Seven of Nine stepped onto the bridge, greeted by a keen edge of tension and the wash of amber that denoted a yellow alert. The captain glanced back at her, but didn't speak, immediately resuming her concentration on the fore viewscreen displaying the roiling orange and gold of plasma storms that frequented this region of space. Seven had never seen anything like it and she studied it intently, aware that for others on the bridge, this was familiar territory. This was the area where the Maquis ship commanded by Chakotay had fled a Cardassian battle cruiser, and it was here that Voyager had come to retrieve its security officer who had infiltrated that Maquis band. An entity known as the Caretaker had swept up both vessels and brought them to his array in the Delta Quadrant. Seven years later, they had finally returned to where it had all began. 
"Where's the Soukara now?" Janeway demanded. 
"The Cardassian vessel trails off our starboard stern at 563 kilometers," Tuvok reported.
Seven took the opportunity to deliver her report. "The transition coil is primed and ready to activate the slipstream drive on your command. But it is highly unlikely it will function beyond this one activation. A short journey is all that is possible."
She saw the captain smile and it was not a particularly pleasant smile, more lips drawn back in anticipation than any indication of mirth or humor.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Janeway replied shortly. "Harry, hail the Soukara. Ask them if they're experiencing any difficulty?"
There was a pause, then Harry looked up from his console. "Soukara reports no damage but advises again that this area of space is quite dangerous."
Janeway's smile widened, showing her teeth. "Inform them that the currents are quite tricky but that we intend to study them." She leaned forward a little. "Tom, make it look as if we've just been caught in an eddy. It's time to lose our companions."
"Understood, Captain," Tom remarked, and there was a sort of lilt to his tone, an obvious indication that he was enjoying himself.
As was the captain, and Seven wondered what it was she was missing, since she found the whole thing annoying rather than exciting. There was a jolt as Voyager was abruptly pushed sideways, and a quick scan by Seven of her auxiliary tactical station revealed that it was a result of port thrusters abruptly firing, rather than any external force. To the following Cardassian vessel, it must have appeared as if the Federation ship had been caught by an eddy, and when Voyager suddenly shot forward, the trailing vessel was caught completely unprepared.
"Go, Tom," Janeway encouraged, the acceleration so strong that it was felt even through the inertial dampeners.
Seven's eyes widened as she realized Paris had called for full impulse, and the deck canted beneath her feet as the helmsman proceeded to throw the vessel into a series of complicated maneuvers, dancing about the energy discharges and swirling plasma vortexes that surrounded them, speeding deeper into the Badlands.
"The Soukara has broken off pursuit," Tuvok reported. "It's retreating to the edge of the Badlands."
The captain gave a little nod of satisfaction. "Good work, Tom. Take us well out of their sensor range, and once we're clear of the worst of the plasma storms near the fringes, activate the slipstream drive."
Seven frowned. She wasn't sure what would happen if the drive was activated this close to such massive discharges of energy.
"Captain," she offered. "It would be advisable to be well clear of all the Badlands before initiating the drive. It is unknown how a slipstream corridor would work in proximity to such an area."
Janeway glanced at her. "I understand," she said mildly. "But I suspect that the Soukara is going to be hanging about, waiting to detect those anomalous readings again. I want to use the interference on the fringes to mask our departure." She paused. "Is there any reason we can't activate the drive near the Badlands?"
Seven considered it. "It is still experimental. Many things are unknown."
"What will happen if we use the drive in close proximity to the plasma storms?" Janeway insisted.
Pinned down, Seven lowered her head. "I do not know. Nor do I know if it will work properly."
Janeway lifted her eyebrow. "It's been a risk from the beginning, Lieutenant. What's one more on this day?"
"One too many?" Seven suggested evenly.
Chakotay chewed on his bottom lip, obviously listening to this and wanting to laugh at that last, but not daring to. Janeway shot her astrometrics officer an arch look, and turned to the front.
"Your concern is noted, Lt. Hansen," Janeway said in a bland tone.
The young woman discovered she was grinding her teeth as she recognized the inflection in the captain's voice, aware that her partner was going to ignore the Borg's suggestion about clearing the Badlands before activating the drive. It wasn't the first time a suggestion of Seven's had been ignored, nor did she suspect it would be the last, but it still rankled as much now as it had when she had first arrived on Voyager. The difference was, now she remained silent and accepted the captain's decision, whereas before she would have actively done something to prevent Janeway from activating the drive ... an act of disobedience that would have resulted in her spending several days isolated in the cargo bay.
"Sensors are detecting a clear area up ahead," Tom reported not long afterward, his tone vaguely puzzled. "But it's not the outskirts of the Badlands."
"It's the Eye," Chakotay offered suddenly, with a certain amount of anticipation. "It's an area of calm in the middle of the storm surges. The Maquis used it as a place to rendezvous while hiding out in the Badlands." He turned to look at Janeway, his gaze intent. "Captain, since the slipstream drive uses a corridor to travel, we could bypass the storms altogether and launch from this area rather than wait until we reach the fringes."
"Sounds exactly like what we're looking for," Janeway said with satisfaction. "Bridge to engineering. Prepare to activate slipstream drive on my mark."
"Aye, Captain," came B'Elanna's response.
Her voice was breezy, almost as if the Klingon was so familiar with using the drive, she had no concerns about anything the captain might ask of it. But Seven was uncomfortably aware of how hard she and the Klingon had worked to reinitialize the transition coil. She didn't think B'Elanna should be so complacent about what would probably be the last bit of use they would manage from that particular piece of equipment.
"Course to DS9 laid in," Tom announced. "We'll exit the corridor well out of their sensor range in an area normally devoid of traffic patterns. It should take about ten hours to cruise the rest of the way in on impulse."
