Ro touched the controls of her tactical station lightly, keeping a close eye on the security teams she had dispatched throughout the ship. She supposed others might wonder why she had come to the bridge while there was an ongoing investigation, but she had needed the break. There was a soothing familiarity about covering her station that afforded her the chance to mentally catch her breath and organize her thoughts. Certainly the captain seemed to understand, not offering Ro any more than a slight raise to her eyebrow when the Bajoran stepped onto the bridge and relieved the ensign covering tactical.

Janeway held court in her command chair, leaning back in her seat as she radiated that quiet aura of confidence that made working on the bridge so easy while she was there. The alpha crew were inspired to match that professional competence, to conduct themselves in a manner that would make her proud. Ro was always aware of it, but it amused her nonetheless. She had witnessed it in very few other captains. Picard of the Enterprise was one.

The Bajoran was curious why Janeway kept eyeing Lt. T'Shanik with such a speculative expression, suspecting that the captain had something in mind for the Vulcan. Ro had served long enough to know that a junior officer did not want that keen eye turned on them for any length of time, although T'Shanik currently seemed oblivious to Janeway's scrutiny.

Ro wondered if she should warn the young Vulcan. After all, she was the senior officer who had recommended T'Shanik for the position of alpha shift operations specialist. It would not reflect well on the Bajoran if Janeway managed to find some flaw in the Vulcan's performance, particularly since she had performed so admirably up until now. Besides, if there was one thing Ro wouldn't wish on anyone, it was a session with the captain and her 'you've disappointed me' speech. That cut right to the bone and Ro still winced when she thought of similar versions she had received from the captain over the past few years.

The slight hiss of the turbolift door sliding open alerted Ro of a new arrival, and she turned her head, looking over her shoulder to see who had entered the bridge. Immediately, she rose to her feet when Peter Martin, along with his five-year-old son, exited the turbolift. There was an expression on the man's face that made Ro uneasy, though the little boy looked absolutely thrilled at being on the bridge ... an area of the ship that was strictly off-limits to most people, especially the children.

Ro quickly moved to intercept Martin as he approached the captain, imposing her body between his and Janeway's.

"Hey, Pete," she said, keeping her voice nice and easy, for the sake of the child as much as needing to keep the situation under control. "Lose your way?"

His face was rigid with anger. "I want the captain to tell my son what's going to happen to his mother."

Ro was aware of the captain moving over to flank the security chief. Janeway offered a warm smile of welcome to the child, and then, in the next instant, pinned the geometrics officer with a force ten look that would have incinerated a five-star admiral, let alone a junior lieutenant.

"Mr. Martin, it's obvious you have something to say to me," she said in a tone that would terrify Ro if it had been directed at her, and the Bajoran was not the sort to be easily terrified. "I suggest we take it into my ready room where we can discuss it in private. There is no need to involve your son in this. It's an additional trauma that he simply doesn't require."

He hesitated, fury and guilt at using his son as a weapon warring for dominance on his face, and then he dipped his head jerkily. "Fine," he said gratingly.

"Lt. T'Shanik, if you would please grant our young visitor a tour of the bridge?" Janeway said, glancing briefly at the Vulcan at ops who looked vaguely alarmed at this assignment. "Then return him to deck two. I assume he would normally be in class at this time."

To T'Shanik's credit, however, she promptly rose to her feet. "Aye, Captain," she said, once more completely composed as she moved over to take charge of the young boy who, if not entirely oblivious of the tension radiating from the adults surrounding him, seemed willing enough to go along with the lieutenant, eager to see the rest of the bridge.

Ro escorted Martin and Janeway into the captain's ready room, waiting until both were seated before whispering a quick request into her comm badge to send some backup to the bridge, just in case she needed it. Then she slipped a mini-probe from the inner pocket of her tunic and surreptitiously scanned Martin, making sure he had no weapons. Both actions took only a few seconds and neither of the pair noticed the security chief's precautions. Assured she had the situation under control, Ro linked her hands behind her back and took up a position within arm's reach of Martin, prepared to subdue him at an instant's notice if it became necessary.

Janeway folded her hands neatly on the smooth surface of her desk and granted the grieving young man her complete and undivided attention. Ro noted that the captain had assumed a physical position of power, however, establishing her authority and separating herself from Martin with her desk. The Bajoran was glad. She would have been more concerned if the captain had chosen to take this confrontation to the conversation area on the upper level. Ro didn't want the captain within striking distance of Martin's fists. Theoretically, he could lunge across the desk and get in one good shot, but that would require the Bajoran to be napping.

