This is the 3rd in the Just Between… series.

Many thanks to a ‘group’ of beta readers (they know who they are) who gave freely of their comments and critiques as I wrote this. Above and beyond, people. Special commendation to you all.

This takes place after the events of One, near the end of fourth year of their journey, and was first posted in June of 1998.

Just Between You & Me

G. L. Dartt

The alert to her door chimed softly, startling the captain, and she took a quick glance at the time displayed in the corner of her screen. She winced with dismay. Janeway had been working on crew personnel reports, and the time had slipped completely away from her. She was supposed to have met Seven of Nine, USS Voyager’s astrometrics officer, for dinner two hours ago.

“Come in,” she said.

Her tall, broad-shouldered first officer, Chakotay, entered her ready room. “B’Elanna just delivered the engineering report you wanted,” he said, handing her a padd.

Sighing, she took it. “Are there ever enough hours in the day?” she asked as she scanned the data it contained.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” he grinned as he eased his bearish form into the chair across from her.

She raised her eyes. “I just realized I missed dinner with Seven,” she admitted. “Again.”

Chakotay winced in sympathy. “What did you tell her?” he asked.

“I haven’t come up with anything yet,” Janeway said, making a few notations on the padd and handing it back, knowing he would have Voyager’s chief engineer implement the changes right away. “I’m open to suggestions.” She looked at him hopefully.

Chakotay tried very hard to contain the quiet snicker. “Men learn early in life not to stand up women,” he said. “Especially those we’re living with.”

Janeway took a moment to regard him with lowered brows. “That’s not very helpful.”

“Then I advise flowers and candy and a lot of abject groveling,” he said. “Always worked for me personally.”

“I don’t think it would in this case,” she said, considering the advice seriously. “First of all, Seven wouldn’t understand why I was giving her dead plants or non-nutritional supplements, and I’m afraid groveling is not something I can do believably.” She eyed him accusingly as he turned his head to hide his face. “You think this is funny.”

He held up his hand. “Not at all,” he said, eyes sparkling as he bit his lip.

She waved him away. “Thank you for your help,” she said dryly. “I’ll come up with something on my own.”

He got up, realizing he had been dismissed. “Anytime, Captain,” he said, and did chuckle. He hesitated at the door, turning back. “However, just between you and me, if this has happened more than once, you’d better come up with a way to make it up to her.”

“I will,” Janeway promised, and as he left her ready room, she rested her chin on her hand, propping her elbow on her desktop. As much as she hated to admit it, Chakotay did have a point.

As a Starfleet captain, she had always maintained a proper distance from her crew. However, after her ship had been stranded in the Delta Quadrant some five years earlier, she had relaxed that protocol somewhat, forging the remains of Voyager’s crew, the survivors of the Maquis vessel they had been chasing, and a couple of alien civilians who just wanted to come along for the ride, into a close family, with her as more than just a captain. She was the matriarch, the tribal leader, and this format had carried them through many an encounter with aliens, both friendly and hostile, as well as spatial phenomena that threatened to destroy them on many occasions. Then they entered Borg Space and found themselves in the middle of a war between the Federation’s greatest enemy, and a species know as 8472.

Introducing Janeway to the Borg drone called Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix 01.

The captain had ended up literally kidnapping Seven from the Collective and it had been a very difficult time for both as the young woman adapted to being a part of Voyager’s crew. Their conflicts had been both professional and personal, ranging from the trivial to the ethically profound, arguments and clashes that threatened to tear both of them apart. No one was more shocked and surprised than Janeway when she fell in love with the headstrong and arrogant young woman.

Though Seven falling in love with Janeway was apparently taken in stride by the imposing blonde as just one more adaptation among many on her way to regaining her Humanity. Janeway knew Seven accepted a lot of things about their relationship without question; things that would have infuriated any other human beyond reason. Things like the responsibilities demanded by Janeway’s position, the needs of the crew taking precedence over their personal life, and of course, Kathryn’s normal, everyday personality that made her occasionally inconsiderate. Like missing dinner for the third time in five nights without so much as a communication to say she wasn’t coming home.

At least, Janeway hoped Seven would accept it. Seven didn’t have the same respect for the four pips of command Janeway sported that everyone else on Voyager did, especially when it interfered with how the Borg thought things should be. Nor did the young woman have any problem informing the captain of all her failings with firm and devastating precision, in a voice so devoid of inflection its sharpness could cut duranium … though that was significantly better than when Seven was upset. Janeway had discovered, to her great chagrin, that she couldn’t take tears at all. All her previous lovers had been male, and she could not remember any of them ever crying in front of her. When Seven cried, it made Janeway completely helpless, and left her feeling like the most unfeeling, unworthy, most despicable lowlife ever existing in the history of Humanity.

She really hoped Seven was angry rather than upset.

Janeway was not looking forward to it, but suspected she really deserved whatever she received this time. The personnel records did not have to be finished for another week, she had just lost track of time. Quickly she shut down her board and logged off duty, leaving her ready room. She nodded formally at the officer holding the comm, and entered the turbolift.

As it descended to deck three, she rehearsed what she was going to say, debating over whether to shade the truth a little by claiming she could not leave her work, or doing exactly as Chakotay had suggested and flinging herself on the mercy of Seven. Who, Janeway considered dismally, had never needed to be merciful before and thus, was highly unlikely to know what the concept meant. Hesitantly, the captain paused in front of the doors leading to her cabin, which recently, had also become Seven’s quarters, and took a deep breath before entering.

Seven was standing in the middle of the room. Almost six feet tall with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, her beauty and personality had captured the attention of practically every crewmember on board. A soft grey metallic implant framed her left eye and brow, while a star-shaped piece rested at the corner of her cheek where the jawline terminated just below her right ear, stark testament to her time with the Borg Collective. Her left hand was covered in a fibrous mesh, and she was wearing a brownish outfit, which covered her curvaceous body like a second skin.

Bemused, Janeway realized Seven was gripping a vase in her right hand, but before she could wonder about it for long, the young woman drew back her arm and, with unerring aim, hurled it at Janeway who, thanks to several sessions playing Velocity with Seven, was able to dodge it … by what seemed the thinnest of margins.

“What are you doing?” Voyager’s captain yelped.

“I have been speaking to B’Elanna Torres,” Seven said coldly, scooping up a fine crystal wineglass from the table. “She said this was the appropriate response for having been ‘stood up’ three times in a row … for having been stood up tonight.” Again, she fired in the vicinity of Janeway’s head with all the impassiveness of a tactical tracking system.

Janeway barely ducked in time, wishing with all her heart that Seven and Voyager’s chief engineer had remained enemies, rather than developing a sort of odd relationship where the Klingon/Human hybrid had begun acting as Seven’s romantic consultant. Since B’Elanna’s attitude toward relationships was more Klingon than Human, and so was her sense of humor, it made Janeway seriously wonder why Seven chose the advisors she did. The only other members of the crew that Seven looked to for suggestions was the Doctor, an Emergency Medical Hologram whose acerbic wit and unfamiliarity with Human socialization was barely beyond Seven’s, and Tuvok, the Vulcan chief of security, whose antipathy toward emotion, particularly the illogical Human kind, was part of his alien culture.

Sometimes, Janeway thought Seven was being deliberately perverse in her choice of advisors.

Especially if this is the result, she thought as she neatly avoided yet one more flying object, a dinner plate this time, which shattered impressively on the wall behind her.

“Seven, this is completely inappropriate behavior,” she barked. “I’m ordering you to drop that wine bottle.” Wine bottle? Janeway took another look and saw the table had been set with candles, now burned down to stubs, and fine china, clearly done up for a special occasion. Her heart dropped as she realized it hadn’t just been another dinner she missed, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she had been late for.

Seven slammed the wine bottle back into the ice bucket, which splashed over, the ice having melted an hour ago. “This is unacceptable,” she said flatly. “I cannot tolerate this.”

“I’m sorry, Annika, really,” Janeway protested. She reached out her hand in front of her pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to miss dinner.”

“You are always sorry,” Seven noted, with unfailing accuracy. “Yet, you always do it again.”

“Seven, I am captain of this vessel,” Janeway said reasonably. “I have demands on me that require my presence.” It was an old excuse.

“You were not required anywhere,” Seven said bitingly, shredding the lie with unwavering logic. “You were supposed to log off duty two hours ago. You did not. You were supposed to meet me here for dinner. You did not. You promised nothing would keep you from it short of an emergency. Was this an emergency?”

Janeway regarded her a long moment. “No,” she admitted quietly. “I lost track of time.”

If she thought honesty would earn her points, it was a futile wish. Seven crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the captain with eyes that could burn through hull plating.

“I have accepted that you can only offer me whatever you have left after the demands of your position,” Seven said. “Lately, however, you do not even offer me that. It is clear that you have no desire to be in this relationship.”

The icy calmness was familiar, and much better than when Seven was throwing things. Janeway knew how to handle the cold anger though she was forced to admit, this was certainly not a new argument for her. She had participated in it several times … not only with Seven, but also with Mark Johnson, the fiancé she had left behind in the Alpha Quadrant. Certainly, she had experienced it from the other side, as well, having witnessed her father forced to give up the better part of his family life in order to fulfill his duties with Starfleet. She remembered very well how that had felt growing up, of being overlooked, taken for granted, feeling as if nothing she did was ever good enough, or important enough, to catch his notice.

Was that how she made Seven feel? Perhaps she deserved to get pegged by a wine bottle, after all.

“Annika,” she said softly, honestly regretful. “I was wrong. Once more, I ask you to forgive me.”

Seven turned her head away, jaw set stubbornly. “No,” she said. “I must always be the one to forgive. You told me that one had to learn from mistakes, to take opportunities to grow. You refuse to grow.”

Janeway eased closer, carefully, ready to dart out of the way if Seven picked up another missile. “I know,” she said contritely. “It seems the older I get, the less flexible I am, while you are the most adaptable of anyone I’ve ever met. But I do love you, Seven, completely, thoroughly …. with all my heart.” She detected a softening around the pale blue eyes, the fine, narrow features becoming less rigid and she dared to reach out, resting her hand on the crossed forearms of her lover. “It’s a hard thing to love a captain,” she added warmly, persuasively. “But you do it so well. Don’t give up on me now.”

“I have no wish to ‘give up on you’,” Seven allowed reluctantly.

Janeway put her hand on Seven’s right bicep, feeling the implant beneath the thin material of her outfit. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said, reaching up to kiss Seven gently on the cheek. “Forgive me, please.” She drew her lips gently along the firm jawline, tracing it, though she couldn’t quite reach the mouth as Seven raised her chin stubbornly. So she concentrated on the fine line of the Borg’s neck, kissing it sweetly. “Please, my love.”

Almost involuntarily, Seven uncrossed her arms and took Janeway into them, embracing her lightly.

“You are infuriating,” Seven said, but her tone was warmer, gentler.

“I know,” Janeway murmured, sliding her arms around the tiny waist, brushing her lips over the soft skin. “You have every right to be angry. Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” Seven asked, taking a breath as Janeway nibbled on the soft hollow of her throat.

Janeway smiled as she felt the arms tighten about her, Seven’s head bending slightly, lowering to rest her chin against the captain’s temple. “I’ll clean up this mess, then I’ll replicate you a feast fit for a queen,” she offered, nuzzling her ear lovingly. “I want you to sit back and let me serve you in every way I can … for the duration of the night.”

Seven considered that for awhile. “Acceptable,” she decided. She lowered her head even more and Janeway took the opportunity to capture the full lips in a kiss that promised so much more to come.

Pleased to be forgiven one more time.

B’Elanna Torres ran a final diagnostic of the warp core, just to make sure everything was operating as it should. It was a nice change to be doing maintenance instead of desperately trying to repair this conduit or that plasma relay. She was thankful they had been going through a relatively quiet area of space lately, no hostile lifeforms, no spatial rifts or anomalies which could damage both crew and ship, well aware of the fact that she was the primary reason this vessel kept functioning. It was not something she considered that great a chore either. She loved this ship with a passion deeper than that she had for anything or anyone else, including her current lover, Tom Paris, the fair-haired helmsman.

Though she loved him too, she admitted to herself with a bit of a grin, before returning her attention to the diagnostic which was quite satisfactory, though she wondered if a little tweaking here and there, could enhance the power signature just a little. She considered the results thoughtfully. Maybe if she brought Seven down from astrometrics, the Borg could offer a few ideas as well. It was B’Elanna’s belief that Seven had the heart of an engineer, and that, more than anything, was what finally allowed the Klingon to warm up to the woman whom she had considered to be the most cold and unfeeling iceberg she had ever met. Of course, Seven’s being involved with the captain had considerably altered her perception of the Borg, as well.

B’Elanna raised her eyes as the doors at the far end of engineering opened. Ah, speaking of the captain, she thought with a smirk.

Captain Janeway was an energetic person, radiating a sense of command and presence that electrified the very air around her. Compact, with auburn hair and the most marvelous blue-grey eyes, Janeway was an attractive and vibrant woman. B’Elanna occasionally wondered what would have happened if things had been a little different; if Tom Paris had not existed, if Seven had not come on board, if the friendship, and mutual love she and Janeway shared for this vessel, had ever been allowed to blossom…

B’Elanna carefully stifled that train of thought as the captain walked over to her console.

“Can I help you, Captain?” she asked.

Janeway smiled. “I was wondering if you had a chance to go over those recommendations,” she said, referring to the notes she had added to the engineering report the night before.

“Yes,” B’Elanna said. “I think they’ll work. Good ideas, Captain.”

“Well, I do have some once in awhile,” Janeway said calmly.

B’Elanna hesitated slightly, then resumed her work. There was a tone there, not obvious but still, she had known the captain long enough to read between some of the lines. “So how was dinner last night?” she asked innocently. “I understand you were a bit late.”

If Janeway was surprised by B’Elanna’s familiarity, she hid it well. “Yes, I must thank you for advising Seven as to the proper way to handle that.” There was a definite note of reproach in her voice.

B’Elanna raised an eyebrow, smiling, and then took a look around to see if anyone was in range of a conversation that was personal and not at all the type usually indulged in by the captain while on duty. No one was in the vicinity, and so she dared to pursue it, lowering her voice confidentially. “Did she nail you?” she asked curiously.

“Fortunately, I’m very good at ducking,” Janeway said dryly.

B’Elanna snorted. “She wasn’t as serious as a Klingon would have been then. You’re lucky it wasn’t me you stood up.”

“I’ll be sure to warn Mr. Paris,” Janeway noted.

“Oh, he knows better than to miss my birthday,” B’Elanna replied airily. “It must have been some gift you gave her for her to allow you in your quarters.”

“‘Birthday?’”

B’Elanna blinked. “Yeah,” she said. “Neelix wanted to have a big party for her, but she said she wanted to spend it with you. I still can’t believe you were late for that. So what did you get her?” Her voice trailed off as she took in Janeway’s face which had gone a decided shade of pale. “Oh, don’t tell me,” she added with disgust.

“She never mentioned it,” Janeway said, hand over her mouth.

“It’s easy enough to look up.” B’Elanna regarded her with something akin to pity. “Neelix did.” She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the console. “Captain, there’s no one I respect more, and no one else could have made me wear this uniform, or follow the Starfleet chain of command … but just between you and me, sometimes I have no idea what Seven sees in you.”

“Me, either,” Janeway said mournfully.

“Ah,” B’Elanna added, marveling. “It must be the number of pips, then.”

“What am I going to do?” Janeway asked. “This is just awful.”

B’Elanna took a breath. A few months earlier, she would never have expected to be having such a conversation with Janeway, but as time had passed and the crew grew closer, Janeway had become slightly more open with a small select circle of intimates which included Chakotay, Tuvok, Paris and B’Elanna. Still, it wasn’t until she had settled into her relationship with Seven that she had started coming to them for advice, or just to talk, apparently realizing they were all she had in the Delta Quadrant. B’Elanna guessed that back in the Federation, Janeway had limited her confidences to her family, and maybe the occasional ship’s counselor. That made it an even greater honor, one B’Elanna cherished … not that it made things easier, however. Janeway had a habit of asking for advice after the fact, which made things so much more difficult, nor was she as forthcoming as she could have been about certain areas of her private life.

“Have you considered groveling?” the Klingon asked brightly.

“Chakotay suggested that last night for getting out of being late,” Janeway said. “I don’t think he knew it was her birthday I was late for.” She pinched her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“You’ll have to ask Tom that one,” B’Elanna said helpfully. “He’s a lot more familiar with doing stupid stuff than I am.”

Janeway favored her with a poisonous look and B’Elanna reined in her sense of humor. “Captain, from where I stand, it looks like you really blew it this time. I think you’re going to have to earn your way back with a whole lot of little things, one step at a time. A grand gesture just won’t be enough. It’s going to take some time.”

“Then, I’d better get started, hadn’t I?” Janeway said, looking at her bleakly.

“Bridge to the Captain.”

Janeway tapped her comm badge. “Janeway here,” she said, completely the professional once more. “Go ahead.”

“We’re picking up something on our long range sensors,” Chakotay’s voice said over the channel. “I think you should come up here.”

“On my way.” Janeway was already heading out the door.

Behind her, B’Elanna looked down at her board. Poor Seven, she thought. Shifted to the bottom of the list one more time.

As Seven aligned the power couplings carefully in the junction box, Ensign Harry Kim held the tool kit, handing her the implements as she deemed them necessary. Seven rather liked the young Mr. Kim. Personable, and generally honest, the dark-haired, Starfleet officer had been one of the first people to offer the Borg friendship when she had first came on board … not that she had appreciated it at the time, of course. Seven allowed that his habit of talking too much about whatever popped into his head was, on occasion, tedious, and his obvious attraction for her was somewhat annoying at times, but he was cheerful and warm, and despite herself, his personality had … what was the phrase? … grown on her. Now, she actually enjoyed the time spent in his presence.

“Spanner,” she requested, then remembered. “Please.”

He handed it to her, not interrupting his story about a course he had taken in Starfleet Academy with a professor he called ‘Admiral Motor-mouth.’ She had discovered that she could utilize her eidetic memory to store what he was saying without having to actually listen to it herself, freeing her mind up to concentrate on other things, such as her work … or Kathryn.

Seven carefully stifled a sigh. There was so much about last night she did not comprehend. When Neelix had come to her two days ago, and asked if she wanted a party for her birthday, she had declined. Having learned that refusing such requests was less complicated when she mentioned she wished to spend time with the captain, she used that rather than say she didn’t like parties, and saw no reason to have one on her account. Nor did she have any idea why a ‘birthday’ required one, but since she always wanted to spend time with Kathryn, it was not a dishonest excuse.

