From Afar

By Tracy Thurman

Summary: Voyager's Home, the trial is over. A look at J/C through different
eyes.

Author's Note: This started out as sort of a simple vignette, but got a mind
of its own and became--well, this. Parts of a much longer story I wanted to
do have been added and will become apparent as this is readand has now
become a fait accompli. The idea came to me on a long drive to Chicago one
day and stems from my probably rather naive desire for a happy ending.
Please forgive me for playing somewhat fast and loose with the time line.
All apologies to Roxann Dawson, but smock notwithstanding, she was pregnant
all last season and that vision sort of stuck in my head. This is my first
attempt at this, so although I welcome any and all comments and constructive
criticism, please be gentle. I am a terrible wimp.

Disclaimer: To borrow a great disclaimer from someone else: These characters
belong to Paramount in fact and to us in fantasy. They also belong to the
wonderful actors who bring them to life. "Voyager" and "Star Trek" likewise
property of Paramount. I'm just borrowing them for a bit, and promise not to
scuff them much before I return them. No copyright infringement intended.
This was written for the fun and enjoyment of the author, and hopefully the
people who read it. No profit was, or will ever be made on it

_____________________________________________________________

I recognized *him* the minute I saw him. I had finally escaped the office
early that afternoon in an attempt to get some actual work done. The
constant interruptions had made it impossible to concentrate, so I'd grabbed
my computer and fled. Avoiding my usual haunts near the academy, I found
myself in front of this restaurant, a place I'd frequented a time or two,
while sort of aimlessly walking the streets, trying to decide on a place I
could settle in and work.

The restaurant was not the usual place people came to grab the odd cup of
coffee, it was a bit more formal than that, but I knew one of my staff would
have tracked me down in about five minutes if I'd gone to any of my usual
places. Figuring they'd never think to look here, I ducked in and ordered a
pot of coffee

The place was practically empty in the middle of the afternoon, just a
couple of bar flies and the wait staff. Too late for lunch, too early for
dinner. I'd grabbed a table off to the side that seemed somewhat more
secluded than most with my back to the wall. Better to see the bloodhounds,
if they managed to track me down, before they saw me.

The place would soon fill up with the supper crowd. It was one of the more
popular eating places, just a couple of years old, but had a deliberate feel
of the old southwest. Rustic looking beams ran across the high ceiling with
lazy ceiling fans attached to them, potted palms were discreetly placed here
and there. Skylights provided most of the daytime light. When night fell,
the waiters made a great show of bringing elaborate silver candle sticks to
all the tables, an accent to the subdued, unobtrusive floor lighting. I'd
been here with Sherry a few times, and it was, I had to admit, a pretty
romantic place.

By the time *he* came in I was completely oblivious to that fact. I'd been
quite content to block out my surroundings, drink my coffee and work on my
much neglected project. I guess I had been vaguely aware of the lateness of
the afternoon, the lengthening of the shadows, and the fact that there were
more and more patrons filling up the place, but my attention had been
completely on my work until something made me look up and take notice.

I don't know what it was, perhaps he said his name to the maitre d', or
maybe I was just aware of someone passing across my line of vision, but I
looked up to see him walking toward a table to my left. Instead of the
uniform he was wearing a sort of plum colored open-necked shirt and tan
colored pants. Tall, dark hair, tattoo. Yep, it was him all right.

Completely abandoning my project, I watched him approach a table against the
back wall. He smiled when he saw the couple seated there. A young man with
sandy hair and a knowing grin, and a rather beautiful young woman, obviously
in the late stages of pregnancy, who, from her cranial ridges, looked to be
part Klingon.

They both rose to greet him (the woman with some help from her companion),
the young man shaking his hand and slapping him on the shoulder a couple of
times, then apparently making some witty remark that caused them all to
laugh. The woman hugged him as best she could.

The young man moved from the seat against the wall, and offered it to him,
then moved to sit next to the young woman. His wife? *He* was now in my
direct line of sight.

I guessed they'd been home for about five months now. I knew if anyone could
have gotten them home, *she* would be the one to do it, and by damn, she'd
had. After all the efforts Star Fleet had expended in trying to devise some
way to get them home, she'd done it on her own. Well, along with her crew.
Along with *him*. It had been on all the news vids. That and the trial that
followed. She had fought like a tiger for her Maquis crew members,
especially him.

