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veronica_richA long time ago, I used to write het because my preferred pairings just happened to BE het - pretty much all in the "Star Trek" worlds. (In fact, the only fandom in which I just read and didn't write anything was also my first slash - Face/Murdock in "The A-Team.") I started out with Data/Tasha and a few years later, moved on to the relatively rare-pair of Janeway/Barclay. This story is about five years old - and there are sequels (in the spirit of "Contradictions"), though I never finished my whole long story-arc on this couple. Bear in mind I haven't changed anything about these since I first posted them elsewhere all those years ago, so feel free to laugh - I don't promise it'll be perfect, just mildly entertaining. *G*
“Breaking Command”
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: “Star Trek: Voyager”
Pairing: Janeway/Barclay
Summary: This takes place after the events in the series finale, “Endgame.” Kathryn Janeway’s spent seven years flying the not-so-friendly skies of the Delta Quadrant but has managed to keep almost everyone alive and the ship intact. Reg Barclay’s spent years working on a way to communicate with and bring the crew home safely before the projected decades-long arrival predicted for them, and succeeded at least partly. Who’s the hero and who’s the worshiper, here?
Disclaimer: All non-original characters are property of Paramount Pictures. No profit is being made, no infringement intended.
“So was there ever a time where you really thought ‘This is it! We’re not going to make it home!’ during your voyage?”
Kathryn Janeway gave the pug-nosed reporter a look that spoke volumes to anyone schooled in Kathrynese — mostly unpleasant, painful ones. No, you moron she wanted to answer. What would make you think that? It was a day in the park. We had so much fun that I was sorry to see it end. And after only seven years! While we’re at it, you deserve a Murrow Award!
The captain maintained her unflappability, however, and pasted on the calm, aloof smile she’d come to appreciate having in her mental store since starting these inane interviews. Crossing her legs and clasping her hands over the top knee, she answered, “There were many times we faced danger and it seemed as though we wouldn’t make it another parsec, let alone all the light-years between there and here. But we took it one day at a time, one crisis at a time, and we managed to pull through as a team.”
She answered a few more questions before time was called by the director. “That’s it, honey,” the middle-aged bearded man signaled to her. “You’re done for today. Thanks a mil.”
Kathryn stood and popped her neck and straightened her back; sitting in that chair for the past hour had given her quite a stiff set of muscles. Hell, sitting in chairs for the past month had given her the stiff back. She wished the publicity would just die down so she could crawl into bed and get a good fortnight of rest and relaxation. Or maybe she’d head to Risa when this was all over and enjoy a week in the Serotonin Springs, soaking and reading smutty old-fashioned paperback novels. Or maybe she’d even spring for a Pleasure Partner while there; heaven only knew how many years it had been since a man had tried anything unseemly with her — and succeeded.
Not counting Q, of course. But it wasn’t the same.
“Just one more interview this week,” she heard off to her left. “Then you can get some sleep over the weekend and be fresh and ready for next week.”
Kathryn opened her left eye and peeked at Julie, her PR manager. The short brunette was also handling appointments and press releases for Chakotay, Seven (They come as a matched set, now Kathryn had to remind herself), Harry, and the Paris family. She was a friendly, sympathetic woman, but it didn’t diminish her ambition or her intention, apparently, to book her number-one client on every talk show between Earth and Deep Space Eight. “I’m tired, Markman,” Kathryn sighed. “Bone-tired. I’m talking, a few days in bed isn’t going to cut it, tired. I need more than a weekend.”
“I know, hon, but you have to cater to your public or they’ll forget all about you.” Julie punched her lightly in the arm. “C’mon, Captain. It isn’t so bad; after seven years at the helm of Voyager surely a few weeks of thumping the talk-show circuit isn’t going to destroy you.”
Right now, I wouldn’t mind being forgotten thought Kathryn wistfully. She knew, however, that the rest of her Voyager family still depended on her somewhat to lead the way, and there were many of them who liked the limelight. Harry, for instance; he absolutely ate up the glitz and glamour. He also had more dates than he could shake a stick at, Kathryn smiled to herself. She didn’t doubt his motives for wanting to be famous at all.
Neelix was another one who loved the camera, though it had few flattering things to say in return about his visage. He was in the process of planning his own cooking show, a sort of New Age feel-good-about-food program. Kathryn just hoped nobody who watched it would actually attempt the recipes he touted, or the network might well be sued off the air even after four hundred years of broadcast success.