Ro did not feel the least bit drowsy as she regarded the opponents staring at each other.

"Why haven't you ordered our return to the Federation?" Martin husked. "My wife is going to die."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Martin, and I am sorry." Janeway was extraordinarily controlled, completely composed. "But even if it were possible, this vessel cannot abort its mission, nor risk its existence, simply for the sake of a few individuals who were fully capable of understanding the risks that putting on a Starfleet uniform entailed. You dishonor the casualties, including your wife, by coming here in this manner. You dishonor the engineers who made the ultimate sacrifice in protecting this vessel. They understood perfectly what they were doing when they remained at their posts even as the plasma spilled around them. They understood the sacrifice they were making for the sake of their ship, which would have been placed in an untenable position had the damage to the primary warp core been more extensive. They did it because they knew a transition jump could not be executed safely without those warp engines. Yet, you expect me to disregard their sacrifice. You expect me to attempt an ill-advised and extremely hazardous emergency jump which would risk everything that they gave their lives and health to prevent, all for the sake of treatment for your wife that may or may not prove successful, even assuming we got to it in time."

She leaned forward. "You don't have that right, Lieutenant," she said, the sharp edges of her words flaying him. "Neither do I."

Ro caught her breath. Janeway was certainly not pulling any punches with the young man, but then, perhaps that was to be expected. There were plenty of others on the ship who would offer Peter Martin their unconditional support, showering him with sympathy and comfort in the upcoming months, including the ship's counselor. Janeway was his captain, and it was her job to make sure he understood the reality of the situation. He might end up hating her for it, but he was far from the first officer to do so, nor would he be the last. Command was not a popularity contest. It was about making the hard decisions when no one else could.

When no one else wanted to.

"In recognition of your grief, and the understandable mental stress that you're going through, I'm going to overlook this breach in protocol, Mr. Martin," the captain continued flatly. "But I will grant you only this much allowance. Any further disruptive behavior, and I will be forced to take appropriate measures." She lifted her head, her eyes a dark, thunderous grey. "I expect that you would rather spend the immediate future in sickbay rather than being held in confinement. Correct?"

Martin was silent for a moment, almost as if he were still in shock, then he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said uncertainly.

"And you would rather spend the rest of our mission being a full-time father to your son as opposed to seeing him on a rare visits to the brig," Janeway added. "Bobby is going to require all of your support, Mr. Martin. You can't afford to let him down like this."

"No, sir," Martin mumbled, definitely subdued now. "I'm sorry, sir."

Ro lifted an eyebrow. My, Starfleet soaked right to the bone marrow, didn't it? she thought sardonically. But her natural leeriness of Starfleet indoctrination didn't lessen her respect for the captain, a respect that had increased after seeing how Janeway dealt with the biometrics officer. The captain had neatly defused his anger and made him think beyond his immediate concerns to those of his son and his crewmates. That would help in the healing process. His opinion of Janeway was irrelevant. He would never know the personal torment the captain had gone through over this, a torment that Ro had managed to glimpse at times, and recognized only because she had come to know her so well.

"Mr. Martin, I need your—" Janeway began and was interrupted by a hail that came over Peter's comm badge.

"Sickbay to Lt. Martin."

Peter went white as he touched his comm badge. "Martin here."

"It would be a very good idea if you came to sickbay as soon as possible."

Ro recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. Lewis, the Emergency Medical Hologram who had served with both Ro and Janeway on Voyager. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Ro saw Janeway close her eyes briefly.

"Understood." Peter looked at the captain, looking very young, very afraid, and very unsure what he was supposed to do next.

"You're dismissed, Mr. Martin," Janeway said with a gentleness that undoubtedly went unnoticed by the biometrics officer. She glanced at Ro, and the Bajoran unconsciously straightened. "Commander Ro, please escort the lieutenant to the medical center."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said and waited until Peter rose to his feet, putting a hand on his elbow, both to guide and support him. He seemed oddly calm, though surely he knew why he was being summoned to the ship's sickbay. Ro nodded shortly to the captain and the pair left the ready room.

Peter was silent as the turbolift descended, and he faltered in the corridor just outside sickbay. Ro had to propel him through the doors. Inside, both Dr. Lewis and Dr. Pulaski converged on the young man, taking him in hand as they drew him over to the tube containing his wife. Ro followed quietly, hearing the tortured rasp coming from within as the woman fought for every last breath. As far as the Bajoran knew, Laura Martin had not regained consciousness since the spill and that was a mercy granted her by the doctors who had blocked the pain of her terrible wounds. Now it was obvious that they could do no more for her and she was finally slipping away.