Kennerly, the prosecutor, had particularly wanted to make an example of
*him*, the rest of the ex-Maquis were just a nice little dividend. In turn,
she had called in every marker she had, and with the support of Admiral
Picard, Admiral Paris, and captains Sisko and Riker among others, had
managed to free her crew members--AND get their rank reinstated, thank you
so much.

In a rare, brief statement to the press she'd called them her "family", the
family they'd all become during their time in the Delta Quadrant. She then
vowed nothing would divide them, effectively throwing down the gauntlet.

Just then I saw *him* look up and his expression change. In the instant it
took me to turn my head I knew she was there.

Unexpectedly my heart gave a little jump at the sight of her. In the vids of
the trial she had looked tired and strained, not surprisingly. Now she came
across the room, wearing a sleeveless, scoop-necked linen dress the green of
new apples, cut just above the knee. She always did look good in strong
colors. Her shoes, a sort of strappy affair, the subdued red of roasted
peppers, adorned with the same antiqued gold as her jewelry, made a soft
tapping noise on the tile floor as she wound her way through the tables.

I wondered if they were wearing civilian clothing because it was a festive
occasion or because the uniforms would have drawn too much attention to
them.

Unobserved, I could take a good look at her. She'd apparently been out in
the sun. Her hair now in a stylish bob had lightened as it did in the sun,
and was now streaked in gold. Funny, I had noticed she had shorter hair when
watching the trial vids, but it just then struck me, somewhat regretfully,
that she'd really cut off all her glorious long hair.

Just another bit of evidence that this was no longer the woman I once knew.

I had to admit, she looked really lovely. Radiant. A few freckles dusted her
nose and shoulders. She looked relaxed and happy now. Her smile grew as she
drew near the others.

The men rose as she approached. Hugging the young man, I heard her say to
the struggling young woman, "Don't get up!", and leaned over to hug her as
well. Then, grimacing slightly, "Am I terribly late?", as she moved toward
*him*.

He had a look on his face, as she took his hands, like, well, like Christmas
morning, as my mother used to say. She smiled up into his face, and I saw
her mouth the word "Hi", as she gave him a quick kiss and maneuvered into
the spot he had just vacated.

I caught the other couple giving each other a look, smiling indulgently.

He moved next to her on the bench-like seat, and they sat thigh to thigh, no
daylight between them. The casual observer wouldn't have noticed that they
had their nearest hands clasped under the table, but I did.

Well, they'd only been married for about a month or so. I'd read the news
story shortly after the trial had ended. They had married privately,
probably trying to keep it quiet, but it had somehow been leaked to the
ever-diligent press anyway. The media had not yet tired of them at that
point.

Just then the waiters began bringing the candle sticks around to each table.
She looked delighted when their waiter placed the candles on their table
with a flourish. She looked lovely in the candlelight. *He* apparently
thought so, too, from the expression on his face.

With a thump Rodney set the candles on my table. "More coffee?" the waiter
asked pointedly, blocking my view. His tone was not lost on me, I'd been
there too long, had nearly taken up squatter's rights, and he wanted me to
get my ass up and surrender the table to those that might actually want more
than coffee. "No, thanks, RODNEY", I said, just as pointedly. Message
received, kid, now beat it. I waved him off with a promise that I was just
about to leave, and turned my attention back to her table.

I knew I should just go. Sherry would be expecting me home soon and the dogs
would need letting out, but I stayed where I was and watched them, feeling
like something of a voyeur.

The din in the restaurant rose as more and more diners arrived. I couldn't
hear what she was saying, but she had one arm resting on *his* shoulder, and
was gesturing with the other, wine glass in hand. He looked like he couldn't
get enough of the sight of her. Geez, buddy, talk about wearing your heart
on your sleeve. They all laughed as she finished her story. For a time they
all seemed to be talking at once, then apparently conversation had turned to
the young couple's impending arrival. Although *they* were listening
intently to the couple, asking questions here and there, I noticed them
stealing glances at each other occasionally.

