Story Notes: This is the final story of the "Homeward Bound" series, following "The Best Years of My Life."

Time Frame: Nine months after Voyager's return.

Acknowledgments: I would be remiss if I didn't mention the individuals who in some way influenced or otherwise contributed to this series: The "Arrgh Express", for their "gentle encouragement" (and expressions of Arrgh!) after each new story. Christina, who issued the challenge for which "Official Channels" was originally written. Monkee, founder and charter member of the "Arrgh Express", whose question, "Why do you think the Maquis deserve to go on trial?" spurred me to finally write the "coming home" saga I'd been toying with. And most of all, m.c. moose, whose contributions have ranged from helping me thrash out ideas to beta-ing the final products, with lots of encouragement along the way. Thanks, guys!
 
 

The entire sky was faintly pink and the sun was a molten crimson orb sinking down to the horizon. Through the rapidly darkening trees, Kathryn Janeway could still make out the surface of the lake, its ceaseless ripples whipped up into ocean-like waves. Overhead, a flock of birds chattered noisily, as if eager to get in one last spurt of activity before the day ended.

She stood on the porch a while longer, until the last bit of color had faded. In the dusk, a few fireflies winked here and there, their numbers sharply reduced from earlier in the season. On this September evening, it was very evident that summer was ending. There was a distinct coolness in the air, and the chirping of the crickets had a mournful tone. She took a deep breath, then headed for the doorway of the cabin. She didn't go in right away, though, but paused at the threshold.

She had come here to try to get some perspective, recover from the tumultuous events since Voyager's return. The site of the family vacations of her childhood was as good a place as any to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

Once they had recovered from the initial shock of her resignation from Starfleet, Gretchen and Phoebe had been in agreement that she shouldn't even begin to make any decisions until she'd had a chance to relax and experience a real vacation for the first time in years. Phoebe had promptly suggested a trip to Risa.

Janeway grimaced involuntarily. Risa, the planet whose reputation--deservedly--was that of the quadrant's adult playground, had absolutely no appeal for her. She said carefully, "I appreciate the suggestion, Phoebe, but I'm not sure that an affair with a fascinating stranger is what I really need right now."

Her sister grinned in response. "Did I say anything about an affair, Kathryn? The way your mind works…. There are other things to do on Risa, or so I've heard."

Janeway flushed but quickly countered, "No, you didn't say it outright, but isn't that what you really meant? Maybe it's on your mind…"

Phoebe laughed outright. "I can't deny it's an attractive thought, but I'm not exactly in a position to do anything like that at the moment." She gestured toward her children, her three-year-old daughter who was absorbed in a puzzle at the table and the baby who was happily investigating the dust bunnies under the sofa. "But it certainly is tempting."

"Better not say that too loudly. Think of what your husband's reaction would be," Janeway teased.

"Oh, I'd bring Hal along. Risa isn't just for singles, you know--it's also a great place for a couple's romantic getaway."

"Yes, I know," Janeway said quietly, her smile fading. She'd been to Risa exactly twice before--with Justin, and then years later, Mark. Each time with a man with whom she thought she'd be spending the rest of her life.

Phoebe colored as she, too, remembered, but before she could say anything, Kathryn turned to their mother. "I was thinking more along the lines of the cabin up at Lake George. Is it available, Mom?"

"I think so," Gretchen said slowly. "I know your cousin Barbara and her family were there earlier in the summer, but it should be vacant now. I'll make some calls and find out, if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate it."

"On the other hand," Gretchen paused for a moment. "I wonder if it's such a good idea for you to go there now." She quickly amended, "Not that I don't think you need to take it easy for a bit, but…"

"Yes?"

Gretchen took a deep breath, and then forged ahead. "Didn't you just start counseling sessions? How will a protracted absence affect your therapy?"

Gretchen was referring to the reason why Janeway was still situated in San Francisco, even now when all her Starfleet connections had been severed. Well, most of them, she reminded herself. Although she had resigned, it was understood she was expected to render assistance if the situation ever arose in which her expertise on the Delta Quadrant or Voyager's technological advancements was required. No, Starfleet was no longer the issue. But the Bay Area was where the counselor she'd been seeing was located. Sanford Eiger, who'd represented her at her court-martial, had recommended a private practitioner whose clientele included other former Starfleet officers. Which was exactly what Janeway was looking for--someone who had at least a passing familiarity with her particular issues.

She considered her mother's question for a moment. "I'm not talking about an extended vacation--a week at most. Just long enough to 'reinitialize my warp core' but not so long that I get bored." Or drive herself crazy, repeatedly going over the same old ground, torturing herself about some of her past choices which had led her to where she was now. Reluctantly, she added, "My counselor already suggested that I might benefit from a break before we begin the intensive sessions--up to now we've mostly been doing preliminary work." The counselor's actual words had been that after seven years of almost non-stop tension, of being plunged rapidly from one confrontational situation to another, Janeway needed a respite before beginning the exhaustive process of exploring the impact of her years in the Delta Quadrant.

"Well, if that's what your counselor thinks, then that's what you should do," Gretchen said neutrally.

Janeway caught an undertone in her mother's words. "Meaning what?"

Gretchen returned her gaze levelly. "Meaning that as long as you eventually will deal with what's happened to you. It's not very healthy to keep everything inside; you need to be able to let all this out and discuss it with somebody." She gave a wry smile. "I seem to recall having this conversation with you at least once before over the years."

At other times of crisis; God knows there had been plenty of them in her life. Janeway realized what her mother was really saying. She went over to Gretchen and caught her in a hug. "I haven't been intentionally shutting you out, Mom."

"I know that, dear. And as much as I want to help you, I realize I might not be the best possible person for that. I can't even begin to imagine everything you've gone through, let alone know quite what to do for you." She gently smoothed her daughter's hair back. "But you should know that there are people who love you and are concerned about you."

And for that she was very grateful. Janeway cast one more look at the first stars appearing over the lake, and then turned, shutting the heavy door of the cabin behind her.

Insomnia was nothing new to her, particularly in the past few years. After another restless night, Janeway rose from her disordered bed, crossed to the window and gazed out. As she watched the beginnings of another day, her thoughts went back to the events immediately preceding her trip to Lake George.

True to her word, Gretchen had made all the arrangements, even to the extent of making sure the boathouse and cabin were fully stocked and all their equipment operational. She'd also offered to accompany her, but had seemed to understand when Kathryn thanked her, but insisted on going alone.

Barely a week later, Janeway was ready to leave San Francisco. But first, she had a long-anticipated meeting.

Janeway hesitated outside the restaurant, checking the name once more. She had never been here before. Nor had he for that matter, which was understandable as it had only opened a few months earlier. Strange to think that by now she'd been back long enough for her return to have predated something. The important thing, however, was that they were meeting on neutral territory, in a place that had no significance to them as a couple. This reunion would have enough echoes of the past without adding further complications.

She took a deep breath and stepped through the swinging doors. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness after the bright sunshine outside. She took in the colorful murals on the walls, nodding in appreciation. As far as she could tell they were flat, two-dimensional paintings as opposed to holographic representations. She surveyed the rest of the Mediterranean-style décor, from the red terra cotta floor tiles, to the cane chairs surrounding the glass-topped tables, to the cooling ceiling fans above.

And then she saw him. "Kath! Over here," he called.

Mark stood up as she approached the table. His previously salt-and-pepper hair had turned mostly gray, but otherwise he looked very much the same as he had the last time she'd seen him. There was an awkward moment when he took a step toward her, both hands extended. For a split second she wondered if he was going to kiss her, but he settled for taking her hands in his and giving them a quick squeeze.

"It's wonderful to see you, Kathryn," he said with a smile.

"It's nice to see you, too," she answered, and realized it was true. Any trepidation she had been feeling was smoothed away.

"Come on, let's sit down. Would you like something to drink?" he asked. At her quick nod, he motioned to the waiter who came over immediately. Mark placed their orders and then stopped. "Sorry, I didn't ask you what you wanted, I just--"

"It's okay," she said. "My tastes haven't really changed much--Synthale is fine." She unfolded her napkin onto her lap and picked up the menu.

He did the same. "I've heard some very good things about this place. It's supposed to be the place for Middle Eastern cuisine."

"Outside of the Middle East, of course," she said.

He grinned. "Of course." He studied the menu for a few moments and then placed it aside.

As she cast around for something to say, the waiter reappeared with their drinks, as well as a steaming basket of pita and an assortment of salads. They listened to his recital of the daily specials and then ordered their food.

She looked up to see Mark studying her. "So how are you doing, Kath?"

"Can't complain," she said. "Especially now that all the trials are over."

"I'm sure. I can't even imagine what it was like for you, having all that happen after everything else you'd just been through."

"It was very difficult," she admitted. "But now I can finally put it all behind me."