Moving like someone who had aged decades in the last ten minutes, Peter leaned over the tube. At his gesture, Pulaski drew back the shield and he reached in, touching the woman's seared features. The gel had been able to regenerate most of her outer flesh, but could do little for her internal organs other than slow her demise.

Time seemed to stretch unbearably, each moment, each second measured by the labored breathing, the watchers expecting each one to be the last. When it finally happened, when the chest fell and rose no more, there was a complete and utter silence. Then Peter made a sound that wasn't entirely human, one of utter devastation as he fell over the tube, clutching at it as if he could embrace the woman within, his body trembling as if he could no longer think or weep or even breathe. Ro swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly against the tears stinging her eyes.

Belatedly she became aware of another sound, a thumping in a nearby tube as someone made it known that they were awake and not very happy about it. Hastily, Lewis moved over to that area of sickbay, opening the shield to release a chain of weak Klingon curses into the air. Brushing quickly at her eyes, Ro motioned with her head at the security guard standing by the door, indicating he should take her place monitoring Peter Martin. He hastily moved forward to flank the grieving widow, and Ro strode rapidly over to the tube containing her spouse, looking down at B'Elanna who looked back at her with wide eyes.

"What's going on?" The Klingon's voice was a croak, rusty from disuse.

"What's the last thing you remember, Lanna?" Ro asked quietly, aware of the sobs finally beginning behind her, half muffled as Peter buried his face in his hands. She tried to ignore them, concentrating on the sight of her spouse, healed and whole after what seemed an eternity.

"Uh, we started the day wonderfully," B'Elanna said, her voice very tentative as if aware she was only guessing. Her eyes flickered rapidly back and forth as she tried to determine where she was and what was going on. Her range of sight was severely limited by the walls of the gel container surrounding her, but obviously, she could hear the sound of weeping in the background and it disturbed her.

"That was almost a week ago," Ro told her. She reached down and touched B'Elanna's cheek with her fingertips, stroking her jaw with her thumb. "Welcome back, love."

Then, as the Klingon's eyes clouded in sorrow and the pain of resurfacing memories, the Bajoran filled her in on all that had happened to her, the crew of Millennium and the chief's beloved engines over the past few days.

The smokey depths of whiskey glinted golden in her glass. There was no soda to cut it this night, no tempering mix to lessen its impact as it slid down her throat to land hotly in her stomach. Through the viewport next to the conversation area, she could see the stars etched sharp against the velvet blackness of space, undistorted by atmosphere, hanging in frozen stillness as the ship plodded along at impulse. Seated in her quarters, dressed in her t-shirt and uniform trousers, her tunic and sweater tossed negligently across the sofa cushions, Janeway unhappily contemplated her situation.

A saboteur was still at liberty on the ship. The final casualty of the plasma spill had finally died. There was a memorial service to prepare for. Janeway winced away from that, needing to think of something else. The warp repairs were almost finished, she reminded herself firmly. That was a great relief. Hanging about in space like a lame duck, they might as well have a target painted on their hull, demanding someone pop by and shoot at it.

Janeway took another healthy swallow from her drink, feeling it burn all the way down, and she embraced the numbness that it so aptly provided. The sound of the chime at the door was unwelcome, and she looked over at it resentfully, wondering who would be intruding at this time of night. She didn't want to see anyone other than her spouse. Seven was still wrapping up a few things in her science department after having fallen behind in her work, and would not be arriving home until later in the evening. Besides, she would hardly require permission to enter her own quarters.

The chime sounded again, louder, more insistent, and Janeway resisted the urge to fling the glass in its general direction. Instead, she placed the glass gently on the coffee table with a deliberateness born of a need to belie the effect of the alcohol on her system. Standing up, her head swam momentarily before her vision cleared and she was able to move to the door, intent on getting rid of whomever dared beard the captain in her lair at a time like this.

Pulaski regarded her with eyes that seemed as blurry as Janeway's. The doctor's uniform looked vaguely rumpled, unlike the normally crisp attire she sported the rest of the time.

"Doctor," Janeway said, leaning in the doorway, indicating she was not at all eager to allow the medical officer entrance.

"Don't be petty, Kathryn. Just let me in," Pulaski said, brushing past Janeway as if she wasn't there. The captain staggered back, bumping into the curved wall containing the private turbolift access before she regained her balance. She glared as Pulaski made herself at home on the sofa next to the discarded uniform tunic and picked up the bottle which stood sentinel on the coffee table. "Bring me over a glass while you're up."