"Engineering?" Janeway said.
"Slipstream drive activated," B'Elanna returned, jumping ahead of the captain's command. Janeway didn't protest.
"Slipstream corridor is forming."
"All ahead full," Janeway ordered. "Engage."
Seven barely had time to comprehend the readings crossing her console, and less time to utter a warning.
"The corridor is reacting to the plasma levels," she said, her voice rising in a modulated scream to be heard over the howl from the drive that rose around them. "Too much power is being diverted through the manifold."
The bridge crew were pressed back as the sudden burst of acceleration, too great for the inertial dampeners to fully compensate for, booted Voyager forward, the ship vibrating with disturbing violence. At the helm, Tom strained to touch his board, his fingers slamming onto the touch pad.
"Coordinates reached," he yelled. "Dropping out of slipstream."
The viewscreen cleared to show the huge structure of DS9 looming before them and a Federation Chimera-class starship that lurched desperately to starboard at Voyager's abrupt appearance. Proximity alarms shrieked, and Voyager tilted almost ninety degrees as Tom recklessly threw it into a sharp turn to port, narrowly missing a Klingon cruiser and an arching pylon that rose from the circular structure occupying the space around them. Swooping over the space station's central command module, crewmembers were thrown to the side as gravitational forces that no starship should be imposing on itself, stressed the gleaming hull of the Intrepid-class vessel. A variety of space-suited personnel, shuttles and worker bees scattered for their existence as Voyager screamed through the opening between the rings of the station, slewing sideways at the last instant to avoid a freighter detaching from its docking berth.
For a few terrifying seconds, the solid wall of the station's outer ring barred their way before somehow, Tom was able to bring the nose down and the starship plunged beneath it, so close that anything larger than two meters caught between Voyager's upper saucer section and the bottom of DS9's docking ring would have been completely torn away. A large, gold-colored vessel shot off to starboard, aborting its approach to the station, and stars yawned wildly across the viewscreen. Then suddenly, Voyager was clear of the station traffic and back into empty space, leaving what had to be utter terror and consternation in their wake.
"All stop," Chakotay yelped from his chair. Both he and the captain had managed to retain their position for the entire ride, and Seven was grateful that for once, her partner had been sitting down, rather than stalking about the bridge as was her habit.
"All stop," Tom replied as he killed the impulse engines, and used thrusters to turn the ship until it was facing the space station it had just buzzed.
The faces of Chakotay and Janeway were set in impassive masks of stone, and the captain's knuckles were white where she grasped the arms of her command chair. Seven needed a few seconds to draw breath, realizing only after the fact that she must have forgotten how during the entirety of Voyager's arrival at DS9. With an effort, she released the grip that had kept her on her feet when everyone else had been tossed around, noting the deep and distinct indentations in the rail where her left hand had been fastened. Around her, the rest of the crew was staggering back to their posts. Harry, his hair falling wildly over his forehead, hunched over the operations console, favoring his left side, while Tuvok, still standing at tactical, had been wounded, a small line of green blood trickling from his temple.
"Mr. Paris," Janeway said mildly into the silent aftermath. "Those were not the coordinates I requested."
"No, ma'am," Tom replied, his voice shaky. "The plasma discharge gave us a bit more acceleration than the helm could compensate for."
Janeway took a long, slow, deep breath and carefully pried her fingers off her command chair. "It appears your concerns were justified, Lieutenant," she said, without looking back at Seven. The Borg knew that was as much an apology for disregarding her warning as she would receive from Janeway. Sometimes, it was very difficult being involved with a starship captain. 
"Yes, Captain."
"Damage report," Janeway demanded. "Did we hit anything?" She winced. "Or anyone?"
"There is a small hull breach on deck eight," Tuvok reported, ignoring the blood coagulating on his cheek. "A result of a stress fracture. Sensors report no impact with any external obstacle. Minor injuries are reported on decks four through ten."
"Engineering reports that the transition coil has been completely destroyed from the plasma overload," Seven said, amazed at how calm her voice was. "Slipstream drive is offline. No injuries."
"Captain," Harry offered, "DS9 is hailing us. Colonel Kira Nerys, the station commander, demands to speak with you immediately. So do the captains of the USS Portland, the UFP Xhosa, the FMA Total Acquisition and the IKV Korrd."
"Yes, Mr. Kim," Janeway said quietly. "I imagine they want to speak to us very badly." She paused, glancing at Chakotay. "I guess they didn't like it when we came that close to colliding with their ships."
"Undoubtedly," he agreed in an equally deadpan tone. He took a breath. "That was damned good flying, Paris."
Tom glanced back. "Yes, sir," he said, in a subdued tone. "Thank you, sir."
Janeway stood up and absently straightened her tunic, then raked her fingers through her disarrayed hair. "Put Colonel Kira through, Mr. Kim," she instructed calmly. "On screen."
The screen flickered to show the slender, imposing form of a Bajoran woman, her silver earring dangling from her right ear. Seven recognized her immediately, though she did note the alteration of collar insignia since the last time she had seen her. The woman had only been a major two years ago.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Colonel Kira Nerys said between teeth clenched so tight it was amazing they weren't splintering from her jaws. Her hair stuck up in places, as if she had been hauled out of a deep sleep ... which, noting the time, Seven thought was probable ... and the dark eyes were throwing furious sparks. If it were possible to reach through the viewscreen and grab Janeway by the throat to shake her, Seven suspected the Bajoran would be doing just that.
Janeway waited for a moment, not rushing to reply, taking a deliberate breath before speaking.