He nodded. "Especially since you're no longer part of Starfleet."

She forced a smile. "You heard about that, I see."

"Your resignation was pretty big news," he responded.

"Probably got almost as coverage as my court-martial," she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Or some of the other things that have been bandied about since Voyager's return."

"Give it time, and the talk will die down. The public's got a short attention span. Soon they'll turn to something else."

"Yes, I had noticed that. Short memories as well," she said, thinking about how quickly Voyager's 'hero status' had changed.

He leaned forward slightly, as if to better see her face. "As far as your resignation is concerned, no one who's been following this whole story blames you one bit."

"As in assuming I was forced out, or resigned in a fit of pique?"

"No, of course not," he said with a quick shake of his head. "Maybe it came as a surprise to some, but once the initial shock wore off, it was perfectly understandable."

She wondered if he was one of those who had been surprised. "Do you understand?"

He hesitated. "Starfleet's been your whole life, Kath. I guess I never expected to see you give it all up."

It was her turn to pause. "It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, though it may have seemed that way. No, this was just something that was growing on me…for a while. Call it a loss of faith, perhaps."

"Predating your return?"

She saw the concern in his eyes. "Yes. I think so. After the first couple of years in the Delta Quadrant, when it seemed we weren't going to make it back, and even if we did--" she stopped abruptly. "Well, suffice it to say, it was very difficult."

He reached over and took her hand. "Sounds like it was very lonely."

"It was," she found herself saying.

"I'm sorry." Was it sorrow she heard in his voice, or regret--an apology for having moved on without her? She opened her mouth to speak, but he went on, "I know how strong you've always been, Kath, strong enough to handle anything that comes your way. But still…I'd hoped you'd be able to draw some additional strength from the people around you, and not have to shoulder your burden all alone."

She tried, and failed, to keep her voice light. "Some things just can't be shared. That's part of being the captain."

"The isolation of command…" He shook his head sadly and released her hand.

The silence remained unbroken for a few minutes as they each turned their attention to their untouched plates of food. Mark swallowed a bite of his kubbah and immediately began coughing and sputtering. He took a large gulp from his water glass. "Oh, that's hot." He glanced at her. "You must have a cast-duranium stomach to be able to eat that stuff so calmly."

She smiled. "If you think this is spicy, you should try some Talaxian cuisine. I swear, they put more spices and condiments into dishes than you'd imagine in your wildest dreams."

"Talaxian…prepared by your Mr. Neelix? Wasn't he your guide?"

"Guide, cook, morale officer, ambassador-at-large…yes. If anyone ever offers you anything with leola root in it, be sure you decline. Or pleeka rind casserole…but even when he tried his hand at Terran dishes, it still ended up tasting rather 'exotic.'"

"Hotter than this, eh? Well, if he decides to open a restaurant one day--" The rest of his words were drowned out by another fit of coughing. She pushed the water carafe toward him, and signaled the waiter to bring some more.

"No, fortunately, Neelix is more interested in diplomacy. At the moment he's assigned to the Delta Quadrant Cultural Liaison department in the diplomatic corps."

He poured himself more water, and took another chunk of the flatbread as well. "And what about you, Kathryn? What will you be doing now?"

"That's a good question," she answered. "I've got a number of possibilities."

"Like diplomacy?"

She made a face. "Yes, although I really wasn't thinking along those lines." She put down her fork. "No, most of the offers I've gotten so far are in scientific research."

"Ah, your first love," he said.

"Exactly. Aside from a number of foundations located here on Earth or on Luna, I've also heard from the Cochrane Institute on Alpha Century, and the observatory in the Aolian cluster."

"The Aolian cluster? Isn't that the site of some of the cutting-edge archeological research going on now?"

"Yes, but they also plan on unveiling a brand new Observatory in the near future, and are looking for someone to head it up. They're situated so they have an unobstructed view of some fascinating celestial phenomena."

"Sounds like you're tempted."

"Yes, I am. But at the moment it's simply one offer among many."

He smiled. "I'm not worried about you, Kath. I know that you'll find what's best for you. Somehow, you always manage to land on your feet."

She forced a smile, then said, "But enough about me. How are you, Mark?"

"Fine." He picked up his glass. As he did so the diffuse light reflected off a broad gold band on his finger. "I'm still involved with the Questor Group."

"I'm not surprised," she answered. "What have you been doing lately? Anything especially interesting, or challenging?"

"We've been pretty busy, particularly in the last two years." He idly pushed some crumbs around on his plate. "Recent events have certainly given ordinary people lots to chew on, let alone us philosopher types."

For an instant she wondered if he was referring to her court-martial and alleged Prime Directive violations, then realized from the time frame he meant the Dominion War. "I suppose business is always booming in the wake of war."

"Particularly as we try to pick up the pieces and figure out why advanced species still feel compelled to resort to violence to accomplish their aims."

"What about defensive wars? It only takes one aggressor to start a conflict," she pointed out, thinking of some of the battles Voyager had been in.

"True. But even defensive wars often begin with one side striking out before their opponent can." He grinned suddenly. "I believe it's called beating the other guy to the punch. Literally."

She groaned, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. "I see you're still addicted to bad puns."

"Guilty as charged," he said. Then, more seriously, "It's fear, plain and simple, which makes us come out swinging at threats, real or imagined."

"There aren't always a lot of choices," she said, a slight edge in her voice. "Sometimes it's hard to identify a threat until it's upon you. And then it's too late."

"I suppose." He held up his hands. "I'm not advocating pacifism to the extent where it becomes self-defeating--just saying that sometimes we let our fears color our thinking and we react accordingly."

"Walking away isn't always an option, Mark."

"I'm aware of that. But neither should be running away from what we're afraid of."

She glanced at him sharply, and then her irritation fell away as her eyes met his. In those hazel depths she found what she had always seen whenever she looked into Mark's eyes. His honest concern for her, and his deep and abiding friendship. But that was all. The passion was no longer there, worn away by time. Believing her dead and gone, her lover had moved on and was clearly content with his new life. With an effort, she changed the subject. "How are your parents doing? I haven't been in Indiana very much recently, but I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to look them up the last time I was there."

"My father's fine. Although he's no longer living in Indiana-- he relocated to be near my older sister and her family." He caught her puzzled look. "My mother died three years ago."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"She had been sick for a long time--Irumodic syndrome." He sighed. "Fortunately she wasn't in pain till almost the end."

She reached across the table to him and gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "And afterward, your father moved away?"

"Yes. I don't blame him--it was hard on him, being alone with just his memories."

Again, a silence fell between them. She looked up and saw the waiter hovering nearby and nodded. He quickly came over and began clearing their dishes. "Can I interest you in some dessert?"

Mark glanced over at her. "Just coffee, I think?"

She nodded. "That's fine."

He suddenly reached into his jacket pocket and fumbled around. "Ah, almost forgot. I brought something to show you."

Janeway took the proffered object, which turned out to be a collection of holoimages. The first one showed a large furry dog. "Oh my…Is that Bear?"

"The one and only. She's getting on in years a bit, but is still in pretty good health."

That was evident by the glossy condition of her coat, and the alert look she was giving the camera. Not that different than the way she had looked seven years earlier…"I appreciate your taking such good care of her all this time, Mark."

"It's the least I could have done." Perhaps realizing how inadequate that sounded, he added, "Now that you're back, I was wondering if you wanted--"

She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "No. For one thing, I don't know where I'm going to be situated, and it wouldn't be fair to uproot her now, especially in her old age." Her voice dropped slightly. "Besides, I'm not sure she even remembers me."

"I'm sure she does, Kath. It's not like she could ever forget…" Mark then hastily said, "Would you like to come out some time and visit her?"

"Yes, I'd like that." She looked at the next picture in the series. "Who's the other dog next to Bear? The one with the coppery coat?"

"That's Penny. She's one of the two pups we kept from the litter seven years ago."

"Well, you certainly found an appropriate name for her," she said, thinking of the old coins she'd seen in her family's collection of 20^th century memorabilia.

"Spoken like a true Traditionalist," he teased. "Actually, it just worked out that way--her coat was a darker shade when she was younger. Her full name is Penelope."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and went on to the next picture. A small dark haired boy was featured, running after a ball.

Mark's smile widened. "That's Benjy."

She couldn't help but grin at the obvious affection in his voice. "He's adorable, Mark. How old is he?"

"He turned two at the beginning of the summer." Every inch the proud father, Mark went on, "And look at this next one--you wouldn't think a child his age would have such coordination, would you?"

Her attention was focused on the last picture. A woman was crouched down, her arm around Benjy as the dogs romped around them. "Is this your wife?"

"Yes, that's Carly."

She handed the pictures back to him. "You have a lovely family, Mark."

"Thanks."

They sipped the rest of their coffee in silence, and then it was time to go.