Janeway ground her back teeth together as she retrieved another tumbler from behind the counter of the kitchenette, carrying it over to the conversation pit where Pulaski accepted it and filled it to the brim. She had already refilled the captain's, and Janeway picked it up sullenly after she sank into the chair, observing the doctor from beneath lowered brows.

"What do you want, Admiral?" she said, leaning heavily on the rank with bitter irony.

"I'm here to apologize," Pulaski said, leaning back against the sofa and sipping her drink neatly.

Janeway stared at her, considerably surprised. "You?" she managed finally. "Apologize? Has hell finally frozen over?"

"Very funny," Pulaski grumbled. She glanced at the bottle. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Obviously, not enough," Janeway decided after another healthy swallow. "Otherwise I never would have let you through the door."

Pulaski winced. "I suppose I deserved that. I'm sorry, Kathryn." Janeway thought she might actually mean it. "I shouldn't have tried to pressure you into returning to the Alpha Quadrant."

Janeway waved her hand. "You weren't the only one. It's a moot point. We couldn't return safely anyway."

"So I've come to understand." Pulaski contemplated her drink. "Why didn't you just tell me all the problems associated with returning rather than give me that spiel about our mission and adhering to duty."

"It wasn't a spiel," Janeway said. "I do have a responsibility to Starfleet, Doctor, whether you like it or not. We all do."

Pulaski pursed her lips, looking troubled, and then nodded. "Fair enough, Kathryn. You're right. I'm still pushing and I don't mean to. I'm out of line."

Janeway blinked woozily and wondered when she had fallen into this odd little parallel universe where the doctor was actually being respectful of her and her position on the ship.

"Okay," she murmured.

The two women sipped their drinks for another long moment. Pulaski inhaled audibly, heralding another pronouncement and Janeway mentally braced herself.

"Kathryn, it's very difficult to have a patient and know there are methods to save them, but that you lack the capability or the equipment to do so. It's something that's happened to me more than once and I'll never get used to it. I was very angry and very frustrated and I suppose I took a certain amount of it out on you. That was small of me."

Janeway released the breath she had been holding. "I understand, Doctor. I know all about anger and frustration."

"But you don't take it out on anyone," Pulaski said, "except possibly yourself."

Janeway's head sank between her shoulders. "Well, you might want to ask Seven about that sometime," she said ruefully. "She gets the brunt of it, occasionally." She thought about it further. "In fact, she puts up with a lot from me. Sometimes I wonder if I could survive this role without her being here to constantly support me."

"As long as you know and appreciate it, Kathryn."

"I do. Believe me, I do."

Pulaski glanced at her, apparently struck by the sincerity of the tone. There was another pause as they finished what was in their glasses and refilled them. Just what I need right now, Janeway thought sardonically, a drinking buddy.

"Have you spoken to Kes lately?" Janeway asked. "Is she keeping an eye on Peter Martin?"

"She's looking out for all the families and friends of the casualties. That was a good thing you did for him, Kathryn. You could have thrown him in the brig, particularly after all the trouble he stirred up around the lower decks. He needed to know the hard truth, and you managed to get it through to him. I know others might not comprehend what a favor you did, but I do. He needed someone to slap him hard so that he could get his act together."

Wow, an apology and a compliment all within ten minutes. Janeway decided she rather enjoyed this bizarre parallel universe.

"I just said what had to be said. I'm just sorry it came to that." Janeway paused. "I'm sorry it happened at all."

"It was an accident, Kathryn. It wasn't your fault."

Janeway, aware that the knowledge it had been sabotage was limited to the top officers in the senior staff, didn't say anything. She merely took another sip from her glass and tried not to let the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind get enough of a grasp to take a full bite.

"So how much longer are we going to be out here?" Pulaski asked, waving her arm and accidentally spilling some whiskey from her glass.

"Another three months. Our return is set for the same coordinates that we left from, and the area has been cleared of ship traffic for a period of three days on either side, just in case we're a little early or a little late."

"We could return sooner if we wanted, though," the doctor insisted.

"If it's necessary," Janeway said in a noncommital tone. She lifted her glass, studying the stars through its amber depths. "Doctor, I don't want to leave the Delta Quadrant before we've finished what we set out to do. Besides, it's not as if we're completely out of contact with Starfleet. We do activate the transition drive every month and dispatch a probe through the subspace corridor with a communications packet. If Starfleet isn't able to respond because they have no way of knowing where we are, only where we've been, that doesn't mean they've forgotten about us."