"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of USS Voyager," she said in a reasonable, very rational tone, as if their arrival had been just like any other. "I must apologize for the way we approached your station, but I'm afraid we were dealing with a minor malfunction in our propulsion system. It's completely offline, and we'd like to request a docking berth."
Whatever the good colonel had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been this. Kira looked as if she had been struck by an implement of some kind. Not for the first time, Seven was vastly impressed by her partner's innate ability to defuse a potentially explosive situation with just her demeanor and presence.
"Voyager," the rusty-haired Bajoran repeated blankly, staring at the captain as if she had just grown another head. "The ship lost in the Delta Quadrant?"
"Yes," Janeway explained evenly. "We departed this station approximately seven years ago for the Badlands." She paused. "We're back."
Kira took several deep breaths, obviously putting a rein on her temper. "We just received word from Starfleet that you were on your way here." Her dark eyes raked the bridge. "They didn't mention that you'd be undetectable to our sensors, or coming in on a vector that would nearly destroy four ships and part of our docking ring."
Janeway displayed a regretful expression, a proper combination of ruefulness and dry humor. "Again, I apologize," she said smoothly. "An unfortunate miscalculation in our navigational array skewed our approach vector. This is an experimental drive we're working with and not all the ... 'bugs' have been worked out."
A drive that half the quadrant would know about before too long, Seven thought sardonically. If it had been the intention of Starfleet and the captain to be discrete about their return, they had failed in a most spectacular fashion. Of course, the fact that it also appeared to be quite an unstable way to travel could lower the interest level considerably. Obviously, there was still a lot of work needed on the slipstream unit before it would be a useful alternative to warp drive.
In the meantime, however, it had done the job and no one was complaining ... except perhaps the ships Voyager had barely missed while dropping out of the slipstream corridor.
"Captain, I could continue this conversation for quite a while, but I'm not sure it would do any good," Kira said finally, obviously stifling a sigh. "I'll take your word that this was unintentional, and fortunately, there were no major injuries, beyond a lot of screaming and objections from our local traffic, but there'll be several complaints transmitted to Starfleet regarding this incident." She looked directly at the Starfleet captain. "One of those ships you barely missed is Ferengi. You can count on there being a demand for considerable monetary reparations."
Janeway didn't flinch exactly, but Seven saw a muscle jump in her jaw.
"Understood," she said in a meek tone, completely unlike her normal way of speaking.
Kira stared at her a bit longer, then shook her head. "You are cleared for docking at lower pylon three, Captain. Do you think you can manage it without knocking it from its mount?"
"We'll do our best, Colonel," the captain said, her voice cooling perceptibly. Obviously she didn't appreciate the needling, but Seven had enough life experience to know that Janeway could probably expect more of it, particularly from the captains of other Starfleet vessels docked at the station.
It had been a very dramatic arrival at Deep Space 9.
There might have been a touch of a smile at the corner of Kira's mouth before the screen shifted to show the space station hanging magnificently against the backdrop of stars. Seven was aware that there was a wormhole not too far away, her board easily detecting the readings that indicated its presence, but it wasn't visible at the moment. It only opened in a spectacular swirl of light and energy when a vessel was entering or departing the spatial shortcut between the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants.
Janeway dropped her hand on Tom's shoulder. "Take us in, Mr. Paris," she instructed. "Carefully."
"Aye, Captain."
Janeway turned back to the rest of the bridge, glancing over her command crew. "Tuvok, you should have that looked at," she said, eyeing his wound. Her glance passed over Seven, assessing her posture and determining that she was fine, before moving on to Harry. "Mr. Kim, prepare the necessary protocols for disembarking procedures," she instructed, as the young man was now standing up straight. Apparently, he had thrown off the blow to his ribs. "Also make a request for repairs, including the full replacement of a warp manifold unit."
"Yes, ma'am," he said crisply. He plunged into his work with a passion, clearly enjoying the chance to interact with familiar procedures again. Though the station was Bajoran, it was operated in accordance with the Federation, and many of the personnel were Starfleet officers.
Janeway smiled at his enthusiasm and regarded Chakotay. "Secure the vessel, Commander. I think I better go station-side and make some further apologies ... in person this time. I also need to speak with Neelix about what we have in ship's stores that might work to our favor." She tilted her head, a smug sort of smile playing about her lips.
"We really did make a hell of an entrance, though, didn't we?"
Seven barely managed to stifle an exasperated sigh.
 
"That was quite a spectacular arrival, Captain," Colonel Kira Nerys noted dryly. 
"Thank you," Janeway said, raking her fingers through her hair, aware that it remained a little awry. "After seven years, it seemed fitting."
"I doubt the Portland thinks so," the Bajoran said, leaning back in her chair. "You almost took off her port nacelle."
Janeway managed not to blush. "These things happen."
She had met with the captain of the Chimera-class vessel earlier, and had been astounded to find that the captain, Lillian Preston, was barely Tom Paris's age. Not too impressed with the Janeway credentials either, if her attitude was any indication, asking snidely if perhaps Voyager's crew had forgotten how to pilot a starship while wandering around the Delta Quadrant. Janeway didn't know what she was more disquieted by, the fact that their return wasn't all that impressive to the Starfleet captain fresh from the war, or seeing first hand how young the ranking officers now were. Indeed, Captain Preston had been the oldest officer Janeway had met on the frigate.