“When’s the next one?” she asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Friday. So tomorrow’s a rest day. Enjoy it, and I’ll see you Friday at lunch.” Julie patted her arm, and was gone, leaving Kathryn to walk to the transporter and go home. Except she didn’t feel like going home. She mulled the matter for a moment, then a small smile played on her lips as she decided exactly where she did want to visit.
*****
Pulling himself out from under a console, Reg Barclay sat up and looked around engineering, shaking his head at his newest discovery — a jury-rigged power relay conduit! “How the hell you made it home without just blowing up is beyond me,” he muttered to himself, pulling his long legs under him and getting to his feet.
He’d spent the last month going through Voyager bit by bit and cataloging problems and recommending possible repairs for its overhaul. Pete had put him on the project because he thought Reg probably knew the most about the ship, having pored over her schematics in great and loving detail several times before it actually pulled into the Alpha Quadrant Command’s docking bay. Reg suspected part of it, too, was to get him out of Pete’s hair — figuratively speaking, of course — and on something where he couldn’t annoy his superiors any more than he had to to make weekly status reports.
Reg didn’t really mind this. He liked being left alone with the big ship, liked poking around and discovering her secrets and mysteries. Ever since he’d transferred off the Enterprise he’d felt a bit of a hole in his soul, as though he’d been forced to break up with a particularly accommodating girlfriend just when he was getting to know all her good zones. He’d held a special fondness for the old girl after melding with her central computer on the Cytherian expedition, and had it not been for the vacuum of space, would probably have found a way to go outside and chamois and wax her hull on a regular basis.
Now he headed for the turbolift, needing to get to the bridge to check out a comparable system up there. He checked over his readouts and shook his head again in amazement at the great silver bird and the crew who had brought her home safely, but most of all at the commander who had held them together for seven years through uncertainty and problems even the Enterprise had not had to face.
The door opened and he stepped forward, talking in low tones to himself as he puzzled out a reading, as he always did when faced with a difficult problem. Coming to a conclusion, he looked up briefly and exclaimed, “Re-routed relays!” out loud, feeling triumphant at having solved the momentary puzzle.
He heard a stirring, and someone stood from the command seat, turning to face him. “Well, hello, Lieutenant Commander,” Janeway grinned. “You spot somebody up here I’m not seeing?”
Reg felt himself color and his heart jumped into his throat. Well, hell; he hadn’t known there’d be somebody up here to hear him prattling on to himself. “Ah, n-no, Captain,” he explained. “Just checking some s-standard repairs on the bridge. That go along w-with engineering. S-Sorry to bother you.” He turned to leave the same way he’d come, but she stopped him.
“It’s okay, Reg. I was just leaving.” He turned and watched her sigh, looking around the expansive room. “Just kind of missed the place, is all. Hard to give something up you spent more than a sixth of your life doing, or a place, even.”
He noticed she was wearing a suit, or most of it, anyway — a red straight skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees and a white silk sleeveless blouse tucked into the waistband. He glanced at the command chair and noticed what had to be the jacket tossed over its back. “You don’t h-have to go,” he assured her. “You’re not bothering me at all. And ... I know what y-you mean about giving up a place. It’s difficult.” He gestured around the room as if giving it to her. “So don’t leave on my account. Stay as long as you like.”
She said nothing, but watched as he moved to the Ops console and sat, swinging the control panel a little closer and working at a small door on its side. Reg tried to ignore her presence and concentrated on popping the little door so he could get at the circuitry inside. Finally it yielded, and he leaned forward, pushing it out a little ways to lean over and shine a tiny penlight inside to look for the problem. So intent was he on his task that he didn’t hear footsteps and as a consequence, nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke almost into his right ear. “What’re you working on, there?”
Recovering from the surprise, Reg cleared his throat and gestured at the console’s innards with his light. “It’s a r-relay in engineering that’s controlled up here,” he explained. Sometimes when he knew of what he was speaking, he didn’t stutter so badly. “S-Some of the wires are smoked, need replaced.”
Janeway hunkered down near his seat and shook her head, a rueful grin crossing her features. “That’s the trouble with Kazon, they never give you time to do proper repairs after an attack.” She looked up at Reg. “We were lucky that we were left able to run like hell, usually, after one of their battles.”
He was surprised to feel his nervousness dissipating as she talked to him, letting him know about some of the other mechanical problems he was likely to find with the ship. She was speaking his language now, and he could easily follow and understand this line of conversation. He took mental notes on what she was saying, but a small part of his brain also noticed little things about her — the light touch of plum lipstick on her mouth, the tiny lines around her eyes that crinkled up when she smiled, the intensity of those eyes as she talked about her ship, her beloved Voyager.