"Is that what you felt on Voyager?" Pulaski asked idly. "That you'd been forgotten?"

Janeway cast her mind back to those early days in the Delta Quadrant when she had been so lost and alone. She didn't even have Seven during those first few years. It was such a change when she came on board and turned Janeway's universe upside down. She still did at times.

"It was difficult in the beginning," Janeway admitted. "It seemed like I was facing a tough decision every day, sometimes every hour. This mission has been a relative pleasure cruise in comparison. I had momentarily forgotten that." She snorted, not quite a laugh but still amused at herself. "You know, earlier I was thinking about those days with the benefit of rose-colored glasses. I actually termed them 'carefree' in my mind."

"Those kind of memories always seem easier in hindsight," Pulaski agreed. "Sometimes I have to really concentrate on how I was feeling at the time rather than the fact that, somehow, I managed to survive whatever craziness was going on." She laughed. "I'm making it sound as if you're as old as I am. Kathryn, you've still got a lot of aggravation ahead of you, things that will make the past week seem like a walk in the park."

"Do try to stop cheering me up, Kate," Janeway drawled. "I don't think I could bear any more positive energy."

Pulaski chuckled and Janeway laughed, their intoxication turning a minor amusement into a moment of hilarity. So lost were they in their mirth, they did not notice the door sliding open on the other side of the cabin. Belatedly, Pulaski caught sight of the new arrival and made a decided and visible effort to straighten up, putting her glass down on the table and groping about her tunic in obvious search of something. Janeway slowly realized that the two women had an audience, and she swivelled around in her chair, nearly falling out of it as she saw Seven standing next to the kitchenette counter, her hands linked behind her back, regarding the captain and the doctor as she would an unusual pair of specimens in her lab.

"Darlin'," Janeway slurred, paused in embarrassment, and rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. "You're home."

Since that was readily apparent, the Borg did not deem it worthy of comment. She merely lifted a brow. Janeway heard a hiss and turned, too late to see what the doctor had done, but assuming she had injected herself with the hypospray she was holding in her hand.

"Stay still," Pulaski ordered.

Surprised, Janeway did so as the doctor reached over and applied the medical device to the captain's neck. Suddenly, Janeway was abruptly and shockingly sober, the effects of the alcohol swept away as if they had never existed. The change of perspective, from the oddly pleasant fog to the razor-edge sharpness of complete awareness, was disconcerting in the extreme. The doctor nodded briefly at Seven as she passed her on the way out of the captain's quarters, taking the opportunity to escape. "Take care of her, Lieutenant. She's in a hell of a mood."

Janeway issued a sigh of relief at the lack of wooziness and the headache that had been creeping along her temples. Then she looked at Seven, remembering all she had learned about her priorities during the recent crisis, and wishing that she had retained the comforting cushion of intoxication. The Doctor had done her no favors, she decided thoughtfully. She guessed that meant that Pulaski was back to normal, and that Janeway wasn't residing in some odd parallel universe after all.

​

Seven tilted her head slightly as the doctor exited the captain's quarters, the door hissing shut behind her. Standing in the middle of the living area, she regarded the captain who looked vaguely guilty, undoubtedly due to the mostly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table beside two dirty glasses.

"I'm sober," Janeway said to forestall the Borg's expected comment, reaching up to rub her neck where the doctor had injected her. "The doctor gave me anti-intoxicant."

"So I gathered." Seven's keen eyes swept up and down her spouse's body, displeased when she saw the creased trousers and the t-shirt. She knew well the dark emotions the captain had to be feeling to be dressed like that, not to mention the fact that she was indulging so liberally with hard liquor. Yet, despite that, Janeway did not seem particularly depressed. Merely out of sorts. Perhaps Pulaski had succeeded in helping the captain stave off the morass of despair that occasionally struck her, most notably when she had lost members of her crew.

"Would you care for something to eat, Kathryn?"

Janeway nodded. "I guess I'd better." She swallowed visibly, the muscles in her throat convulsing. "I'm dry."

"Water," Seven suggested evenly.

Janeway shot her a look and grinned sheepishly. "Ice water," she agreed as she picked up the bottle and carried it over to the cabinet in the wall where she sealed it and put it away. She retrieved her water from the replicator, moisture beading on the sides of the glass which she tipped back thirstily, draining it. She replicated another, and then moved over to take a seat on the stool located in front of the counter.