However, she had been truly annoyed that Janeway was late for dinner once again, even though the captain had promised that morning to attend. When B’Elanna called to wish her a ‘Happy Birthday’, Seven, naturally, had been forced to tell the engineer that she was not at all ‘happy’. B’Elanna had insisted the Borg was being entirely too easy on the captain by accepting this habitual lateness. By the time the Klingon had finished explaining how very angry Seven should be about the situation, the young woman was more than willing to utilize the suggestion of throwing random objects at Kathryn once she entered the room as the perfect way to indicate such strong emotion.

Seven had to admit that Kathryn was far more contrite than usual after being forced to dodge a few missiles, and she wondered if it were something she should do every time they had a disagreement. Kathryn had been exceptionally loving and sweet in the aftermath, insisting that Seven be treated as some sort of superior being, actually feeding dinner to her by hand, and then afterward, in bed … clearly Kathryn had realized her actions required a certain amount of restitution be paid, and she did so in a most delightful fashion.

Seven took a breath, aware that the demeanor displayed the previous night by Kathryn was totally unlike her natural self, and to be exposed to such a saccharine personality on a continual basis would be most trying for both of them. However, it was certainly gratifying, on the rare occasion, to be pampered and coddled and stroked beyond all reasonable expectation. Perhaps she would throw things at Kathryn only when she felt the need for such pampering.

“So I wanted to wish you a belated Happy Birthday, Seven.” Harry’s voice addressing her directly penetrated her train of thought and she found herself forced to listen to him on a conscious level.

“You do?” she said with a certain surprise. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”

“Ah.” Seven looked at him. “Thank you.”

He smiled, his dark eyes brightening. “I also wanted to give your present to you,” he continued, drawing out a small, brightly wrapped package from the tool kit, and handing it to her.

Baffled, she examined the shiny paper, turning it over so she could see it from all sides. A memory stirred within her, of a cake with six candles … and ‘one to grow on’ … of packages wrapped in paper similar to this. Yes, she remembered now. Birthdays were to be celebrated, apparently in recognition of having survived one more year, and one received gifts for achieving that accomplishment.

Kathryn had not presented her with a gift, however. Was it possible that she was unaware of this tradition? Or that it had been Seven’s birthday? Yet, Neelix had known, as had B’Elanna … and now Harry. Why would they know, and Kathryn not? It was most disturbing.

“Thank you, Ensign Kim,” she replied politely, knowing that was the proper response in this situation. “Should I open it now?”

He nodded. “Sure, Seven,” he said amiably.

Carefully, she unwrapped the present, detaching the paper where it was bonded, revealing a delicate wooden box which, when opened, played a delicate melody most pleasing to the ear. Mystified, she raised her eyes to meet Harry’s, and the young man blushed.

“It’s a music box,” he explained. “I wrote the song myself. That’s a clarinet playing.”

Seven hesitated. She saw no purpose for possessing such a thing, but she had learned enough about Humans to realize that Harry had obviously taken some time to create it, and that was worthy of respect … and gratitude.

“I am … most appreciative,” she said. “It is aesthetically pleasing to me, both visually and with its sound. I will think of you whenever it functions.” Harry beamed and she knew she had said exactly the right thing, which was quite satisfying to her.

“So what did the Captain get you?”

That was much less satisfying.

“The Captain has not yet mentioned my birthday,” she replied honestly.

“Oh,” he said. He seemed shocked, uncertain, hesitating as he searched for the proper words. “Maybe she was just too busy. She is the captain, you know,” he offered lamely.

“I am aware her duties take most of her attention,” Seven agreed, then frowned. This was getting dangerously close to commenting personally about Kathryn, to a member of the crew who was not in the captain’s immediate circle of confidantes. Kathryn had been quite clear to whom Seven could speak with about such things, and Harry was not one of them. “I am sure she will mention it when she deems it necessary.”

She looked up and realized Harry was looking at her with an expression of sympathy … as if something bad had happened to her. Now, she was even more confused.

“You disagree?”

He took a breath. “Maybe … she’s taking you for granted, Seven,” he blurted. He looked at her with a disturbing intensity. “Maybe I’m out of line here, but I can tell you, if we were together, I’d never forget your birthday.”

Startled at the thought, Seven stared at him. Kathryn took her for granted? That meant the captain perceived her actions as being predictable. Seven knew it was easier for Humans to make mistakes when a situation had taken on a repetitious quality. She believed Humans called it ‘falling into a rut’. Perhaps, that was why the captain was always forgetting dinner … Kathryn perceived each day as having the same routine, and it were possible that if Seven did something unpredictable, that would help Kathryn prevent further mistakes, such as forgetting dinner. Or her birthday. Or what birthdays entailed.

“Senior officers to Conference Room One.”

Since the request had also come through her comm badge, Seven realized that she was expected to attend this meeting as well, and she handed the spanner to Kim to put away in the tool kit. Carrying the music box with great care, she led Kim out of the Jeffries tube, and accompanied him to the conference room, thinking hard about what she should do to help Kathryn out of her ‘rut’.

Janeway made a quick notation in her padd as she waited for the rest of her senior staff to arrive for the meeting. Chakotay, Paris and Tuvok were already in their seats as the door hissed open to herald the arrival of B’Elanna, Kim and Seven. As Harry and Seven took their seats, and the Doctor and Neelix finally made their appearance, B’Elanna took a moment to pass behind the captain’s chair and bend over by her ear, ostensibly to hand Janeway an updated engineering report.

“You are in so much trouble,” she uttered quietly, barely moving her lips. “Harry just gave Seven a birthday present .. so now she knows you didn’t.”

Janeway glanced sharply at her, and B’Elanna shot her a significant glance over her shoulder as she made her way over to the chair between Chakotay and Tom. Dismayed, Janeway turned her eyes to where Seven was sitting between the Doctor and Harry. There was a finely stained wooden box sitting on the conference table in front of the Borg, next to her padd. A jewelry box? Janeway wasn’t sure but whatever it was, it did not bode well for her. Damn that ensign anyway. Why the hell did he have to be such a nice guy?

In any event, she couldn’t deal with it now.

Clearing her throat, she brought the meeting to order. “Our long range sensors have detected an unusual energy source on a planet two light years from here,” she explained. “Since we are expected to rendezvous with the D’Naran tomorrow, Chakotay has offered to take a shuttle to the planet to investigate further before catching up to us later.”

Chakotay nodded, and took the floor. “For some reason, this energy signature looks familiar to me, but I just can’t place it,” he said. “That’s really why I want to check it out. B’Elanna, if there’s nothing pressing, I’d like you to accompany me.”

The chief engineer nodded. “All right,” she said.

“I wish to go as well.”

They all looked at Seven who raised an eyebrow, the implant lifting as she regarded them coolly. “I understand others in the crew have used such opportunities to provide a change to their daily routine,” she said. “I feel an alteration in my ‘habits’ at this time would be beneficial … if it is agreeable with you, Commander?”

B’Elanna dropped her eyes to her padd, studying it closely, refusing to look at either the captain or Seven. Janeway felt a muscle in her jaw twitch, her lips thinning, but she did not trust herself to speak. The rest, who had no idea that anything extraordinary was going on, had no particular response to this rather mundane request.

“I’d be glad to have you along, Seven,” Chakotay said with a smile. “Everyone needs a break, now and again.”

“Very well,” Janeway said, having managed to regain her composure. “When do you intend to leave?”

“Right away,” he said. “The sooner we leave, the quicker we get back, right?”

“Yes,” she said, having no real choice, but to agree. She watched as he got up and left, B’Elanna and Seven at his heels. This is bad, she thought dismally. Seven is so angry she can’t even stand to be on the same ship as me. Why the hell didn’t I remember her birthday? How much effort would it have taken?

Sometimes, Kathryn Janeway didn’t like the starship captain part of herself, at all. This was one of those times.

She looked at the other crewmembers who remained, and forced a brief smile. “Neelix, I trust you have a list of supplies that the D’Naran have agreed to trade for the astrometric charts,” she said. She tried not to be obvious in hurrying the rest of the meeting along. If she got through this quickly enough, maybe she’d have time to speak with Seven before she left. Janeway knew the shuttle would require a certain amount of preparation before it could embark.

“I do, Captain,” the pleasant civilian who doubled as both cook and diplomat on Voyager smiled at her. Resembling remarkably a humanoid version of a Terran hedgehog, his gold eyes sparkled with good humor and friendliness. If only all the aliens they encountered in the Delta Quadrant were as amiable. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Not now,” she said quickly. “Doctor?”

“I’ve included a list of what medical supplies I hoped they could provide,” he said. Tall, trim with a sparse frame beneath his blue and black uniform, he had been a revelation to her, far exceeding his programming to actually become sentient. “It remains to be seen whether they have them or not.”

She nodded. “Harry, Tom?” she asked. “Status?”

“Operations are performing at maximum, Captain,” Harry said crisply.

A bit too crisply. Janeway eyed him uncertainly as he stared at her, almost challengingly. Good god, Seven hadn’t mentioned to him that she had forgotten her birthday? Yes, Janeway concluded gloomily, that would probably have come up in the conversation when Harry gave her the present. She could almost hear Seven’s chill tones. “Of course, the captain did not present me with a gift, or even wish me a Happy Birthday. She has, yet again, neglected my well-being. Perhaps you would be a more suitable mate, after all, Ensign Kim.”

With difficulty, Janeway dragged her mind away from that scenario, and concentrated on Paris who was giving her an update on the navigation systems before Tuvok outlined his report regarding the tactical array. All was status quo, except for her relationship with Seven if she didn’t get her sorry ass down to the hangar. It was definitely time to try out that ‘groveling’ thing.

“Very well, good work people,” she said, trying not to be obvious. “Dismissed.”

She forced herself to wait until the room was clear before she walked to the turbolift with a reserved dignity. Once inside however, her voice rose alarmingly. “Hangar deck. Computer, what is the status of the shuttles?”

“The Edison is at standby. The Franklin is preparing to disembark,” the computer’s even, feminine tone responded.

Janeway tried not to fidget as the turbolift zipped through the vessel toward the hangar bay at the rear of Voyager. It was about as far away as one could get from the bridge, and still be on the ship, seeming to take forever to get there. Then, the lift doors were opening, and she was sprinting down the corridor leading to the entrance of the hangar. There were red lights blinking prominently along the edge of the large doors, indicating that decompression was already taking place. Dismayed, she darted through the smaller door nearby which led into the hanger deck control booth. She climbed the ladder quickly, nodding at the gold and black clad ensign working operations, and peered through the large transparency which overlooked the bulk of the hangar.

A small white shuttle was rising from the deck, heading for the open doors, beyond which, the blackness of space beckoned. She was too late.

“Captain? Did you want to contact the Franklin?” The ensign was regarding her with curiosity, clearly wondering what had brought her down to witness the departure of the shuttle.

“No,” she responded quietly. “As you were.”

Depressed, she left the control booth and returned to the turbolift. She would just have to speak with Seven when she returned, and she swore that from now on, things were going to be different.

She wondered if Seven would accept recieving a cake and lots of presents three days late?

B’Elanna glanced over her shoulder as she piloted the shuttle through the depths of deep space, heading for the system where the anomalous readings had originated. Seven of Nine was immersed in her console at the rear of the cockpit, where she was assisting Chakotay in matching the readings with other energy forms in the Federation database. He still hadn’t put his finger on why the signature seemed so familiar to him, providing him with an intriguing puzzle.

At least, they both seemed to think so, B’Elanna thought as she studied the Borg surreptitiously. She had assumed that Seven had wished to leave the ship to put some space between her and the captain, but now she wasn’t so sure. Though Seven was a remarkably contained young woman, B’Elanna had learned to tell when she was agitated or angry, and she just wasn’t detecting those emotions in the Borg.

“Let’s take a break,” Chakotay said, straightening and stretching, raising his arms above his head. They had left the ship over four hours ago, and he had been working steadily ever since. “How about some lunch?” he offered, tossing a grin B’Elanna’s way.

“Sounds good to me,” she replied.

“I will take over the piloting duties if you wish to eat,” Seven offered, coming up to take the other seat at the helm. “I do not require nutrition at this time.”

“Thanks, Seven,” B’Elanna said gratefully, before going back to where Chakotay was digging out the ration packets. She grimaced slightly as he handed her one. “On the other hand, maybe Seven has the right idea.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Chakotay laughed. “They’re not that bad. Don’t you remember the times when stuff like this would have sounded fantastic?”

B’Elanna nodded, grinning faintly as she allowed the point. She and Chakotay had both been members of the Maquis, the outlaw band of rebels who had been fighting the Cardassians to free the planets in the demilitarized zone. Chased into the Bajoran Badlands, their small fighter had been flung into the Delta Quadrant, and soon after, the Federation vessel dispatched to retrieve them … or more notably, Tuvok who had been working undercover, infiltrating their group … was also dragged into the Caretaker’s domain. B’Elanna could well remember the times when the Maquis had subsided on very thin rations, and decided that Chakotay was right. Life had been so much better since joining forces with Starfleet, though she wouldn’t admit that to just anyone.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some replicated, preformed meat?” B’Elanna asked Seven, as she reclaimed her pilot seat, opening the package, which automatically heated the contents, gingerly putting the small tray on the console in front of her. Salisbury steak, reconstituted corn, mashed potatoes, and a small dessert made up her meal. B’Elanna had no way of knowing that these Starfleet rations greatly resembled something existing in the twentieth century called ‘TV dinners’, though purportedly, the rations were far more nutritious.

Seven glanced over, eyeing the brownish slab distastefully. “I think not,” she said.

B’Elanna chuckled, and dug in. As food went, it wasn’t that bad, certainly not after some of the concoctions Neelix came up with. She glanced back at Chakotay who was reading a padd intently as he ate his meal. He seemed completely involved with his studies, but B’Elanna lowered her voice, just in case.

“So, how did you like Harry’s gift?” she asked.

Seven keyed some navigational corrections into her controls. “It was very thoughtful,” she commented evenly.

“Yeah, that’s Harry,” B’Elanna said. “He’s a thoughtful guy.” She paused. “Not like Janeway, huh?”

Seven turned her head, pinning the engineer with her icy blue eyes. “The captain has a great deal more responsibility than Ensign Kim,” she reminded her, a hint of rebuke in her voice. “She does not always have time to be ‘thoughtful’.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me,” B’Elanna said, holding up her hands. “So you’re not mad at her for forgetting your birthday?”

Seven considered that for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “I realize she has ‘fallen into a rut’, and I must take action to remind her not to take me for granted.”

B’Elanna stared at her, trying to wrap her mind around that one. Seven’s thought processes were so unusual in their formation that the Borg-assimilated Human seemed more alien to the Klingon than any species the engineer had encountered in the Delta Quadrant. Sometimes it was impossible to follow her train of thought.

“Is that why you asked to come along on this away mission?” B’Elanna asked.

“Yes,” Seven explained. “By deviating from my daily routine, perhaps it will encourage Kathryn to deviate from her own ingrained habits.”

B’Elanna, who figured Janeway had assumed what she had, that Seven was absolutely furious with her, snickered. “Well, I’ll tell you this, Seven,” she said. “You certainly keep her guessing.”

Seven hesitated. “Is that good?”

“I think so,” B’Elanna remarked. “Just between you and me? You don’t want to let them get too comfortable.”

Seven nodded sagely as B’Elanna chuckled again, and tackled the rest of her lunch, polishing off the ration pack with hungry intent. Afterward, she went back to the head, washed up, and finally retook the helm controls from Seven. “We’re now entering the outer boundary of the system,” she informed the other two. “Our ETA to the planet’s outer atmosphere is about an hour.”

Chakotay looked up from his book, and bent over the science station while Seven remained in the co-pilot’s seat. The news had energized them a bit and the fatigue from so many hours of flying abated somewhat.

“Anything more on the energy readings?” he asked.

“No,” Seven replied. “Sensors indicate no sentient lifeforms. The atmosphere contains significant amounts of arsenic and lead. We will require breathing apparatus.”

Chakotay nodded. “I’m on it,” he said. He accessed the cabinets at the rear of the cockpit, pulling out three environmental tanks. Like the full suits, these devices allowed them to breathe in thin or poisonous air, but they were more lightweight than the bulky outfits required for a total lack of an atmosphere, or a corrosive one. Their uniforms should provide sufficient protection, especially since sensor readings indicated warm temperatures, shading into the upper twenties of the Celsius thermometer.

The planet was not much to look at. The vegetation was an unappealing shade of reddish-brown and the earth was a greyish black. Ooutside, the clouds were sullen and thick, hanging over the dismal landscape, with little wind, and a rain that fell in a steady mist. The gloom made their descent to the surface visibly challenged, but relatively smooth. B’Elanna set the shuttle down lightly in a clearing between a cliff-side and the line of a gloomy forest.

The trio put on their tanks, made sure their tricorders and phasers were fully functional, and stepped out onto the planet for the first time. The ground beneath their feet was mushy and unpleasant, the slimly mud clumping on their boots and weighing them down.

“That’s what I love about you, Chakotay,” B’Elanna noted, voice muffled through her mask. “You always take me to such wonderful places.”

“Well, I wouldn’t bring just anyone,” he responded. He looked at his tricorder. “The readings appear to be coming from the cliffs. Maybe, there’s a cave?”

“About ten meters to the right,” Seven directed coolly.

They found the entrance, shining their wrist lamps into the dark hole with a certain amount of trepidation. As the one in command, Chakotay took the point, crouching a little as he went inside. The only positive thing they could say about the experience was that at least they were out of the rain, though the shadowy, scurrying things that darted away from the edge of the light beams did not necessarily mean that was an advantage. Fortunately, the tunnel was short, only about six meters long before opening up into a large cavern containing a sandy floor and striated walls which glittered strangely in the muted light.

In the center of the cave was an oddly shaped stone sitting on an altar of rock, glowing faintly, and allowing the Voyager crewmembers to see the bones scattered at the base. They were able to pick out four individual skeletons amid the jumble, and as Seven knelt down beside them, the tattered rags they were clothed in crumpled to dust, indicating how very long they had been there.

“Humanoid, Commander,” Seven said, running her tricorder over them. “The traces of atmospheric elements in the bone matter indicate they most likely died of arsenic poisoning. Apparently, they did not evolve here.”

“I’ll say they didn’t,” B’Elanna said, her tone odd as she read the readings on her tricorder several times, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “The genetic scans indicate that they’re Bajoran.”

“Bajoran?” Seven looked up. There were several Bajorans on Voyager, having been a part of the original Maquis crew, their planet having been subjugated by the Cardassians long before those in the demilitarized zone. It had only been freed a few years prior to the starship being stranded in the Delta Quadrant, but some of the inhabitants continued to fight the Cardassians as much out of habit as anything else. “How is that possible?”

“I’d say it wasn’t,” Chakotay said slowly, “except for the fact that I think that’s a Bajoran orb. Now, I know why the energy readings are so familiar. I saw a couple of the orbs once when I visited Deep Space 9 while still a member of Starfleet.”

