Chapter 8. Greskrendtregk

I am still soaring on the bliss of our reunion, seeing and holding my long-lost wife, meeting for the first time my half-grown daughter.

The week between Voyager's sudden return to the quadrant and the crew's disembarkation on Earth had been the longest of my life. Even speaking daily with Sam and Naomi - unheard of luxury - had only heightened my anxiety and anticipation. Many Voyager families felt the same way, but no one else had the added joy and terror of waiting to greet a child who didn't know them. I was half out of my mind by the time they walked off the gangplank and onto Terran soil.

I emerged from the crowd, made it halfway to them, and then dropped to my knees, felled by emotion. At first I could not tear my eyes away from the miracle that was Naomi, but then I did ... and was transfixed by Samantha's beautiful pure smile. I spread my arms wide, began to sob, and turned my face skyward, as they stepped together into my embrace.

That was hours ago, and … I am still somewhere in the upper atmosphere of this gorgeous planet. I am finally alone with my family - my family, oh most delicious and treasured phrase - and very soon will be alone with my wife. Samantha is tucking Naomi into bed in one room of our hotel suite.

After what feels to this inexperienced parent like a long time, Sam emerges and quietly closes the bedroom door behind her. "I stayed until she fell asleep. She's feeling a bit disoriented. She's only rarely slept down-planet."

I smile at her. "Will she sleep through the night?" I don't know my daughter's sleep habits. But no answer to this question could trouble me; everything about our Naomi is clearly perfect.

"I think so; she's exhausted from all the excitement." Samantha looks fairly worn out, herself. I reach an arm up to her, inviting her to join me on the couch.

She reaches out as if to take my hand, then pauses, seems to think better of it, and steps back. I lower my arm and wait.

"Greskrendtregk." She is still the only human who can pronounce my name correctly. But through my delight in this and all else, I can hear something in her voice. An apprehension. She is bracing herself to say something.

I take a breath and say, "Yes, Samantha. What's on your mind?"

She is trembling and has to steel herself to meet my gaze. "I had an affair. I love you, I never stopped loving you, but I had an affair on Voyager."

I blink at her. "Are you talking about Joe Carey?"

She blinks back at me. "Yes." Another blink. "Oh, god. The rumors." She hides her face in her hands.

"Hey," I say, gently, rising to my feet. I hesitate to touch her uninvited, but cannot abide her apparent shame. I reach out and very, very gently grasp her wrists, tug her hands away from her face. "I'm sorry," I say.

Through her tears, her expression is one of bewilderment. "You're sorry? You're sorry, Gres? What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry that he died. I'm sorry you lost someone close to you. And I'm sorry that I got so swept away today that I didn't think to even mention it until you brought him up just now."

"Gres, I don't think you understand. I slept with him."

Now I'm confused. "I assumed you had. Isn't that what an affair involves?"

She is gaping at me. Dimly I wonder if someday we'll laugh about all this. It feels like one of those comedic sketches, a series of misunderstandings through some trick of language. But our universal translators are working perfectly; this is a communications breakdown wrought by our years apart - and, I recall, our different cultures of origin.

"Sam, I'm Ktarian." Now she looks at me like I'm an idiot.

"Yes, dear. I'd noticed," she says, gesturing towards my horns. She is half-laughing and I wonder if we're moving towards edge of hysteria territory yet.

"We don't fetishize sexual fidelity." She knows this. We discussed it, when we were dating. Granted, it's never been an issue in our lives together, until now.

"God, Gres, I didn't have a one-night stand with him! I didn't … sleep my way around the ship!"

"I never imagined that you did, Sam! What is this about? What aren't you saying?"

"I'm trying to say it, to say ... everything! I - I loved him, Gres! I didn't mean to, I didn't even really realize it until he was dead, and - oh god, that made everything so much more horrible, that I'd loved him and never told him. We only meant to help each other not be lonely, away from our spouses, we weren't supposed to fall in love. And I swear it didn't - didn't touch my love for you, they were two separate things, there was room for both of you in my heart. I swear it, Gres."

"I believe you, Sam."

We look at each other for a long moment. Her tears have stopped. There is something vast and bottomless in her eyes. I speak first.

"You said you meant to help each other."

"Yes."

"And did he help you?"

"God, yes. So much."

"Then I'm glad . That he was there, when I couldn't be."

She lets me fold her into my arms at last.

