder and joy. I have seen that look in those eyes often; they are usually my first sight in the morning, and always welcome. How lucky she is that they will be her first sight in the morning, too.

She stirs and begins to fuss, and quick as a flash, her tiny form is cradled in those large hands. Though my instincts pull me forward, I force myself to stay still; I want to watch him with her. She quiets immediately, and I feel a sense of wonder… and a pang of jealousy. She never calms down that quickly for me, and I’m the one with the food. He’s such an amazing father, just as I knew he would be, but there’s more to it; they seem to share a connection not of this world.

He is walking now, softly, up and down the room, but his gaze is still fixed on her. His sure steps are so different from the angry pacing I know used to occur here, before the wall between the two rooms was breached. I don’t like to think too much about that time; it seems so long ago, and the memories are those of a woman who no longer exists.

He is singing to her now, and his voice is soft and beautiful. I close my eyes and let it wash over me, and then I realize—I can’t understand what he is singing. He is singing to our daughter in the language of his people, which he so rarely uses. My tears fall freely now, and I clamp a hand over my mouth and draw back, away from the sight. Odd—he is, after all, my husband and she is our child—but the moment seems so precious and so private, and I feel… like an intruder.

The singing and the movement stops, and I can hear her grow fussy again. I slowly look around the doorframe, and he is staring straight at me, with no evidence of surprise. There is laughter in his eyes and in his voice, and in the shining starlight I can see tears on his cheeks.

"You can come out now… I think she wants Mommy."

Her hand is grasping at his smooth chest and she is burrowing her head into his skin, seeking something not to be found there. Echoing his laughter, I step forward and he hands her to me, his hand on the small of my back, guiding us to the sofa. I watch her as she settles herself, and my earlier unease—the feeling that kept sleep at bay—returns, softly.

"Kathryn?"

I look up, and he is watching us with that familiar look in his eyes. But there is something else there… confusion, perhaps?

"Hmm?"

"Why were you hiding?"

I chuckle, careful not to disturb our daughter. I should have known I couldn’t hide my presence from him.

"How long did you know I was there?"

"I heard you get up. I’m sorry if I woke you."

"No, love, you didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep."

The concern in his eyes deepens, and wanting to reassure him, I continue quickly.

"I’m fine, really. I’m just… worried. We’re still so far from Earth, Chakotay, and you know this isn’t exactly the friendliest area of the galaxy. What if something happens? I’ve always worried about my ship and my crew—and definitely about you, always about you—but this is so different. This fear is almost… paralyzing. I worried about her before she was born, but now that she’s here…"

He sighs, carefully gathering his women in his arms. "I know, love. I worry too. Why do you think I was watching her? But you can’t let worries about the future distract you from living and enjoying the present. We have each other, and we have a beautiful daughter. She has a strong and loving mother and an absolutely adoring father, and an extended family of 150 people who would do anything for her. As for Voyager, well, life in this quadrant has prepared her crew for pretty much anything, and we just have to trust that we are as ready as we can be. We’ve lived through everything life has thrown at us so far, and we’ll continue to do so as long as we’re meant to. Relax, and let us love you; we’ll deal with everything else as it comes along."

I exhale, feeling the stress leave me as he strokes my arms. He knows me so incredibly well, knows exactly what to say when I’m in doubt. What did I ever do to earn such a wonderful, loving man and such a beautiful daughter? I follow his advice and try to relax, physically, mentally, emotionally; I’m so content that when he speaks again, it startles me slightly.

"You didn’t answer my question, Kathryn. Why were you hiding from your daughter, from me?"

"I… I don’t really know. It seemed like something… private, between you and her, and I didn’t want to… intrude."

He sighs again, and when I look into his eyes, I can see love there, and… pain?

"Kathryn, we’re a family. There is nothing that we cannot share—" He inhales sharply as I run my hand suggestively up his bare chest, quirking my eyebrow at him.

"No fair, woman. Stop trying to distract me. How much longer did the Doctor say?"

"Two weeks. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready now—"

"No, Kathryn. Not when it’s your health at stake. Now, what was I saying, before I was so craftily thrown off course? Okay, there is almost nothing we cannot share as a family. I was content to let you watch that time, until you disappeared. But I was singing her a story of family, my love, and it’s something I want to share with you too. I’ll teach it to you, so that we can sing it to her together."

"No."

My answer surprises me, and I can see that he is stunned, and somewhat hurt.

"Kathryn? Why not?"

"Oh, Chakotay, I’d love to know what the words mean; by all means, tell me that. But I won’t ever sing it to her… I couldn’t do it justice. It’s something that’s from your people to her, and you should definitely teach her that half of her heritage. I have plenty of my own lullabies to sing to her, and I want her to know that she comes from two different, equal worlds. More than that, I want Neelix to sing her Talaxian lullabies, and Chell to sing her Bolian ones. I want B’Elanna to sing her Klingon songs, if she’s willing, and I want Tuvok—well, I guess Vulcan lullabies are out of the question, but you know what I mean. I want her to know that even if we never reach the alpha quadrant, she has a home here, on this ship, with the very large extended family that loves her. And so do we."

His smile suddenly brightens the room—not a teasing grin, but a real smile, joyous and open and somewhat disbelieving, and I know why. Though I have felt it for quite a long time, this is the first time I have admitted aloud that this ship, so far from the planet where I was born, is home now. As I sit here, staring once again at the streaking starlight, surrounded by the warmth and love of my family, I know that what I feel is true. We will continue toward Earth, the same as we always have, but somehow, what we have here is more home than what waits for us there. And finally, that thought brings contentment and peace.