I remembered from the news vids that Kennerly had a ban instituted against
any visitors other than counsel to all accused Maquis in detention. Divide
and conquer. It was too dangerous, he stated, they could be collaborating
against the Federation from their cells. It was all bullshit, of course.
However, because of it, she was prevented from seeing any of her people
other than in the courtroom. Any of them.

Of course, Emerson Kennerly's main objective was not to bring justice
against the ex-Maquis, it was to get his slimy little foot on the ladder of
success. He was just more than happy to throw them to the wolves if it meant
establishing his name.

I heard he'd even threatened to bring *her* up on charges, presumably in an
attempt to get her to back off from her Maquis crew members, but I never
knew what those charges might have been. Breach of protocol? Did it have to
do with *him*? After all, she'd given the Maquis leader she'd been sent to
arrest a field commission and made him her first officer. It's what first
made me realize that there was probably something between them.

At the time I wasn't sure how I felt about that little piece of information.
I'm still not sure how I feel about it.

As for threatening her with charges, I thought that if that weasel Kennerly
knew her better, he'd have never tried that tack with her. As I knew she
would, she stood her ground, but it must have been nearly three months
before *they* had seen each other anywhere but the court room.

Gods, she'd nearly resigned her commission in the end, and *he* had offered
to plead guilty in return for Kennerly to drop his scrutiny of her--and for
the freedom of his people.

Playing right into Kennerly's hands.

However, in the end, the intervention of several of the upper echelon in
Star Fleet command combined with the weight of public opinion (the media, it
seemed, were good for something after all) had finally backed Kennerly off
after a time. I knew when they began using words like "persecute" instead of
"prosecute" that the tide had turned.

The whole thing must have been a nightmare for her, but I took a certain
grim satisfaction from the fact that she'd stood toe-to-toe with that
bastard, and Kennerly had blinked first.

After all that time stranded in the Delta Quadrant, all they'd been through,
getting home must have seemed like a miracle. At first. Hell, after all
Kennerly had put them through, I wondered if the Delta Quadrant hadn't begun
to look pretty good to them.

They'd hardly had time to step foot on home soil, take a breath of Earth's
air, before he'd lowered the boom. Yeah, welcome home.

Admiral Picard had said something very similar, but much more eloquently, of
course, in an impassioned speech on their behalf. He'd questioned if *this*
(with a gesture encompassing the courtroom) was what Star Fleet really stood
for. He'd then described how the Voyager crew, the entire Voyager crew,
exemplified the best of Star Fleet. They'd faced enormous odds in getting
home from the Delta quadrant, but refused to give up until they'd achieved
their objective.

Another Admiral, Necheyev, had taken a different view, but it was rumored
Kennerly was her boy, her little toady. A dangerous precedent would be set,
she stated, if an exception were made for the Maquis who had served on
Voyager. A precedent that might effect the fate of the Maquis who were
already imprisoned. I couldn't help wondering, with so few Maquis left, did
any of that really matter?

I wondered often if *she* had anyone supporting her, and thought about going
to see her so many times, but I saw a lot of the command staff of Voyager
with her in the courtroom. The Vulcan always sat right next to her, and I
often saw a young oriental Lieutenant near her, as well as the Talaxian and
the Borg woman.

I also read that the rest of Voyager's crew, absolutely devoted to her and
to their first officer, had filled the courtroom to capacity each day in a
show of solidarity.

I saw her sister Phoebe, sitting with her as well. Not my biggest fan,
Phoebe, to say the least. Not anymore. Not since my marriage. I winced a bit
recalling the last time we spoke. No, definitely NOT someone with warm,
fuzzy feelings in my direction.

Rodney made one more pass by the table, and I knew I'd have to go soon.
After imprinting the voucher, I turned to the waiter and said, "Thanks,
RODNEY", somewhat acidly, handing back the padd. He checked it, for my name,
I gathered, and said in the same tone of voice, "You have a nice evening,
MARK".

I turned to leave, but stopped a moment to glance back at her. She had never
seen me. Just as well. I had seen what I needed to see. She was home and she
was safe. She was happy and with someone she obviously loved who returned
the feeling with interest. I took one last look at her and said softly,
"Goodbye, Kath", but only the hovering Rodney heard me, and shot me a
quizzical look. I shook my head slightly at him, gave him a sort of sheepish
grin, and turned to head home.

The End

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