Dealing with the Klingon, the Ferengi, and the civilian ship commanders had actually been easier, old diplomatic habits returning and allowing Janeway to smooth the ruffled feathers of captains who had been scared witless at Voyager's near miss with their ships. She had even managed to convince the Total Acquisition's DaiMon to accept an offering of Delta Quadrant delicacies from Neelix's private stock. Of course, the Ferengi had gotten the better part of the deal ... those delicacies were the only ones of their kind in the Alpha Quadrant, but Janeway considered it cargo well spent to prevent having a bill sent to Starfleet Command. The Klingon had been assuaged by venting some simple, verbal outrage over a mug of blood wine that currently resided uncomfortably in Janeway's stomach . Meanwhile, the civilian captain was content with a case of wine, and Janeway's most sincere apology. Kira was the last party the captain needed to placate before returning to her vessel and, hopefully, a nice, warm bed.
It didn't occur to her that she was still reacting as if she were in the Delta Quadrant, wheeling and dealing with others she came in contact with in order to smooth Voyager's passage ... or that it was Starfleet Command's place to make any reparations required for the actions of one of its vessels, not Janeway's. 
The captain noticed a white ball sitting on a small cup on the desk. If her memory served, it was the same baseball that had graced the office of Benjamin Sisko, Kira's predecessor as commander of the station. Aside from that odd little adornment, the rest of the office was straightforward and unpretentious ... much like the Bajoran in the chair.
"I was sorry to hear about the death of Comm-- Captain Sisko," Janeway offered. "He was a fine man, and an exemplary officer."
"He's with the Prophets," Kira said simply, and with what seemed complete certainty. Janeway had the distinct impression that the woman absolutely believed what she was saying, and she felt a flash of envy for that depth of faith. She didn't think there was anything that she had that much belief in ... except perhaps her love for her partner, and her ability to command. Possibly in Starfleet itself, but for something ethereal? No, that was not her way.
It also occurred to her, as she sat across from this formidable Bajoran woman, that Ro Laren had never spoken of the Prophets with this same sense of comfort, as if they were a part of the fabric of her life, as necessary as breathing and as unremarkable as air. In fact, when Janeway thought about it further, she realized that Ro had never spoken of the Prophets at all. She wondered if she dared ask her about it.
"Captain?"
Startled, Janeway looked up, realizing she had gotten lost in her thoughts. "My apologies, Colonel. It's been a very long day."
Kira dipped her head. "I suspect you're working on your second day by now. I appreciate you're coming here personally to apologize, Captain, but it wasn't necessary. I accept you had little choice in your approach vector." She smiled faintly. "If you'll excuse me saying so, you look exhausted. Rest assured that our engineers are ready to begin replacing your warp manifold. We won't hold you here any longer than necessary." She paused, the added delicately, "I understand that certain of what we're working with has been classified by the Federation. I'll make sure that only Starfleet personnel are assigned to the repair teams."
"Thank you," Janeway said gratefully. She was so tired that she had forgotten to specify that in her request. "But it won't be necessary. We'll have everything removed before your teams need to come on board."
Kira lifted her head. "It must be quite the unit if it brought you all the way from the Delta Quadrant."
Janeway stared at her, wondering if the Bajoran was fishing. Of course, if the slipstream drive was viable, Federation vessels would no longer need any kind of shortcuts to reach another quadrant ... like wormholes. It could mean that the prestige and influence, as well as the financial rewards of increased traffic the Gamma Quadrant wormhole had brought to Bajor would fade away.
"It'll be quite a few years before it's worth using such a drive," Janeway assured her. "As you can tell, it's not very accurate. Our original exit coordinates were supposed to take us to Earth."
Kira smiled. "You missed."
"By several sectors," Janeway agreed. "I'll be glad to have Voyager's warp engines back online. When something goes wrong with them, at least we know where we are."
"We'll have you mobile as soon as possible," Kira promised.
Janeway lifted her head. "Thank you. Before I head back to my ship, I need to give you something, Colonel, and also convey my personal gratitude."
Kira looked blank. "Yes?"
"A few years ago, three of my crewmembers arrived on your station," Janeway reminded her, reaching down to pick up a parcel that had been sitting on the deck next to her feet. "You could have made it very complicated for them to return to us, but you didn't." She pushed the parcel across the desk. "My first officer wished me to give this to you as soon as possible. He told me he had promised to return it the second Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. I have him busy securing our ship at the moment, but I told him I'd bring it to you."
The Bajoran's hands shook as she unwrapped the cloth bundled around the artifact.
"I can't believe you just carried an Orb of the Prophets through the station, and no one noticed," Kira said, her voice reverent and hushed.
Janeway swallowed, realizing suddenly that she might have inadvertently caused offense.
"Uh, we thought it would be better to do this as unobtrusively as possible," she said apologetically. "My understanding was that the knowledge of its existence was to be kept quiet."
"That was probably a good idea," Kira agreed absently as she stared at it, her dark eyes aglow. Slowly they rose to meet Janeway's. "Thank you, Captain, for returning this to us."
"I could do no less," Janeway said honestly. "This brought back to me a person who means more than my own life."
Kira frowned briefly, then nodded. "Seven of Nine. She mentioned that you and she were involved when I was ... interrogating her."
"We're married now."
"Ah," Kira said, as if that explained everything. She smiled. "I don't mean to be unduly mystical, Captain Janeway, but perhaps that was its purpose all along."
Janeway didn't quite know what to say to that. "Perhaps."
"Seven was a formidable challenge, you know," Kira noted, half amused. "I grilled her for a week, and she didn't give me a thing."
"Indeed," Janeway said, and this time, her tone had cooled perceptively, belatedly reacting to what the Bajoran was implying. "Seven tells me you thought they were spies."
"What would you have thought in my place?"
Janeway started to respond, hesitated, and dipped her head. She was tired, and it wouldn't be prudent to be trading quips with this woman. It could only get her into trouble.
"Perhaps the same." Janeway took a breath and stood up. "On that note, I believe it's time for me to return to my ship."
Kira stood as well, resting one of her hands casually on the orb. "Of course, Captain. Get some rest."