Seven knew the captain was observing her closely as she gathered together the ingredients for a salad, slicing and chopping them into small pieces before tossing them in a large wooden bowl. Janeway sipped her water quietly, occasionally picking out a mushroom or a piece of lettuce to chew on as she watched. The silence was deafening, Seven thought and suddenly realized how the saying may have originated. The lack of conversation pressed in on Seven like a shroud, and it was clear that whatever Janeway had to say to her, she seemed incapable of finding a way to start. Seven tried to wait patiently, granting her spouse the space to find the words until, finally, the tension was too much for her.

"Kathryn, what is—"

"Annika, I need to tell yo—"

They stopped, looking at each other in surprise. Janeway smiled ruefully.

"Proceed," Seven requested.

Janeway started to speak, paused, and then looked confounded. "I wish it were that easy," she said. "I don't know how to tell you about what I discovered about myself recently. It's very difficult to find the right words."

"Just tell me, Kathryn," Seven said gently. "Even if you utilize language that is less than tactful, you know that you can tell me anything, regardless of how it may sound."

Janeway blinked rapidly, as if there was something in her eyes. "I don't know, Annika," she said softly, looking away. "This revelation came as a huge shock to me, though maybe it shouldn't have. I guess I just hadn't wanted to think about it until now." She paused. "I've put you second so many times," she added bitterly. "I hate myself for it."

Seven did not possess any telepathic abilities, but the conversation she had shared earlier with Lenara Kahn and the ramifications of the recent event which was still impacting the crew, afforded her a possible insight into what her partner was having such a hard time saying.

"You are having difficulty with the knowledge that you would let me die rather than order a premature return to the Alpha Quadrant," she said, deciding it had been an accurate guess when Janeway's head snapped around to gap at her in complete astonishment, her mouth dropping open slightly. She offered the captain a brief smile. "It is all right, Kathryn. I understand why you have the priorities that you do. I accept it completely."

Janeway managed to find her voice. "How?" she husked. "How can you just accept it?"

Seven lifted one shoulder briefly, the closest she could come to a shrug at this stage of her development. "To do otherwise would be illogical. I have known this about you since I was taken by the Borg Queen and you came after me." She reached up and touched the captain's neck, feeling the pulse throb beneath her fingertips. "You were not wearing your pips then, nor did you bring your ship, even though that would have been the more logical method of dealing with the Borg." She paused. "Disregarding how futile the entire attempt was in the first place." She smiled gently. "I know I am worth your life, Kathryn, and I am greatly honored by that, but I am not worth your vessel, nor would I ever wish to be."

Janeway bent her head, a muscle jumping in her jaw, her eyes dark and uncertain. "I wish—" she began.

"I do not," Seven interrupted flatly. "If you could make such a choice, Kathryn, then you could not be a starship captain. You would not be my captain." Her face softened and her voice lowered as she allowed her emotion to warm its normally cool intonation. She raised her hand to cup Janeway's cheek. "I love that part of you, Kathryn. I love the ability you have to think beyond yourself and your immediate needs and desires to what others need, particularly those who rely on you. You can see the big picture and make your decisions accordingly. You can do the right thing even when it is personally painful and difficult. Not everyone can. You are very special."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "I don't know what to say."

"Do not say anything." Seven half shrugged again. "It is unnecessary."

Janeway stared down at the counter, her expression still one of unhappiness, and Seven didn't hesitate. She immediately put down her knife and went around the counter. Janeway barely had time to look up before Seven had swept her off the stool and into her arms, holding her close.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered, clinging to her, her voice muffled from where she had buried her face into Seven's chest. "I love you with all my heart. I really do."

"I believe you," Seven assured her, feeling her tremble. "Being true to who you are does not preclude what you feel for me. It never will."

"How can you be so understanding? I don't even understand this."

Seven smiled. "I am Borg."

Janeway drew back, looking up at her with soft blue eyes. "That doesn't explain it."

Seven brushed her lips over the captain's. "Yes, it does, whether you like it or not."

Janeway did not respond, dropping her head back onto her partner's chest, but Seven felt her relax, the tension that had kept her body taut slowly releasing its grip. Nuzzling into her hair, Seven basked in Janeway's fragrance and warmth. How long they stood in the embrace was irrelevant, but eventually, Janeway drew away and Seven let her go, returning behind the counter to resume her meal preparation.

Janeway hesitated, and then moved over to the dining area to set the table and choose a wine to go with the salad and leftover casserole Seven had popped into the heating unit to warm. There wasn't much conversation over dinner. Janeway was still thoughtful, lost in her own musing, while Seven was content to grant her the necessary space and allow her to come to grips with all that had happened. Sometimes being a good spouse was not so much a matter of knowing what to say, but of knowing when there should be nothing said at all.

