Sara trailed down the corridors of the ruined Voyager, rubbing her aching temples with dirty fingers, stretching out the knots accumulated after crawling around in Jefferies tubes. After endless hours being under battle and still more endless hours (only about 6) repairing the damage, she had been ordered to bed. She found that having the Captain in Engineering peering over everyone’s shoulder was not going to be fun. Thankfully, the bridge was supposed to be operational in three days. She wasn’t sure who was more grateful – B’Elanna or the Captain.
It was actually at times like this that her telepathy didn’t bother her. The minds of the crew were united, focused towards a common goal, each individual task contributing to the end result that would be favorable for all concerned. There was harmony, a hum that sang together like music, a peaceful feeling coupled with the warmth of accomplishment and the camaraderie that linked everyone together suffusing the stress of the weary. And the knowledge of rest after repairs brought a giddiness to everyone.
For some inexplicable reason, she found herself on deck 5 even though her quarters were on deck 3. Sara also found herself standing outside of, then entering sickbay, even though she had no reasonable purpose to be there. She had been ordered to bed – this was not her bed. She had not been ordered to take herself to sickbay for any reason.
And yet she stood looking down at the sleeping form of Samantha Wildman’s baby without realizing how she’d gotten there.
The infant was sleeping, eyes closed, long lashes against her pale skin, three short, stubby horns jutting from her forehead. Moppy brown hair covered her small head, while a blanket obscured the rest of her, save for one tiny fist that waved gently in sleep, then stilled against the backdrop of the incubator the doctor had lined with what looked like several soft blankets. On a biobed not two feet away, curled onto her side and still in the blue surgical gown, Samantha Wildman mirrored the actions of her child.
For long moments Sara stood silently, observing the child, watching her breathe, watching her lashes flutter slightly and her horns contract. Too young even to have eyebrows, she was perfect in her infant innocence. She stole into the bathroom and washed her hands quietly, thoroughly, with the door closed, then used the disinfectant that the doctor kept on the shelf for Kes, hoping it wasn’t one of his holographic tricks.
As if on cue the child fussed when she opened the door. Her telepathy had already detected stirrings in the peaceful dreamland of slumber, consequently she had already picked her up by the time the fussy coos had turned into real protests, instantly silenced by the comfort of touch, though not before Sam Wildman yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Sara…?” her voice trailed off in a groggy, surprised question, seeing her daughter in the arms of the young telepath. “What are you doing in here?”
“To be honest with you Sam…I don’t know,” Sara was just as bewildered as she was, looking down at the tiny bundle. “I didn’t wake her. She did that on her own – I just picked her up.”
“Oh…it’s all right.” Sam yawned again. “I figured she’d be hungry again about now.”
Sara shifted the baby to her shoulder, her hand gently cradling the child’s head, holding her close and bouncing a bit. She walked to the replicator, called up a diaper, and laid the small bundle on a diagnostic bed while swiftly doing the necessary job. Swaddling her again, wrapping the blanket around her, she felt Samantha approach.
“Have you taken care of babies before?” Sam asked curiously.
Sara looked at her. “I don’t know. I don’t remember if I have.”
Sam watched as Sara finished tucking in the corners of the fuzzy covering and caressed the baby’s cheek, eliciting a happy expression as sounds of comfort came from her mouth.
“Here,” Sara looked uncomfortable. “You should take care of her. It’s not my place to…”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Sam’s eyebrows hoisted. “You did that like a natural. Are you sure you don’t remember taking care of a baby before?”
Sara gazed at the baby again. Images streamed before her eyes – the baby no longer had horns, nor deep, dark eyes – it had eyes like her own. Blue eyes – blue, innocent eyes. Tow-headed blond fuzz. Cute smile. Rosy cheeks.
Flashes of her changing a diaper, a rocking chair in the darkness of night, holding a bottle, the weight of an infant comfortably settled in the crook of her arm as sweet springtime air and the chirping of crickets came through the window, ruffling the curtains…the same blue eyes staring back at her, mirror images of her own…
“Sara?” Sam looked concerned.
She blinked twice, clearing her head. “What?”
“You looked awful far away there for a minute,” Sam asked, as her bundle of joy tuned up again, this time for far more demanding attention. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Sara smiled reassuringly, one that didn’t color her cheeks or meet her eyes. She picked up the baby and handed her to Sam. “You’re the one that she should be bonding with. Wouldn’t want you to get confused as to who mom is, now would we?” she said in a quirky voice to the baby, tickling her belly gently.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in baby-sitting,” Samantha began, sitting down on her own bed to begin the task of breast feeding.
“I – sure – just – call me…when the repairs are finished,” Sara backed out of sickbay.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” the science officer asked again.
“No – I’m fine. Congratulations, by the way…”
“Thank you,” Sam replied, puzzled as to the girls’ behavior as the doors closed. Sighing, she shifted her baby and made a mental note to speak to someone as to the nature of Sara – when she didn’t feel so tired.
