#fleetcaptain

     “So don’t be mad--" There's a pause as she studies his expression for a moment. "But I have found a little stowaway.” She reached down and scooped up a fluffy orange cat, who hadn’t the slightest care in the world, and now was purring rather loudly in Amelia’s arms. “He must have snuck into one of my bags while I had my back turned.” She gave Chris an apologetic smile. “I am sorry, normally I do a better job of double checking.”

janeway & pike | starter call | @fleetcaptian

she doesn't take kindly to interlopers on her ship - especially because they're in the space equivalent of 'middle of nowhere' and starfleet officers usually don't just 'show up' on her ship unless it's some sort of masquerading entity trying to worm into one of their brains, or someone trying to earn their trust. but when the emh compares the biosignatures a hundred times over, they match perfectly with the records of one christopher pike and janeway can simply not explain it.

so she turns to coffee, practically demanding it of the replicator - and then two, which she brings to her desk and slides one across to their newest crewmember.

"i'm afraid strange anomalies aren't exactly foreign to us, but this is the first time someone from starfleet has been pulled through. usually it's a duplicate or an alternate universe counterpart - it seems this particular wormhole crosses space and time." kathryn remarks as she settles behind her desk in her ready room, savoring the coffee for a moment as she gathers her thoughts. if she could hurl voyager back through the wormhole, they'd be home - but displaced in time. it wouldn't be any better than when they'd started this journey. perhaps the wormhole could be harnessed and used to find a way back to their own present-day earth . . . she was awaiting a preliminary report from seven in regards to it.

"for now, you may be stuck with us. but we will do what we can to return you to your original point in space and time. the prime directive practically demands it."

there’s no time to react.

one second, she’s staring down the barrel of an old-fashioned revolver. the next, she’s sprawled on the ground, dirt and gravel biting into her palms. a small price to pay for still being in one piece, she thinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

it comes back slowly. first, sound — hurried footsteps pounding away, the lingering echo of a gunshot ringing in her ears. a sharp metallic taste floods her mouth. pain. pain. there is so much pain. she looks down. blood on her hand. the sight jolts her back, head snapping to where she had been standing just moments ago.

         Sometimes she almost envied him when he left, that he had least had a purpose, returning one step closer to having answers. Whereas she was left here, drifting from one place to the next in a seemingly endless cycle, be it headquarters or the different pockets where what was left of her people resided. She felt adrift, lost, stuck with a helpless feeling that there was nothing more she could do other than wait. This, on top of the indescribable grief and deep physical ache of incurable homesickness that constantly threatened to drown her. And yet, she endured with the same light and warmth she always had.

christine doesn't mean to snort. no, really, she doesn't. in her own, particular way, she respects the captain way too much for such a blatant show of disregard, but the sound rushes up to her nose so fast, that she's got no time to mask it behind a cough or throw herself out an airlock. it's not her fault. it is how her body instinctively reacts to bullshit.