“This is crazy,” B’Elanna said. “How did they, and an orb, get way the hell out here in the Delta Quadrant?”

Chakotay shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied. “However, I think we should take the orb back with us. I understand they have unusual powers. It’s possible this could provide a way home for us.”

Startled, B’Elanna and Seven stared at him. He shrugged.

“Besides, I’d rather examine it on Voyager than here on the planet,” he pointed out. “We only have air for a few more hours.”

Acceding to the practicality of that, B’Elanna and Seven helped him carry the orb back to the shuttle. They also gathered up the skeletons and carefully placed them in a stasis tube so that the Doctor could examine them more closely. It was with a certain relief that they shed their tanks, and launched the shuttle back into the air, heading for the chill cleanliess of space.

Janeway watched the last sparkles of the transporting D’Naran disappear from the transporter dais, and took a deep breath. The negotiations had gone smoother than she could have hoped, and now cargo bay one was almost bursting from the supplies offered by the small, rodent-like species, who found Voyager’s astrometric charts the greatest of treasures. There was nothing better than a trade where both sides felt like they had gotten the better of the deal, she thought absently as she left the transporter room and headed for the lift. She wondered if that was a Ferengi Rule of Acquisition, and if so, which one?

“Bridge,” she said, as she entered the turbolift and wondered why it seemed so slow. Maybe she would get B’Elanna to run a diagnostic on the entire system when the engineer returned.

A smile curled the corner of her mouth. Or maybe she wouldn’t because, after all, she was planning to be very busy once the Franklin had returned … once Seven had returned … and none of those plans involved work.

Really, Janeway allowed to herself, she had been just dreadful to Seven recently. She wasn’t surprised the younger woman had taken the opportunity to get away for awhile. However, she would return to find that Janeway had turned over a completely new leaf, one which made Seven first on the list rather than being continually pushed to the bottom. Janeway had the next three days all planned out and she was damned if she was going to let her command interrupt what she hoped would be a long weekend Seven would never forget … and allow her to realize how very much she was cherished by a captain who didn’t always take the time to show it.

Stepping onto the bridge, Janeway felt the warmth of its lights and sounds wash over her with comforting familiarity. Sitting down in her chair, she nodded at Tuvok who, just that simply, turned command over to her, neither requiring the formal transfer of conn that so many ships utilized.

“Any word on when exactly the Franklin will rendezvous with us?” Tom Paris asked over his shoulder from his position at the helm. Boyish, with tousled fair hair, he was the only other person here who had a vested, and very personal interest, in the question. Janeway smiled fondly at him.

“Their ETA is three hours from now,” she said.

“We could cut that down considerably if we backtracked a little,” he suggested, turning around to give her a pleading look with big blue eyes.

Janeway considered that. It was very appealing, but not practical. Voyager did not turn around and expend precious resources retracing her journey unless she absolutely had to, even for a short distance. It was a sort of unspoken rule, and as much as she wanted to see Seven, she couldn’t justify breaking it now.

“Sorry, Tom,” she said, not unkindly. “We’ll maintain station-keeping here.”

He sighed, but turned back to his board. Three hours wasn’t so long, even if Voyager’s warp engines could cut that down considerably.

“Captain, I’m picking up a distress call,” Harry said suddenly from his position at ops. She stood, turning to look at him, and he raised his eyes to meet Janeway’s. Somehow, from that glance, she realized what he was about to say next. “It’s from the Franklin. They’re being attacked.”

“Yellow alert,” Janeway snapped, and turned to the fore screen. “Tom…” However, she saw her helmsmen had already keyed the coordinates, turning Voyager on a dime and calling up warp speed without being told. She let it go. Sometimes protocols just got in the way.

“Warp nine,” she said, granting him permission to draw on every bit of speed the ship had to offer, and hours became minutes as Voyager ripped through space to her threatened offspring. She frowned at her Vulcan security chief. “Tuvok?”

“Sensors are detecting plasma discharge from weapons fire,” he said, “from a D’Naran ship. Their technology is no match for Voyager, but they could significantly overmatch a shuttle’s resources.”

“Why are they attacking?” she asked in a tone of utter frustration. She felt her hands ball into fists, and with an effort, she unclenched them, forcing herself to maintain an exterior of control. “We were getting along so well.”

“Within visual range,” Tom snapped, his tone stressed. “Dropping to impulse.”

“I’m receiving a hail from the D’Naran vessel, Captain,” Harry said.

“On screen,” she snapped angrily.

The narrow face covered with fur and whiskers seemed even more rat-like to her now, admittedly, prejudiced eyes. “Captain Janeway, this is the D’Naran border patrol. The vessel trying to enter our space,” he said. “That belongs to you?”

“Yes, it’s our shuttle,” she said, desperately trying to hold on to her diplomatic shell when what she really wanted to do was blow him out of space for daring to fire on her own. “Why are you attacking them?”

“They are carrying a forbidden object from the dark world,” he said. “It must not be allowed to enter our space.”

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” she pleaded. “Cease firing. Allow us to speak with them.”

“We will not allow it to enter our space,” he repeated warningly. “Send them back.”

“I will,” she promised. “I will personally see that whatever they have with them will be returned to wherever they got it.”

“Acceptable,” he replied and the viewscreen altered to become a space field once more.

“The D’Naran have stopped firing,” Tuvok reported. “The shuttle has ceased its progress and is maintaining position where it is. It has been significantly damaged, Captain.”

“Can you hail them?” she asked.

“There’s some sort of interference,” Harry said. “I’m boosting the signal. There, got them.”

She looked up to see a rather battered Chakotay looking at her from the viewscreen. Behind him she could see smoke and blackened, twisted metal. She could not see either B’Elanna or Seven, and presumed they were attempting to make repairs out of range of the viewer.

“What the hell’s going on here, Commander?” she demanded. Fear sharpened her tone, and she made a determined effort to calm down.

“It’s an orb, Captain,” he said obscurely. A shower of sparks behind him drew his attention away. “Hold on.”

“Captain, the shuttle’s warp core is starting to breach,” Tuvok said, and his Vulcan tone had a definite tone of urgency.

“Transporters,” Janeway snapped.

“Trying to lock on,” Harry said.

“Breach is in progress,” Tuvok said.

The viewscreen flickered, revealed the shuttle drifting in space, disintegrating into a ball of light and flame as they watched.

“Ensign Kim,” she said, and if there was a bit of a scream in her tone, then maybe the situation called for it.

“I’m trying, Captain,” he said, voice desperate. “The interference is blocking the signal.”

She forgot protocol, forgot proper etiquette. She leaped up the stairs and shoved Harry aside without hesitation, hands flying over the board as, on the screen at the front of the bridge, the shuttle finished exploding silently. Again and again, she keyed in the controls, drawing on every ounce of power her ship could give her, sensors sweeping through space, examining every molecule, transporter straining to grab whatever bit of organic material was there.

But there was nothing there to grab.

Finally, with utter horror, she accepted what the data kept trying to tell her. She stopped her frantic motion and looked up. Tom was standing in the middle of the bridge, his helm left unattended as he stared at her, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, and there was complete devastation in his voice. “Oh no.”

She opened her mouth, tried to speak, couldn’t, and then looked back at Harry who was leaning against the wall, looking as if he were about to cry. “You did all you could, Ensign,” she managed quietly, somehow maintaining her shell of command even now.

She stepped away from the console, looked at Tuvok who regarded her with as much compassion as he was capable of.

“You have the bridge,” she told him in a voice that sounded very far away from her, as if it belonged to someone else. “Run sweeps over the area and try to find out what we can. Then, set a course for the planet where they picked up the object. I’ll be in my ready room.”

Somehow she walked across the bridge, stepped down the stairs to her ready room, walked through the door and sat down behind her desk, not sure of how she managed it. This was too big, she thought dazedly. It was too much.

Her two best friends. Seven, so much more than that, friend, lover, partner … this simply could not be happening. Any second she would awaken from this nightmare … wake up from this terrible dream state and reach over, and Seven would be there. She had to be.

If only she could wake up.

“Fuck.”

The word somehow penetrated the dark morass of unconsciousness, and with an effort, Seven opened her eyes, looking up into the shadowy shape of a ceiling far above her. Much too high to be that of the shuttle or Voyager. She took a breath, and regretted it profoundly, every muscle screaming in protest. She looked down at herself, certain that she would see a good portion of her insides now occupying the outside and surprised to find she was still intact … though the feeling of being turned inside out remained.

“What happened?”

Seven cast her eyes to the side in time to see B’Elanna Torres carefully ease herself into a sitting position, wincing with every movement. Beyond her, Chakotay was already in a seated position, head in his hands, leaning forward between bent knees. It was his voice which had woken Seven, the short bark of a painful obscenity. She thought about the word for a moment, trying to identify it. The pursuit of the puzzle kept her from contemplating her body, which was being entirely too contrary for her to deal with at the moment.

Ah, an Anglo-Saxon slang term, referring to sexual copulation, but in a lowbred, inferior sort of way. Seven remembered Kathryn using it once at an extremely vulnerable moment during their lovemaking, and the subsequent discussion which ensued, interrupted what they were doing and prevented Janeway from repeating it since. Though Seven would not have required it explained to her a second time. Sometimes, Seven thought Janeway forgot about her eidetic memory.

“Seven, are you all right?” B’Elanna said, leaning over gingerly to prod the Borg lightly in the shoulder.

“I am … functioning,” Seven allowed cautiously.

“Chakotay?”

“Still here,” he grunted.

“Where the hell are we?”

Seven looked around, deciding that if she were very careful, she just might be able to sit up, and did so with many hesitations and involuntary sounds at the twinges.

“Not where we were,” Seven said unevenly when she finally achieved an upright position. “Not on the shuttle. Not on Voyager.”

“Yeah,” B’Elanna agreed as she looked around keenly. “Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this was Cardassian architecture.”

“I think you’re right,” Chakotay agreed, managing to get to his feet, and examining the wall beside him. “Have we somehow been transported to Cardassia?”

“Not unless the Federation now runs it,” B’Elanna said, looking closely at a panel on the container she was leaning against. “This shipping label originated on Risa. Destination is listed as Quark’s, care of Deep Space 9.” She looked at them all, eyes wide. “I think we just returned to the Alpha Quadrant.”

Chakotay stared at her blankly, Seven, with keen consideration. This was the Alpha Quadrant? She looked around curiously. It was quite dark. … and dusty. She sneezed.

The sound seemed to jolt Chakotay out of his stunned state. “Deep Space 9?” He took a breath. “You know, that makes sense.”

B’Elanna arched her brows. “I can’t wait to hear how,” she said dryly.

“That was what I was thinking about just as the warp core breached,” he explained. “While we were standing there, waiting to be transported, I was hanging on to that,” he pointed at the orb, which was no longer glowing. It lay feebly on its side on the ridged deck. “I was wishing like hell I had never visited DS9. Wishing I had never saw that energy signature. This station was the last thing I envisioned when everything went funny.”

“It transported us to where you were thinking?” B’Elanna asked. Her voice rose in excitement. “So we can transport us back, rendezvous with Voyager, and return everyone?”

“No,” Seven said, running her tricorder over the orb intently. “The power it utilized to teleport us here has left it very fragile. Another transport may well destroy it. At the very least, it will drain the odd energy readings completely.”

B’Elanna shook her head, looking disgusted. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” she grumbled.

“Hey, let’s look on the bright side here,” Chakotay reminded. “We’re home.”

Seven regarded him evenly. “Yes, two members of an outlaw group wanted for crimes against the Federation,” she noted with edged precision, “and a Borg drone.”

B’Elanna snorted. “She’s got a point,” she said. “Let’s stoke that baby up, and get the hell back to Voyager.”

Chakotay was looking at them with astonishment. “You want to return to the Delta Quadrant? Are you serious?”

“Kathryn is there,” Seven said with absolute surety. “There is no where else I wish to be.”

B’Elanna glanced at her with what seemed appreciation. “Seven’s right, Chakotay,” she said. “It’s taken me ahile, but I’ve come to realize that there’s nothing here for me anymore. Besides, how could I stay here, knowing Tom is probably going nuts? Even if they figure out where we’ve transported to, they have no way of knowing how we’re going to get back. Don’t forget, Voyager is still out there and alone … without a decent engineer, I might add. I mean, Carey’s pretty good but he doesn’t know that ship like I do. You do what you want. Seven and I have to go back.”

Seven felt unaccountably warmed by her support. Chakotay sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine,” he said. “I admit, it’s one thing to have us all come home. It’s another to be just us returning to the Federation while the rest remain behind. It doesn’t seem right somehow.” He looked at them significantly. “However, we don’t have to go back right away.”

B’Elanna crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him from lowered brows. “You want to look around a bit?” she guessed.

“Not just look around,” he said, obviously thinking out loud. “Look, we transported with all our equipment, and a good piece of the deck where we were standing.”

He pointed at the large piece of hull resting on the station deck. The edges of it were blackened and melted, as if the trio had escaped just milliseconds before the warp core breach. In fact, that was probably exactly what had happened, Seven allowed silently.

“I bet if it hadn’t been exploding at the time, we might have brought the whole shuttle along,” he said. “Why not return with one?”

Seven eyed him skeptically. “Are you suggesting we take an entire vessel back with us?”

B’Elanna laughed. “Oh god, this is just like old times,” she said, eyes sparkling as she looked at him. “A ship? Where would we get one?”

“Good question,” Chakotay allowed. “I’m not envisioning anything too large, but certainly one we can stuff to the brim with items we can use back in the Delta Quadrant. Weapons, food, equipment, updated databases … since we’ve decided we’re going back anyway.”

Seven raised her chin. “The captain would want us to contact Starfleet Command,” she reminded him.

Chakotay studied her closely. “You’re right, Seven, she would,” he told her seriously. “Certainly, if I were still a Starfleet officer, that’s exactly what I’d do … but I’m not Starfleet, and the reason I left was not just because of the situation with the Maquis. There was a lot about Starfleet that I just didn’t agree with. I think, if we were to go to them, they’d tie us up so badly with bureaucratic red tape and interrogations, we’d lose any chance at transporting back with an entire ship. At best, we’d have to return to Voyager herself, with nothing more than what we can carry in our hands. That’s in the event that Starfleet, or Bajor doesn’t claim the orb and keep it out of our reach altogether. However, if we keep quiet, spend a couple of days assembling a ship and cargo, we can ‘wish’ ourselves back to Voyager’s general vicinity without too much problem.”

He took a breath and looked at her with an intent expression, spreading his hands wide. “I certainly can’t order you not to go to Starfleet, however,” he told her. “Not in this case. You have to do what you feel is best, Seven. I won’t try to stop you.”

Seven considered his words carefully. He had made many valid points, and while there was much she did not understand, she did respect this man, and his opinion. If he thought this was the proper course of action, then she should accept that. “You are the commanding officer on the away team,” she said finally. “I know the captain would want me to follow your lead.”

He nodded, smiling. He seemed to understand she was leaving the decision up to him. The fact that she did not want to go to Starfleet either, that she was actually afraid of facing the organization which had defeated the Borg on several occasions, was something she chose not to reveal.

“Well, there is still one problem,” B’Elanna said. “This is gonna take latinum … a lot of it.” She patted her pocket-less uniform. “Dammit, I must’ve left my bankroll in my other suit.”

Chakotay nodded soberly. “We may no longer have any contacts,” he admitted. “If the Maquis is truly gone, there’s no one for us to depend on for help … so I guess we’ll just have to get creative.”

B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “Of course we do,” she allowed. “First, we have to get some new clothes and find a place to stash the orb where it won’t be found.”

Seven silently sighed.

Wishing she had never decided to alter her daily routine.

The sweeps turned up absolutely nothing, and there was no clue on the planet as to what Chakotay had found and tried to bring back to Voyager. Just an empty cavern, and trace elements of some energy wave. Nor was there much enlightenment in the stories told by D’Naran about the Evil Stone that had arrived in a blaze of fire and light, its creators falling down at its base, clearly struck dead by the malevolent spirits in the oddly shaped rock. Myth, altered beyond all recognition over the centuries, tied up in superstition and nonsense, unclear and untraceable. It was something that clearly terrified the D’Naran, however, enough to fire upon a vessel that was entering their space with its energy signature on board.

Voyager couldn’t even tell if it had been the D’Naran weapons that created the warp core breach, or if it had been the artifact somehow destroying the shuttle along with its away team. The interference which had prevented Voyager from transporting them to safety had dissipated, leaving no clue to its origin, and no reason why it had occurred.

It was senseless and no matter what they did, remained so. Just another tragedy in a history of tragedies for this ship lost and alone, so far away from hearth and home. After two weeks of fruitless investigation, there was no choice remaining. It was time to resume the journey, time to think of the rest of the crew, time to start the healing process.

Time to get on with their lives … somehow.

Through it all, Captain Janeway had been the crew’s strength, their rock, directing the investigation and working tirelessly, unceasingly, guiding them to seek out the slightest of leads until there was nothing left but to make the proper decision to move on. She arranged memorial services that put the first bit of closure on the needless deaths, as always, taking care of the ship first and foremost, doing what had to be done to allow them to survive, to continue on. Lt. Carey was installed as the new chief engineer, and she promoted Tuvok to first officer. Harry was accorded junior lieutenant pips to take over tactical, and Susan Nicoletti was brought up from engineering to replace Kim at ops. Filling the holes torn in the chain of command with competent, respected people who had long deserved a chance at promotion, despite the terrible circumstances which had precipitated it. An awed respect and admiration at Janeway’s composure, at her complete efficacy in the face of devastating reality, spread throughout the crew, solidifying her position as their leader.

But then, she was a Starfleet captain, they reminded themselves as they went about the business of resuming their lives. The helmsman, Tom Paris? He could fall apart and that was completely understandable. As he lost weight and wandered about the ship, fulfilling his duties with but a fraction of his attention, allowances were made, and without anything said, the slack taken up graciously by others.

Not the captain, however. No, she didn’t need such coddling. She was strong, unbreakable. After all, hadn’t she faced the Borg themselves, and forced them to accede to her wishes? Brought the Hirogen to heel? Destroyed the Kazon who would dare threaten them? The crew had always known Starfleet captains were a breed apart, untouchable, undefinable, beyond Human frailties and weaknesses. That’s what they were trained for, what they were born for, possessing that super-human ability to adapt and lead no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the odds. It was bestowed upon them as if it were a gift from the gods. In the face of Janeway’s courage and dignity, the Voyager crew could respond only in kind as they implemented their course back to the Alpha Quadrant.

Of them all, only Commander Tuvok and the Doctor knew better … and neither Vulcan nor Hologram had the slightest idea what to do about it.

Seven drew her hood up over her head, hiding her Borg implants and keeping her features in the shadows. It had been three weeks since they had arrived in the Alpha Quadrant. Three weeks of moving about the promenade and catching up on four years of news and events, counting themselves fortunate that their unexpected return had not occurred months earlier when the Cardassians had held the station.