I hadn't expected lovemaking this first night. Not so soon, after so long apart and so many changes. Hoped, perhaps, but never expected.

Samantha initiated it. At least, that's what I tell myself. I don't know what desires I might have betrayed along the way to her kiss, and whether she might have felt pressured. I hope not. I … need her to want me. This can't be duty, this can't be guilt, not when she seemed so full of passion for me. Please. Please be real.

I thought I was dreaming, when we joined together, after so many years of memories and dreams of that act.

That's what I gasped, lost in her embrace, sinking home. "I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. My beautiful wife, the mother of my child."

Her eyes were closed, her face turned away. "No," she breathed, and I froze. She looked at me then, and spoke fiercely. "You're not. This is real. I'm here." And she pulled my face down to hers and kissed me hungrily, desperately.

We are still in bed; Samantha is deeply asleep, snoring a little, and my heart goes molten all over again at the sight and sound and smell of her. The first rays of Earth's sun are touching the wall opposite our bed when I hear a quiet gasp from the doorway and see our daughter standing there. She is looking at us with astonishment, but quickly looks down when she sees me notice her over her mother's slumbering form. She turns away and closes the door behind her.

I very quietly slip from the bed, dress, and go in search of Naomi.

"I'm sorry," she says when I appear.

"For what?" I ask.

"I should have knocked. I didn't know … Never mind, it's stupid. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"I was already awake. I'm glad you came in."

She shoots me a skeptical glance.

I realize I don't know what Naomi knows about sex. I realize this is definitely not the moment to find out. I change the subject. "I'm hungry. What kind of juice do you like with breakfast?"

Samantha pads out into the sitting area of our hotel suite, hair mussed, wearing a bathrobe. She sees me and Naomi at the table, Naomi eating breakfast, and her face somehow goes radiant with just the softest of smiles. This is it. This is the moment we've both been waiting for all these years. We're going to be all right.

(It is the last such moment we will have for some time, but I don't know that yet, which is just as well.)

"I can't imagine, Sam, how confusing it must have been, to wake up with all these new terrible memories and have to sort out which were false and which were true."

"It was … very disconcerting. But I wasn't confused about false from true. The new memories were false. The old ones were true, just … closer to hand, again."

I let that sink in, trying to make sense of what she is saying. "Again?" I echo.

"I'd had a lot of practice, over the years. In … not thinking about it. About what happened, what was done to me. I got good at not thinking about it. But it's not like I ever forgot my childhood."

"Wait. You didn't?" I'm genuinely confused now.

"The Quarran mindwiping didn't uncover repressed memories. It just stirred old ones up, made me deal with them again."

"But … you never told me any of this, until now."

"Well, no. I didn't."

I stare at her, finally shocked. "Why not? Sam, we talked about our upbringings, our families - I met your parents. How did this not come up?"

"You met my adoptive parents."

A beat, as I try to absorb that. "Whom you never mentioned were adoptive?"

"Gres. Please. Try to understand. When I came to them, a clean break with my past was vital. I never would have … become a functioning person, succeeded in school or anything, if I'd been dwelling on my childhood. The therapists worked with me, helped me lay all that to rest and look forward. Forward is where I found you ."

"And I have always been so profoundly grateful that you did. I love you. I have always loved you."

"I know. I know. And I'm so glad. I love you, too." She looks relieved.

But I'm not done. I'm shaking my head, confused. Not denying, not negating - just trying to understand. "I don't understand. I want to understand. You married me. I was your husband. How could you not trust me enough to tell me this before?"

"It's not that I didn't trust you, Gres. I didn't trust, period. I couldn't. I didn't know how."

I stop, collect my thoughts with care. This next question is important. "When I made my marriage vow to you, did you believe it?"

She raises her head with a stunned look on her face. "Of course, Gres."

"Didn't that require trust?"

She doesn't have an answer. That's when I know we're in trouble.

On the transport back to Deep Space 9, as Naomi and Samantha doze in seats across from me, I study their faces and make a mental list of things I know are true.

Samantha is my wife.
I am her husband.

Naomi is my daughter.
I am her father.

I love them both.
I know each of them less well than is necessary.

We have all been through trauma during our years apart.
Sam went through trauma before I knew her.

Trauma can be healed, with skilled help, time, and patience.

We can find skilled help.
We have time.

I have patience.

We are not all right.

But we will be.