Outside the restaurant, Janeway blinked once again as her eyes made the adjustment to the sunshine. She turned to Mark and saw he was smiling, his hazel eyes very bright. "It's been wonderful seeing you again, Kathryn."

"It's been great seeing you, too," she said. She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then hurried off, not trusting herself to look back.

Chakotay wearily pressed a hand to his forehead, wishing he could simply wipe away some of the frustration he was feeling. It had been 12 days since he'd gotten Tom Paris' cryptic note and learned about Kathryn's court-martial. Twelve infuriating days, and he was still largely in the dark as to what had transpired.

The facilities on Dorvan were primitive, their isolation from the rest of the quadrant quite marked. News packets from the Federation arrived only once every few weeks, with the occasional passing transports. Subspace communication was rare--and reserved for emergencies. This hadn't bothered him previously--in fact, he'd welcomed the chance to get away from it all. Until now, when he had a driving need to find out just what was going on back in San Francisco.

He'd arranged for a slow-beam communication to be sent to B'Elanna and Tom, but it could take up to a week for a message to arrive at its destination. Even assuming an immediate response, it would still be another week before he could hope for a reply. Five days after he'd sent the message, a Rigellian transport had made a brief stopover on its way to Cardassia Prime. He had immediately made arrangements to travel with them, at least as far as Deep Space Nine, where he'd be able to transfer to another vessel heading for Earth.

But the transport had developed engine trouble en route and been forced to detour to an obscure planetoid for repairs. Chakotay had spent thirty six hours sitting up in a crowded, smoky lounge with several less than hospitable aliens, all of whom looked like they were ready to pick a fight with little or no provocation. He'd been glad to get out in space once more, only to find he was now sharing his small compartment with a noisy family of Tellarites.

"This is a cargo transport, not a luxury liner," the captain had told him tersely. "I've got limited space for passengers. You want a private cabin, find yourself some other means of transportation."

He'd arrived at Deep Space Nine three days later, with a skull-pounding headache and a devout thankfulness to be finally rid of his fellow travelers. His relief was short-lived when he discovered he'd have to wait an additional two days before he could get a seat on a runabout bound for Earth. He was no longer a Starfleet officer, could no longer claim priority or expect the authorities to accommodate themselves to his schedule.

At least while on the station he'd been able to catch up on some news; specifically he'd found out that the Janeway court-martial had concluded with her being cleared of all charges. But nothing further. He'd attempted to contact B'Elanna again, but neither she nor her husband were home the few times he'd called. He'd considered contacting Admiral Paris, but then decided against it, not sure the man would welcome inquiries from a former Maquis.

He still felt the sense of urgency that had made him abruptly decide to leave Dorvan. Any guilt he felt over abandoning the colony was lost in his overwhelming need to see Kathryn and make sure that she was all right.

So once more he was sitting restlessly on a space vessel, but at least he was finally heading toward Earth, and Kathryn. His relief at her exoneration was tempered by his continued concern for her. What was she feeling now? Did she feel like she'd been betrayed by Starfleet, the organization that she'd devoted her life to? Abandoned, perhaps? What was she going to do now? He had no answers, only questions.

His present accommodations were a lot better than any he'd experienced so far on this trip, he had to admit. Except for the pilot's preference for Andorian trance music, an enthusiasm he obviously felt compelled to share with his passengers. There was no place on the ship that was free from it; the music could be heard all over. The relentless atonal sounds--Chakotay could think of nothing less likely to help someone achieve a meditative state--were giving him yet another throbbing headache, to go along with his feelings of anxiety and desire to already be done with this seemingly never-ending journey. He moaned softly to himself and closed his eyes.

"You appear to be in some distress, my friend."

Chakotay looked up to see one of the other passengers, a Ferengi, eyeing him speculatively. He managed a weak grin. "I'm fine."

"It's the music, isn't it?" Not waiting for a response, the man went on, "Of course, hew-mons do not have such delicate hearing as we Ferengi, but you do look as though you've had enough."

Chakotay nodded warily.

"I just happen to have a spare pair of specially designed ear-plugs with me. I'd be willing to let you have them--for a bargain price, of course!" Chakotay opened his mouth to decline, but the little alien continued, "Finest construction--hand-crafted from genuine vinylite ore! Cushioned with the virgin wool of Adeni springoats! And," he leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper, "They have a special vibratory feature for those who want to do more than just deaden the noise of their surroundings." He grinned lasciviously.

Chakotay moaned again and tried to calculate just how many more hours were left till they reached Earth.

The clouds had been building up all day. There wasn't much of a sunset that evening, Janeway thought absently, but she made no move to leave the porch just yet. Around her the darkness seemed to be falling much more rapidly than usual. The wind was picking up as well. But it was not until the first rain drops began falling that she went back indoors.

Automatically, she moved around the cabin closing all the windows so the rain wouldn't come in. The early evening chill was more pronounced, no doubt due to the change in weather. She rubbed her arms briskly--she was only wearing a thin short-sleeved cotton shirt and shorts--and decided to build a fire in the fireplace. That task accomplished, she sat back in the old rocking chair, grateful for the fire's warmth, as well as for the flickering light that seemed to help keep the night at bay.

She bit back a sigh. This was her fourth day of solitude, but up till now she hadn't really felt so alone--or lonely. She spent her days walking through the woods or on the shore of the lake, occasionally taking the boat out for a sail or simply dozing off in the meadow with a book. Her lack of companionship did not bother her, as there was always something interesting to do or see. In fact, there had been any number of times in the past when she'd been surrounded by people and had felt her isolation much more keenly. As had often been the case on Voyager.

The corners of her mouth went down. She knew she had no one but herself to blame for the way she'd felt during the years in the Delta Quadrant. With the perspective of time, she was able to see that much of her feeling of distance from…people had been self-imposed. Her counselor had taken a more charitable view of the matter.

"You held yourself aloof from your crew, at an emotional distance, as a means of protection. You were afraid to let anyone get too close."

A plausible explanation, but the emotionally fragile image it evoked was not someone she wanted to be. It still stung. When and how had she gotten to this point? She knew she hadn't always been this way. Once she had been a much more open person. Her entire history prior to Voyager certainly proved that. She'd had a warm and loving relationship with her mother and sister, and a large number of close friends, some of whom the association stretched back to her days at the Academy or even earlier. And as far as romantic involvements were concerned, she'd never been the type to indulge in a number of quick, meaningless flings. All her adult life, she had been a "serial monogamist"; long term relationships, based on mutual love and understanding, had always been the key. In fact, if she hadn't been assigned the command of Voyager, she'd most likely have been married by now…

Time to stop thinking this way, she chided herself strongly. She had been given Voyager and as a consequence ended up in the Delta Quadrant. Mark had moved on, and so had she…

Suddenly feeling restless, she got up and headed toward the kitchen. A cup of coffee, that's what she needed. As she passed by the hall closet, she noticed that one of the doors was slightly ajar. She opened it all the way, and jumped back as a falling book narrowly missed hitting her on the head.

She knelt down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. She smiled as she read the title, traced the ornate gold lettering, now cracked and peeling. She carefully opened it, and inhaled the musty smell of old paper. And then she was caught up in memories of long ago.

The firelight played off of Gretchen's chestnut hair as she read aloud from the old-fashioned book on her lap. "After having fought his way through the thicket of thorns surrounding her, the prince was amazed by the loveliness of the sleeping form of the princess in front of him. He bent forward and gently brushed his lips against hers. Almost at once she stirred. Her chest began to rise and fall as she drew breath, and a faint pink stole across her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she opened her eyes and gazed at her prince. For a moment neither of them moved, and then she smiled. It was a smile of such surpassing beauty that the prince did not quite know what to do. And then he smiled back, and taking her hand, helped her off of the couch upon which she'd lain for so long, a prisoner of the wicked witch's spell. 'Thank you,' she said, 'for delivering me from my cruel fate.' 'No thanks are necessary, oh Princess,' he replied. 'All that I have done has been out of love for you.'"

Phoebe sighed in delight and recited the last few words together with her mother. "And the prince married the princess and they lived happily ever after."

Gretchen smiled at her youngest daughter and then noticed that ten-year-old Kathryn was frowning. "What's the matter, dear?"

"These stories always end the same way. Can't the princess ever rescue herself without having to wait around for the prince to show up?"

"They're fairy tales, Kathryn. That's the way most of them are written."

"I know that. But what if the princess doesn't want to marry the prince?"

Phoebe was scandalized. "But he just fought his way through all the thorns for her! He woke her up! If it hadn't been for him, she'd still be under the evil spell."

"Just because he rescued her, she has to marry him? What if she doesn't want to? What if he's fat or ugly or, or…boring?"

"But she has to!"

"Why?" Kathryn folded her arms across her chest.