The revelation of how much difficulty the Federation, with their allies, the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Republic, were having in the war against the Dominon, who had just allied with the Breen, had been profoundly shocking to both Chakotay and B’Elanna. To Seven, however, who had no memories of the Alpha Quadrant, it was just one more thing she had to adapt to. It was her opinion, in fact, that the war actually worked in their favor. There was no question that had this been peacetime, with much less activity and traffic occupying the station’s Starfleet and Bajoran personnel, the Delta Quadrant intruders would have been discovered long ago. As it were, it had been very instructive to Seven to observe how easily her Voyager crewmates fell back into their Maquis ways, quickly contacting the underbelly of the Federation, and somehow digging up access to accounts in less than reputable banks that provided enough credit for them to live on without drawing too much attention. However, it was still a far cry from the resources they needed to purchase a ship and stock it with cargo.

Seven no longer agreed with the plan. It was taking far more time than she had initially anticipated, and it was getting to the point where she wanted to use the orb to return to Voyager immediately, even it meant returning empty-handed. She was also becoming increasingly uncomfortable amid all these varied species numbering in the tens of thousands. She could only imagine what it would be like to deal with an entire planet … such as Earth. Even now, seated at a quiet table in the facility known as Quark’s, Seven felt exposed and vulnerable. The Ferengi bar’s clientele was both vast and multi-cultural, allowing them to become ‘lost in a crowd’, which was why they chose it as a meeting place. The concept was one that chilled Seven of Nine to the bone.

A motion caught her eye, distracting her from her discomfort, and Seven became alert as she identified the station’s chief of security entering the bar. Constable Odo’s reputation was legendary among the individuals surrounding her. She knew because she had eavesdropped on countless conversations while waiting to meet B’Elanna or Chakotay. To the Borg’s dismay, the security chief made a beeline to her table, and loomed over her, staring down with blank features.

“Seven of Nine,” he said politely if firmly. “I want you to accompany me.”

Trapped, Seven coolly evaluated her chances. There were a great many innocent bystanders in the general vicinity, and she knew Kathryn would be less than impressed if Seven hurt or killed a group of them while trying to escape. Considering the constable’s reputation, she was not at all certain she would succeed in any event. His species, the Changelings, were unfamiliar to her, never having been encountered by the Borg, and if the stories about his abilities were even partially true, he would prove to be a formidable opponent.

“We have your associates,” he added as if reading her mind, forestalling her plans to elude capture.

Seven nodded, accepting the inevitable. “Very well,” she allowed, and stood up with great dignity, allowing him to escort her out of the bar.

She could only guess at how the captain would feel at discovering her away team had been arrested. Kathryn would undoubtedly be less than impressed with that, as well.

Lt. Angela James looked down at her console at her science station on the bridge, and did her very best not to sniffle. It was just so horrible. The whole ship was still in mourning. Voyager’s chief engineer was dead and her replacement was far from being able to fill her shoes, while Tom Paris, the man who loved her, drifted around the ship like a wraith, eyes sunk deep in his head. He seemed mere centimeters from passing over himself despite the best efforts of his friends, Harry Kim, Neelix and the Delaney sisters, who hadn’t left Tom’s side for a moment as they tried to help him over it. Seven of Nine, the astrometrics officer would have been the more obvious replacement for B’Elanna, but she was also gone, even though her significant other seemed to be handling her loss much better than Voyager’s helmsman.

Angela supposed the captain had not loved Seven of Nine as much as Tom loved B’Elanna.

Lt. James was unsurprised by that. Both women had held themselves apart from the rest of the crew. Seven’s inhumanity had been quite visible in the way she walked and talked, and even the way she looked. Now, Janeway proved she was a little less than completely Human herself by how very calmly she was going about her business. If it had been Angela who had lost her lover, there would have been screaming, there would have been fainting, there would have been tears. Lots of tears. Buckets and buckets of tears. She had yet to see one shed by the captain, not even at the memorial service where most of the crew, particularly Neelix, had wept openly over the loss of Seven and B’Elanna.

And Chakotay.

Dear, sweet Chakotay. How Angela had cried over his loss at the service. That wonderful, wonderful man, with his endearing warmth and irresistible charm, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. Their relationship had only just begun. With an effort, she sniffed and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. He had been such a sweet man, kind, generous, caring … and so handsome. Those strong shoulders, the broad chest, the dark eyes which twinkled with humor. The generous mouth which curled up at one corner when he was amused, and the tattoo above his eye crinkling from the humor that marked his gaze.

Angela took a breath and ran another sweep over the space. It had been so hard when they finally made the decision to give up and move on. She thought she would absolutely break down that first day when Tuvok stepped onto the bridge wearing the command red, and sat down in the first officer’s chair beside the captain. Even now, two weeks later, it still jolted Angela to see him where she expected Chakotay to be. Nor was she the only one. Often, she would see Harry Kim look up from his new post and wince, or another of the bridge crew hesitate as they entered the command center and saw him. Only Janeway seemed unaffected by it and she appeared quite content to leave him completely in command of the bridge more and more as time passed.

The captain was spending a great deal of time in her ready room. Angela had only been in that hallowed room a couple of times and she had been awed by how nice it was. Gracious, feminine, elegant … like the captain herself … but cool, with blues and silvers dominating. Not much wonder Janeway had been attracted to Seven, Angela thought. The Borg had been all blue and silver herself with those implants and hair and eyes.

Angela shivered and made a few corrections to her board. She wondered how someone could claim to love someone and be so unaffected once they were gone. She would not presume to claim she loved Chakotay, yet his loss was a rip in her heart she was sure would never heal.

Dear, sweet, Chakotay.

Commander Tuvok sat in the first officer’s chair on the bridge, and did his absolute Vulcan best not to feel uncomfortable, either in the uniform he was now wearing, or in the fact that he really wanted to be over at his old post at tactical where Lt. Kim now reigned. As he went over the crew manifest on the console next to his chair, Tuvok truly felt out of his depth.

He was not good with the crew, not the way Chakotay had been. He was not personable, or charming, or witty, and he was certainly not what one considered likable. Yet, it was now his responsibility to see that the crew were scheduled into the best possible places to insure the most efficient running of the ship, and that required he know more than just their capabilities and histories. He needed to know personalities, the way certain individuals interacted emotionally, and that was simply not his forte. In different circumstances, he would have asked the captain for help, since Janeway had been someone he had called his friend for quite some time, and her empathy and compassion made her brilliant at seeing where people worked best together.

But, these were not different circumstances, and when Tuvok looked into the captain’s eyes lately, he no longer saw his friend. Instead, a stranger, cold and remote, looked out from a steel-grey gaze that held no hint of blue, no longer changed shades to lighten or brighten, no longer enjoyed life with all its demands and challenges. Now, they only endured it, merely existing from moment to moment. It was like looking into a fog, formless and fleeting. Nothingness.

He glanced toward the front of the bridge, noting the slumped way Tom Paris sat at his helm, listlessly guiding the ship through the region of sparce space they were currently traversing. Yet, despite the defeated way in which the young man went about his duties, Tuvok was actually more positive in his assessment of Paris. The young man was starting to show signs of recovery. Not many, but still readily apparent to the Doctor who was monitoring them closely. Tom was eating again, and getting most of his required rest, and a day ago, he had even been coerced by Jennifer Delaney into spectating a hoverball match in which Lt. Kim was participating. The helmsman hadn’t stayed long, not even to see how the match turned out, but just attending was an accomplishment, one to be noted.

No, Paris’s grief had been obvious, and thoroughly involving to him, allowing him to begin the slow process of healing once the worst had been faced. Tuvok feared that would never happen with the captain. She had not even returned to her quarters, sleeping, if indeed, she slept at all, in her ready room. He, along with the Doctor, was beginning to become profoundly worried about her, yet helpless to do anything about it. Their attempts at communication on any subject other than ship’s business were rebuffed promptly, and with overpowering firmness.

“Janeway to Tuvok. Please join me in my ready room.”

“On my way,” Tuvok said, and stood up, nodding at Kim who took the bridge.

Captain Janeway had a multitude of padds on her desk, mostly from engineering. Tuvok knew that Carey was a good engineer, and a fine officer, but he was no B’Elanna Torres, and Janeway had been forced to use her own formidable engineering skills to assist in that department. It kept her tremendously busy … apparently too busy to eat, Tuvok noted with disapproval. Her cheekbones had become more defined, hollowed, and her skin had taken on a translucent quality, fragile and delicate.

Disturbing.

“Tuvok, I need you to go over the crew personnel reports for me,” she instructed, not looking up. “I don’t have time to finish them.”

For a second he thought he caught a hint of something in her voice. Nothing really tangible, just the slightest possibility of some unfamiliar emotion that he should perhaps make note of.

“Captain,” he said, accepting the padd she handed him. “Is there something I should know about these reports?”

She looked up then, and he felt a most un-Vulcan like chill as he read what was in her eyes, but she never allowed it to reach her face. “I was working on them when I missed Seven’s birthday dinner,” she said distantly, in a voice completely devoid of expression. It was an explanation, nothing more, and yet, it held everything. “She died knowing I didn’t care enough to find out when her birthday was, let alone get her a present. Please see that they’re completed by tomorrow.”

“Indeed,” he said, and somehow he understood, though Human emotion had never been anything he had managed to grasp with much understanding before. “Captain, I…”

But the moment was gone. “That will be all, Commander,” she said, looking back down, resuming her work. “Dismissed.”

Though he hesitated, there was really nothing more he could say, and finally, with a respectful dip of his head that he doubted she even saw, he left the ready room.

“So, you’re a Borg.”

It was a statement more than a question, and required correction. Seven raised an eyebrow as she regarded Captain Benjamin Sisko. He was a large, husky man with dark skin, and a smooth head devoid of any hair beyond his dark eyebrows and demonic goatee. He was polite and quiet in the way a predator is quiet prior to pouncing, and he emanated a sense of bearing that Seven was only too familiar with. She wondered if all Starfleet captains possessed it, that aura of command, of power being contained and channeled, ready to be utilized instantly? Or perhaps it was only the very best. After all, not everyone in the conference room radiated such a presence, though there were two more Humans wearing the four pips of captaincy, and one who actually wore the insignia of an Admiral. That individual certainly didn’t possess it.

“I am no longer with the Collective,” she explained coolly. “I was severed at Captain Kathryn Janeway’s command more than a year ago. As I have already informed your underlings.”

She felt Chakotay nudge her warningly, and realized she had probably used an inappropriate term. She tried not to be annoyed. If it hadn’t been for the first officer’s blundering in trying to acquire a ship, they wouldn’t be here. She decided to ignore the commander.

Instead, she eyed Captain Sisko closely. There was something else here, another undercurrent that she struggled to identify. He loathed her. Not her personally, but what she represented. The Borg. She took a breath, aware that he was not the first to be agitated by her presence, and it was highly unlikely that he would be the last.

“Why didn’t you come to us, to Starfleet, when you arrived?” Sisko asked, shifting his attention to Chakotay. The Voyager first officer, once more dressed in his uniform, which made a marked contrast to the uniforms being worn by the other officers present, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Maybe we should have,” he allowed. “However, I didn’t know that Starfleet would act in our best interests.”

“Allowing you to return to Voyager, you mean,” the admiral interrupted. “Return to the Delta Quadrant.”

“Yes,” Chakotay said, staring at him and not backing down.

“Voyager is one of ours,” the senior officer said coldly. “We look after our own. Who are you to doubt that?”

“The same ones who read your letter to your son,” B’Elanna said suddenly, glaring at the admiral. “He’s one of your ‘own’ and you told him to go to hell.”

Seven raised a brow. That had been surprising. To discover that the somehow undistinguished man with the light hair and eyes was none other than Admiral Paris, Tom’s father. There was a great deal more loathing going on here between him and Voyager’s engineer, though Seven was uncertain as to what was prompting it.

Chakotay frowned and leaned over slightly. “I thought that letter was lost when the transmission went down,” he said in a low voice.

“You don’t think I’d give it to Tom, do you?” she snapped back. “You should have seen what that bastard wrote to him … his own son.”

Sisko raised a hand, apparently trying to get back to the point. “Where is the orb?” he asked.

Chakotay shook his head. “You know I can’t tell you that,” he said.

“That orb belongs to the Bajoran people,” the woman behind Sisko spat, standing up angrily.

Major Kira Nerys was DS9’s first officer, and the one who had initially tracked down the Voyager intruders. It was unfortunate that she had been a freedom fighter in the mode of the Maquis, with more years of fighting Cardassians during their occupation of Bajor than Chakotay and B’Elanna combined. Kira had no problem ferreting the Voyager crewmembers out, catching on to the fact that somebody on DS9 was up to something. The feisty Bajoran reminded Seven remarkably of Kathryn. Perhaps it was the reddish hair, or the sparking eyes, or maybe it was just the sheer, stubborn set to the jaw. In any event, though the major had been interrogating her for a few hours every day since her capture a week and a half ago, Seven rather liked her.

Chakotay took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Bajoran with what seemed to be sincere regret. “I understand what it means spiritually to a people to have objects touched by your gods, but if I hand it over to you, we’ll lose our only chance at getting back to Voyager. At getting back home.”

“I still think this could be a Dominion trick,” the Klingon grumbled suddenly, from the back of the room.

Lt. Commander Worf had been the ranking Starfleet officer on the station when the three had been captured, and when she had the opportunity, Seven watched him and B’Elanna snarl and spit at each other as they went through debriefings with all the high ranking Starfleet officers suddenly appearing on DS9. It had been a fascinating observation of Klingon culture in action, flavored of course, by the fact that B’Elanna was half Human, raised by a Klingon mother, while Worf was a full Klingon, raised by Humans. She wondered if it was some sort of mating ritual, or if they really didn’t like each other. It was hard to tell with Klingons sometimes.

Seven eyed Sisko surreptitiously. It had been a relief when he had finally returned from wherever he had been. Something to do with the war effort, no doubt. Seven understood that he held a position of great influence in that area, probably because of DS9 and its proximity to the Gamma Quadrant wormhole. He was different than the rest here, stronger, more authoritative. Like Kathryn. Seven had overheard a bit of an argument between him and the admiral, who had wanted to take the three back to Earth immediately. Sisko refused, citing his authority on the station which apparently superseded any one else’s, even Admiral Paris, though Seven wasn’t sure how. There had also been mention of classified data being released prematurely. Seven wasn’t entirely sure what that meant other than the fact that there were others arriving on DS9 even as they spoke. Others with a stake in Voyager’s future.

“What about the Borg?”

Seven straightened, looking with interest at the third captain who just entered. He was flanked by two other men, a tall Human with dark hair and beard, and another, not Human, but in the shape of one, with golden skin and slick hair. These three she recognized immediately from her memories of the Collective. Their arrival electrified her.

“Locutus,” she said, standing up abruptly. It was he. Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the starship Enterprise. His companions were Commander William Riker, and Commander Data. Historical, phenomenal beings, even to her.

Picard walked over to her and looked deep into her eyes. “You are no longer of the Collective?” he said. He was so much smaller than she would have imagined, slighter, with a gaze level with her own, but powerful … so powerful. She knew what she was feeling must be awe.

“No,” she responded promptly, and added. “Sir.” Respectfully.

Chakotay and B’Elanna stared at her, frowns mirrored on each of their faces. They had never heard that formality come out of her mouth before. Seven could tell it disturbed them, but they did not understand and she had no words to tell them. This was Locutus, once a Borg, the one Janeway had held up as an example to the Collective to refuse being implanted with subdural transceivers. Just his memory alone had influenced the entire Collective opinion, changing their decision in an instant, and when Janeway had insisted on an intermediary, a go-between to act as a representative for the Borg, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix 01 was activated for the position.

If it were not for Jean-Luc Picard, she would never have met Kathryn, would never have known of her, would never have ended up being taken from the Collective by her.

Would never have loved her … or been loved by her.

Seven owed this individual everything.

She wished she had a way to explain this to him, had the words to tell him what he had done for her, but she didn’t. Instead, she could only look at him with shining eyes of gratitude and respect, and an admiration that was completely out of character for her.

“What is it you require?” he asked, voice made uncertain by what he was sensing from her.

“I require returning to Voyager,” she said.

“Why?” he said.

“It is my home,” she amended. “My partner is there. I must return to her.”

Picard blinked, rocked back on his heels slightly. “Your … partner?” he repeated, as if unsure he had heard correctly.

Seven tilted her head. “Yes,” she said. She considered him carefully. Perhaps he was unaware of what that entailed. Many of Voyager’s crew seemed uncertain of what it meant when she and Janeway had announced their living together at one of Neelix’s parties. She had felt obligated to enlighten them before Janeway managed to suggest another topic of conversation. “It is a stage of the Human courtship ritual. It means that we will copulate only with each other from now on.”

Chakotay put his hand over his face to hide his grin while B’Elanna crossed her arms and snorted, not looking at them anymore. “Honestly, you can’t take Seven anywhere,” she muttered to Voyager’s exec. “You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth.”

Clearly surprised, and completely at a loss to formulate any further questions, Picard cleared his throat as he moved away from her hastily. “It’s my opinion that she is no longer linked to the Collective,” he told the rest in an exceptionally dry tone. “Nor is she anything like Hugh or his associates. She is no longer Borg. I’m sure if you take samples of her DNA, you might even be able to discover who she was.”

“Annika Hansen.”

They all looked at her and she repeated quietly. “My name is Annika Hansen. My parents, who were scientists, and I were assimilated eighteen years ago.”

Picard dipped his head briefly at her in acknowledgment, and looked back at the group of Starfleet brass. “I say we give them what they need,” he instructed. “We can’t bring Voyager home, but at least they deserve to get their people back, and whatever else we can send along to make their journey easier.”

“What about the orb?” Kira insisted.

Sisko stood up and looked at her with an indefinable expression. “I will take full responsibility for this,” he told her quietly. “Will that suffice?”

She eyed him rebelliously for a long moment before dropping her gaze. “Yes, Emissary,” she said, in an odd tone. After a moment, she grinned impishly. “I get to tell Kai Winn though.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” he said and returned her smile. He looked at the rest. “I’m with Picard,” he said. “Allow them to use the orb to return to Voyager.”

The other two captains in the room seemed willing to go along with the consensus, which left Admiral Paris as the only dissenter. However, that rank gave him a formidable vote, or so it would seem to Seven. Contrary to Janeway’s oft repeated complaints, Seven really did understand the chain of command. In her mind, Paris could destroy all they had accomplished this day.

“Fine, but after we find out more,” Paris insisted. “They must be taken to Earth.”

“Admiral Nechayev has granted me her authorization to act in this matter,” Picard said at that moment, staring hard at him. “As Voyager’s sector commander, she has the ultimate say on the ship’s fate which means I do by proxy. I have made my decision. Perhaps you should take it up with her.”