“Well,” she sighed, leaning back and placing a hand on his shoulder for support, “guess I’d better get home and feed Cujo.” She gave his shoulder a little shove as she stood, then left her hand there briefly. “Thanks for listening, Reg; sometimes I tend to rattle on about Voyager, but I guess she’s been my best friend for so long I can’t help it.” She cast her eyes down briefly, then back at his. “A lot of people would think I’m strange for it, but you seem to understand.”
He nodded. “More than you know, believe me.”
She patted his shoulder and let her hand slide off. “See you later, LC,” she referred to his new rank again, the extra half-pip he’d received upon Voyager’s safe return, for his part on establishing the communications which had aided it greatly. He glanced back and watched her gather up her jacket, then amble slowly up to the turbolift and step aboard, turning as the doors closed on her.
Turning back to the console, he shook his head and sighed as he considered how pretty she’d looked today and at the memory of the weight of her hand on his shoulder. “No chance in hell, Barclay,” he reminded himself. “Now get back to work or you’ll be at this when you’re ninety.”
*****
Kathyrn gazed down into her hazelnut coffee and swirled it about, thinking it was just about the same color as Reg’s eyes. She’d certainly stared into them enough to know their hue that afternoon, and on a few occasions before. He’d been sympathetic and hadn’t judged her or thought her silly for her attachment to a machine, a conglomeration of nuts and bolts and duranium, and for that alone she would declare him a decent human being.
But there had been other occasions to notice things about him. Probably his shyness was the first thing she remembered about meeting him face-to-face. They’d been communicating via regular e-mail packets for a few years, always in a professional vein, and after the first couple of communiques, they’d grown comfortable enough with one another to let little jokes slip in, little turns of phrase and expressions one wouldn’t usually use with a senior or junior officer — not improper, just not accepted protocol. When he relaxed, he would flash a beautiful smile that showed perfectly straight, white teeth, and his eyes would crinkle in a way she could only term as cute, despite him being roughly the same age as her.
When his hologram had come aboard Voyager, she’d been surprised at how tall he was, and how well-built. In communiques she only ever saw him from the chest up, usually, and concentrated more on the content of what he was telling her than the messenger himself. The hologram had filled out the rest of the picture, revealing a handsome man with nice, broad shoulders, a decent slender physique for middle age, long legs, and — Kathryn chuckled to remember she hadn’t been the only woman to notice this — a great ass. Upon her return to Earth, she had expected a slightly reserved officer who was able to use his charm and humor to captivate the ladies whenever he liked.
What she’d found, of course, was Barclay, a breed all unto himself. Despite being attractive and brilliant, he’d developed almost no confidence in his own worth, and spent most parties holed up in a corner studying plants, according to his friend Deanna Troi. The counselor had told Kathryn this at one of the welcome-home receptions she and other Enterprise officers had attended, surprised as she was to see Voyager crew members seeking Reg out for conversation and advice like he was a long-lost older brother. He’d looked slightly dazed and out of his element, but had been friendly and had eventually seemed to get used to the attention.
“I never thought I’d see the day Barclay willingly came out of his corner,” Deanna had smiled as she sipped her punch. “He never was a social butterfly.”
Kathryn had looked at the dark-eyed woman, surprised by this. “He seems to do pretty well with the crew,” she explained. “For the last few years of our journey, they talked quite highly of him and were eager to finally meet him when we docked. He’s the one who made it possible for them to talk to their families, to regain that connection to home that they thought they’d lost for the rest of their lives.”
“Which is pretty ironic, when you consider Reg doesn’t have family left any longer, alive,” Deanna had noted. “That he would understand how important it is for these people. He’s always had a special something about him that sets him apart from most of the engine jockeys we get on the Enterprise. He doesn’t talk to people much, but it’s like he knows how to do it once he gets going. I never could figure out what holds him back, really.”
Kathryn thought she might know. The same thing that held him back might well be the very same thing that drove her forward to talk to everyone who came across her path. She didn’t have any family left, and as a consequence she sought out the conversation and pleasantry of others to make up for that. She had the feeling Reg had been alone for so long he’d gotten used to it and, in fact, probably felt like it was how he was intended to live. It was a shame, really. He was a nice man and deserved a nice, solid, respectable wife so they could grow old together and be pillars of the community. Unfortunately, Kathryn knew enough about men to know it was rare for a never-married fifty-year-old bachelor to suddenly find a woman and fall into wedded bliss.