"Because that's the way it always is, stupid. The prince marries the princess." Triumphantly Phoebe added, "'And they lived happily ever after!'"

"They start out happy," Kathryn pointed out. "But you notice how we never hear what happens afterwards? How do you know they stay happy?"

"That's what 'ever after' means."

"And how do you know he was really the right one for her?"

"Because she was a princess and he was a prince."

"So what? There are loads of princes and princesses--what happens if the wrong ones meet and don't know that they're not supposed to fall in love? Or what if they never meet at all?"

Phoebe gave her an exasperated look. "You're just too dumb to understand."

"I'm not the dumb one," Kathryn shot back. "You're just a---"

Their mother obviously decided it was time to intercede. "Now that's enough, girls," she said firmly. "Phoebe, it's time for bed."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," her mother said firmly.

"How come Kathryn doesn't have to go to bed now?" Phoebe whined.

Afterwards, Gretchen came back into the room and seemed surprised to see Kathryn was still holding the book of fairy tales. She looked up. "Mom, is it true that certain people are meant to be together?"

"What are you asking, dear?"

"The prince and the princess always find each other and then are happy. But what if somehow they didn't get together? What if the prince couldn't find his way through the thicket and she can't break free on her own?"

Gretchen sighed. "There's a difference between fairy tales and real life, Kathryn. You're right--in real life things don't always work out the way we plan. Sometimes we miss our opportunities."

Kathryn's eyes grew wide with alarm. "That's terrible."

"Even worse is if we don't even know an opportunity has come and gone until it's too late."

Kathryn frowned while she digested that statement. "Mom, do you believe that there's exactly one person in the world that's right for you to marry and then you live happily ever after?"

Her mother leaned forward, and said seriously, "I believe that there are a number of people who are possible matches for us, Kathryn, at different stages of our lives. The 'right one' changes as we change, as we develop. The person you fall in love with when you're very young may not be the same one you find to love when you get a bit older and more mature. That doesn't mean either one was wrong for you, just that as you change, your needs change as well."

"Is that how people fall out of love with each other?"

"Sometimes that does happen," Gretchen admitted. "But sometimes, if both people try hard enough, if they want it badly enough, they'll find their way back to each other."

She turned the pages until she found the story she was looking for. With an adult perspective, she could admire the long-forgotten author's clever couching of some home truths. But no one had prepared her for the realization that sometimes we erect those impenetrable barriers around ourselves.

For the first time in a long while, she thought of Chakotay. Not that he hadn't been present in her thoughts every time she considered the Delta Quadrant years. His name had come up often enough in her court-martial. But with the immediacy of other matters occupying her, she'd thought of him in terms of the various roles he played, the ex-Maquis commander, her loyal first officer. But she hadn't considered the man, instead consigning him to the back of her mind, because it was easier that way.

From the very beginning of their acquaintance she'd found much to like and even admire about him. His integrity, his spirituality, his quiet strength and support. As time went on, she'd found herself considering the possibility that she was actually falling in love with him. That had been during their brief sojourn on New Earth, but even there, nothing was ever simple. There had been too many things conspiring against them at that point, too many old ghosts and shattered dreams. She remembered how grateful she'd been they'd never crossed any irrevocable boundaries before the ship came back for them. But even so, from that time on, somehow it was much harder to go back to thinking of him in the old way. And with the passing of the years, and increasing tribulations, whatever personal relationship they'd had, or could have had, slowly ebbed away. Command disagreements, arbitrary decisions and actions…and other things that were harder to define. Seeing him drift, she seemed to try all the harder to push him away. And eventually she'd succeeded.

During the last year in the Delta Quadrant, though, there had been a definite thaw in how they related to each other. Maybe it was because, seeing an end in sight to their incredible journey, she'd been able to relax her eternal vigilance just a bit. For so long she'd put her life on hold, concentrating solely on keeping her ship intact and getting back home. And Chakotay seemed to have worked his way through whatever feelings of anger, hurt and indifference he'd exhibited over the years. For both of them, it seemed that coming home would be a chance for a new beginning. How ironic that the events following their return served to drive them even further apart, most likely forever.

Gretchen, and even Mark had made comments about her having someone she could turn to, confide in. Someone who would help her face down her demons. She realized that all throughout her years in the Delta Quadrant Chakotay had been there for her, as much as she'd allowed him to be. Once she'd told him she couldn't imagine a day without him. But in the final analysis, she'd always put everything else first, ahead of him. Was it any wonder that he too had eventually found other priorities?

She thought back to the last time she'd seen him, soon after the conclusion of his trial, after he'd been pardoned by the Federation for his 'crimes.' She'd gone to him full of excitement, actually daring to think that now the last remaining obstacle preventing them from embarking on a relationship had been removed. But it hadn't worked out that way. Instead of a joyful, long-anticipated coming together, they'd argued. Bitterly. He was furious at the way the trial had ended, furious that as far as the Federation was concerned, nothing had changed regarding the other Maquis. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. In turn, she'd been angry he seemed so unappreciative, ungrateful for all the efforts she'd expended on his behalf. She found his attitude totally incomprehensible. And as much as she hated to admit it, when she found he'd left for Dorvan, she felt as though he'd abandoned her.

Now that her anger had had time to cool, she realized that once again she had misread him, misinterpreted his motives. It wasn't that, robbed of the chance to martyr himself for the Maquis, he felt compelled to find another noble, if quixotic, cause to give himself to. No, he was obviously responding to a deep-seated need, to something that had lain dormant all through his years on Voyager. The feeling of making a difference, of being needed, which she had never given him.

She'd taken him for granted, always assuming that just because in the past he'd always come back to her, no matter how much she pushed him away, that would always be the case. She'd thought she knew him so well, could predict his responses in any given situation. Perhaps that had been true in the artificial environment of a starship, within the limited confines of the command structure. But those rules didn't apply in the real world.

As with everything else in her life, every other time when she felt like she'd lost everything that had ever meant anything to her, she knew she had to pick up the pieces and move on. She'd done it before, and hopefully she would have the strength to do it again. There was no other way.

Thunder rumbled, and lighting flashed overhead. Chakotay peered through the streaming windows of the flitter, attempting to see in the darkness a nameplate or any other indication that he was in the right place. Just then, another bolt of lightning crackled nearby, illuminating a weather-beaten sign on a pole which tilted crazily in the wind. Janeway. He let out a sigh of relief. After circling the environs of the lake for what seemed like hours, he'd finally found her family's cabin.

His relief was short-lived, however, when he took another good look at the storm outside. The rain was coming down in torrents. He grabbed his bag, popped the hatch of the flitter, and decided to make a run for it. He gasped as the full force of the wind and rain hit him. He was soaked within seconds. He bounded up the muddy path, and banged on the door. Another fortuitously timed flash lit up the door buzzer, and he pressed that as well.

Maybe it was the noise of the storm which prevented his hearing any approaching footsteps, but the door was flung open without warning. Kathryn stood on the threshold, her face registering shock at the sight of him. Wordlessly, she stepped aside so he could enter.

He stood there for a few moments, dripping on her rug, feeling suddenly foolish where before he'd only felt dramatic. All power of speech seemed to have left him. All through the long journey, he'd thought of little else other than this moment, but somehow hadn't considered what he'd actually say to her.

He smiled weakly, and flipped his wet hair out of his eyes. "Hello, Kathryn."

She stood there with her arms folded across her chest. "Chakotay? What are you doing here?" He couldn't tell from her tone--was she happy to see him, angry, upset or just surprised?

"I came as soon as I heard--Your court-martial--"

"That ended a while ago," she said, giving him a curious look.

He took a half step toward her. "I know. I found out you were acquitted once I was already on the way back from Dorvan. But I didn't know about your resignation till I got to Earth and tried to contact you through Starfleet." He gave a wry smile. "Do you know how hard it was for me to track you down? I couldn't get any forwarding address, no one was home at your mother's in Indiana, and I didn't know your sister's married name. Then--" He suddenly realized he was babbling and closed his mouth. Looking down, he noticed a large puddle had formed around his feet and that his mud-encrusted boots made obscene sucking noises every time he shifted position, however slightly. He shivered, wondering if he looked as pitiful as he felt.

She shook her head slowly, with what may have been a hint of amusement in her eyes. "The first thing you need to do is get out of those wet things. There--" She pointed to a doorway off the main room. "We can talk later, after you've had a chance to make yourself more presentable." He obediently tugged off his boots and padded down the hall.

In the bathroom, he gratefully availed himself of a hot shower, after first shoving his wet and dirty clothes into the 'fresher unit. The cycle finished shortly after he'd reached for a large fluffy towel and began drying himself off, feeling greatly refreshed. He dressed quickly. As he was about to turn away, he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink.