To Seven, it seemed as if Paris blanched a little in fury, but he instantly backed down. Seven wondered if that had anything to do with something she had overheard in the previous weeks. Of Paris authorizing a mission that involved the Starfleet Academy Red Squadron and a ship named the Valiant, resulting in the death of Admiral Nechayev’s niece who had been acting as first officer. Apparently, it had left Paris in a very tenuous position within Starfleet command.

“If that’s your decision,” Owen Paris said stiffly. “However, you’re the one who will answer for it, and so will she.”

“The Admiral has never had any problem answering for her actions,” Picard said evenly. “Neither have I.” The ‘unlike some’ was clearly implied in his voice if not actually spoken. He looked back at all of them once, then nodded. “Good journey,” he wished them.

It was only after they had left that Seven realized neither Riker nor Data had spoken, and she was distinctly disappointed. Not only had the Collective interacted with them in the past, but Kathryn herself had a history with both officers which she had shared with her lover. Seven had wanted to speak with them, to let them know that Kathryn remembered them, and to find out if they remembered her. Seven corrected herself immediately. Of course they did, she admonished herself. No one could forget Janeway after having met her. It was impossible.

Suddenly weary, Seven sat down again and Chakotay leaned over, putting a hand on her forearm.

“That was nicely done, Seven,” he said. “I guess you were right. We should have come to Starfleet in the beginning. It would have saved us a lot of time.”

“That’s right,” Sisko said, sitting at the head of the conference table once more, having overheard the quiet words. Then, he smiled, and if it was not particularly pleasant, at least it was genuine. “Now, let’s decide the best way to get you people home.”

Dark. It was so dark … and cold.

“Computer, raise temperature,” Janeway ordered quietly.

“Unable to comply. Temperature is currently 23 degrees Celsius,” the computer responded. “Regulation six three-nine prohibits wasteful expenditures of…”

“Understood,” Janeway said without inflection, cutting it off.

She drew the blanket over her, and curled tighter into a ball, staring into the darkness. She supposed she should go to her quarters, but she wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t ready to be in the rooms where Seven had lived with her for such a short time. She hadn’t visited astrometrics or cargo bay two either and maybe, just maybe, if she didn’t go to either place, didn’t see how very empty they were of the young woman’s presence, she could pretend that in one of them, Seven was working, consumed by some new project or problem. Pretend that if she were to hail her on the communicator, the Borg’s voice would be there, cool, dry, edged with that note of warmth that only Janeway could detect, informing the captain that she was occupied, and what was it that required Janeway to interrupt her at this time?

Of course, Kathryn didn’t make the hail because there would be nothing on the other end, only a mild beep to indicate a failed connection, and that awful silence. If she were to be so foolish as to ask the computer Seven’s location, as she had already done twice, unthinkingly, in those awful days immediately following the accident, it would tell her that Seven of Nine was no longer on board Voyager. If she pressed, it would recite what Stardate Seven had left the ship, and how long it had been since she’d been gone … but never that she wasn’t ever coming back. Not unless Janeway listed her as deceased in the logs which she hadn’t yet managed to do. She had listed B’Elanna and Chakotay, attempted in some small way to say good-bye to them, but she refused to list Seven’s official status. She just couldn’t do it. Not yet. Because if she didn’t, then she could still pretend.

For just a little while longer.

She huddled at one end of the couch in her ready room, logged off duty. Through the large windows, which dominated the room, the faint light from stars distorted through the warp field illuminated the room slightly, casting shadows amongst the furniture which were nothing but darker blobs in a morass of blackness.

She tried very hard not to think, to just let her mind float in the sea of misery, careful not to let it sink beneath the surface, certain that if it did, she would never be able to find it again. Despite her effort, she couldn’t help but wonder how she continued to function. Was her training really that good, her desire to get her crew home stronger than anything else? Maybe it was. She didn’t know what else could be allowing her to go on when all she really wanted to do was to sleep. To close her eyes, settle back and sink into the warmth of a slumber that if she were very lucky, would never release her.

She didn’t, however. Instead, her body continued to do what it had to, her mind continued to analyze and solve problems, her voice continued to give orders to direct her crew, her hands continued to input data into computer consoles and padds. It was just her heart she could no longer find. That was gone, vanished, disappeared without a trace that it had ever existed.

Wasn’t that to be expected? After all, she had experienced this before, while engaged to Justin Tighe. The young man had died along with her father, their ship sinking helplessly in beneath the ice cap of Tau Ceti in a test flight gone wrong as Janeway watched helplessly, unable to make the transporter work properly to save them both and in the end, saved neither. She had thought that nothing else in her life would ever be as bad as that, would ever wound her as deeply. She had been wrong.

Her healing from that great loss had been demonstrated by her engagement to Mark Johnson. Good old Hobbes, childhood friend, and the man she learned to love only to leave him behind in the Alpha Quadrant. Finally he moved on with his life, marrying another, and telling her in a letter that left her lost and alone, with nothing to hang onto in her life of self-imposed celibacy.

Until, improbably, impossibly, she had fallen in love with Seven, discovered desire and passion in the most unusual of places, with the most unique of personalities. Found a joy and tenderness in loving someone who matched her so perfectly in intelligence and strength of will, complementing each other in the most unexpected of ways. Wasn’t the third time supposed to be lucky? she thought wildly, and an insane laughter bubbled within her that somehow, her indomitable will forced down, controlled and finally returned to the dark part of her, burying it deep.

“Don’t think,” she whispered over and over until the mantra took hold, letting her mind float once more. Quiet. Still.

Alone in the dark as the hours passed until the computer impassively brought up the lights and recited the time, heralding the dawn of another day for her to get through.

Somehow.

The news of Voyager’s three crewmembers returning to the Alpha Quadrant had spread quickly, no doubt spurred on by the news story written by Jake Sisko, Benjamin’s son and a budding journalist who had been Johnny-on-the-spot on DS9. The follow-up press release that the trio was planning to return to the Delta Quadrant, to Voyager, precipitated a virtual tidal wave of relatives, spouses, and friends, who risked the war to travel all the way to DS9, wanting to see them even when they didn’t actually know them. It was enough that they served with the people they did know and love. There were even volunteers who wanted to join them in exile, make the trip with them to Voyager. Chakotay had a difficult time explaining that the ship’s resources were already strained by a crew of 150 where the normal compliment was only supposed to be 141. It was somewhat ironic that of all the people on the ship who could have been magically transported to the Alpha Quadrant, these three held the least amount of connection to the Federation and Earth. B’Elanna didn’t have any family left beyound an enstranged mother. Chakotay had only a single cousin who came all the way from Arizona to see him, and Seven, of course, could never remember being in the Federation in the first place.

Except her parents had been here, and there were ties. Unexpected ones.

Seven’s head was swimming as she made her way back to the suite which had been allocated to the Voyager crewmembers, trying to assimilate the past few hours. She had been confused by Captain Sisko’s satisfied expression as he had led her to the small conference room that contained two older couples who had stood up, staring at her with the most incredible expressions of astounded joy. Apparently he thought he was providing her with a memorable experience, but she had not known these people and did not understand why they were suddenly embracing her, patting her on the back, and telling her how very much she looked like her mother, and yes, wasn’t that just the image of her father’s nose?

Annika Hansen had been born on a colony just outside Federation space, and had never met any of her grandparents, her mind holding no memory of them whatsoever. Held really, very little memory of her parents themselves, or much of her first six years of life. She did remember her manners, however, instilled painfully by the Doctor and how Kathryn would expect her to behave in this situation. She did her very best, answering their questions as well as she could with what little she knew, listened politely as they babbled on and on about her mother and father and tried very hard not to run screaming from the room.

It was awkward and uncomfortable, and took entirely too long before she was finally able to escape, feeling absolutely exhausted. She was so weary of this, of meeting people she didn’t know but acted as if she should, speaking to them as they pressed messages on her, letters to her crewmates in the Delta Quadrant, personal notes, so many that even her eidetic memory was overwhelmed, and her head aching. Voyager’s crewmembers accepted all the mementos, written messages, every personal item these strangers insisted must go back, though how the trio were expected to fit them into the small runabout they had decided to use for their return, along with all the equipment and weapons B’Elanna had already chosen, seemed an impossible task to Seven.

She wanted it to stop. She wanted to leave this instant, and return to the space she knew, to transport on board Voyager and find the one person she loved, curl up in her arms, and never have to move again. She hoped that Kathryn would understand when she told her she never wanted to come back to the Alpha Quadrant.

Ever.

She missed Kathryn desperately, missed holding her at night, missed waking up next to her in the morning. She missed her steady calm, and her gentle explanations of things that were so confusing, especially in such a new and strange place. Always, Janeway had been but a touch of a comm badge away. Now, Seven was without that security and it created a space inside her she had never experienced before. Disturbing, unsettling … frightening. It was loneliness, aching, terrible loneliness.

The suite was packed when she returned, a sea of Starfleet uniforms and civilian attire whose forceful conversations rose and fell like an inescapable wave of chaotic noise. Dismayed, Seven stared at the assemblage of visitors and curiosity seekers, wondering how she would ever be able to get to her room, where there, at least, she knew she could be alone. She made no note of how ironic it was that where once it had been her biggest fear, it was now her greatest desire.

There was a laugh that rose above the rumble of the crowd suddenly. An achingly familiar laugh, one throaty, feminine and deep, and with disbelief, Seven immediately forced her way through to where Chakotay sat with two women. He saw her coming and pointed her out to his companions who then turned to face her.

She knew them.

Seven had never met them of course, but Kathryn had shown her partner their images and told her about them many times as they snuggled lovingly in the dark, holding on to one another in the drowsy warmth of afterglow, special times when Kathryn would speak contentedly of her childhood, and what it was like growing up on Earth. The younger woman was Phoebe, of course, the free spirit, artist, painter, the little sister who had aggravated and teased and almost drove Kathryn to distraction more times than the captain cared to admit. The older, distinguished woman sitting straight and controlled could only be Gretchen Janeway, Kathryn’s mother. Now they were looking at her and Seven felt shy and unsure, totally uncertain of her reception. Phoebe rose to her feet and swept across to her, her hair long, thick and curly and the most brilliant shade of dark red with level grey eyes, and the oh, so familiar cheekbones and chin.

“So you’re Kathryn’s significant other, huh?” she said, throwing her arms around Seven. “Well, welcome to the family.”

Seven could only return the hug awkwardly, feeling pleased and embarrassed, and entirely overwhelmed.

“Phoebe, dear, you’re scaring her,” Gretchen admonished gently. She was statuesque and gracious, her curly brown hair now turned snow-white, with sapphire blue eyes and a smile that lit up the whole room. “May I suggest we retire to somewhere a little quieter?”

“My room,” Seven offered hesitantly, and then found herself leading them to her quarters where the door shut off the noise so abruptly, it left her ears ringing. Phoebe perched on the bed while Gretchen sat gracefully in the room’s only chair, leaving Seven to stand which, truthfully, she preferred anyway. She dredged up one of the Doctor’s many social lessons, falling back on it as one of the few familiar things in her existence. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“Oh, a cup of coffee would do wonders, luv,” Phoebe said. She looked expectantly at Seven and then frowned as she hesitated.

“I do not drink coffee,” Seven admitted. “Since Kathryn has on more than one occasion suggested that my attempts to replicate it are unsatisfactory, I think you would be better off with another choice.” She brightened. “I am very good with water.”

Phoebe stared at her blankly before suddenly bursting into laughter. “Oh boy, I bet you just about drive Kathryn crazy,” she said, getting up to acquire her own refreshments. She shook her head, chuckling. “So tell me,” she added as she replicated coffee for herself and tea for her mother. “How did you two meet anyway?”

“During Captain Janeway’s negotiations with the Borg, she demanded an intermediary which required the Collective to activate me for that purpose,” Seven responded promptly. “But she deceived the Borg, severed my link to the Collective, refused to return me despite my wishes, and forced me to become part of her crew.”

The two women stared at her some more, and Seven thought she should probably get used to that expression. Phoebe promptly keyed the replicator one more time, programming a large slug of brandy to go into her coffee.

“Okay, sweetheart,” she said, giving her mother the tea before returning to the bed and patting the spot beside her. “Come over here and start all over again from the beginning. Slowly.”

“Very well,” Seven agreed, taking a seat, gingerly. “It all started when the Borg, of which I had been a part of for eighteen years, invaded fluidic space and attempted to assimilate Species 8472…”

It was to be a very long night … but quite an enjoyable one.

“You have to eat.”

The Doctor stood in the ready room and stared down at the captain forbiddingly.

“That’s an order, from the one person here who can give you one,” he continued bitingly. “Unless you would rather I hook you up to a tube and feed you intravenously?”

“Fine,” Janeway said without interest. She set aside her padds and picked up the fork, proceeding to consume the food from the tray he had placed in front of her. She ate without expression, mechanically, clearly not tasting any of it.

That, more than anything, absolutely terrified him, if indeed, a hologram could be terrified. He had come here expecting a fight, or at the least, a mild protest. Not this obedient acceptance of his wishes, though he had no doubt that if he wanted her to eat the next time, he would once again have to show up with a tray and repeat the order.

It was almost as if she were the hologram, flawed, damaged, requiring periodic updating in her programming to prevent her from degrading altogether and disappearing.

He sat down in the chair in front of her desk, looking at her with eyes dark with concern.

“Captain, you can’t go on this way,” he said.

She looked at him, chewing slowly for a moment before swallowing. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor,” she responded distantly. “I’m fine.”

“No,” he said flatly. “You’re not. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You just work.” He hesitated. Then firming his jaw, he went on. “That won’t bring back Seven.”

“Doctor,” she warned, and for an instant, he thought the fire might be back as her voice deepened, dropping to its lowest register, but the force of it never reached her eyes. The level grey gaze never changed, never altered.

“Just hear me out,” he insisted, holding up his hand pleadingly. “I know you loved her. Certainly, she loved you, and she would be appalled at how you’re handling her death. There is no question in my mind that if she were here, she would tell you that in a minute. Along with several digressions into just exactly why it would not be irrelevant for you to look after yourself.”

“I’m sure she would,” Janeway said, and the bleakness that shaded her face then would have broken his heart. If he had one. “But she’s not here, is she, Doctor?”

Trapped, he groped around. Really, he would give anything if only he had been successful at incorporating the psychiatric sub-routines into his programming, or at least, knew a local ship’s counselor he could call. He didn’t know what to say to reach her, to shake her out of this terrible spiral she was in. Unfortunately, the only other two people who might have been able to, Chakotay and B’Elanna, were also dead.

“Captain,” he said, falling back on the only thing he knew … the truth. “I am programmed to heal, and I can’t do that for you. I don’t know how. But, we need you. The ship needs you. If you don’t start taking better care of yourself, we’re going to lose you, too … and Voyager just can’t survive that.”

She lowered her head, conceding the point. “Very well, Doctor,” she said. “Program a menu of supplements for me and arrange for the computer to remind me when to take them. I promise I will.”

“And your sleeping?” he insisted.

She took a breath, let it out slowly. “You’ll have to prescribe something,” she admitted. “I’m unable to sleep on my own.”

He frowned. It was far from what he wanted but he knew it was all he would get. Maybe, if he could get her eating again and sleeping regularly, and enough time passed, she would start to live again.

Because right now, this in no way could be considered living. “I’ll see to it,” he said stiffly and got up.

“Doctor,” she said, before he transported his matrix back to sickbay. “Thank you for worrying about me.”

He nodded, but he knew it was words only, without the heart behind them, just the captain speaking to reassure a crewmember who knew far too well to be reassured. He dissolved in a burst of sparkles and reformed in sickbay, wondering how it was possible for a hologram to feel this sick inside.

“That is when I threw the vase at her,” Seven said, and raised an eyebrow as Phoebe lay on her side on the sofa, literally howling with laughter. The Borg then looked at Gretchen who was dabbing tears from her eyes, containing herself much better than her youngest daughter, but nonetheless, quite helpless with amusement herself.

“My dear,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “I have to admit, I was always concerned about Kathryn’s choice in spouses. They always seemed to be too easygoing to balance her personality, but I’m truly gratified I have this opportunity to meet you. I know that you’ll keep my daughter well occupied for the rest of her life.”

“That is my intention,” Seven allowed, pleased at Gretchen’s assessment. “I will admit, however, hers is a difficult personality to adapt to.”

“Boy, you can say that again,” Phoebe chortled, sitting up, hair disarrayed.

Seven frowned. “Why would I?” she asked.

Realizing immediately from the chuckles that she had somehow made a faux pas again. Not that she minded with these women. She had come to adore them, these beings who shared Kathryn’s genetic makeup, and so much more than that; they possessed her fire, her passion, and her good humor, though perhaps not her reserve. Possibly because they were not Starfleet. Their acceptance had offered Seven a sanctuary in this strange place, had helped ease her loneliness and soothe her fear. With them, she felt closer to Kathryn, and though she still missed her partner terribly, she was better able to handle the separation from her. Seven had found it so easy to speak with these women, to share all she was and all she felt for Kathryn, knowing that her partner would not mind since these people were family. They would be hers as well, the Borg thought with a dazed pleasure, assuming her courtship with Janeway proceeded to the eventual outcome of marriage. Phoebe would be her sister-in-law, Gretchen, her mother-in-law. That, more than anything else, made Seven realize that somehow, she would find a way for Voyager to return home within the next few years … for no other reason than so she could spend time with these wonderful people again.

However, there was no more time right now because there was a chirp from a communicator, a reminder that Seven had other places to be. Sadly, she stood up and reached out her hands.

“It is time,” she said. “I must go.”

Their humor disappeared in an instant, and they stood up as well, bypassing her hands and enfolding her in a heartfelt embrace.

Gretchen rested her forehead on Seven’s, so similar to the way Kathryn did it, and the Borg realized where the habit had originated. “You take care of yourself, Annika,” she said softly as she held her one last time. “Take good care of Kathryn, as well.”

“I will,” Seven promised, her throat full and tight. “Always.”

Then, Phoebe was hugging her too, tears running down her face. “Don’t take too long out there in the Delta Quadrant, little sister,” she said huskily. “I want you all back for my next exhibit.”

“I will do my very best to make it so,” Seven told her seriously.

Slowly, they released her from the three-way embrace, and retrieved two containers from the floor. Seven knew they contained gifts for Kathryn as she grasped them tightly. From Phoebe; there was ten kilos of Colombian Gold, the best coffee Earth had to offer, and specific instructions on how to make Phoebe’s own special blend. Kathryn’s sister had practiced the brewing techniques with Seven until finally, the artist swore one couldn’t tell Seven’s coffee from her own, a great compliment indeed. From Gretchen; five kilos of caramel brownies, individually sealed in stasis so that they would be as fresh as when she took them from the oven. Seven had tried them, and found she liked them very much, though the recipe Gretchen had offered seemed less likely to be successful when Seven attempted it. She promised Janeway’s mother she would try once the brownies ran out, however, as well as the other recipes the woman was sending with the Borg.