Janeway took her leave, lost in thought as the lift carried her down to the main habitat ring where she strolled briskly toward the outer docking ring. Walking along the Promenade, she was surrounded by the familiar babble of various species she had known for most of her life, as if her time in the Delta Quadrant was already fading into the mists of memory and the past. Her senses greedily drank in the profusion of sights, sounds and smells of a Federation space station, and her heart seemed to sing every time her eye fell upon the varied Starfleet uniforms peppering the crowd.
But they're so young, she mused, watching a couple of lieutenant commanders go into a dining establishment not too far away, looking barely older than Harry had when he first came on board Voyager. She was suddenly very conscious of the incongruity of her own uniform, how out of time it was, and she was glad that she had requested Voyager's crewmembers remain on board until she cleared up all the necessary station requirements. That would give them a chance to be outfitted in the new version of uniforms, and now that she was sure that there would be no further repercussions from Voyager's arrival, she could push through the necessary paperwork to provide shore leave ... and orders for disembarking.
The immediate necessity of that was brought home to her rather rudely when she entered her ship through the pylon umbilical. A group of five crewmembers was waiting for her, all dressed in civilian clothes, carrying bags and personal belongings over their shoulders. Frowning, the captain glanced at Chakotay who was standing next to the lock, apparently trying to keep order.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
"We want to leave, Captain," one of them interrupted before Chakotay could answer. A tall, blue-skinned Bolian took a step forward, and apparently, he was the speaker for the rest. His name was Chell, a member of Tuvok's security team, and he seemed to quail as the captain's eyes turned on him. There was a pause as he worked to find his courage again, visibly forcing himself to straighten his shoulders. "We're not Starfleet and we're ready to get on with our lives."
Janeway blinked, surprised, and then was angry at herself for being surprised. She should have expected this. These were not Starfleet members, but ex-Maquis, and the bonds they had forged with Voyager in the Delta Quadrant no longer existed. But it still hurt when she saw how easily those ties were severed now that they had returned to the Federation.
She firmed her jaw. "Starfleet would likely wish to speak with you," she said evenly, then realized immediately that it was the wrong thing to say and cursed her weariness. She wasn't doing this right at all.
"I'm sure they would," Chell replied, smiling without humor, "but we don't necessarily want to talk with them." He paused, and then tried a gentler tone, attempting to be more conciliatory. "We've been officially pardoned, Captain, and we've got seven years to catch up on." He glanced back at the others who also appeared uncomfortable, but equally determined, and looked back at Janeway. "Are you going to hold us here against our will?"
Put like that, Janeway realized she had little choice. "No," she said, her tone at its most controlled, not allowing it to quiver though it certainly felt as if her insides were. "Of course not." She took a breath, then slowly scanned them, looking each one in the face. "I ... had hoped that we would have a chance for a more formal leave taking. A celebration of sorts."
One of the other Maquis members nodded. "We understand, Captain." Janeway recognized her as Ensign Gallagher from biometrics ... at least, she had been an ensign. Now, she was dressed as a civilian, and obviously eager to resume that life. "There are a lot of the Maquis members hanging back for that farewell party, but we're not ones for long good-byes. We just want to get off this ship." The woman hesitated, then added gently, "It has been seven years."
"Yes," Janeway said with difficulty. "It has." She stepped aside. "I was proud to have you all as a part of my crew." 
"Thank you, Captain," Chell said as he moved by her, the first one through the airlock.
The rest followed, one by one, nodding their heads or murmuring respectful farewells as they passed her. She watched as they disappeared down the corridor, heading for the interior of the station. Finally, she and Chakotay were alone, and she looked at him bleakly.
"I'm sorry, Captain," he said regretfully. "I stalled them as long as I could so that you could bid them an official farewell." He shook his head. "It wasn't as if they didn't have a right to leave ... not once they had a copy of the Federation pardon in their hands."
"You're correct," she said wearily, "they did have a right to leave. I just ... I hoped..." She trailed off. "I guess I didn't expect it to come to this so quickly."
The two officers started walking down the corridor, toward the turbolift. "They're not the only ones leaving now," she added sadly. "There are Starfleet officers who need to disembark here rather than return with us to Earth. They have orders to report to other ships and stations, not to mention those who are planning to take immediate leave and return to their home planets. There's even one or two who are remaining on DS9."
"The Wildmans," Chakotay agreed, as the turbolift doors hissed shut and they began to ascend to the bridge. "Samantha's husband showed up not long after you left." He shot a glance at her. "He's already made arrangements for an engineering team to transfer Mezoti's alcove over to their family quarters on the station. B'Elanna and Seven agreed to supervise the new installation. I didn't see any reason why he couldn't come on board."
She closed her eyes. "No reason at all," she agreed. She pressed her fingertips against her forehead. "Suddenly, things are happening far too quickly, Chakotay."
"I'm afraid it's only going to get worse," he offered gently. He looked at her. "Perhaps you should get some sleep, Captain. We've been at this since 0700 yesterday morning. It's almost 1100 hours. Triple shifts aren't what we should be indulging in right now."
"Point taken," Janeway said, the lift doors opening to release them to the bridge. "I'll return to my quarters, but first I have to finish some paperwork. I want to update the crew manifest to record the departure of the Maquis members."
Chakotay nodded. "They turned their comm badges and uniforms into ship's stores. There's a padd with all their personnel records on your desk."
"Thank you," she said, turning for her ready room.
If there was irony in her tone, neither chose to comment on it.