Her question echoed in his ears. What are you doing here? He still wasn't sure. All he knew was that he'd had no choice, had felt an almost physical compulsion to go to her. He told himself he just didn't like the thought of her being alone at a time like this, but that wasn't the whole story. With a stab of surprise, he recognized that despite everything they had been through, despite all the time that had passed, she still exerted a hold over him.

He sagged against the wall as the enormity of his actions hit him. After a moment he straightened up and, still barefoot, went back to the main room.

In his absence, she'd built up the fire. He could feel the heat, even behind the screen, and smell the aromatic smoke it gave off. Pine, and something else. The effect was calming.

"Feeling better now?" she asked.

"Much, thanks," he said, a bit awkwardly. His glance fell on the table. He saw she'd set out some cups and saucers.

"Would you like some tea?" The polite, if impersonal hostess, seeing to the comfort of her guest.

"Please," he said, his tone matching hers.

She hesitated. "If you're hungry, I can get you something a little more substantial…"

"Tea's fine, Kathryn." They sat and drank it in silence, listening to the continued drumming of the rain on the roof and the distant rumbles of thunder.

Her empty cup rang slightly as she placed it back on the table. She looked over at him, obviously having come to a decision. "Now start from the beginning," she commanded.

He explained, more fully this time, how he first found out about her court-martial, and the arduous process of getting back to Earth. As he spoke he watched her very carefully. She seemed rather calm, cool and collected, considering he'd suddenly dropped back into her life after months of silence. When he brought up Starfleet, he tried to gauge her overall emotional state. Which was easier said than done, as her "captain's mask" was firmly in place. But he got the sense that she had come to terms with herself and what happened.

Some of the knot of tension inside him eased slightly, glad to see that she was all right. But there was no denying that a part of him was disappointed to see her so strong. Dumbfounded, he wondered just why that might be. He felt a stab of embarrassment at the answer that instantly suggested itself to him. Perhaps he had unconsciously wanted to play the white knight to her damsel in distress. And it was disconcerting to realize that she had already rescued herself.

He became aware that her eyes were fixed upon him intently. He wondered how much she saw.

"I also owe you an apology from the last time we spoke, Kathryn." Her lips parted to ask a question, but he went on hurriedly, "Although I didn't properly express what I was feeling at the time, I want you to know that I did appreciate everything you went through to help me."

It seemed as though those weren't the words she had been expecting. She busied herself with the teapot. "I did what was necessary."

"You did a bit more than that, actually. And I'm…grateful to you. I'm just sorry I--that you had to go through your own ordeal alone."

She didn't quite meet his eyes as she answered, "I wasn't alone, not really. I had the support of my family, plus friends like Tom and B'Elanna, Admiral Paris. As well as some good people on my side to argue my case."

"Ah, yes, your legal team." Attempting to lighten the mood, he added jokingly, "I guess there was no need for smoke and mirrors this time to get a favorable verdict." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.

But she smiled slightly and said, "No, not this time. I did it the hard way."

Like everything else in her life. Once again, he wished he could have been there for her. But instead he was on Dorvan.

As if reading his mind, she suddenly asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

He mulled over the question a bit before answering. "In some ways, yes. But not entirely." A small sigh escaped him. "I guess I'm still looking for the same thing I always was…a sense of peace." He stared into the depths of his cup, as if seeking a pattern, a deeper meaning, much as ancient humans studied tea leaves in an attempt to read the future. But it wasn't the future he was attempting to make sense of, but the past. "A sense of peace," he said again. "It's a very elusive goal." His throat suddenly tight, he added, "It seems every time I feel I've finally found it, that it's within my grasp, something happens to make me lose it. Or see that I never really had it in the first place."

Her face changed subtly, almost imperceptibly. He thought he caught a fleeting expression of sadness, but then it was gone.

He was suddenly reminded of sitting at a table with her in a different cabin, across the galaxy and several lifetimes ago. Then, too, he'd spoken about finding a sense of peace. It had been part of his "ancient legend", the story he'd used to couch his declaration of love. At the time he thought he'd done it that way so she wouldn't feel like she was being pressured into something for which she wasn't ready. But no--he hadn't done it for her, but for himself. He'd been too afraid of rejection to tell her outright.

Why was he still hesitating? Why are you here? Because he couldn't stay away, because she meant more to him that he had ever told her, that nothing had changed as far as he was concerned. And because he had to know if there was still a chance for the two of them. He looked into her eyes and with a blinding flash of clarity, he knew.

He never recalled afterwards which one of them made the first move, but all of a sudden they were in each other's arms, their lips coming together in a storm of passion too long denied. He pressed her to him tightly, so tight that he wondered in passing if she could breathe. But the moment passed as his own breath stopped, as he saw the love and desire in her eyes, and then he felt like he was falling, and realized he had. He was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace and Kathryn was beside him.

He was only dimly aware that the storm was still raging outside. Inside was warmth and light.

Her hands were already lifting his shirt out of his waistband, opening its fastenings. She leaned over, trailing her lips down his smooth chest. He felt the ends of her hair tickle his skin, and then grasping her wrists, pulled her even with him, and captured her mouth once more. Feeling the rising heat within, he impatiently pulled off the rest of his clothes, and hers as well.

He'd made love to her in his imagination a thousand times before, but somehow it did not begin to approach reality. The reality of the softness of her skin under his hands, the curve of her breast and hips, the sound of her voice in his ear, whispers of endearments, soft moans of pleasure. He marveled at her incredible abandon, the way her head lay back exposing the tender throat, the way she writhed when he grazed the side of her neck with his teeth as he worked his way downward. Or the strength with which she pulled him to her, ran her hands possessively over his shoulders and back.

As they began to move together in their own special rhythm, he was struck anew with wonder at this amazing woman. This was his Kathryn, his captain. How had he ever denied her power over him, her command of his heart? They moved faster, and faster, her eyes blazing with the blinding light of a warp core. He was drawn into that light…As they reached the final explosion together, he felt a surge of triumph, and knew he had at last fulfilled his destiny--to lose himself in Kathryn Janeway.

Pale sunlight was streaming through the windows when she opened her eyes the next morning. From the looks of things, it couldn't be much later than 6 am. Her cheek was pillowed on an unfamiliar surface that rose and fell at regular intervals. With a start, she realized that it was Chakotay's chest.

Full memory of the night before came flooding back; how they'd made love for hours in front of the fire, then came creeping into the bedroom, driven by the predawn chill. She carefully eased herself up on one elbow and studied the man lying next to her, his arm draped possessively around her waist.

He was still deeply asleep, the lines of his face relaxed. The light played over his tousled hair, slightly longer than she remembered it, and the beginnings of stubble on his chin. He looked so peaceful, even to his beautifully sculpted mouth, now unguarded.

Until he'd shown up on her doorstep, she'd been convinced she'd never see him again, let alone have a chance to repair their relationship. The empty years had stretched ahead. Though eventually she'd find someone else to share her life, it would never be quite the same. All those years on Voyager, she'd known that with Chakotay there was the promise of something special.

She still marveled that he'd come back to her. Even more amazing was how quickly they'd come together. It was as if all the preliminaries had been taken care of long ago, that both of them were just waiting for a sign. For the right moment. And once it had arrived, they didn't waste any more time.

Even as she watched, his eyes fluttered open and she found herself gazing into their dark depths. He smiled. "So I guess this wasn't a dream after all."

"Do you usually have dreams like this?" she asked, lightly tracing the tattoo on his forehead.

"Not in such vivid detail, no." He stretched luxuriously. "I wonder if you have any idea how happy I am."

"Oh, I think I have some idea," she said quietly. Then, "To think after all this time, it was this simple."

He groaned and lifted himself to a semi-sitting position. "Believe me, Kathryn, nothing about this relationship has ever been simple."

She gave him a look.

He stared back at her, unperturbed. She tried to maintain her glare, but couldn't. She was too happy. Laughing, she leaned over and kissed him. "But it's definitely been worth it."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, and drew her closer.

Over breakfast, they discussed plans for the day. Chakotay wanted to go for a sail, "On the real Lake George this time." She knew he was thinking of the holodeck version that they'd shared long ago.

That had been one of their bright spots. They'd been as giddy as teenagers, and it had been a lovely and carefree evening, helped along, no doubt, by their unspoken agreement not to discuss her near-death experience. Yet somehow, after that evening, nothing had ever been quite the same between them. It wasn't too long afterward that their disagreements began multiplying, beginning with when they'd encountered the Borg for the first time.

He was standing next to the window, looking out at the garden, and didn't notice her frown. "And I'd also like to take a walk through those woods. It looks beautiful." He chuckled. "I didn't get much of a chance to appreciate the view last night, for all that I must have been driving around for hours."

