Everyone has a story to tell. Mine just happens to be your run-of-the-mill time travel, romance, Q-epidemic that brought forth more than I ever thought was possible. How did it begin? As any Captain's day might start, when lost in the Delta Quadrant. Once Upon A Time . . .

It had been one hell of a very long day. I had worked attentively and persistently with the crew to retrieve the Doctor's program after it had been stolen by Mr. Gar. Oh, I could think of a few other things to call him after the way we had been forced to follow at his heels, gallivanting from one soap opera to the next; yet, I kept my tongue and I kept my wits. After all -- I am the Captain. Captain Kathryn Janeway. That's my name and I'm worn out.

In being worn out, tired, weary and wanting a cup of coffee that was in a galaxy far, far away, I had made only one fatal flaw. In my exasperation and sheer annoyance in dealing with the situation, I had become susceptible to the taunting, goading and dramatic overtones of another woman.

"You're a woman," she had said with her prominent, seductive looks. "You saw my husband with your own eyes -- overweight, depressed. "You'd have left him, too. Especially if you had met someone as exciting as Gar." Her voice hinted at it all. The forbidden love and the promise of a lust-filled story she was dying to share.

I was so drained, I couldn't even begin to humor myself with this one. The weight of my chin in the palm of my hand, the pressure of my elbow against the arm of the chair and the dullness in my eyes said nothing to this woman. Nothing at all.

"Yes, he's very exciting," I stated dully.

"That's why you're looking for him, isn't it?" she looked as if she had just been promoted to pussy-cat of the week.

"I assure you, I have no romantic interest in him what so ever." Score one for me, the Captain. Hooray, hooray.

"Why?" She wasn't going to give up. "Not good enough for you?"

That had done it. It had hit home. And it had hit home for two very good reasons. One, she was our last lead in order to find Gar again. And two, I was still one hell of a woman when it came to attracting men.

"No, it's not that. It's just that . . ." I was struggling to find a way to end it all. Even though I could have my pick of the male species, even on Voyager, all I wanted after this run-in, after most run-ins, was to cuddle up with a good cup of coffee, while in my pajamas, and read something fictional and, hmm, good. With thoughts of such things on my mind, I turned quickly to look around.

Commander Chakotay was nowhere to be found. And so, I extended my hand to a substitute; not the one I really wanted, but my Vulcan friend would do under the circumstances.

"I already have a man," I stated, grasping Tuvok's hand. And to think it could've been Chakotay holding my hand and being called 'my man.' Oh well, it was his big loss of the Captain as his pussy-cat of the week.

It would have been a subtextual experience for the bridge crew. To find me giving readily, in plain sight, from my own lips and by my own hand, a hint that I actually had an interest in Chakotay, beyond Federation duty.

So, with all of those things on my mind, I entered the messhall, after the day from hell, to eat a very late dinner and contemplate the after-effects of where this situation would take me. How long before someone started to spread the word, the rumors flying onboard as they always did at 9.975, before they hit home with my Commander. Not soon enough by my standards.

But even if I wanted to believe that perhaps Chakotay would come and find me for a change, to discuss what he had heard, my attention was drawn elsewhere, to a lonely little PADD laying on the table not far ahead of me.

I had to stop, of course, tray in hand, and look around to see if its owner was nearby. What would I say if I sat down to it and then had to explain that no, I didn't know this belonged to so-and-so. And no, I didn't think to read it to see what it was. No. No, no no.

There wasn't a single table empty save for the one with the abandoned PADD.

*Well, Kathryn,* my mind instructed, *just make yourself at home and pretend it isn't even there.* Besides, it would only take seven minutes to get through the gloop Neelix had concocted for the evening. And I had only planned on giving Chakotay ten minutes to show up. There were no guarantees, you see, because we hadn't formally arranged to spend tonight having dinner together.

Down went my butt in the chair and up went the fork to my mouth. I chewed a bit of food, looking from my tray to the PADD and back again. I even pushed my tray against the PADD's little form, moving it farther across to the other end of the table. Looking up, I noted that no one had made a move for it, no one had stated, "Excuse me, Captain. That's mine." Nor had any hapless Ensign or Lieutenant run through the doors to claim it in the three minutes I had been there.

And so we sat: me, my dinner and that damned PADD. Then it occurred to me . . . What if there were some valuable information on that thing. What if it were a diagnostic, a personal entry? Who better to keep it safe and return it to its proper owner than the Captain of the ship?

*You just want to snoop, Kathryn.* That damned little voice in my head accosted my nerves to send messages of guilt through the fingers that, nevertheless, edged toward the PADD and grasped it in my left hand.

And then I was scrolling through it.

*What in the world is this?!*

I set down my fork, from my right hand, in order to fully control the functions of what I held. Looking up quickly, I noted that Neelix was still serving his gloop up to the crew in line, from behind the counter, with a jolly smile on his face. Lieutenant Paris was busy feeding B'Elanna bite after bite of what looked like a lovely piece of terra-nut souffle' (stomach growling its approval -- noted). Ensign Daniel Brodder was busy charming Ensign Marianne Grayson off of her engineering feet and various others seemed relentlessly occupied. No one was watching.

So I started from the beginning, and found out, rather surprisingly enough, that it was a story. And so it began . . . .

Tudor England the Year of Our Lord 1525

"I grow weary with my Queen," Henry the VIIIth, King of England, took another bite from the large drumstick and chewed on the greasy meat loudly. "She has but born me a daughter. A worthless daughter named Mary. I need a son!" He slammed his fist on the large, wooden dining room table, the force of it causing dishes to clatter and goblets of wine to overturn, staining the white cloth. "A son I tell you! Worthless, worthless woman I have taken for a Queen."

"Perhaps you should look for someone else to get your blood boiling," the advisor stated with a snotty sniff.

"'Blood-boiling'?" Henry questioned, raising his eyebrows, his face red with effort. "My good man, you were true to your word when you stated you hailed from foreign lands."

"Oh, I've been here and I've been there. Next stop the stars. But, back to you." The man leaned forward towards the beefy king, "Perhaps it's time you were to get a divorce?"

"A divorce?! The church would never allow it!" Henry stated with distaste.

"Allow it? You're the King. All you have to do is break with, what's it called . . oh yes, the Papacy and establish a . . hmm, what should we call it?" he thought to himself.

"A church of the people is what we need, by God . . ." Henry muttered to himself while chewing more of his dinner.

"Of course, of course! 'The Church of England' headed by yours truly" he indicated himself but stopped when Henry glared and reached for the knife. "Or you. yes, you would be fine. Besides, I know just the woman for you," he wiggled his eyebrows.

"And who would this woman be, Sir--, Sir--" the King waved his hand absently around trying to remember the name of his newly appointed advisor.

"Sir Q," the man bowed and smiled. "And the woman who is a perfect match for you is named Kathryn Janeway."

Part 2