“Not my problem,” she finally told herself, shrugging off the idea of playing matchmaker for him; she knew plenty of women, but she had no idea if Reg would appeal to any of them, or vice versa. Reaching across the end table, she picked up her appointment PADD to see what was going on in the next couple of weeks.
*****
Part 2
“Breaking Command”
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: “Star Trek: Voyager”
Pairing: Janeway/Barclay
Summary: This takes place after the events in the series finale, “Endgame.” Kathryn Janeway’s spent seven years flying the not-so-friendly skies of the Delta Quadrant but has managed to keep almost everyone alive and the ship intact. Reg Barclay’s spent years working on a way to communicate with and bring the crew home safely before the projected decades-long arrival predicted for them, and succeeded at least partly. Who’s the hero and who’s the worshiper, here?
Disclaimer: All non-original characters are property of Paramount Pictures. No profit is being made, no infringement intended.
“So was there ever a time where you really thought ‘This is it! We’re not going to make it home!’ during your voyage?”
Kathryn Janeway gave the pug-nosed reporter a look that spoke volumes to anyone schooled in Kathrynese — mostly unpleasant, painful ones. No, you moron she wanted to answer. What would make you think that? It was a day in the park. We had so much fun that I was sorry to see it end. And after only seven years! While we’re at it, you deserve a Murrow Award!
The captain maintained her unflappability, however, and pasted on the calm, aloof smile she’d come to appreciate having in her mental store since starting these inane interviews. Crossing her legs and clasping her hands over the top knee, she answered, “There were many times we faced danger and it seemed as though we wouldn’t make it another parsec, let alone all the light-years between there and here. But we took it one day at a time, one crisis at a time, and we managed to pull through as a team.”
She answered a few more questions before time was called by the director. “That’s it, honey,” the middle-aged bearded man signaled to her. “You’re done for today. Thanks a mil.”
Kathryn stood and popped her neck and straightened her back; sitting in that chair for the past hour had given her quite a stiff set of muscles. Hell, sitting in chairs for the past month had given her the stiff back. She wished the publicity would just die down so she could crawl into bed and get a good fortnight of rest and relaxation. Or maybe she’d head to Risa when this was all over and enjoy a week in the Serotonin Springs, soaking and reading smutty old-fashioned paperback novels. Or maybe she’d even spring for a Pleasure Partner while there; heaven only knew how many years it had been since a man had tried anything unseemly with her — and succeeded.
Not counting Q, of course. But it wasn’t the same.
“Just one more interview this week,” she heard off to her left. “Then you can get some sleep over the weekend and be fresh and ready for next week.”
Kathryn opened her left eye and peeked at Julie, her PR manager. The short brunette was also handling appointments and press releases for Chakotay, Seven (They come as a matched set, now Kathryn had to remind herself), Harry, and the Paris family. She was a friendly, sympathetic woman, but it didn’t diminish her ambition or her intention, apparently, to book her number-one client on every talk show between Earth and Deep Space Eight. “I’m tired, Markman,” Kathryn sighed. “Bone-tired. I’m talking, a few days in bed isn’t going to cut it, tired. I need more than a weekend.”
“I know, hon, but you have to cater to your public or they’ll forget all about you.” Julie punched her lightly in the arm. “C’mon, Captain. It isn’t so bad; after seven years at the helm of Voyager surely a few weeks of thumping the talk-show circuit isn’t going to destroy you.”
Right now, I wouldn’t mind being forgotten thought Kathryn wistfully. She knew, however, that the rest of her Voyager family still depended on her somewhat to lead the way, and there were many of them who liked the limelight. Harry, for instance; he absolutely ate up the glitz and glamour. He also had more dates than he could shake a stick at, Kathryn smiled to herself. She didn’t doubt his motives for wanting to be famous at all.
Neelix was another one who loved the camera, though it had few flattering things to say in return about his visage. He was in the process of planning his own cooking show, a sort of New Age feel-good-about-food program. Kathryn just hoped nobody who watched it would actually attempt the recipes he touted, or the network might well be sued off the air even after four hundred years of broadcast success.
“When’s the next one?” she asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Friday. So tomorrow’s a rest day. Enjoy it, and I’ll see you Friday at lunch.” Julie patted her arm, and was gone, leaving Kathryn to walk to the transporter and go home. Except she didn’t feel like going home. She mulled the matter for a moment, then a small smile played on her lips as she decided exactly where she did want to visit.