After cleaning up, Seven went out to the arboretum attached to their quarters, finding a certain kind of solace in the serene surroundings of flowering plants, apple trees and water flowing in the stone fountain skillfully arranged in a rock formation. There was a large oaken swing-chair placed along the inner hull, bracketed by sculptured bushes, and she sat down on the thick cushions, inhaling the refreshing scent of rich earth and growing things. Before long, Janeway came out to join her, sitting down quietly next to the Borg and leaning back against the carved wooden slats. Seven slipped her arm across her shoulders, pulling Janeway to her in warm and comforting embrace, the seat swinging gently beneath the women as they enjoyed this touch of nature in their high tech world.

"This reminds me a little of Mother's farm," Janeway said finally, after a long pause. "You remember sitting on the front porch watching the corn grow?"

"I do," Seven said softly. She turned her head and kissed Janeway on the temple. "Do you miss Earth, Kathryn?"

"Sometimes," Janeway admitted, her gaze distant as she looked across the arboretum to the stars shining through the viewports lining the outer hull. "Particularly after a week like this one has been. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give it all up. Just accept an administrative position and go home every night to you on our own front porch overlooking the pond." A corner of her mouth twitched upward in a semisweet smile. "Sound good to you?"

"It sounds tedious," Seven said dryly. "You would enjoy it for approximately as long as you enjoyed your last administrative posting at Utopia Planitia. After six months, it was a matter of controlling your impatience until your new vessel was ready." She hugged Janeway gently. "One day you will be able to walk away, Kathryn," she predicted quietly. "One day, when you have done and seen all that you can, when the universe holds no more surprises for you, and you have nothing left to offer as a captain, then it will be time. That time is not today."

Janeway chuckled, slightly rusty as if she had forgotten how to laugh. "Your expert opinion, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain," Seven said. "My expert opinion."

Janeway laughed again, easier this time, leaning into Seven as she rested her head on the Borg's shoulder. Seven wrapped both arms around her, cuddling her close as she pushed off with her feet to put the swing in motion again. It was a restoring end to a complicated day, and both women took full measure of this quiet togetherness, enjoying it immensely until it was finally time to call it an evening.

Crawling into the bed after her ablutions, finding a comfortable position to snuggle up against her spouse who welcomed her into her arms with open joy, Seven was not surprised when Janeway immediately sought out her lips. The kiss was wonderfully deep and lingering in the warm darkness as firm hands caressed Seven lightly, adoringly. Janeway needed this healing, Seven suspected. Each of them did in different ways, and she was pleased to both give and receive the pleasurable comfort of a physical joining.

This particular type of lovemaking was extremely slow and gentle, a quiet celebration of delight that basked in the intimacy of their desire and the cherished familiarity of each other's touch. Kathryn's hands and mouth were tender, building the yearning in Seven with steady skill even as she loved her in return, pressing against the heat of her body with a delicate, sweet passion. It grew to encompass them, their respiration quickening, both women increasing the intensity of their caresses as they came together. Wordless demands of pleasure, muttered instructions and incoherent moans filled the night until finally, ecstatically, they surged against each other, the mutual peak throbbing deliciously within them before it released them to the golden afterglow.

They lay together in the cozy comfort of their bed with Janeway on her back and Seven draped partially over her, though enough on her side so that there was little weight upon the captain. Janeway's arm was curled around her neck, leg tangled with Seven's, their heads so close together on the same pillow that Seven could feel her love's breath waft soft over her face. Janeway had a small smile curving her lips, a lazy expression of contentment, and Seven could feel the slow, steady throb of the heart beneath her forearm where it rested on Janeway's breasts.

"Annika." A whisper, soft in the night.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I love you."

Seven snuggled closer. "I love you," she assured her.

"Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight, my Kathryn. Pleasant dreams."

Seven closed her eyes and let herself drift off, knowing that no matter what else happened, she had all she truly needed to survive right here in her arms.

​

Epilogue

​

They gathered in the engine room. It seemed fitting that the memorial service would be held here, where the damage still showed in the dark scars on the otherwise polished bulkheads, and the faint arid tang in the atmosphere hinted of the toxic plasma, lingering in every breath they took. In her dress uniform, B'Elanna stood at attention, flanked by both transition and warp team supervisors who had survived the burns they sustained as they remained at their consoles, diverting the plasma back-flow away from the warp manifold. There were gaping holes in the formation behind them, the alpha crew leaving respectful spaces in their line to honor fallen comrades. Scattered around the upper catwalk, the beta shift stood at attention, ready to report for duty after the memorial service. There was one more empty spot displayed in the grouping of the gamma shift who stood off to the side, a glaring reminder of where the supervisor of the transition team no longer stood.

