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There’s something satisfying about writing by hand, seeing her own script appearing across the pages of a fresh journal. She’s lost count how many she’s gone through, meticulously logging her own thoughts as well as any discoveries of new flora or fauna. Sketches sometimes accompany them; she’s a scientist at heart of course, thorough in her notes that will eventually be digitized and stored somewhere safer than an easily destroyed notebook. A carefully kept historical record of an unknown planet that Kathryn has come to accept she will never leave. Sowing a legacy here in the beautiful lands of New Earth that she, nor Chakotay, are likely ever to see. She doesn’t even know if her journals and logs will be seen; the Delta Quadrant is a long way from home. Not easily accessible.
In the five years they’ve been here, there’s not been another soul they’ve encountered.
If there are inhabitants on any part of the planet, they haven’t found them yet or made any contact. Their shuttle allows short trips to explore and map out new areas but they’ve been careful not to go too far at a time. Other trips require the use of the boat that Chakotay has built to explore regions accessed by the river; she doesn’t anticipate they’ll be able to map the entire planet before the end of her lifetime, but they’ve had started a decent dent.
The wind picks up, blowing loose strands of hair into her face. It’s grown longer now and she can’t bear to cut it yet, just continues to keep it pinned back into a braid or bun or something similar while she works. Yes, Kathryn continues her research into a cure here or there, just in case - but she has settled with the idea that there may never be another option. The atmosphere protects them within their little shred of paradise.
Her hand stills on her journal, gaze flickering up - she can see heavy clouds in the distance. It doesn’t feel like a plasma storm is in the air, so just a regular thunderstorm by her guess; they need it. The ground is too dry and the garden in desperate need of a good soak. She anticipates it’ll arrive by nightfall and with luck, carry on through the morning - those are her favorite, the dark and grey mornings where she can drink her coffee on the porch and admire their sanctuary (it reminds her sharply of home, which always brings a sharp ache of homesickness to her).
Every day she hopes Voyager has made it home. That there has been some advancement and that they are home even now, her crew reunited. Tries not to imagine the devastation of her family’s faces. She has a separate journal where she writes them notes and letters they’ll likely never see, detailing their life in a more personable sense than the scientific journals and logs she keeps. It keeps her sane, her journals - reminds her of her days in the Academy and in her science roles, taking studious notes and diagrams of whatever she was working on at the time.
Shifting carefully in the hammock she’s currently curled up in, Kathryn reaches for her cup on the small table nearby. There’s enough coffee for one more sip that she takes greedily (it’s been months since she’s had the proper stuff and even the replicated flavor is a balm). She gently uses her foot slung over the side of the hammock to push off the ground and resume her swinging after, a soft lull from side to side.
But the brief pause in swinging for her to drain her cup is enough for the other current hammock resident to rouse.
“Terribly sorry.” She murmurs dryly as the infant on her chest stirs, tiny limbs stretching before scrunching back into place in that tell-tale newborn way. Her writing pauses, she rests a hand across her son’s back and brushes her thumb in gentle patterns, hoping he will easily settle back into his nap. His lips purse and he yawns with a noise that is entirely too endearing before his face nuzzles into her and he slips back to sleep. Surely it’s exhausting, being a newborn.
Kathryn doesn’t dare move much beyond her foot on the ground to gently sway the hammock back and forth, not even to pick up her abandoned pen. She focuses instead of the gentle rise and fall of the baby’s breathing, his heartbeat fluttering beneath her palm faster than hummingbird wings. She presses a soft kiss to the tufts of dark hair already growing in, enshrouded by his presence alone.
Being a mother had been in her plans eventually. Something she had wanted, once married and settled into her work with Starfleet. Worried as she’d been, the role has been far more rewarding than ever expected. Twice over. Part of her carries a soft guilt, however - while her son shows no signs of the infection his parents carry, she knows he may very well never meet another human in his lifetime, either. What will become of him when she and Chakotay are gone? When it is only him, and his brother?