 
Seven of Nine touched the control padd on the side of the door, hearing the muffled sound of the chime inside. This was her fourth attempt, and the lack of response to the insistent noise forced her to consider the possibility that no one was in there. Yet the computer assured her repeatedly that Captain Janeway was in her ready room, regardless of the fact that she just wasn't answering the door, and Seven tried again. Again, a notable lack of reaction, and she hesitated, knowing it was very much against protocol to enter without permission, but also realizing that it was unusual for Janeway not to respond to a repeated request for admittance, even if it was nothing more than an irritable instruction not to interrupt her. 
Seven shot a glance back at Tuvok who was currently holding the conn, their eyes meeting. She raised an eyebrow, and he dipped his head briefly to indicate he understood what she was about to do and would not prevent it. Suddenly, she was no longer a Starfleet lieutenant about to breech a captain's private sanctuary, but a woman concerned for the well-being of her spouse. She activated the door and stepped through, looking around anxiously. Discovering the captain sprawled out over the sofa, she let out a sigh of relief as she saw that Janeway was fast asleep, a profusion of padds scattered around her.
Mounting the stairs to the upper level of the ready room, Seven frowned as she saw how exhausted her partner looked, even in her slumber. Lines radiated from Janeway's eyes and her mouth was turned down, almost as if she were displeased by whatever dreams might be plaguing her subconscious. Seven had heard about the disembarkation of a small group of Maquis crewmembers earlier in the day, and she knew that would have disturbed Janeway in a way that few would understand.
Tenderly, she reached down and scooped the woman up in her arms. Janeway made a soft sound of complaint as she was lifted into the air, but she didn't wake fully, instead slipping her arms about Seven's neck. She snuggled into the haven of the Borg's embrace, tucking her head into the hollow of the young woman's neck.
"Computer," Seven instructed quietly, "site to site transport on my authorization, ready room to captain's quarters. Energize."
Sparkles appeared around them as the hum of dematerialization filled her ears, and she blinked, no longer in the ready room, but in the living area of their quarters. She noted Jake curled up on the couch, looking at her with dark eyes, his head raised off his paws. Obviously, his time in Safe Haven with the children had wore him out as well ... to the extent that he wouldn't even get off the couch, despite the sudden appearance of his mistresses.
Janeway stirred again, making another sound of objection. "Annika," she muttered fretfully.
"You must sleep, Kathryn," Seven said softly, carrying her into the bedroom.
"I have too much to do." But the protest was half-hearted, not backed up by any sort of effort, unable to even begin to make one. It was apparent that the vaunted Janeway resources were completely exhausted.
"Later," Seven said firmly, lowering the woman to the bed, and proceeding to strip off the captain's uniform, moving quickly and efficiently, very familiar with the best way to remove her partner's clothes with the least amount of resistance.
"Are we home?" Janeway whispered as Seven tucked her between the sheets. Somehow, she realized the captain wasn't talking about the return to their quarters.
"Yes, Kathryn," Seven assured her, placing her palm gently against her cheek. "You have brought us home."
Janeway let her breath out with a sigh, an easing to her features as she settled against the pillows, curled up in the middle of the bed, drifting off to sleep again. Seven stood over her for a few moments, watching her intently as she tenderly stroked one elegant cheek with the back of her knuckles. Finally, she moved into the ensuite where she stripped off her own uniform, placing it, and the captain's wrinkled outfit onto the replicator shelf. She programmed in a request to change the pattern over to that currently issued to Starfleet, and activated the replicator. Retrieving the new uniforms, she put them on the sink counter for when the couple required them. Sighing softly, she returned to the bedroom where she crawled into bed and wrapped herself around her partner, settling against the warmth of her slumbering spouse.
It took very little time for her to plunge into sleep. Just as Janeway had been going strongly since the morning before, Seven had been equally as busy in her own duties in engineering, assisting B'Elanna in the dismantling of the slipstream drive, and preparing for the DS9 crew to come on board. Ironically, it took much less time for Voyager's engineering team to strip away the advanced slipstream technology than it had to meld it with the matter-antimatter reaction chamber in the first place ... but then, it was always easier to take something apart than it was to put it together. Afterward, she and the Klingon had spent some time on the station, supervising the installation of a Borg alcove into the Wildman family quarters. The entire time, Seven tried very hard not to think about what all this work really signified.
She woke to discover Janeway snuggled into her body, her face buried so deeply into the hollow of the Borg's shoulder that she was amazed the captain could still breathe. Seven had only to purse her lips to kiss the captain's temple, feeling Janeway's arms and legs entwined in hers so tightly that she could barely move. She swallowed, and shifted into a more comfortable position, trying not to wake her spouse.
Janeway stirred anyway, a soft murmur escaping her lips.
"Annika?"
"I am right here, Kathryn."
"God, what time is it?" Janeway said, drawing away from the Borg until she was lying on her back. She put a hand to her face, covering her eyes. "What day is it?"
Seven glanced at the chronometer at the head of their bed. "We left the Delta Quadrant at 0800 hours on Stardate 53907," she recited precisely. "We arrived at DS9 at approximately 0253 hours on Stardate 53908. It is now 0542 hours on Stardate 53909."
Janeway exhaled slowly. "Morning, the day after," she muttered. She took her hand away and blinked in the dim illumination of night watch. "The last thing I remember was authorizing releases for some Maquis crewmen in my ready room. How did I get here?"
"I brought you here," Seven explained.
Janeway considered that. "You didn't..." Her voice trailed off uncertainly, as if unsure she wanted to know.
"Carry you through the ship?" Seven finished for her, a touch of amusement in her voice. "No, Kathryn, I initiated a site-to-site transport from the ready room to here."
"Thank you." Janeway stretched gingerly, groaning at the obvious stiffness in her muscles as she did so. "I feel like I've just gone ten rounds with a Hirogen."