Seven turned abruptly, not wanting them to see her cry, yet knowing full well they did, hating to have to leave them behind in the suite. She sealed in her heart the last sight of them standing there watching her go, and wished with all her might that she would indeed see them again … and that Kathryn would be with her when she did.

Chakotay and B’Elanna were waiting in the corridor. The first officer was holding the clarinet that Harry Kim’s parents had personally given him while B’Elanna hefted a toolkit with the most up-to-date tools Starfleet had to offer, pressed upon her by the station’s operations chief, Miles O’Brien. Both of them tried very hard not to notice the tears in Seven’s eyes, and without speaking, all three walked to Landing Pad C where the Runabout Mississippi, awaited them. It was tweaked and enhanced with all B’Elanna and Seven could manage, with engines capable of warp seven and weaponry which had advanced far beyond Voyager’s, a rather fortunate … or unfortunate, depending on one’s view …. side effect of the war. It was small, and stuffed to the brim with everything they could think of, plus a few things they hadn’t. They had even filled the transporter buffers with patterns from a multitude of equipment, waiting to be materialized once they returned.

They were not yet done with the good-byes, however. In addition to Sisko, Kira and the rest of DS9’s command crew standing formally by the runabout, Admiral Paris had made a reappearance. He stared evenly at B’Elanna who stopped in front of him, regarding him challengingly while Chakotay and Seven stored their packages in the ship before returning to the deck for the final farewell.

“I want you to tell Tom that if he has really managed to get his act together, then I’ll be glad to welcome him back into the family,” he told her stiffly. “Just between you and me, I might even be able to get him back in Starfleet … provided he can keep his nose clean.”

“Oh, I’ll tell him,” B’Elanna said pleasantly and handed her toolkit to Chakotay who was suddenly looking at her with alarm. “In the meantime, just between you and me, here’s a little token to remember me by.”

She decked the admiral, sending him careening across the hangar where he slammed into another runabout, and slumped to the floor plates. The rest of them all stared in varying degrees of dismay, horror and respect as she strode with Klingon dignity to the runabout.

“Well,” Sisko said, clearing his throat, shaking Chakotay’s hand hastily, and pushing him toward the runabout. “Thank god it’s a war and those things happen. Good-bye, good luck, and please, next time you’re in the neighborhood, don’t stop by.”

“We won’t,” Chakotay said, dazed as he and Seven followed B’Elanna into the small ship.

“Do you know what the problem is with Lt. Torres?” Seven confided to him as they strapped in and prepared to lift off. “You just cannot take her anywhere.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow as the ship was rocked by another strike from the Hirogen vessel. The unexpected attack came as Voyager entered a particularly empty area of space, devoid of stars. Beside him, Captain Janeway regarded the viewscreen with furious intent, hands firm on her command chair, the red glare from the bridge lights coloring her face oddly.

“Evasive maneuvers,” she said crisply.

Tom threw the ship into a complicated series of navigational ploys designed to throw off the pesky nomad hunters who were determined to take Voyager as a trophy, and bring the alien vessels within range of the Federation ship’s phaser banks. The two Hirogen vessels were something they could fight. A pack of six or so would be a much bigger problem and Voyager wanted to finish this before any others made an appearance. Another shot penetrated the shields, staggering Voyager, and sending the ship heeling over.

“Damage reports coming in,” Tuvok said impassively. “No casualties. Minor hull damage to decks fourteen and fifteen.”

“The second Hirogen vessel is coming around again,” Harry warned from tactical, trying to track it as it began its strafing run. “They’re trying to bracket us.”

“Fire at will,” Janeway instructed. “Load torpedo bays. Fill up the lanes, keep them off us. Tom, try to get clear to go to warp. We’ll make an attempt at outrunning them.”

“Sensors indicate the approach of a third ship,” Nicoletti said, hands moving quickly over her console.

None of the rest of the bridge crew who were intent on the fore viewscreen noticed the odd expression that suddenly came over the young woman’s face, or how she abruptly looked up before returning her eyes to her board, then looked back at the bridge crew and returned to the board yet again … trying very hard to figure out a way to inform them as to what her data was impossibly insisting on telling her. Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. Finally, the stretch of no further information brought Janeway to her feet, and the captain turned to look at the young operations officer with annoyance.

“Report, Nicoletti,” she snapped. “Is it another Hirogen vessel?”

“No ma’am,” Nicoletti said, swallowing hard. She took a breath. “It’s the runabout Mississippi out of Deep Space 9, Commander Chakotay in command. Message reads, ‘Hang on, we’re coming.’”

Stunned silence. Nicoletti raised her eyes to see her captain’s face turn completely white, her body swaying, and for one horrible moment, the young officer thought she might actually see Janeway faint. Somehow, the captain stayed conscious, though not on her feet, groping for her chair blindly and collapsing into it rather than sitting down. Tuvok immediately rose from his first officer position, taking control with cool detachment.

“Mr. Paris, maintain evasive maneuvers,” he said, the whip of command touching his voice reining in Tom who had half turned in his seat, his mouth working, but no sound coming out. The Vulcan shot a firmer look at Harry who was staring back, completely frozen. “Confirm.”

Prodded by the tone, Lt. Kim forced himself to access tactical. “Confirmed,” he said, and had to swallow to keep his voice from squeaking. “Warp signature is Starfleet. Three lifeforms. One Human. One Klingon/Human. One Borg-enhanced Human.”

They all turned to watch the viewscreen as the small ship darted towards the nearest Hirogen ship that had obviously detected its arrival, turning toward it with deadly intent. If there was any hesitation on the Hirogen’s part about considering something so small to be worthy prey, it was quickly dissipated as phaser fire erupted from the runabout and burned through the Hirogen shields with devastating precision, cutting through the thick hull like a can opener and ripping a hole down the entire length of the vessel. Disabled, the vessel staggered away, and the second Hirogen broke off its attack of Voyager to face this apparently greater threat. Tom brought Voyager to a stationary position as he watched the screen before him with hungry eyes.

The Hirogen vessel fired on the runabout, but the shields on the small ship were obviously superior to Voyager’s, and the Mississippi shook off the blasts easily before firing back, managing a direct hit on the enemy vessel’s warp engines. The resulting explosion radiated a shock wave that caught both Federation vessels, tossing them aside like child’s toys.

Tuvok picked himself up off the deck, and darted a quick glance at Janeway who had remained in her seat, appearing to be in a state of shock as she clutched the chair’s arms in a grip that threatened to rip them from their metal bracings.

“Report,” he said, settling back into the first officer’s chair, though apparently, it wouldn’t be his for much longer. If he derived a certain amount of satisfaction from that, he tried hard not to show it.

“Hirogen vessel is destroyed,” Nicoletti said. “The other is moving off at impulse. They’ve sustained heavy damage. The Mississippi has taken up a position off our port bow. They’re hailing us.”

“On screen.” It was Janeway, and her voice was a mere croak, but at least she was still capable of giving orders. It eased the tension on the bridge somewhat … but only marginally.

The screen cleared to show Commander Chakotay and Lt. Torres. They were dressed in Starfleet uniforms, but different from the ones worn by the bridge crew of Voyager. The band across the shoulders was blue-gray and the material seemed thicker, the turtlenecks beneath showing the color of their departments, red for command, gold for engineering. Beyond them, they could see Seven of Nine at another console near the rear of the cockpit. She was wearing her traditional brown mesh outfit.

“Hello, Captain,” Chakotay said with a wide smile. “Sorry to be a little late, but we took a little side trip to the Alpha Quadrant to pick up some supplies. Permission to land the Mississippi in hangar bay one?”

“A moment, Commander,” Tuvok said, after glancing at Janeway who was staring at the screen, apparently speechless. “You say you were in the Alpha Quadrant? We saw the Franklin destroyed three months ago. We assumed you were dead.”

“Dead?” B’Elanna leaned forward, then exchanged a shocked look with Chakotay. “No, the Bajoran orb we found transported us to Deep Space 9. Starfleet arranged for us to bring back supplies since we were planning to return anyway. Didn’t the sensors pick up our transport?”

“They did not,” Tuvok said, raising his brow at the story.

“Why did you come back?”

Janeway stood up then, and looked at them, her voice harsh as she asked the question. From the expressions on their faces, they were even more shocked at the appearance of the captain than they were to discover they had been presumed dead. In the background, Seven rose to her feet and moved closer to the helm, staring at Janeway as if mesmerized.

“Because we had to return,” the Borg said softly. “Because Voyager is our home. Because you are here. I would rather be lost in the Delta Quadrant with you, than anywhere else in the universe without you.”

B’Elanna cleared her throat. “Actually, Captain, the truth is,” she said, searching for words, “we didn’t feel right being there with all of you still here. So when we found out the orb only had enough power left for one more transfer, we decided to return. But not empty handed.” She grinned suddenly and reached down out of the screen’s view, pulling up a long, thin tube of sorts, black with gold buttons. “Your parents sent your clarinet, Harry. We’ve got mail, equipment upgrades, parts … just about everything we could find room for.”

Janeway looked at Tuvok. She wanted to believe. He could see it in her face, saw it in every fibre of her being, but she also didn’t dare. He understood that as well, and with the instinct that their very long friendship afforded him, he realized she was leaving it all up to him, allowing his ability to be detached and logical about this most emotional situation to make this decision for her. He turned to the screen.

“Commander, as you must realize, we are required to take certain precautions,” he explained smoothly. “Please stand by. I will send the Doctor over to check you out.”

“Precautions?” B’Elanna yelped, leaning forward, but Chakotay, his face somber, put a restraining hand on her arm.

“I understand,” he said. “We’ll wait for the Doctor here. Mississippi out.”

The screen flickered back to the black starfield, and the small form of the runabout drifting idle at station-keeping.

“Bridge to sickbay,” Tuvok said, touching his comm badge.

“Sickbay here,” was the Doctor’s acerbic tone. “Have you finished shaking us around like a puppy dog with a toy, or are you just preparing us for more to come?”

“The Hirogen attack has been terminated,” Tuvok answered shortly. “In the meantime, you are required to go on an away mission. We need you to beam over to a vessel off our bow and run medical scans on the three lifeforms there.”

“Indeed,” the Doctor said. “What exactly am I looking for?”

The Vulcan took a breath. “We need you to tell us if Commander Chakotay, Lt. Torres and Seven of Nine are on board the vessel … or if this is a trick of some sort.”

There was a pause, definite in its intent. “Excuse me?”

“I will meet you in transporter room one and explain further,” Tuvok said. He nodded at Janeway and headed for the turbolift.

Janeway found herself exchanging looks with Paris. She suspected she had the same dazed expression of uncomprehending hope on her face as he did.

“Do you think it’s them?” he asked, voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Her eyes went back to the screen. “I just don’t know,” she repeated in a whisper.

“What the hell are they doing?” B’Elanna said, waving her hands for emphasis.

“Didn’t you hear them?” Chakotay said, voice serious. “They thought we were dead. For three months they’ve been operating on the belief that we died in the shuttle explosion. They had no hint that we had been transported somewhere else.”

B’Elanna finally let that sink in. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

Seven had not moved, still standing between them, fingertips resting on the screen where Janeway’s face had last appeared, now showing Voyager hanging in space, though a quick glance through the fore windows would show the real thing looming over them like a stern mother over a disobedient child.

“She is in pain,” she said with wondering, disturbed eyes.

Startled, B’Elanna looked at her, then nodded, taking a breath. “Yeah, the captain didn’t look good, did she?” she noted quietly. She frowned. “Tom looked all right though.” She crossed her arms over her chest and assumed a grim expression.

“I noticed Tuvok is now the first officer,” Chakotay said. He leaned back in his seat, shaking his head slightly. “They moved on without us.”

The thin whine of the transporter caught their attention, and they all stood up as the Doctor appeared in the cockpit. He looked them over and offered his tight little smile. “Hmm, you all look rather lively for corpses,” he said, pulling out his medical tricorder and scanning them. “Next time, leave a forwarding address, why don’t you?”

“We are who we say we are,” B’Elanna said with annoyance.

“Well, your DNA and bio-readings match,” he allowed, intently studying the data being brought up on his tricorder. He eyed them briefly. “The uniforms are like the ones worn by the Starfleet personnel I encountered on my brief trip to the Alpha Quadrant.” He shrugged. “I believe you.”

Chakotay took a breath. “That’s good,” he said. “Now can you tell them? We’ve been stuck in this runabout for a week, and the quarters are starting to get a little close.”

The Doctor sniffed pointedly. “I can tell,” he said, and touched his badge. “Doctor to Voyager. One to beam over.” He promptly disappeared in a burst of sparkles.

B’Elanna looked down at her uniform, lifted her arm and sniffed delicately. “He’s got some nerve,” she said in disgust. She sighed. “Tell me again why we wanted to come back?”

Seven raised her head. “Because, this is our home,” she said.

The conference room was full. Seven could not sit next to Janeway … Tuvok and Chakotay had taken the chairs on either side of the captain … so instead, she chose to sit at the farthest end of the table. That allowed her to see Janeway clearly as Chakotay and B’Elanna briefed the command crew on everything that had happened to them in the last three months during their incursion to the Alpha Quadrant.

Occasionally, the Borg would be compelled to clarify a point here or there, but for the most part, she was content to let the other two talk while she studied Janeway closely, dismayed at the physical changes that had occurred in her absence. Kathryn was so thin, almost fragile, and her face had developed distinct hollows, her eyes dark and deep. Her uniform hung on her rather than was worn by her, and her hands … those lovely, elegant long-fingered hands … were folded before her, tense and tight, the knuckles seeming unusually large. Her hair lacked its normal glossy softness, appearing thin and brittle beneath the harsh lights of the conference room, and her skin was without the delicate rosy tint she normally enjoyed.

Swallowing hard against the lump that rose in her throat, Seven glanced around, looking at the other people in the room. Susan Nicoletti, she realized, now held Harry’s position, and Harry had taken over as tactical officer. Nicoletti looked a little lost, unsure, not certain if she belonged here anymore. Harry meanwhile, wore the extra pip of a junior lieutenant proudly, and she hoped he wouldn’t be forced to give it up when people resumed their former positions.

Tom sat next to B’Elanna, reaching over to touch her arm or shoulder occasionally, as if to reassure himself that she was really there, that she actually existed. When that happened, the Klingon would glance back at him and smile before returning to the narrative occupying her attention. Lt. Carey, sitting across from them, was wearing an expression of profound relief on his face. He looked as if he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. The Doctor was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, appearing totally relaxed, as if sure that now, finally, everything was going to be all right. Seven wondered what made him so certain, or if he merely wanted to believe it.

Neelix was the only one from the senior staff missing. He was joyfully occupied in his kitchen, busily preparing huge amounts of food in anticipation of the celebration. A party had hastily been organized once the news that the three Voyager crewmembers, once thought dead, had returned hale and hearty, and bearing lots and lots of gifts. Seven wondered if he had a fattened calf, and then frowned as she wondered where that thought had come from.

She looked once more at Janeway, startled when she saw the captain looking back. For a brief moment, Seven drank her in, absorbing that gaze into herself as the patched earth receives the rain soaking in after a drought. Then, Janeway had to look away, returning her attention to Chakotay as he told of all the family and friends who had made the trek to DS9, wanting to reach out and hoping somehow that the three would be able to convey their love and good wishes once they returned. He looked strange in his uniform, the different styles more striking here, both he and B’Elanna standing out in the crowd of reds, blues and golds.

Seven had not changed in appearance though she certainly had inside. Kathryn’s family had accepted her … loved her. Even if Annika Hansen never managed to make a connection with her own blood relatives, she now knew she had a place in the Alpha Quadrant. A home. The thought of returning there no longer frightened her or made her apprehensive, and instead, she vowed to work harder on adapting the Borg transwarp, or slipstream technology to Voyager’s own. If it were at all possible for them to use any of it to get home faster, she would find a way.

“So, Captain,” Chakotay said, smiling a little. “I know it’s asking a bit much, but I don’t suppose I could get my old job back?”

“I look forward to turning the duties back over to you,” Tuvok said quickly, before she could answer, causing a laugh and even inspiring a bit of a smile, wan though it was, from the captain.

“Why, Tuvok,” she said. “Didn’t you like working for me?”

The laugh that generated was much louder, louder than it perhaps should have been, and Seven realized suddenly that they had all been worried about the captain. This must be the first sort of humor she had shown for some time. Not like Kathryn at all.

“The engine room’s all yours, Torres,” Carey said. “Now, maybe I can get some shuteye.”

B’Elanna eyed him with a big smile. “C’mon Carey, don’t tell me you blew your big chance,” she said. “You were the one who wanted the job in the first place.”

“I changed my mind,” he countered. “Who needs the headaches … or the wrinkles it inspires.”

B’Elanna’s head went back a little at that. “Wrinkles? If I figure out that was some sort of insult,” she warned, but she was laughing and so was everyone else.

The mood was lightening, almost a tangible force that brightened eyes, curved lips into grins, and lifted shoulders that had been slumped without the bearers being aware of it. The entity formed by the crew began to relax, to understand that the part of it ripped away was now healed, making it whole once more. Even Janeway, to a certain extent, appeared livelier, though Seven could tell she was far from her normal self. Perhaps she needed to speak with the Doctor and find out exactly how bad this was.

The captain looked around. “I want everyone to know that even though our lost family members will be resuming their duties, I promise, no one will lose what was gained.” She favored Harry with a small smile. “I guess that means you’re still a lieutenant, Harry.”

He grinned back, eyes bright though whether it was from her promise or the smile he had received, Seven couldn’t tell.

“In the meantime,” the captain went on, “I understand Neelix is preparing a welcome home dinner. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.” She looked at them all with a commanding, yet fond gaze. “Dismissed.”

With a surge of happy chatter, and laughter, they got up and left the room. All except Janeway who moved over to the large windows behind her chair, looking out onto the streaks of light, the stars distorted by Voyager’s warpfield.

And Seven of Nine, who remained in her seat until the door shut behind the last of the crew, leaving her and the captain alone. She got up and moved over to Kathryn, reaching out to put her hand on the slender shoulder.

“Don’t.” The voice was raw, graveled, unbelievably bleak.

Startled and hurt, Seven dropped her hand to her side, looking at Janeway with wide eyes. The smaller woman never took her eyes off the starfield, never looked at her. She was breathing slowly, deliberately, and Seven noticed suddenly that the elegant hands resting on the wide lip of the plexiglass hull frame were digging fingertips into the unyielding metal, white as the blood was forced from them, almost on the verge of splintering her nails.

“I can’t do this now,” Janeway said tightly. “Because if you touch me.” She took a breath. “I’ll fall apart.” And another. “I can’t afford to fall apart.” And another. “Not yet.”