A shriek of laughter from the trees catches her attention and she’s rewarded with an amusing sight; Chakotay emerges from the trees with Kolopak tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Their elder son at 3, nearly 4, squirms against Chakotay’s tickling but makes no progress of an escape. Chakotay looks utterly at ease, wearing a smile that Kathryn has come to adore - a man who is content and happy with the life they’ve built here, despite it’s rather forced origins.
Kolopak’s laughter is what finally awakes their youngest, Kieran, against her chest. The baby fusses for a moment at the disruption of peace but she quickly adjusts to curl him into the crook of her arm, soothing him with a learned practice. Taking care of two children, it turns out, is much like commanding a starship of three hundred.
“I can see you two got plenty of work done today.” Kathryn remarks as Chakotay finally deposits Kolopak on the ground. Kolopak immediately turns against his father and tries to avenge his treatment with more laughter, but Chakotay is not ticklish in the places their son can reach so he easily passes over him with a gentle nudge in his quest to reach Kathryn. She’s rewarded with a kiss of greeting, one dropped to Kieran for good measure.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” He admonishes her, and her lips twist in amusement.
“We slept for a good five minutes, and then I thought of all the things I needed to get done.” She hums, letting Chakotay take their infant so she can swing her legs over the edge of the hammock and find her footing. The soil is warm beneath her bare feet; it will certainly thrive from a good downpour. As if they need a reminder, the thunder rumbles in the distance, carrying over the mountains and across the sky.
“Sounds like our morning.” Chakotay muses. “We got the traps reset before Kolo decided he would much prefer digging into a trail of insects. I forgot what you called them. Then of course there was mud, so we had to clean off in the river . . . .”
Kolopak grins proudly.
“I wanted to catch them for you but daddy wouldn’t let me.” He comes up beside Chakotay and Kathryn and she reaches down to ruffle his dark hair for good measure.
“I appreciate the thought, kiddo. We’ll go out and catch some tomorrow after the storm. Maybe we’ll find some new ones and you can name them.”
“I suppose I’d be outvoted if I mentioned that you needed rest.” Chakotay arches a brow at Kathryn, who smiles all too brightly.
“You absolutely would. Science waits for no one, Chakotay.”
“Yeah, daddy. Science waits for no one.” Kolopak parrots and Chakotay snorts quietly. How alike their oldest is to Kathryn. Observant, clever, and a wild streak a mile wide. They’ve been lucky in that Kieran is a quiet baby despite his rather turmoiled entrance to the world during the last plasma storm.
“Far be it for me to intervene with science.” Chakotay replies, shifting their infant in his embrace as the baby squirms, trying to find comfort. Kathryn swats his arm delicately, her other hand resting briefly against his chest.
Their relationship hasn’t changed really. Not that much. Quiet touches, stolen glances, a strong bond of strength and will. Outside the command structure it held all the formalities of a relationship. It hadn’t really been a question in the end. Holding out for a future they might not get to see, Chakotay had once spoken.
Maybe the universe had thought their stranding was precisely what they needed; while Kathryn will never quite give up on a cure, especially for the sake of their sons, she is settled with the life they’ve built (quite literally, given the blood and sweat and tears that have gone into a cabin, a boat, and numerous other handmade things that have made this place more and more like home).
Except home - well, she’s come to realize that perhaps for her, it isn’t really Earth at all. It’s him.
“Stew for dinner?” Chakotay asks, pulling her from her thoughts. “Perfect for a rainy night.”
“With cheese on bread?” Kolopak adds, glancing between his parents. Leave it for him to take after an obsession with what was essentially rarebit, Kathryn’s favorite dish.
“Is there any other way?” Kathryn smiles fondly. “Go wash your hands and then you can tell me more about these bugs you found.”
He darts off toward their home a few meters away, bounding up the steps with energy that Kathryn only hopes to carry a fraction of most days. She chuckles and turns back toward Chakotay with a soft expression. Contentment, perhaps.
“You get the vegetables and I’ll start the stew.” Chakotay says. “You can’t burn them if you’re only peeling and chopping.”
“I catch the stove on fire one time and I can never live it down, can I?”
“Absolutely not.”