"It was an ... eventful journey," Seven remarked, remembering the final burst of acceleration from the Bajoran Badlands.
"It certainly was," Janeway said, her eyes distant as she stared at the ceiling, and Seven understood suddenly she wasn't referring merely to this final leg of it.
Seven reached over and entwined her fingers with Janeway's, careful not to squeeze too tightly with her Borg mesh.
"Now the next journey begins," Seven offered gently. "You and I in the Alpha Quadrant."
A small smile touched the captain's lips. "I'm looking forward to it." 
They lay in companionable silence for awhile, both lost in their individual thoughts. Seven was aware of her partner's fingers warm within her own, a connection between them that did not need words to emphasize, and she brushed her thumb over the back of Janeway's hand in a light caress. Above the women, through the viewport above their bed, Seven could see the station looming over Voyager, and a variety of ships, personnel and smaller shuttles moving about the docking ring. Periodically, the magnificent flare of the wormhole would appear in the space beyond, and it was obvious that in the aftermath of the war, DS9 had once more become the center of commerce and traffic in this area of the Alpha Quadrant.
The silence stretched on, and the Borg wondered if Janeway had gone back to sleep, but even as the thought crossed her mind, the captain chose that moment to roll over, pressing against Seven's side. Seven obligingly wrapped her left arm around Janeway's torso as she nestled her head on the Borg's shoulder, her arm resting lightly between Seven's breasts, fingers stroking the smooth plane of Seven's upper chest.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, Annika," she admitted finally, staring into the greyness of their room. Her voice was uncertain, hesitant. "I've waited so long for this."
"Perhaps you are asking too much of yourself, Kathryn," Seven suggested quietly, rubbing her cheek against the soft, auburn hair. "It is not necessary that you address the magnitude of this event immediately. It will be a major adjustment for all of us on Voyager."
Another silence passed, and Seven could feel the muscle in Janeway's jaw jumping, her mouth moving as she contemplated that. She suspected that her partner's eyes were a soft grey at the moment, clouded with the immensity of what she had accomplished. Finally, Janeway rose up onto her elbow, looking down at Seven who regarded her with interest. Bringing her hand up to cup Seven's cheek warmly, Janeway's thumb rested lightly on Seven's bottom lip, stroking it lightly. Her eyes, indeed a soft grey, searched Seven's features intently.
"Whatever I feel," she said finally, in a soft tone. "It's enhanced immeasurably because you're here to share it with me."
Seven returned the regard. "I understand, Kathryn," she responded, and indeed, she thought she did. She could not imagine what it would be like if she were about to face this return on her own, without the support of her spouse.
Janeway continued to study Seven's face.
"I love you," she said with the utmost seriousness.
Seven kissed the woman's thumb gently. "I know."
That generated a bit of a smile from the captain, an easing of some of the intensity around her eyes. Seven smiled, as well, and ran her hand up Janeway's back, to between her shoulder blades, pulling the woman closer to her. Janeway submitted to the gentle pressure, offering her mouth to Seven's, her lips warm and tender as they kissed sweetly.
"I love you, as well," Seven assured her when they parted.
Janeway sighed, a little more relaxed now, and lowered her head onto her partner's chest again, draping her arm across the young woman's torso. Drawing her knee up across Seven's groin, the soft inner skin of Janeway's thigh pressed warmly against the Borg's mound, and the young woman reached down and rested her hand on the outside of the limb, lightly gripping the slender muscle.
Slipping her hand over Seven's right breast, Janeway's fingertips stroked the soft, pink nipple, toying with the tender flesh that promptly hardened beneath her touch. It was not a serious caress ... indeed, it was almost absent-minded, as if the captain was thinking of other things ... but it sent delightful tingles through the young woman. Seven ran her hand languidly along Janeway's leg to her hip, along the hollow of her buttock, then back down to her knee, gentle strokes that were as much soothing as arousing. Unsure if her partner required something more at the moment ... perhaps even Janeway didn't know ... Seven was quite content to lie here in the warmth of darkness and her spouse, allowing events to proceed naturally, and at their own pace.
"What are you feeling?" Janeway asked after a few moments.
"About our return?" Seven returned quietly. "Or your hand on my breast?"
Janeway laughed softly, ceasing her casual caress and placing her palm flat over Seven's heart, almost as if she needed to feel the steady throb as they talked.
"Our return," she clarified.
"Ah." Seven said, vaguely disappointed. She inhaled slowly. "Now that it has happened, I am no longer as disturbed as I have been in the past few weeks. Perhaps I realize that now it is a matter of reacting to what does happen, rather than attempting to prepare for what might."
"Everything will be fine, darling," Janeway assured her quietly. "I would never let anything bad happen to you."
Seven suspected that was not a promise her partner was truly capable of keeping, but she allowed that the intent behind it was sincere and honest, so she did not argue. She merely tightened her embrace and dipped her head so that she could once again kiss the captain. Janeway returned it, a tender expression of love and pleasure. They kissed again, and then again, the Borg deepening the contact, her desire developing with slow and loving poignancy as Janeway's response grew accordingly more ardent.
After several moments, the captain drew back from her, looking at her with wide dark pupils, banded by blue-grey. Her face was serious, intent, searching the Borg's narrow features.
"This will be our first time," she said quietly.
Seven required a few seconds to understand what she was talking about, but when she finally did, she was amused. Though it was her belief that all the times she and her partner shared were as special and precious as could be for any two beings this much in love, she comprehended how this encounter at this particular time could be considered a thing of significance for her spouse.
"Yes," she agreed, drawing the captain close to her. "Our first time together in this quadrant."