She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. He turned so he was facing her. "My compliments on your new digs, Dr. Janeway."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at her new title. Though of course, it wasn't really new; she'd earned her doctorate more than half a lifetime ago. In those days she'd valued Starfleet rank--even that of an ensign-- more than an academic title. "But this is just a vacation home. I haven't made this place my permanent residence."

"A pity. Given a choice between a hotel room and the cabin, guess which one I'd take."

She laughed. "A hotel room? What makes you think that's where I'm living?"

"Well, I know you moved out of your 'Fleet apartment."

"That doesn't mean I'm homeless," she countered. "Even if I am currently unemployed. No, I've actually just taken a lease on a loft in the South of Market district."

"You're still based in San Francisco?" he asked, his surprise evident.

"I've got some unfinished business to take care of," she answered, and briefly filled him in.

He didn't belabor the point, or look relieved. He just nodded matter-of-factly, and said, "So you settled in the artist's colony, hmm? I can see the attraction." She knew he remembered the paintings she'd done on Voyager. "Tell me about your place."

"It's wonderful, Chakotay," she said eagerly. "It's in an old historic building--one of the factories that was converted from industrial use into residential lofts back in the early 21^st century, when the galleries and other art shops began migrating there from Sausalito. And the neighborhood is terrific. There's a good mix of people, young, old, singles, families."

"It sounds permanent," he said, a questioning note in his voice.

"I'm hoping it might be."

He poured himself another cup of coffee. "I guess I'm just a little surprised. I didn't think that's what you were looking for."

"I need somewhere that I can feel 'grounded', even if it turns out to be only temporary." She forestalled his next question. "I've been sending out feelers about finding a research position."

"On Earth?"

"Not exclusively. But even if I go off-world, I still want to know that I have a place to come back to. A sense of permanence. That's something I really never had, in all my years of Starfleet."

He sighed heavily. "I know what you mean."

She plucked up her courage to bring up the subject that had been on her mind all morning. "Chakotay…"

He noticed her hesitation. "Yes, Kathryn?"

"Will you be going back to Dorvan?" When he didn't answer right away, she said in a rush, "I know you came to Earth for my sake, but if you want to return--"

He was silent for a moment longer, then shook his head. "No, I won't be going back there."

She tried not to let her relief show. "Why not?"

He picked his words carefully, as if trying to consider how best to answer her question. "It wasn't me. Not what I was meant to do or be. Don't get me wrong, Kathryn, it was very important for me to go back there and be involved, at least for a little while, in their rebuilding effort. It reminded me of my roots, of a solidity that I'd been lacking…what you referred to just now as a sense of grounding." He sighed once more. "But I left that life a long time ago, when I made my decision to join Starfleet. It took the Cardassian devastation, and the loss of my home, to make me realize how much I valued it. And it was because of those feelings that I joined the Maquis, a journey which led me even farther away." He paused. "I don't know if I can explain. Dorvan, and its people, are still very important to me. But they aren't enough; they can't be my whole life. A part of my heart will always be there, but my destiny lies elsewhere."

He spoke with quiet conviction. She had no doubts that he truly knew his own mind, but still... "Was it very hard to leave? Did they understand?"

Chakotay's smile had a tinge of sadness. "The day I left, I stopped to say goodbye to one of the tribal elders. Asanti is a real marvel--must be close to 120 years old and still going strong. He's seen it all, and done it all. When the war ended, and the smoke cleared, literally, he was one of the first colonists to return to Dorvan. I felt a little embarrassed to be leaving, and wondered if he'd say anything to me about it." He fell silent again, lost in memory.

"Did he?" she prompted.

"He said, 'Chakotay, it is only with the heart that one sees clearly. The eyes are too often clouded by what is unimportant.'" He caught her gaze in his own. "I didn't realize it at the time, but he was telling me to follow my feelings, and they'd lead me home. Which they have. To you."

Six weeks later

Janeway strode briskly down the corridor of the spaceport, though there really was no need for her to hurry. Her flight to Alpha Centauri had been delayed, once again, and she had at least an hour to kill before the shuttle would (hopefully) be ready for boarding.

She'd already contacted the Cochrane University and informed them that she would be arriving later than anticipated. Not that they made any mention of the inconvenience. They were only too eager to have her come out and tour their facilities, hoping to woo her to accept a position on their faculty. This was the third off-planet trip she'd made in the past month. She'd been fortunate in that she hadn't had any earlier travel difficulties, particularly when she and Chakotay had gone to the Aolian cluster. Although then at least she'd have had someone to talk to and keep her company during the wait.

She turned around and headed back in the direction of the coffee shop, reminding herself to relax and take things at a slower pace. She smiled a little to herself. Old habits died hard.

She paused at the entrance to the shop. It was quite crowded, unsurprisingly, as hers was not the only flight that had been delayed. Many of the tables were occupied by businessmen and other professionals. A few college students were perched on stools at the counter.

As she glanced around, her gaze fell on a man with sandy-brown hair who looked vaguely familiar. He lifted his head at that moment and returned her stare. A smile of recognition spread across his face. "Kathryn? Kathryn Janeway!"

She broke into an answering smile. "Garth Davies--I almost didn't recognize you with that beard."

He laughed, and rose to his feet and made his way over to where she was standing. She couldn't help but notice he walked with a slight limp. "It's nice to see you, Kathryn--you look wonderful," he said giving her a hug. "How long has it been?"

"Since we were all together in Starfleet's Command School, or since you last saw me?"

He laughed again. "It's been too many years since both." He gestured to his table. "I assume you're waiting for a flight? Would you like to join me?"

"That'd be great. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Wait just a moment." He went over to the counter and came back with two steaming mugs. "There you are--Colombian blend."

She glanced at his own mug. "No raktajino, Garth?"

"Believe me, you wouldn't want to try what passes for the stuff in this place," he said shaking his head. "Ever since I did that officer-exchange program ten years ago, I've been convinced you can't get a decent cup of raktajino any closer in that Qo'noS itself." He took a deep drink of his coffee and gave a rueful look. "So in all seriousness, Kathryn, how long has it been?"

She cradled her mug in her hands, enjoying the warmth. "At least seven years, I can tell you that," she said.

He grinned. "A bit longer than that, I think. Wait--it was during your last year commanding the Nobel. We were both at Mayzie's New Year's party," he said, referring to one of their other classmates, Mayzie Beil.

"Of course. You were there with--"

"Someone I'd really rather not talk about now," he cut in. "Ancient history."

She took the hint. "So how is Mayzie these days?" she said, remembering the tall, sharp-tongued Trill fondly. "That's another person I've been meaning to get in touch with, but haven't. It seems like I have so much catching up to do…"

"Relax. No one expects you to make up for all those lost years in a matter of months." He stopped, and his smile faded. "But as far as Mayzie is concerned---"

She suddenly knew what he was going to tell her. "Oh, God. When? How?"

"It's been five years now--she was one of the early casualties of the Dominion War. Her ship was assigned to patrol the Cardassian border."

Losses of war. Janeway knew that the toll of the recent conflict had been very high. If Voyager hadn't been in the Delta Quadrant for the duration, she knew she would have seen plenty of action as well. With possibly a similar outcome. Those were some of the risks of serving in Starfleet, whose people swore an oath to give up their lives if so required to in the line of duty. For an organization ostensibly devoted to peaceful exploration, they certainly saw more than their share of battles. And deaths.

It was ironic. During her years on Voyager, the constant struggles for survival that were an inevitable outcome of being a lone ship in a hostile region of space, the Alpha Quadrant had seemed like a haven of peace and security. It was a nice dream. But the reality had been quite different.

And now Mazyie Beil was dead. Another of their little clique, Jack Agress, had died years earlier, during the initial Borg incursion at Wolf 359. She looked over at Garth, recalling how he had limped as if suffering from an old injury that hadn't healed properly.

Suddenly he smiled. "One thing, though, you'll appreciate hearing. They were able to save the Beil symbiont."

She breathed a bit easier, comforted slightly to know that a part of her friend lived on. "Is the new host also in Starfleet?"

"Yes. And get this--he's the chief conn officer aboard the Hood."

"A Starship pilot," she repeated incredulously. "Not a Jack Agress-type pilot?" She remembered their cocky, supremely confident friend, his calm air of superiority, and his incessant flirting, particularly where the Trill woman had been concerned.

Garth grinned. "I'm sure Mayzie appreciates the irony."

She tactfully changed the subject. "And what are you up to these days? Still in the 'Fleet, I see," she said, noting his uniform. "Are you still commanding the Victory?"

"I'm teaching at the Academy these days, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes. This is my second semester. I teach Basic Operations, Engineering Analysis and Advanced Variable Geometry Warp."

She tried to envision him at a podium in the lecture halls, and found it was surprisingly easy. "I bet you're a wonderful teacher."