Seven raised her head, examined Janeway closely as the meaning of that became clear to her. “All right,” she replied quietly. “Do you wish for me to wait in our quarters?”

“No,” Janeway instructed firmly, shaking her head slightly. “We have to go to the party. Make an appearance. The crew requires it. Then we can … leave.”

Seven did not quite understand the reasoning behind that, but it was what Kathryn wanted … and it was what she needed. That was all Seven had to know.

“I will comply,” she answered softly.

Janeway closed her eyes, beginning to tremble, and Seven needed every bit of discipline she had not to disobey Janeway’s order. She knew she had to obey. This time, more than any other in her life, she had to respect this one command. She understood that with an instinct that went beyond intelligence or knowledge.

“Let’s go to the party,” Janeway said finally, regaining her composure.

“Agreed,” Seven said, standing close but never touching the captain.

Together, they left the conference room.

Janeway looked at the glass she was holding, unsure of what was in it but wishing fervently that it was alcohol. A nice stiff whiskey or brandy, anything that might take the chill off. She had no idea why she was still so cold, no idea why this chunk of ice remained inside her, filling her with a bleakness so deep it was as if space itself had taken up residence within her. What if that was all that was left? The love, the passion, the warmth … what if that was gone, and all that was left was this bitter, bitter cold?

She forced herself to take a sip from her drink, finding it tasteless and bland, and with a frightened tremor, she glanced around. The mood was festive, excited, with the lost Voyager trio surrounded by people who wanted to hear all about the Alpha Quadrant, what had happened, who they had spoken with, and what had been going on the past five years. The captain had no doubt that the ship would be living off this little adventure for weeks, if not months. She found herself staring at Seven who was standing next to the Doctor and Tuvok, talking with them intently. Occasionally, they would glance at the captain covertly, then look away, and Janeway had little doubt what the topic of conversation was.

Her fingers tightened on her glass, painfully so. She couldn’t take it any longer. It was too much … too many people, too much noise, too much to think about. Too much to feel. She simply couldn’t stay here. She drifted over to where Chakotay was standing with a large group, catching his eye. He excused himself for a moment, coming over to her and leaving B’Elanna to take up the slack in his absence. The two officers were working together very well, she noted idly, just as they had when they had first arrived on Voyager before time and respective duties had drawn them apart. For some reason, there was little call for the first officer and the chief engineer to mesh as a single unit. A shame in this case.

“Captain?” he said. “Enjoying the party?”

“I am,” she lied gently. “But it’s been a long day.”

“I understand,” he said, and she suspected he really did. “Why don’t you turn in? B’Elanna and I have more than enough material to keep this party hopping.”

She smiled then, wearily, and nodded gratefully. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Or maybe not?” he suggested gently. “You might want to take a few days off. Hey, I had my vacation. Maybe you should try one of your own?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said softly. She put down her glass and slipped away from the party.

She walked into her quarters and stopped in her tracks as the lights came up to show the dinner table set with fine china, the coffee table next to the sofa loaded with brightly wrapped gifts. All covered with a fine layer of dust. Dear god, she had forgotten. The three days she had prepared and planned for Seven’s homecoming. Well, Seven was finally home, albeit three months late, and Janeway had to take a breath, feeling a slight shifting within her as she walked into the bedroom where the bed was made up with silken sheets and several candles scattered around, unlit, waiting, empty. Cold.

She closed her eyes, standing at the foot of the bed, drawing in the air which held the faint trace of stale perfume that she had sprayed the morning she had made all her preparations. She could only imagine what would have been the result had she returned here at any time during the three months Seven had been gone.

Had been dead.

“Computer, where is Seven of Nine?” she asked suddenly, urgently, crossing her arms over her chest, holding onto her biceps, fingers tight as they dug into the flesh.

“Seven of Nine has exited hangar deck one,” the voice said evenly, “and has now entered turbolift five.”

Janeway didn’t even wonder why Seven had returned to the hangar, only that Voyager had answered, had noted the Borg’s presence. Had responded with a real location.

“Computer, locate Seven of Nine,” she asked again.

“Seven of Nine is in turbolift five, passing deck ten,” the voice answered promptly. It did not matter to the ship how many times the question was asked. It would answer every time.

“Computer, locate Seven of Nine,” she said, head back, eyes closing as she hugged herself, feeling the chills go through her.

“Seven of Nine is on deck three, section one.”

Janeway slowly inhaled, deeply, shivering.

“Computer, locate Seven of Nine.”

“Seven of Nine is in her quarters.”

She felt the presence which seemed to wrap itself around her, even from across the room. Slowly, she turned her head, opening her eyes to look through the open bedroom door, across the living area where the tall blonde woman stood just inside the entrance. She was so very alive and real, and only a few steps away. Janeway felt a trickle inside her as the ice abruptly cracked and shattered, melting to reveal her heart where it had always been, held frozen for just this moment.

“Annika,” she whispered.

Seven carefully put the containers she was holding down on the floor and walked over to Janeway, stopping a mere breath away. Reaching up with her right hand to touch the captain’s cheek with exquisite care, she cupped it in the warm palm, and the trickle inside Janeway suddenly became a torrent that raged and overflowed, hot tears forming and spilling over, sliding down her cheeks. Seven’s other arm came around her, pulling her close, as her right hand slid around to the back of Janeway’s head to tangle in her hair, pressing the captain’s face into the soft comfort of the younger woman’s neck and shoulder. Seven cradled and coddled her, drew her lovingly into the shelter of her embrace, and it was more than Janeway could bear, the sobs wracking her as she surrendered to the warmth surrounding her, shuddering as Seven held her close.

She listened to the soft words being whispered over and over in her ear, an affirmation, and a promise.

“I am right here, Kathryn. I will never leave you again.”

Seven didn’t know how much time had passed as she held Kathryn in her arms, trying to comprehend what her partner was experiencing. She had never seen Kathryn like this. Once, she had stood beneath the silvery illumination of two moons and saw tears slide down Janeway’s face, and then again, one time in cargo bay one, she had seen her cry, but they had been dignified tears. Proud tears. Never had Seven witnessed this helpless, hopeless sobbing, never felt the desperate way Kathryn clung to her as if terrified, never saw her captain lose control as she did now. It scared Seven yet, at the same time, made her feel fiercely protective. She rubbed her cheek against Kathryn’s temple, trying to wrap herself around the captain, and save her from all the pain and the hurt inside, yet knowing she could not.

Finally, after an immeasurable amount of time, the shudders slowed and stopped, the tears lessening and finally ceasing, though not the half sobs that shook Janeway now and again. Yet still, Seven held her tightly, not wanting to let her go, and it seemed that Kathryn did not want that either, continuing to cling to her, until finally, lifting her head from the Borg’s shoulder, she looked up at Seven with eyes clouded thunder grey, dark and stormy, frightened and so alone.

Seven bent down, kissing Kathryn hard, and it was exactly the right thing to do as Janeway kissed her back, hungrily, making a sound in her throat unlike anything Seven had ever heard, one of fear and loneliness, of urgent need. Then the captain’s hands were in the Borg’s hair, clawing at it to loosen it from the bun, and then pulling at the back of her neck to release her outfit. Seven picked the captain up, carrying her to the bed, and pulling off the restraining clothing quickly to leave them naked and free, skin on skin, flesh against flesh. Warm, then hot, melting into each other with multitudes of little hurts, kisses that bruised, teeth that scraped and bit too hard, hands that moved too abruptly, that clutched too strongly, nails that scratched and dug in with desperate need. Yet, somehow, it was all right because each tiny pain was like reaffirming their existence, reminding them they were alive and that they existed in this moment of time meant only for them. If it wasn’t particularly romantic, or tender, or even especially loving, then at least it was real and honest, and exactly what they both wanted and needed to prove that they were there and in each other’s arms once more.

Afterward, they lay in a warm tangle of arms and legs and satin sheets, finding each hurt and smoothing over it with gentle lips and tender fingertips, looking at each other without words, kissing softly and sweetly, communicating on a level that defied explanation, and knowing that finally, truly, it was over and somehow they had made it through … that they were exactly where they should be. Kathryn sighed, snuggling close and fell asleep for the first time in three months without the need of a sedative, just the steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, held possessively in Seven’s arms. The Borg watched Kathryn sleep, stroking the auburn hair, brushing her lips over the smooth forehead now and again, aware that somehow, the relationship had changed in a way that was not necessarily better or worse than what they had before, but definite in its difference, and how they would face the future.

Together.

Janeway woke abruptly, confused at where she was, and what had happened. This was not the first time she had been roused this way throughout the night, jerking into startled consciousness with fear an acid taste in her throat before feeling Seven’s body warm against her. The young woman had always been awake to gently stroke her, to murmur soothing words of love and comfort which lulled the captain back to her uneasy sleep. This time, however, Janeway found no one beside her, and she immediately sat up, gasping for breath as anxiety filled her.

It took a few seconds to realize the lights were up to signify morning watch, her heart racing as she scrambled out of bed to peer through the bedroom door to where Seven sat cross-legged in the center of the living area floor. The Borg was clad in that ridiculously brief robe she had insisted on purchasing in a market on a planet light years back, a silken bit of black material trimmed in white which Janeway always claimed was far too small for Seven … but secretly adored because it showed the entire length of those lovely long legs, and looked so good with the blonde hair spilling over it to help conceal the expanse of cleavage it so proudly displayed. The young woman was surrounded by wrapping paper and presents, busily unwrapping the next one with an expression of sheer pleasure and unadulterated joy on her face, oblivious to the captain’s panic.

Intensely relieved, Janeway reached over to the lounger where her robe lay, a much more sensible and modest pink terrycloth, covering the captain to her ankles as she pulled it on. She paused in the doorway where she watched the young woman with yearning eyes that unbeknownst to her were a most vivid blue, drinking in the vision of her lover that filled her with a warmth so deep, it left her aching.

“Good morning,” she said softly, throatily.

Seven looked up with a wide, delighted smile. “These are all for me,” she said, eyes sparkling. “My name was on them, and they are all from you. You did remember my birthday.”

Janeway took a breath. She could’ve told her the truth that moment, could have explained how she had indeed forgotten. That all those gifts had been a pathetic attempt to make up for what she should never have missed in the first place. But the smile was too wide, the expression much too happy, and that had been the old Janeway anyway, so the captain smiled quietly and lovingly, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes.

“Do you like them?” she asked huskily.

“Oh yes,” Seven said. “They are all so wonderful.”

She looked over the assortment of booty she had received; jewelry and trinkets, and all sorts of other things that she did not really require because every crewmember was issued shampoo and other necessities as needed. These were special, however, because they weren’t standard issue, specifically replicated and personalized with Janeway ruthlessly using command privilege to far exceed her replicator rations because, just this once, Seven was going to be more important than the ship. Seven had come to Voyager with nothing, and if anyone begrudged her these things, they could just bring it up with Janeway if they dared. And if the effort was three months late, it didn’t really matter. In fact, considering all they had been through, it was so much better now than it would have been then.

Seven reached out a hand, and Janeway pushed off the doorframe to move over to her. Seven pulled her down to the floor in front of her so that Janeway was leaning back against her, the blonde’s arms encircling her from behind to hug her tightly.

“Thank you,” Seven whispered into her hair.

“You’re more than welcome, my love,” Janeway said, resting her head back against Seven’s chest, enjoying the feel of the arms wrapped around her so much, the legs underneath her knees, the firm body pressed against her back. With a sigh of pure bliss, she snuggled into the warm embrace, beginning to feel whole once more as the raw edges inside her slowly healed under the younger woman’s loving attention.

“I have something for you, too,” Seven said. “Many things actually, but this one thing is the most important.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Janeway protested. “I have everything I could ever want, right here.”

Seven kissed her temple. “I know, but you will enjoy it, nonetheless.” She reached behind her on the floor, and brought forth a padd, not the traditional personal handheld version, but one of the larger, full screen units similar to the one Janeway had in her ready room. Seven rested it on the captain’s lap, flipping it open and touching the controls.

“Hello Kathryn,” Phoebe said from the screen, and Janeway felt her heart catch, her eyes flooding so quickly that she had to blink furiously to clear them.

“Oh, Annika,” she whispered, reaching out and touching the screen, feeling Seven smile against her cheek.

“As you can see, I’m doing this on Deep Space 9,” Phoebe went on, spreading her hands out to show the unmistakable angularity of Cardassian architecture behind the couch she was sitting on. “Mom and I came here as soon as we heard about your three crewmembers coming home.” She grinned suddenly and it was that wild half-grin Janeway knew so well, and missed so much. “Of course, they weren’t home, they were lost and ready to go back, but don’t worry, we did get the chance to meet Seven of Nine, and tell her just how big a mistake she’s making. Despite our best efforts, however, we couldn’t quite manage to scare her off.”

“She is being facetious,” Seven explained gravely, and Janeway gave a laugh that was a half sob, putting a hand to her mouth.

Phoebe moved over on the couch a little, and Janeway caught her breath again as her mother came into the image, sitting down beside her youngest daughter and looking into the screen intently. “I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Kathryn,” Gretchen said gently, and it seemed her warmth and love reached right through the data stream as she smiled. “Of course, I suppose I don’t have to worry so much, because I know Annika will take good care of you from now on.”

“Yeah, we just adore her, Kathryn,” Phoebe contributed. “She’s a heck of a lot more interesting than the rest you brought home, even if she doesn’t know what dogs are. How you managed to finally luck out, I’ll never know. Of course, you did have to go all the way to the Delta Quadrant to find her. You’d better be nice to my little sister, Kathryn, or I’ll go there myself, and kick your behind.”

Gretchen put an admonishing hand on her daughter’s knee to quell the teasing which to Kathryn, after so long, was like food to a starving woman. Janeway’s mother looked directly into the screen, and it felt as if she was looking directly at the captain, directly into her soul. “Kathryn, we know you’re doing your absolute best to bring your ship and your crew home as quickly as you can. Until we can be together again, just know that our hearts and thoughts are always with you. We miss you, Kathryn. We love you. Completely and forever.”

Kathryn was silent as the screen went dark, her fingertips still resting on the screen, not sure what it was she was feeling at the moment, only that it seemed too much for her heart to hold.

“There are others,” Seven said then, dropping several data chips onto the captain’s lap. “Logs on all they have been doing the past five years, and what has been happening on Earth, but they wanted you to view that one first. They asked that I be with you when you played it.”

Janeway tipped her head back so she could look into Seven’s eyes. “You met them,” she said wistfully.

“Yes, and was fortunate enough to be able to spend a great deal of time with them while we were on the station,” Seven said. She took a breath. “I also met my grandparents. Both sets. Two aunts, an uncle, and three cousins.” She paused and shuddered a bit with delicate horror. “I like your family so much better.”

Janeway smiled, closing her eyes and resting her temple against Seven’s chin. “I guess there’s a lot you still haven’t told me about your visit to the Alpha Quadrant,” she said.

“Yes,” Seven agreed. “There is so much I must tell you. So many people I met and spoke with, so many things that I want to share with you.”

“We have time, now,” Janeway said, hugging Seven’s arms against her. “All the time you need.”

“No,” Seven said. “Not this morning. This morning we will make love.”

“That would be wonderful, as well.” Janeway laughed softly.

“First, however, you will eat,” Seven instructed, and was abruptly rising to her feet, pulling Janeway along with her.

Surprised, Janeway protested. “I don’t…” she tried, as she was propelled to the table, which was still set from months before. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Unacceptable,” Seven said crisply, taking the dinner plate and a wineglass and carrying them over to the replicator where she programmed some instructions before returning.

Janeway looked at the two eggs, bacon, mound of hash browns and toast loaded on the plate placed before her with some dismay. “Darling,” she said. “I can’t eat all this.”

“Try,” Seven ordered sharply, and then softened. “What you cannot eat, I will finish. Nothing will be wasted.”

Reluctantly, Janeway surrendered and picked up her fork, taking her first bite gingerly. To her surprise, it went down easily, and she took another and before she knew it, she was famished, plowing eagerly through the rest of it and washing it down with orange juice. As she ate, she watched Seven who stood at the captain’s desk, intent on some unfathomable task which utilized unfamiliar equipment. Janeway idly enjoyed the way the short robe rode up over the blond’s buttocks. Honestly, she thought fondly, that robe is really too small. Never once considering that it was designed that way. Then, an unmistakable aroma assaulted her nostrils, and with a dazed wonder, she watched Seven bring over a mug, the contents steaming slightly.

“Oh, Annika,” she said, taking her first, ecstatic taste.

“Phoebe taught me to make it,” Seven said as she returned to the replicator. “She made me promise to never reveal the secret, because you would then kill me and take it for yourself.”

Janeway chuckled as she took another drink of the coffee, savoring the rich, smooth blend that was the absolute best she had ever tasted. “She was kidding,” she said. “I could never manage to make it this well even knowing the secret. This is incredible.”

Seven looked back, smiling that glowing smile over her shoulder. “I’m glad you like it,” she said.

She returned to the table with stacks of blueberry pancakes, covered with syrup and Janeway did not even argue, sliding aside her now empty plate, and accepting the new one as Seven joined her in tackling the mound of food. Then, finally replete, Janeway leaned back in her chair sipping from a second cup of the wonderful brew, looking at her love across the table, and realizing suddenly that times like these had been too few and far between. To sit and have breakfast together, to spend a lazy morning in each other’s company … she had not just been denying Seven valuable lessons in Humanity, she had been denying herself these simple pleasures that were much too important to miss in life.

There would more of this, she vowed silently. More leisurely breakfasts, or walks in the holodeck, or taking moments to pause in the workday to look out at the stars just because they were there. She had been given far too many opportunities that she had failed to take advantage of. Had neglected small, but oh, so important things in her drive to return to the Alpha Quadrant, to get her ship home. She had been offered a wonderful gift, something she never had before … a second chance. She would not waste it.

“Phoebe sent ten kilos of coffee back with me,” Seven explained as she mopped up the last of the syrup from her plate with the last bite of pancake. Janeway had never seen the Borg eat so much. Apparently, she had advanced further in her Human physicality while in the Alpha Quadrant than the captain would have expected. “As well as some cuttings. She thinks if we can get them to grow, we will be producing our own beans within five years. I believe I can decrease that time.”

“Many people have tried,” Janeway offered gently, overwhelmed at the gift. “That’s why it’s so hard to get a decent cup of coffee in space.”

“I am not many people,” Seven said with assurance.

“No,” Janeway allowed with a smile. “You aren’t.”

Seven dipped her head. “In any event, I have no intention of still being in the Delta Quadrant five years from now,” she said with complete confidence. “I will find a way to return to the Federation sooner.”

Janeway had no doubt she would succeed, because once Seven really set her mind to something … it could almost be considered a guaranteed result.

Seven looked at her curiously. “Are you full?” she asked.

“Stuffed,” Janeway said, patting her tummy. “That was wonderful, Seven. Thank you.”