Inspired by Seven's acknowledgment of the event, Janeway hummed softly in the back of her throat, trailing her fingers back to cover Seven's breast, burrowing her face into the Borg's neck to nibble at it gently. She squeezed the full breast, the nipple prodding the palm, and Seven felt building passion ripple through her, liquid heat forming between her legs.
She inhaled deeply as Janeway pressed her back against the sheets, the captain's mouth becoming more avid, possessive, moving down to take the place of her hand, covering the nipple with satiny moisture, tongue swirling lavishly around it. Seven moaned softly, tangling her fingers in Janeway's auburn hair, holding the head to her, bending her knee as she sank onto the sheets.
"Kathryn," she whispered. "My Kathryn."
"Mmm, love," Janeway responded as she nuzzled the tender nubs, moving her head back and forth between them. "I want you ... so much ... you're so beautiful..."
She eased over on top of the Borg, moving up to seek out Seven's mouth once more in the night, her lips fervent, the touch of tongue against her own powerful and demanding. The taste of the captain was delightfully familiar and all the young woman could ever want as Seven held her close, the kisses going on and on until she was almost dizzy from their sheer intensity.
"I love you," Janeway murmured between them, her tone a husky trill of sensuality that rasped delightfully in Seven's ears, "You're everything to me..."
"Yes," Seven hissed, less verbal but just as impassioned. "Kathryn ... love me..."
"Always," the captain promised, an oath set in stone.
Moving back down to Seven's breasts, Janeway's mouth became urgent, sucking and nibbling gently at the tender flesh, the sharp edge of teeth raking lightly over the stiffened points that were so hard, they ached. Seven's head went back, her lips parting in a silent cry, arching her back as she offered more of herself, pressing against her spouse. Her legs spread almost of their own accord as Janeway's hand slipped down over the Borg's stomach, stroking her navel, fingers tangling in the wiry blonde curls at the juncture of her thighs. For a moment, Janeway paused, prolonging the anticipation, then her fingers were brushing along the crease, dipping into the wetness she discovered there, and Seven moaned again, a low sound at the back of her throat, helpless in her need for this woman. She was unformed clay in the skilled hands of her spouse, shaped and molded until she was nothing more than a sculpture of pure pleasure, surrendering utterly to the captain, and adoring every second of it.
She didn't know how long Janeway loved her, how long the mouth tasted and teased her, how long the skillful fingers swirled around her sensitive ridge before slipping down to dabble in the wellspring of moisture, urging her open, preparing her for the loving and tender penetration. All she knew was that when the fingertips finally brushed firmly over that spot inside her, it was impossible for her to delay her response, her desire gathering in a rush to center on that one location. She jerked and shuddered, spasming uncontrollably, intimate walls fluttering about the questing fingers that probed and possessed her, loving her utterly.
When she returned to herself, Janeway was holding her tightly, cradling her in arms that were much stronger than their slender structure implied.
"Kathryn," Seven whispered. More than simply a name, it was the sound that encompassed everything that was good and necessary in her existence.
"Annika," Janeway replied, her body fevered, ready, needing its own satisfaction as she pressed against the Borg ... impatient as she waited for her partner to accord it to her. Seven smiled joyfully and pulled her close, rolling them over, kissing the captain into insensibility as her hands ran lightly over her partner's body, seeking out those special, intimate spots she knew drove Janeway wild. The older woman gasped and moaned, arching beneath her, quick to submit to the loving assault that Seven launched upon her. When it was over, Janeway lay quiescent in her partner's arms, a beatific smile of contentment and pleasure on her elegant features. 
"Happy?" Seven asked quietly.
"Blissfully." She took Seven's hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing each tip tenderly. "Enjoying the Alpha Quadrant, my darling?"
Seven smiled faintly. "Had I known it would be so wonderful, I would not have resisted so strongly."
The captain chuckled huskily. "Resistance is futile, love," she said, snuggling deeper into the Borg's embrace. "I think you're going to like it here."
Seven pulled her closer. "I already like it here," she murmured. She paused briefly, looking down at her partner, her eyes glowing. "You have brought your ship safely across two quadrants, Kathryn," she said somberly, granting her partner this moment, knowing that it was important to say it, and wondering if anyone else had thought to mention it before now. From the expression in her partner's face, she knew that no one had, and it pleased her to be able to be the first in this, as well. "Welcome home, my beloved Kathryn."
"Welcome home." 
 
Epilogue

Colonel Kira Nerys frowned as she looked over the new ship docking manifest displayed on the board as she entered the command center. The morning rush was on and around her, her staff worked hard to accommodate every vessel, whether it needed repairs, restocking or just required some R&R for their crew. In that event, they made sure that whoever disembarked understood that while DS9 was a Bajoran station and had not yet applied for membership in the UFP, it was run in accordance with Federation law, its security crew bolstered by a Starfleet presence. Illegal behavior of any kind would not be tolerated.
Kira sighed. That was a lot harder to maintain since Constable Odo had left. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever see the Changeling again ... or if he would be another person in her life that she had loved, only to lose.
Studying the padd handed her by a crewman, she sat down at the operations console, uncertain why the USS Enterprise had made an unscheduled layover at DS9, surprised at the unexpected arrival of Starfleet's flagship earlier in the morning. She went through the forms, making sure the Sovereign-class vessel had all it required, raising an eyebrow as she looked over the requests that the starship had transmitted.
She wondered why Captain Picard was so insistent that his ship be berthed near Voyager, with an alignment that brought the smaller Intrepid-class vessel directly under the sleek, militaristic line of its sensor shadow, as well as its weapons array.
It was almost as if he wanted to keep an eye on the small Scout ship newly arrived from the Delta Quadrant.
Or was it to protect it somehow?

The End

On to Season Five