Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

The Wait

Welcome to timeline B!

This chapter is the second of the three alternate timelines that follow Chapter 35. It carries the tether forward into a life built around protection, memory, and the unexpected ways family can take shape.

Aurora Kolya Janeway was two weeks old, soft and new, her head resting against Seven's shoulder. She'd been born here, on Earth, months after Voyager's return, and the scent of lilacs from the garden drifted through the warm night air. Kathryn had never been able to explain the night she was conceived, not to Starfleet, not to herself, and for now, the questions stayed unasked, fading into the hush of summer.

The porch swing groaned gently beneath them as it rocked. Fireflies blinked lazily across the tall grass. The stars above were sharp, vivid, too many to name and not enough to explain the ache that sometimes lived behind them.

Seven sat straight, but not stiff, the soft bundle of Aurora nestled against her shoulder. The baby gave a soft sigh in her sleep, one tiny hand curled into Seven's collar like a secret she didn't mean to share.

The screen door creaked.

Kathryn stepped onto the porch in bare feet, her lucky chipped mug steaming between her hands. She moved without urgency, lowering herself beside Seven with a sigh that sounded like surrender. The wood creaked beneath them. The air smelled like grass and distant rain.

"You're sitting?" Kathryn asked quietly.

"She permitted it," Seven replied, eyes still fixed on the stars.

Kathryn smiled faintly, sipped her coffee, and let the quiet stretch between them before saying, "You don't have to stay, you know."

Seven turned her head at that. "I want to. We both know we can't explain her. And if anyone comes sniffing around, I'll be here to make sure no one takes her."

Kathryn met her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. "Thank you."

They settled back into the swing.

Then, softly, Seven asked, "Why Aurora Kolya?"

Kathryn didn't answer right away. She stared upward, brow furrowing faintly, like she was trying to catch a thread she couldn't see anymore.

"I don't know," she said at last. "It just... came to me. Before she was born."

Seven turned slightly, waiting.

"I remember dreaming of light," Kathryn continued, voice quieter now. "Not the sun, not fire, something bigger. A whole sky coming alive. Like a promise. Or a memory I'd never made."

Her thumb traced the edge of the mug.

"Aurora felt right. Like something at the edge of dawn."

Seven tilted her head. "And Kolya?"

Kathryn's lips tugged into a crooked smile. "That one I really can't explain. I just... liked the sound of it. Strong. Strange. Like it belonged to something I might have heard, once."

Seven looked down at the sleeping baby. "It suits her."

Kathryn leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting upward again. "Sometimes I get the feeling she knows more than we do. Like she's already seen what's ahead, and she's just waiting for us to catch up."

Kathryn's voice softened further. "She does that to everyone."

They rocked in silence, stars gleaming overhead. Aurora sighed again, lost in her own unknowable dreams.

And neither woman said it, but the truth threaded between them anyway:
She hadn't named Aurora for someone, but for something, a thing she could no longer grasp, yet knew in her bones had once felt like home.