"Haven't heard too many compliments, but then again, no complaints either," he said lightly. "Honestly, I'm enjoying myself. The give-and-take with the students makes it more than just a job."

"Is this a permanent career shift?" she asked.

"Oh, no," he said immediately. "I put in too much time and effort to getting my own command to give it up now. Even though I--" he stopped for a moment.

"Seems like you had a pretty rough time of things recently as well," she said gently.

He didn't deny it. "I've been on medical leave for the last year and a half. I'm undergoing extensive rehab and therapy now at Starfleet Medical. Until I'm certified as being 100%, I can't go back in space." A look of bitterness crossed his features, but then his face cleared. "But one day, I'll be back. This is only a temporary setback."

"I'm sure of that," she said, touching his arm reassuringly.

"Thanks." He studied his empty cup. "I could never see myself doing anything else, not permanently."

"Once a Starship captain, always a Starship captain?" she said, a small smile playing around her mouth.

He gave her a level look. "It gets in your blood, Kathryn, and there's just no denying it."

The loudspeaker overhead sounded. "Flight 47 to Alpha Centauri now boarding at gate 15B."

Reluctantly, she stood. "That's my flight."

He stood as well and gave her a quick kiss. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time to talk--I didn't even ask what you've been up to lately."

"Couldn't be helped," she said. "But I'm really glad we ran into each other."

"Have a good trip, Kathryn. And keep in touch."

"I will, Garth. Take care."

The shuttle attendant looked at her disapprovingly as she hurried breathlessly up to the gate. But she'd made it. She settled herself into her seat and prepared for liftoff.

An hour later, Janeway shifted restlessly, and consulted her chronometer. Still some time to go before they landed. A padd lay on her lap, but she wasn't reading it. Instead she was thinking about her conversation with Garth Davies. Once again she realized that all her friends, most of her connections, were 'Fleet-related. Which made sense, after all, considering how much of her life she'd spent in Starfleet, how much a part of her it was for so long. But that was her past. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the future.

Three weeks later

The line outside the security booth inched forward slowly. This was the one of the main entrances outside the main complex of Starfleet HQ, nearest to the administrative offices. Along with the other non-commissioned personnel and day-visitors, Kathryn Janeway patiently waited until it was her turn to place her hand in the appropriate depression for the DNA screening, while at the same time leaning forward for the retina scan.

She tried not to think how, not too long before, she would have entered the building through another access point entirely, one reserved for Starfleet personnel, if not for senior officers. But those days were gone. With her resignation, she had joined the ranks of civilians.

The scan was complete. The guard glanced at the results, then snapped to attention. "Captain Janeway. Sorry for making you wait, ma'am."

"It's all right, Ensign," she replied. "I'm not a member of Starfleet anymore."

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, evidently not quite sure how to treat her. "Would you please state your business at Headquarters, ma'am?"

"I'm here to see Admiral Hayes," she said.

The guard consulted a padd. "Do you have an appointment?" He quickly answered his own question. "Yes, I see it here, 1100 hours. Go to the end of this corridor--"

"Thank you, Ensign," she broke in. "I remember the way."

At least he hadn't insisted on an escort for her as was customary for visitors, she thought, glancing up at the overhead sign. She was a little surprised at the strict security measures. But she remembered hearing that none of the current measures compared with the ones in place during the recent war.

She made her way through the myriad hallways and turbolifts, navigating her way with ease. Every now and then she passed uniformed personnel who glanced at her civilian attire with interest, then stiffened when they recognized her. A very few greeted her, but she didn't pause or exchange more than a couple of words.

It seemed that the guard wasn't the only one uncertain of her status. Once she'd moved through these hallways with the confidence of someone in her natural milieu, but it wasn't hers to claim anymore. She had severed her official connections to the 'Fleet. Even though she'd been asked to make herself available should Starfleet ever require her assistance, she'd assumed it was a mere formality and hadn't ever expected to be called in. Yet that was exactly what had happened earlier in the week, when Admiral Hayes had contacted her.

Hayes' assistant, a thin young man, glanced up as she entered the outer office, then rose quickly. "Captain Janeway, we've been expecting you. May I take your coat?"

Douglas, that was his name. "Thank you, Lieutenant." She indicated the closed door in front of her. "I believe the Admiral is expecting me."

Douglas looked contrite. "I'm so sorry, Captain, but the Admiral had to go upstairs for a bit."

Though she wasn't very happy with the delay, she sat down and forced a smile. "That's all right--I'll just wait here till he returns." She noticed the lieutenant's increasing discomfort. "Unless it would be more convenient to simply reschedule the meeting for another day." She really hoped that wouldn't be the case; she wasn't looking forward to a repeat of today's parade through Headquarters.

"Oh, no, the Admiral requested that you join him as soon as you arrive." He respectfully took her arm and starting walking her out the door.

"Really, it's all right…" but her protests died and she resigned herself to accompanying the lieutenant down the hall. At least he immediately let go of her arm without her having to ask.

The Head of Starfleet Operations had many demands on his time; she wasn't surprised that Hayes had been called elsewhere. For perhaps the hundredth time since receiving her summons to HQ, she wondered what was so pressing that they needed her. Surely, between the crew debriefs and their own exhaustive reviews of the Voyager logs and databanks, the brass knew everything there was to know about the Delta Quadrant. She herself could add very little to that vast sum of knowledge.

She wondered if it had anything to do with Species 8472. Janeway recalled once more the "training facility" Voyager had encountered in the Delta Quadrant. It had appeared to be an exact replica of Starfleet facilities, down to the personnel. At the time, she'd been concerned it was a prelude to an invasion force. From the bits and pieces she'd picked up since her return, she suspected there had been additional contact with the aliens from fluidic space.

They came to a halt. Lost in thought, Janeway wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings until she heard Douglas say, "Energize."

She rematerialized in mid-gasp. She looked around the small transporter room. "Where are we?"

"Welcome to Station McKinley, Captain," said the ensign at the console.

Janeway nodded shortly, and turned to Douglas, her hands on her hips, her voice stern. "'Upstairs', Lieutenant?"

"In a manner of speaking, ma'am," he said unapologetically. He cleared his throat. "If you please, the Admiral is waiting."

They stepped out into the corridor to see the large bulk of Admiral Hayes making his way toward them. "Kathryn!" he said and gripped her hand firmly in his. "Thank you, Douglas," he added, nodding a dismissal to the lieutenant, who headed back toward the transporter room without a word.

Hayes began walking. "I'm sorry to have to drag you out here like this, Kathryn, but unfortunately my schedule is very tight and time is of the essence."

"No problem, Admiral," she responded, though inwardly she was still seething at the abruptness. "I just would have preferred some advance warning." Hayes flashed her a smile, but didn't say anything further. She bit back a sigh, realizing this was as much of an apology as she was going to get.

They came to a main junction, and Hayes chose the second turning, to the right. "There's a conference room on the next level that we can use."

She nodded. Clearly Hayes wasn't going to be forthcoming about the purpose for this meeting until they reached their destination. Once again they came to an intersection, but Hayes bypassed all available choices and unhesitatingly stepped into the turbolift.

It had just occurred to her to wonder, if time was such a factor, why Hayes hadn't simply called for a site-to-site-transport when the 'lift came to a halt. She held back, waiting for the Admiral to exit first, but he motioned for her to precede him.

She took a few steps out into the corridor and then halted in surprise. Directly opposite her was a floor-to-ceiling expanse of window, providing an unobstructed view of space. She hadn't realized they were so high up. Various vessels were visible, including one which made her heart nearly stop beating when she saw it.

U.S.S. Voyager, NCC-74656. Gleaming white in the reflected sunlight, it outshone the smaller maintenance shuttles that hovered nearby. Her lines sleek, and her bearing proud, the graceful starship seemed to float effortlessly against the blackness. Without being consciously aware of what she was doing, Janeway stepped all the way to the barrier and reached out her hand, almost as if she could touch the beguiling image.

"She came over this morning from the main shipyards to undergo some routine tests of the warp drive and other propulsion systems. Looks good, doesn't she?" said Hayes, beaming.

Janeway nodded, not sure she could trust herself to speak. "I haven't seen her like this since we left DS9 nearly 8 years ago."

"Yes, she's been through a lot, and even though you and your talented crew brought her back in one piece, it's been a while since she had the kind of attention our engineers at Utopia Planitia could afford to lavish on her." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Of course, Lieutenant Torres has overseen every single step of the process--she wouldn't entrust her ship to just anyone, Starfleet or no."

"I'd heard that B'Elanna elected to stay on in Starfleet," Janeway said, still unable to tear her eyes away from the vision the ship presented.

"More than just stay on--no one could imagine Voyager without her as the Chief Engineer, least of all Torres herself, I'd imagine." Hayes added, "And of course, her husband, Lieutenant Paris, is chief conn officer once again. In fact, many of the old crew have requested to be reassigned to Voyager."