I kept Laura too long, B'Elanna thought, blinking rapidly. She should have been on her way back to her quarters to see her son off to school, but I was late and she had to wait while I checked over the transition drive transwarp seals. Why couldn't I have just accepted that the gamma shift had conducted the repairs correctly? Why did I keep her so long after her shift while I inspected it?

She was aware of her spouse watching her closely from where she stood with a group of security officers. Ro was keenly aware of how much the chief engineer blamed herself, and had done her best over the past few days to make her understand that it wasn't her fault. That sometimes, things just happened, and wishing one's actions had been done differently was a futile waste of time. That if the Klingon truly needed to find someone to blame, then she needed to save it for whomever had sabotaged the plasma conduit.

B'Elanna would be glad to, but she didn't know who the culprit was, and until she did, she would just have to bear the burden of guilt.

She lifted her head as the honor guard made its way to their position in front of the towering warp cores, the dual towers reaching four decks above them where the connection at their summit was lost in the shadows. There were ten officers in the honor guard, one to represent every casualty, each carrying the flag of the worlds that the dead had called home. Two of the flags boasted the green and blue colors of Earth.

In front of them, the captain, the first officer and rest of the bridge staff arranged themselves around the single photon torpedo draped with the flag of the Federation. The silver cylinder was empty. The casualties had a variety of funeral requests in their wills that would be honored, from being cremated in the crackling energy of the warp transfer unit at warp nine, to being transported back to their home planets where they would be interred in the customs of their species. The torpedo was nothing more than a symbol, a solitary casket to be launched into the cold vacuum of space on a lonely trip to final immolation in a G-type star warming a nearby system.

Janeway took her place at the head of the torpedo and cleared her throat, her husky words being transmitted throughout the vessel by the ship's comm system.

"There's no way to choose a hero," she began. "There is no way of knowing ahead of time who will step up when they're needed. There is only the aftermath when we who are left look back and say, those individuals, those singular beings, they were the heroes. They were the ones who did what needed to be done."

She placed her hand on the cylinder, gently, as if there was someone dearly beloved inside.

"Throughout our history, there have always been heroes. Often, they are the ones who pull on a uniform everyday, be it to serve in planetary law enforcement, or to be called when disaster strikes, from fire and earth, to water and wind, to the treachery produced by others. They step forth and face whatever is thrown at them because if they do not, no one else will. Millennium's engineers pulled on their uniforms one week ago, little knowing what was about to happen, but when disaster struck, they did not falter. They knew the price asked of them, but more importantly, they knew the price if they did not answer. It was as simple as them doing their duty, and as complicated as making the choice between their own well-being and the well-being of every other soul on this vessel. They are the heroes."

She raised her head, swallowing visibly. "We are in their debt. They died so that we may live. We will never forget."

She stepped back and Commander Zar stepped forward. "Honors, hup."

The honor guard straightened at attention, and for what seemed an eternity to B'Elanna, the entire crew of the USS Millennium observed a moment of silence.

At the end of the minute, six engineers stepped forward, the Klingon among them, and took hold of the torpedo, lifting it to their shoulders. With stately grace, they carried the cylinder to a spot in front of the doors leading from main engineering and set it on the temporary transporter grid placed there. Janeway nodded briefly at the officer standing by a console. The ensign touched the controls and the torpedo was transported into the forward launch tube located underneath the saucer section.

Ro Laren stepped to another console and brought up the tactical display, activating the weapons system.

"Launch sequence engaged," she announced.

Janeway paused a brief second, then dropped her head. "Fire when ready."

No one could hear the sound of the torpedo being launched, but B'Elanna could imagine the streak of light as it catapulted from the ship, heading for its final fiery destination. Reverently, the crew dispersed, those on the alpha and gamma shift headed to the Nexus and the civilian lounge where post-memorial gatherings would take place over food and drink. The crew representing the beta team dispersed to join the rest of their staff already at their posts, to continue their duty shift.

B'Elanna stood silently for a moment more, but despite what she felt...despite what everyone was feeling...life went on. That was just how it was. She turned around, slipping off the dress tunic in order to replace it with a standard uniform jacket.

"All right," she said, her voice reaching every area of the cavernous room. "Let's bring those warp engines up to full power. We have places to go."

​

The End