*****
Pulling himself out from under a console, Reg Barclay sat up and looked around engineering, shaking his head at his newest discovery — a jury-rigged power relay conduit! “How the hell you made it home without just blowing up is beyond me,” he muttered to himself, pulling his long legs under him and getting to his feet.
He’d spent the last month going through Voyager bit by bit and cataloging problems and recommending possible repairs for its overhaul. Pete had put him on the project because he thought Reg probably knew the most about the ship, having pored over her schematics in great and loving detail several times before it actually pulled into the Alpha Quadrant Command’s docking bay. Reg suspected part of it, too, was to get him out of Pete’s hair — figuratively speaking, of course — and on something where he couldn’t annoy his superiors any more than he had to to make weekly status reports.
Reg didn’t really mind this. He liked being left alone with the big ship, liked poking around and discovering her secrets and mysteries. Ever since he’d transferred off the Enterprise he’d felt a bit of a hole in his soul, as though he’d been forced to break up with a particularly accommodating girlfriend just when he was getting to know all her good zones. He’d held a special fondness for the old girl after melding with her central computer on the Cytherian expedition, and had it not been for the vacuum of space, would probably have found a way to go outside and chamois and wax her hull on a regular basis.
Now he headed for the turbolift, needing to get to the bridge to check out a comparable system up there. He checked over his readouts and shook his head again in amazement at the great silver bird and the crew who had brought her home safely, but most of all at the commander who had held them together for seven years through uncertainty and problems even the Enterprise had not had to face.
The door opened and he stepped forward, talking in low tones to himself as he puzzled out a reading, as he always did when faced with a difficult problem. Coming to a conclusion, he looked up briefly and exclaimed, “Re-routed relays!” out loud, feeling triumphant at having solved the momentary puzzle.
He heard a stirring, and someone stood from the command seat, turning to face him. “Well, hello, Lieutenant Commander,” Janeway grinned. “You spot somebody up here I’m not seeing?”
Reg felt himself color and his heart jumped into his throat. Well, hell; he hadn’t known there’d be somebody up here to hear him prattling on to himself. “Ah, n-no, Captain,” he explained. “Just checking some s-standard repairs on the bridge. That go along w-with engineering. S-Sorry to bother you.” He turned to leave the same way he’d come, but she stopped him.
“It’s okay, Reg. I was just leaving.” He turned and watched her sigh, looking around the expansive room. “Just kind of missed the place, is all. Hard to give something up you spent more than a sixth of your life doing, or a place, even.”
He noticed she was wearing a suit, or most of it, anyway — a red straight skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees and a white silk sleeveless blouse tucked into the waistband. He glanced at the command chair and noticed what had to be the jacket tossed over its back. “You don’t h-have to go,” he assured her. “You’re not bothering me at all. And ... I know what y-you mean about giving up a place. It’s difficult.” He gestured around the room as if giving it to her. “So don’t leave on my account. Stay as long as you like.”
She said nothing, but watched as he moved to the Ops console and sat, swinging the control panel a little closer and working at a small door on its side. Reg tried to ignore her presence and concentrated on popping the little door so he could get at the circuitry inside. Finally it yielded, and he leaned forward, pushing it out a little ways to lean over and shine a tiny penlight inside to look for the problem. So intent was he on his task that he didn’t hear footsteps and as a consequence, nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke almost into his right ear. “What’re you working on, there?”
Recovering from the surprise, Reg cleared his throat and gestured at the console’s innards with his light. “It’s a r-relay in engineering that’s controlled up here,” he explained. Sometimes when he knew of what he was speaking, he didn’t stutter so badly. “S-Some of the wires are smoked, need replaced.”
Janeway hunkered down near his seat and shook her head, a rueful grin crossing her features. “That’s the trouble with Kazon, they never give you time to do proper repairs after an attack.” She looked up at Reg. “We were lucky that we were left able to run like hell, usually, after one of their battles.”
He was surprised to feel his nervousness dissipating as she talked to him, letting him know about some of the other mechanical problems he was likely to find with the ship. She was speaking his language now, and he could easily follow and understand this line of conversation. He took mental notes on what she was saying, but a small part of his brain also noticed little things about her — the light touch of plum lipstick on her mouth, the tiny lines around her eyes that crinkled up when she smiled, the intensity of those eyes as she talked about her ship, her beloved Voyager.