“You need to eat,” Seven replied, and there was a hint of rebuke in her voice.

Janeway wondered exactly what the Doctor and Tuvok had told her. Well, she would deal with that later, or maybe she would let someone else take care of her for awhile. She regarded the young woman with loving eyes.

“There are other things I need, too,” she said softly, sensuously.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “I can fulfill all needs,” she replied evenly, though the hint of humor in her eyes let Janeway know she was aware of what exactly was being referred to. “At all times.”

“Now?” Janeway inquired hopefully.

“I believe so,” Seven said.

Smiling, the Borg reached out to take her hand.

“I have to admit,” Janeway said huskily as she tugged at the belt of Seven’s robe. “I tease you about how small this is, but I really like it.”

Seven looked down at her with a faint smile, hands resting lightly on the captain’s elbows as they stood next to the bed which was still tousled from the night before. “I know,” she said. “I have always known.”

Surprised, Janeway stopped, looking up at her with that expression. The same one Seven had seen in a brig on a ship taking them back to Borg space when she had offered a joke to her captain as they attempted to escape. Startled, a little shy, but clearly pleased by what she had heard … and deeply touched by the young woman’s display of Humanity.

“You knew?”

“Yes,” Seven responded. “Even when you complained it was too small, I was always aware that you enjoyed watching me in it. That is why I purchased it in the first place. I knew you would like it.”

Janeway blushed, laughed and slid the robe from the blond’s arms, dropping it onto the bottom of the bed. “I guess you know me better than I do,” she said. She drew her fingers gently over Seven’s neck and shoulders, leaning forward to kiss her breastbone. “I also enjoy watching you out of it too,” she added slyly, glancing up through lowered lashes.

“I am aware of that as well,” Seven said placidly. She removed the captain’s robe, dropped it beside the black one, and pulled Kathryn into her arms, delighting in the feel of her body against hers, but disturbed at how thin it was, the way the ribs jutted beneath her exploring fingertips. The smaller woman seemed so fragile, so light in her embrace. She had not understood before that just as Janeway was necessary for Seven to function better, she, in turn, was necessary for the Voyager captain to function properly. It was a frightening, yet somewhat gratifying, realization.

“Though,” Seven added casually, “I am aware that I am not aesthetically pleasing in form.”

Janeway paused in her lip’s gentle exploration of Seven’s chest, looking up at her with startled eyes. “Is that what you think?” she asked.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “I do understand that many see me as attractive, but they are deceived by the outfit which gives my body a pleasing shape while concealing the better part of my implants,” she explained calmly. “You, discounting the Doctor, are the only one who has seen my body in its true form. I think many others would be revolted by the sight.”

“Perhaps,” Janeway said slowly, not really wanting to agree, but familiar enough with Human nature to know Seven was probably accurate to a certain degree. “That would make them fools.”

Seven shook her head. “It is irrelevant what others think,” she said, trying to clarify her meaning. “It is enough that you are not repulsed.”

Janeway glanced down the abdominal mesh which framed the bottom of the full breasts before spreading around her back, almost to Seven’s shoulder blades, noting the scarred and whitened flesh between each soft grey band. Then, she leaned forward and gently kissed the starburst shape imbedded just below the young woman’s left collarbone.

“You are beautiful,” she said softly. “Every bit of you. I absolutely adore looking at you, and touching you. Sometimes I feel I can never get enough of you.”

Seven lowered her head, closing her eyes, feeling the pleasure Kathryn’s words inspired spread through her. “I love you,” she whispered. “I think I always have, from the first moment I saw you.”

Janeway laughed softly. “I could debate that.”

Seven thought a moment. “You are correct, it was an exaggeration on my part,” she allowed with a bit of a smile. “However, I do know I always … appreciated being in your presence, even when we disagreed. Sometimes I even challenged your opinions just so I would have your attention. I felt sometimes, that you were more cognizant of me when we ‘butted heads’, as you called it, than when I functioned as you expected. So I endeavored not to be … as you expected.”

The captain was looking at her once more, smiling her gentle smile as she continued to run loving fingertips over Seven’s chest, along the swell of her breasts to her nipples, over her corseted midsection and hips, up her back to her shoulders then down her arms before retracing the path. It was pleasantly soothing, almost hypnotic, yet definitely arousing. Seven kept her head close to Kathryn’s, holding her waist easily in her hands, breathing in the soft fragrance of her hair and the scent of her body, its warmth surrounding her as she quietly accepted the caresses.

“I admit,” Janeway said thoughtfully as she continued to stroke her. “You were always intriguing to me. Even on the cube in the middle of the battle with Species 8472, I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to know how you thought, what you felt about everything that was happening, what you thought about me.” She brushed her lips over Seven’s chin, along her jaw. “There was just something about you that attracted me. The physical aspect was only part of it, and came much later.”

Seven smiled again, something she realized she had been doing more and more as time passed. It was an instinctive reaction, she thought. A natural extension of all the pleasure and happiness this woman in her arms brought her. She carefully tightened her embrace and found the captain’s mouth, kissing her sweetly, passionately. She did so enjoy kissing Kathryn, the feel of her lips and the way she responded. The taste of her inspired a hunger in Seven no mere nutritional supplement could ever hope to satisfy. The soft sound Kathryn made in the back of her throat, a contented purr, vibrated sensually within Seven to the very bone marrow.

She felt the captain pull away slightly, and she obediently released her, watching as the smaller woman crawled onto the bed, and stretched out on her back, reaching up a hand to draw Seven down beside her. Seven lay down on her side, propping her head in her left hand as she pressed warmly against Kathryn, leaving her right hand free to explore the body next to her which she did, slowly, with thorough intent even as Kathryn continued to stroke her with those elegant long fingers.

This was nothing like the night before. Then, it had been need, a desperate demand, more release than pleasure, and far from this slow, pleasant exploration to familiarize themselves with each other, as if it were all new and strange. Though in truth, the physical changes Kathryn had forced upon herself from not eating and sleeping, had altered her body in significant ways. Seven frowned, analyzing the differences in shape and texture with keen precision.

“You must never do this again,” she instructed softly, looking down at her lover with dismay. “You must never harm yourself in this manner. You are too necessary for my well-being. You are too necessary for the function of the ship.”

Janeway opened her mouth to answer, stopped, and thought about it. “I didn’t mean to … be so self destructive,” she admitted finally. “It just hurt so much, Annika. I knew I had to keep working, but other things like eating and sleeping, I … they weren’t important anymore. I knew the Doctor and Tuvok were quite upset with me but it didn’t seem to matter. I missed you so much.” She looked up at her shyly. “Are you angry?”

“I am frightened,” Seven corrected, kissing her. “I do not want to lose you.”

“I thought I had lost you.” Seven caught her breath as she heard the ragged note in the voice. “Forever. I didn’t want to go on without you.”

“You must always go on,” Seven insisted, distraught. “Even if I am dead, you must do so. Promise me you will continue to function properly in that event.”

“You must promise me the same,” Kathryn responded promptly, and rather unfairly to Seven’s mind.

“It is less important that I survive in your absence.”

“It’s not less important to me,” the captain said sternly, capturing her in a fathomless blue gaze. Then she smiled. “If you don’t promise to continue to function without me, then I can’t promise you, either.”

Seven took a breath. Somehow she had lost track of this argument, something that happened quite frequently with this woman. Then, Janeway chuckled and slid her arms around her neck, pulling her down for a long burning kiss.

“Let’s not worry about this now,” she whispered when they had finally parted. “You’re exactly where you belong, here in my arms. I know I belong in yours. I’m certain you’ll take excellent care of me from now on, my darling, and it’ll be no time at all before I’m functioning properly again. And I swear I’ll always take care of you.”

Seven considered that for a moment. “Acceptable,” she said, a bit reluctant because she knew tue captain was deliberately diverting her from the topic. Then she felt Kathryn’s hands cover her breast, squeezing it gently as she rubbed over the nipple with the palm, and she was suddenly quite amenable to the change of subject. Startled, she looked down to see Kathryn regarding her with a raised brow, the corners of her mouth curled in a grin.

“Are we done talking about this?”

“I believe so,” Seven allowed, a bit breathlessly. “What do you wish to talk about?”

Kathryn reached up and gently nipped Seven’s chin. “About what I’m going to do to you,” she said huskily. “About what you’re going to do to me.”

“I am going to do many things to you,” Seven responded quietly as she ran her hand over Janeway’s tummy in slow circles, steadily increasing in circumference until she was cupping the small fine breasts, using her fingers to tease the nubs into hardness. “Such as this. Is it acceptable?”

“Oh, very.” Kathryn arched into the caress, encouraging her. “On the other hand, we don’t have to talk at all.”

“It is difficult,” Seven allowed. “When one’s mouth is otherwise occupied.”

“In what way?” Janeway asked archly, then must have realized immediately, exactly which way as Seven covered the captain’s other breast, swirling her tongue around to stimulate her nipple, flicking it gently. “Fine, I’ll shut up now,” she added happily, with a low, throaty laugh.

Seven smiled, her teeth raking gently over the soft skin that responded so sweetly to her. Kathryn always had to have the last word. Fortunately, she loved Kathryn’s voice, the low huskiness of it, the way she could interweave so much meaning around simple words with just an inflection, a certain tone. Command, desire, compassion, anger … yet the voice never rose, never grew louder. It was just a different emphasis placed on a word or two. A most fascinating skill, and one Seven wished she could emulate. Janeway could make people react in the most extreme ways just by the tone of her voice. Seven knew for a fact, that Kathryn’s voice did the most wonderful things to her.

As did her hands which were caressing her with more intent now, more specific in their motion, seeking out those places that Kathryn knew were pleasing to her. Seven caught her breath as they stroked her body, distracting her, making her dizzy until finally, Seven captured the wrists in a gentle grip, raising them above Janeway’s head and pinning them to the bed.

“Allow me,” Seven requested, pressing down on Janeway with her entire body though careful not to allow her full mass weigh on her. It was an interesting display of physics, of gravity versus the various points of contact with the bed to support the heavier woman, and one Seven had become very adept at over the months. She especially did not want to grind any metallic part into Kathryn’s now rather delicate physique. It was important that Kathryn feel the warmth of Seven’s entire body against her, the delicious touch of skin on skin, but not be trapped by a suffocating force on top of her.

“Can’t concentrate?” Janeway asked blandly, an impish look shading her eyes to blue.

“You make it difficult,” Seven allowed. She took the opportunity to brush her lips over Kathryn’s.

“I don’t see how,” the captain murmured innocently. “I’m just playing.”

Seven smiled. They played together yes, but more often they competed. In the holodeck with games like Velocity or hoverball, in the astrometrics lab when the captain would attempt to arrive at a solution quicker than her Borg partner … and frequently here, trying to see who could make the other loose control quicker. Even now she could feel Kathryn testing her grip, seeing how completely her wrists were captured. The captain’s competitive fire was strong, and one that Seven admired greatly. It was part of what made her such an excellent captain, but it was not always something Seven appreciated here in the bedroom. Recently however, she had learned how to dampen that fire by using indirect, yet very effective methods. She began to kiss the captain, tenderly, gently, using her mouth with blissful intent, long moments of gentle rapture passing as Seven presented her appeal.

“Let me, Kathryn,” Seven said softly, persuasively, between the long, slow, melting kisses. “Please, Kathryn … I want to love you so much … let me make love to you … I want to love you … .please, let me love you….” She felt Kathryn’s resistance crumble before the irresistible assault on her senses.

Taking a deep breath, Janeway moaned as she gave in. “Annika,” she whispered the request, a gentle plea rather than a command. “Make love to me, my darling. Please.”

“I will, Kathryn,” Seven promised without triumph, only gratitude. She continued to kiss her, so gently, passionately, tasting her, running her tongue over Kathryn’s lips and teeth, touching against her tongue, teasing it, drawing it into her own mouth.

“You are such a great kisser,” Kathryn noted in a low, pleased voice as Seven finally released her, trailing over her chin and along her jaw, seeking out the soft lobe of her ear, seizing it between her teeth.

“Mmmphh,” Seven responded, not disagreeing necessarily but wanting Kathryn to know it was she who inspired her, who had taught her such a useful skill. From the soft chuckle, Seven knew she had got her meaning across. Somehow.

She gently explored Kathryn’s ear, mesmerized by its delicate shell-like beauty, then moved along her neck, nuzzling its length to the shoulder and warm hollow of collarbone. Her teeth nibbled gently at the hard ridge, then her lips traced the gradual swell of breast, licking at the swollen, velvet-soft nipples, knowing how very erotic Kathryn found this, how much she enjoyed having her breasts attended to with such loving devotion. Seven spent a considerable amount of time lingering over the small, firm mounds before reluctantly moving away, down over the belly still rounded from the morning’s repast, feeling the fine hairs scattered about the navel tickle her lips until they gave way to the longer, coarser thatch of auburn which Seven nestled her face in, taking the time to breathe deep Kathryn’s intoxicating scent, the heavy muskiness of desire and need awaiting her.

Carefully, she drew her mouth down to the inner thigh, the heat of baby-smooth skin and the moisture gathering there, overflowing from a crease already separating, parted even more by Seven who gently opened Kathryn, penetrating with two fingers slowly, tenderly, welcomed by a secret embrace of silk-slick walls which clasped them intimately. She heard Kathryn’s groan, felt her hips arch slowly against her, pulling her deeper inside, and she flexed her fingers, gratified at the instant response, the surge that ran through the beloved body.

Seven began to feast on Kathryn’s ardor, tasting the rich flavor of her, so powerful, yet delicate, a complicated flavor, so much like the woman herself. Using her lips and tongue with precise skill, she coordinated her movements with those of her hand, drawing out Kathryn’s pleasure slowly, gradually building it, then easing off before building it once more, higher, stronger, increasing it ever so slightly each time until finally, she knew it was time and she pressed sweetly on Kathryn’s inner center, releasing her lover to the spasms which swept her up, carried her along on a tide of delight. She felt her lover’s hands tangle in her hair, pressing her tighter against her, the helpless cries of joy filling Seven with such love and happiness that the young woman had to close her eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

Then, after making sure Kathryn was completely sated, Seven crawled up into her arms, into an embrace which enfolded her lovingly, to a mouth that eagerly welcomed her with a kiss so deep and pure, she thought she could probably die from it, but for the fact that she now knew how damaging that would be to this woman she so completely adored. She thought that no matter how vast the universe was, her destiny would always bring her here, to Kathryn, to her lover, her friend, her partner. Her captain.

Would always bring her home.

Epilogue

“I think you’ll enjoy this program,” Janeway told Seven as they left their quarters … for the first time in three days.

Seven, dressed in her black outfit, silken like the first silver one, but less obtrusive in its design, nodded briefly. “I’m sure I will,” she said, eyeing her gently. “Since it is the place you were raised.”

The smaller woman rested her hand on the small of Seven’s back, no longer concerned that it might not be entirely proper for the captain to be touching her astrometric’s officer so affectionately in public. Janeway was truly looking forward to this. The holo-program of her home in Indiana was not one the captain had accessed since Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, too fearful that the feelings of longing and homesickness it would inspire would be far more than she could bear. However, with Seven’s visit to the Alpha Quadrant, running the program was somehow acceptable to her now.

Now that Seven had met the Janeway family, interacted with them, and come to love them as they grew to love her, it seemed proper that together, she and the young woman could share this walk through the cornfields behind the house where Kathryn was raised. If it would be unwise to go into the house itself, which would echo with a sad emptiness, then it would still be enough just to walk hand-in-hand along a dusty county road beneath Earth’s azure sky, and feel the breeze blowing amid the lush green corn stalks.

They exited the turbolift, heading for the holodeck on deck six when Lt. Tom Paris abruptly made an appearance in front of them, propelled across the hall from an open doorway of his quarters, into the bulkhead where he collided with an audible thump. As he attempted to peel himself off the metallic wall, several objects followed his impetuous flight path, impacting on the bulkhead and his body with indiscriminate aim.

“Ah,” Seven observed calmly. “The intent is to actually hit your target. I did not realize.”

Janeway had stopped dead, watching this with dismay, and not a little trepidation. On one hand, she expected her people to act with a certain dignity, even when off-duty, but clearly, this was a personal matter between two members of her crew, and did not concern her in the slightest. Other than the fact that both parties were her friends.

“B’Elanna … please,” Tom was saying as he cowered and ducked against the wall, not very successfully at times.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “He lacks your agility,” she noted with professional regard.

“Damn you to hell, Tom Paris!” B’Elanna howled from somewhere inside her quarters. Both Janeway and Seven deemed it unwise to risk a glance inside the door to determine exactly where, since the articles flying from the room did not decrease in profusion. “How could you have sex with Jennifer Delaney?”

Janeway winced, and Seven raised her head in surprise.

“I’m sorry, B’Elanna, believe me,” he begged. “It didn’t mean anything. Besides, I thought you were dead.”

“Is that like being on a break?” returned the snarl from within along with a metal dish, which ricocheted off Tom’s head with a metallic twang.

“B’Elanna, please,” Tom said. Both seemed unaware that they had an audience who were watching this with fascinated, if somewhat embarrassed, regard. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

“That can be arranged.” The next thing that came through was a blade, a Klingon dagger that impaled itself into the bulkhead with a pointed force, vibrating a little in the shocked aftermath.

Tom’s face paled, and finally, judging that discretion was the better part of valor, especially when an enraged chief engineer was concerned, he hastily made tracks for elsewhere, leaving the two women standing in contemplative silence amongst the scattered debris of a romance torn apart.

Gingerly, with prudent caution, Janeway eased herself around the lip of the door.

“B’Elanna,” she said, ready to pull her head back instantly. “Are you all right?”

A heartfelt wail greeted her words, and with a regretful glance at Seven, who indicated by dipping her head that she understood the holodeck must wait for another day, Janeway disappeared into the quarters. The door slid firmly shut behind her, leaving Seven to survey the mess with a judicious eye.

Chakotay came around the corner, dressed for the holodeck, apparently drawn by the noise, and he stopped short, staring at Seven.

“What the hell is this about?” he asked.

“I believe that B’Elanna Torres and Tom Paris have terminated their relationship,” Seven responded, trying to pry the knife from the bulkhead, and not finding it easy.

“Yeah?” Chakotay said, and the note of … interest … in his voice caught Seven’s attention. She observed him surreptitiously as he helped her clean up the corridor.

“You have an opinion on this?” she asked.

Chakotay shrugged. “Well, you know, just between you and me, Seven, I think maybe this has been coming for awhile. B’Elanna needs someone a lot stronger in her life.”

“Indeed,” Seven said.

As he bore the shattered remains off to be recycled in the ship’s disposal unit, she considered his words … and wondered if the ‘someone stronger’ might be a certain first officer.

The End

Back to Season One

On to Just Between Friends

Table of Contents

Epilogue