Janeway swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Have you selected a new captain for her yet?"

Hayes smiled. "We have a short list of candidates that we're considering, but we haven't settled on a final choice yet."

Janeway nodded once more. Then, with a deep breath, she turned away. "Shouldn't we be on our way, Admiral?"

"Of course."

As they moved along the corridor once more, Janeway couldn't help but stop for one last look back at Voyager. The ship glided on serenely through the endless night. She felt Hayes' eyes upon her.

"I hope," she said carefully, "That Voyager's next captain appreciates what a fine vessel he or she will be getting, and understands the special history that has made that ship unique."

Hayes nodded. "Oh, we'll make sure of it, Kathryn. We will definitely make sure of it."

She let herself into the loft, juggling several bags of groceries, and trying not to crush the flowers she'd balanced on top. "I'm home!" she called. "Chakotay? Come here and give me a hand."

"Just a second." He came into the entrance hall and immediately relieved her of her burdens.

"When I asked you to pick up a few things on your way home, I had no idea you were going to bring back half the market," he said, shaking his head. He put the bags down on the kitchen counter. "What is all this stuff?"

"Oh, you mentioned the other day how you haven't had the opportunity to do much cooking lately. I thought you might have a little more incentive if you had the proper ingredients." She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He gave her a quizzical look. "Is this a blatant attempt to get a lavish, home-cooked meal out of me?"

"It doesn't have to be lavish, but, well, yes," she confessed.

"Help me put this stuff away first," he said, "And I'll see what I can do."

She filled a vase with water and began arranging the flowers, reassuring herself that they hadn't suffered too much damage in transit.

"How was your meeting with Admiral Hayes?" Chakotay asked, placing perishables in the cooler unit.

"Interesting," she said and proceeded to tell him about the unexpected trip to McKinley Station. "And when we finally did sit down to talk, it turned out to just be some superficial questions on some of the Delta Quadrant species. Information that I'm sure is covered in at least half a dozen reports that Starfleet has on file."

"Uh huh." Chakotay picked up a bunch of grapes and, leaning against the counter, began eating them one at a time.

"You don't think that's a bit odd?" she asked.

He shrugged. "So, how did you feel, seeing Voyager again?"

"It was… nice." She hurriedly added, "But it's only a ship. I didn't 'feel' anything in particular."

He snorted. "Come on, Kathryn, remember who you're talking to. 'Only a ship', huh? Yes, only the ship you commanded for seven years, the ship that you once felt was as much a part of your crew as any of the flesh and blood officers aboard. "

She put down the cans she'd just picked up. "Fine. I also felt a little…nostalgic." With a hint of irritation, she added, "Are you happy now?"

He calmly popped another grape into his mouth. "Just nostalgic? You know, by the way, that Voyager is being assigned another mission to the Delta Quadrant. This time lasting only 18 months, thanks to the new drive."

"And with regular communication as well. I know. I was there when B'Elanna was talking about it last week, remember? At the party to celebrate the release of the remaining Maquis."

"Just checking." Another grape vanished.

"Hey, save some of those for me," she said, reaching for the cluster.

He held them just out of her grasp. "Get your own bunch. And you still haven't answered my question."

She was silent for a long moment. He didn't push her, just waited. Finally, she said, "I guess I am a little envious of whoever will be the next captain of Voyager."

"Did Hayes give you any hints as to who it would be?" he asked curiously.

"Not a word." A sudden thought struck her. "God, I really hope it's someone who deserves it, like Tuvok, say, and not just some pet jerk of Necheyev's."

"Tuvok's only a commander," Chakotay reminded her. "Assuming he does decide to stay in Starfleet, he's at least a few years away from getting his own command."

"Just as long as it's someone good." She began to busy herself with arranging the items still out on the counter.

He eyed her for a long moment. "Do you want it, Kathryn?"

She stiffened. "That's a ridiculous question."

"Is it?"

She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "I resigned from Starfleet, remember? That part of my life is over."

"I have it on good authority that people can be reinstated." He permitted himself a small smile. "Even if they resigned under somewhat dubious circumstances."

"I didn't resign until after I was cleared of all charges," she pointed out. "Nothing dubious there."

He didn't argue. "That takes care of that objection, then."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please be serious, Chakotay."

"I am," he said. "I want to know why you refuse to take this seriously."

She shook her head, exasperated, then brightened at a sudden thought. "I'm currently considering several research offers--are these the actions of a woman who's secretly pining to return to Starfleet?" she said triumphantly.

"And just how long have you been mulling these offers, Kathryn? Most people would have accepted a position by now."

"Unless they're holding out for something better," she retorted.

"My point exactly." He grinned at her, knowing he'd won that round. She didn't answer.

Chakotay reached over and gently stroked her cheek. "Those are just excuses, Kathryn. What do you really want?"

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I have been thinking about it," she admitted, "And maybe I'm a little bit tempted."

"Just a little bit?"

"OK, a lot tempted." She was quiet for a moment. "But it's not realistic to even think like this. I don't even know if I could get it at this point. Hayes made it seem like the new captain was already picked out and the lingering considerations are just a formality. "

"Yes, Hayes' actions do seem to indicate he's got his mind made up," he said mildly.

She frowned and then took his hand. "Come on, let's go into the other room."

The magnificent view, visible on three sides, was one of the main reasons she'd chosen this loft. She drew in a quick breath as they left the kitchen and she caught sight of the dazzling sunset. So different from the unceasing blackness of space. Soon the stars would appear, their twinkling an effect of the distant city lights, as well as atmospheric temperature fluctuations. Not like the unchanging beauty as seen from a starship, or the colored streaks from warp…

Hesitantly, she said, "I'm not saying I would, but if I wanted to do this, what about you? Would you come with me?"

"Would you want me to?"

"We finally found each other, after so long apart. I don't want to be without you ever again." She searched his face anxiously. "You're more important to me than any ship could ever be, believe me."

He answered gently, "I know that, Kathryn, but you're also important to me." He paused. "If this is something you truly want, and you don't go for it, part of you will always regret it."

She stopped to consider his words. "Do you really think so? Have you forgotten why I resigned from Starfleet in the first place?"

"Was it Starfleet that you'd lost faith in, Kathryn, or yourself?"

"I will never forget what they put us through, after we returned," she said quietly. "We didn't deserve to be put on trial, any of us. But Starfleet didn't see it that way. They didn't understand. I don't think they could, actually. The regs are written for a specific set of circumstances. But when you're out there, in the field, by necessity you're always pushing the envelope. And our particular case was even more unusual." She took a deep breath. "Yes, they made me doubt myself. They made me wonder if perhaps I should have done so many things differently. But in the final analysis, I had no other choice."

He nodded slowly. "You're right. Maybe it is asking too much."

"But on the other hand," she went on, beginning to pace. "That type of situation won't be repeated, at least not for a long while. The new voyage…it'll be different. We'd be far enough out to be out of the fray of politics and red tape at home, but not so dangerously isolated. The best of both worlds, in a way. And we'd have the chance to continue exploring where no Federation ship has ever gone before…" She stopped and ran her hand through her hair wearily. "Or am I just rationalizing?"

He smiled, and shook his head. "No, I think your heart is trying to telling you something."

Two months later

The turbolift doors opened, and the ensign standing nearby snapped to attention.

"Captain on the bridge!"

"Thank you, Ensign," said Captain Kathryn Janeway, as she stepped forward, padd in hand. She stood still for a moment, her eyes traveling around the bridge, noting the many new faces, as well as the familiar ones of the "old hands."

She briskly strode over to the command chair, and paused before sitting down. Her first officer looked up, and they exchanged a private smile. "Report," she said crisply.

"All departments report systems secure," said Commander Chakotay, scanning the readout on the screen in front of him.

Janeway nodded. "Engine status?"

"Slipstream drive online, operating at optimal levels," said the Chief Engineer. The look of anticipation in Torres' eyes mirrored that in Janeway's own.

"We're cleared for leaving dry-dock, Captain," said the young female officer manning Ops. "Whenever you're ready."

The captain leaned forward. "Let's do it."

Onscreen, the large docking clamps could be seen disengaging, and the ship shuddered slightly as they were released one by one. All around, the voices of the bridge crew could be heard, calling off different system readouts, announcing all systems go. Ahead of them, space was clear and free.

"Take us out, Mr. Paris, nice and easy."

"Aye, Captain, heading out at one-quarter impulse." Slowly, Voyager moved forward till they were clear of the station. "Course laid in for the Delta Quadrant, heading 928 mark 4."

Janeway rose and walked toward the main viewscreen. Never taking her eyes off the starry panorama, she said simply, "Go ahead, Tom. The adventure is just beginning."
 

FINIS

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