“Well,” she sighed, leaning back and placing a hand on his shoulder for support, “guess I’d better get home and feed Cujo.” She gave his shoulder a little shove as she stood, then left her hand there briefly. “Thanks for listening, Reg; sometimes I tend to rattle on about Voyager, but I guess she’s been my best friend for so long I can’t help it.” She cast her eyes down briefly, then back at his. “A lot of people would think I’m strange for it, but you seem to understand.”
He nodded. “More than you know, believe me.”
She patted his shoulder and let her hand slide off. “See you later, LC,” she referred to his new rank again, the extra half-pip he’d received upon Voyager’s safe return, for his part on establishing the communications which had aided it greatly. He glanced back and watched her gather up her jacket, then amble slowly up to the turbolift and step aboard, turning as the doors closed on her.
Turning back to the console, he shook his head and sighed as he considered how pretty she’d looked today and at the memory of the weight of her hand on his shoulder. “No chance in hell, Barclay,” he reminded himself. “Now get back to work or you’ll be at this when you’re ninety.”
*****
Kathyrn gazed down into her hazelnut coffee and swirled it about, thinking it was just about the same color as Reg’s eyes. She’d certainly stared into them enough to know their hue that afternoon, and on a few occasions before. He’d been sympathetic and hadn’t judged her or thought her silly for her attachment to a machine, a conglomeration of nuts and bolts and duranium, and for that alone she would declare him a decent human being.
But there had been other occasions to notice things about him. Probably his shyness was the first thing she remembered about meeting him face-to-face. They’d been communicating via regular e-mail packets for a few years, always in a professional vein, and after the first couple of communiques, they’d grown comfortable enough with one another to let little jokes slip in, little turns of phrase and expressions one wouldn’t usually use with a senior or junior officer — not improper, just not accepted protocol. When he relaxed, he would flash a beautiful smile that showed perfectly straight, white teeth, and his eyes would crinkle in a way she could only term as cute, despite him being roughly the same age as her.
When his hologram had come aboard Voyager, she’d been surprised at how tall he was, and how well-built. In communiques she only ever saw him from the chest up, usually, and concentrated more on the content of what he was telling her than the messenger himself. The hologram had filled out the rest of the picture, revealing a handsome man with nice, broad shoulders, a decent slender physique for middle age, long legs, and — Kathryn chuckled to remember she hadn’t been the only woman to notice this — a great ass. Upon her return to Earth, she had expected a slightly reserved officer who was able to use his charm and humor to captivate the ladies whenever he liked.
What she’d found, of course, was Barclay, a breed all unto himself. Despite being attractive and brilliant, he’d developed almost no confidence in his own worth, and spent most parties holed up in a corner studying plants, according to his friend Deanna Troi. The counselor had told Kathryn this at one of the welcome-home receptions she and other Enterprise officers had attended, surprised as she was to see Voyager crew members seeking Reg out for conversation and advice like he was a long-lost older brother. He’d looked slightly dazed and out of his element, but had been friendly and had eventually seemed to get used to the attention.
“I never thought I’d see the day Barclay willingly came out of his corner,” Deanna had smiled as she sipped her punch. “He never was a social butterfly.”
Kathryn had looked at the dark-eyed woman, surprised by this. “He seems to do pretty well with the crew,” she explained. “For the last few years of our journey, they talked quite highly of him and were eager to finally meet him when we docked. He’s the one who made it possible for them to talk to their families, to regain that connection to home that they thought they’d lost for the rest of their lives.”
“Which is pretty ironic, when you consider Reg doesn’t have family left any longer, alive,” Deanna had noted. “That he would understand how important it is for these people. He’s always had a special something about him that sets him apart from most of the engine jockeys we get on the Enterprise. He doesn’t talk to people much, but it’s like he knows how to do it once he gets going. I never could figure out what holds him back, really.”
Kathryn thought she might know. The same thing that held him back might well be the very same thing that drove her forward to talk to everyone who came across her path. She didn’t have any family left, and as a consequence she sought out the conversation and pleasantry of others to make up for that. She had the feeling Reg had been alone for so long he’d gotten used to it and, in fact, probably felt like it was how he was intended to live. It was a shame, really. He was a nice man and deserved a nice, solid, respectable wife so they could grow old together and be pillars of the community. Unfortunately, Kathryn knew enough about men to know it was rare for a never-married fifty-year-old bachelor to suddenly find a woman and fall into wedded bliss.
“Not my problem,” she finally told herself, shrugging off the idea of playing matchmaker for him; she knew plenty of women, but she had no idea if Reg would appeal to any of them, or vice versa. Reaching across the end table, she picked up her appointment PADD to see what was going on in the next couple of weeks.
*****
Part 2
