Story Notes: Third in the "Homeward Bound" series, following "Official Channels " and " Triumph." It is suggested you read them in order.

With thanks to m.c. moose for her valuable assistance.

Kathryn Janeway, the once and (she hoped) future captain of Voyager, reached blindly for a towel from the warm enclosure of the shower. She swabbed at her face, and then stepped out, wrapping the towel tightly around her body.

The entire bathroom was steamy, evidence of an extremely long and hot hydro-shower. A luxury after all the years onboard ship--not as satisfying as a soak in a tub, but pleasurable all the same. She wiped off a corner of the mirror and studied her reflection.

It was hard to believe, after all this time, that they were finally home. In front of the crew she had stated firmly and repeatedly that one day Voyager would get back, but privately she'd had her doubts. Add in the guilt she felt over stranding the ship in the Delta Quadrant in the first place, and you had the makings for a major depression. Thank God or whatever benign deity existed, she didn't have time to dwell on the past; she'd needed to focus all her efforts on their survival.

That strategy had worked during the early years of their journey, up until they encountered the Void and there had been nothing to do but stare into the starless night and think…that had been one of the worst experiences of the entire journey. In its own way, almost as bad as being assimilated by the Borg. It was ironic, that at the moment of the assault on her individuality, as her mind was being invaded by the Collective, she had seized upon that very pain, tried to use it to remember who and what she was. One of her last thoughts before she succumbed had been that she was the captain and couldn't give up yet. She wasn't averse to the loss of self or even death, as long as she got her crew home first.

Fortunately, there had been no need to die that day, or any of the other countless times she had placed herself in physical danger. Some guardian angel must have been looking out for her, making sure she would see this day.

She opened the bathroom door and shivered slightly as the cooler air swept in. She slipped on a robe and, still barefoot, padded down the hallway of her Starfleet apartment toward the kitchen. Once she had a steaming mug of coffee in hand, she sat down at the desk terminal to read the morning news.

After nearly seven years of living in a tiny, hermetically sealed community, the flood of information was incredible. The sheer number of people and places was overwhelming; a constant reminder of how out of touch she'd been and how much catching up she needed to do. If only she had some time…but for now Starfleet appeared to be more interested in gleaning information from the Voyager crew than in giving them a chance to adjust.

The coffee was much too hot to drink. This was the second time this week she'd automatically set the temperature control too high, as if anticipating a major crisis or a red alert before she'd be able to drink her morning coffee in peace. Taking tiny sips, she quickly scanned the top stories.

Nothing of major import had occurred overnight. Oh, there were reports of earthquakes and flash floods on distant worlds of the Federation, news of ships being dispatched to render aid, more information on the seemingly endless rebuilding since the end of the Dominion War. The home world in general, and San Francisco in particular, seemed to have suffered more than their share of scars. It had been a shock to see a strangely altered skyline, with many familiar landmarks gone or changed beyond recognition. She attributed a lot of her feeling of strangeness, of not quite belonging anymore, to the physical changes the city had undergone. But if she was totally honest with herself, she knew that was not the only reason.

She resolutely pushed that thought away, and continued her reading. There were dispatches from the Federation's allies, the Klingon Empire, Bajor…and Cardassia. Janeway's lip curled at that one. And, of course, there was the daily Voyager-related item. Today it was just a brief mention that Starfleet debriefings were in progress.

As if after more than two weeks, this was still news. But with media access to the Voyager crew strictly controlled--a privacy measure for which she was grateful--it seemed they were desperate to have something, anything to report. One journalist had been especially persistent in her efforts. Janeway grimaced as she recalled the other day when the woman had actually tracked her down at her mother's house in Indiana. Fortunately, Phoebe had answered that call.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ray, but Captain Janeway is unavailable." She listened for a moment. "No, that is not possible. If you want some holoimages, I can refer you to the Starfleet Press Liaison Office…oh, you've already contacted them? Good. Yes, I'm sure you would. Have a nice day." She firmly closed the channel.

Janeway looked at her sister in disbelief. "Well, that's a surprise."

"That the media tracked you down here? Of course, they did, Kathryn--you're a celebrity!" Phoebe said, her lips twitching slightly. "They'd do anything to get a crack at you. Any of the Voyager bunch, most likely, but especially 'the brave captain who overcame tremendous odds to get her crew home.'"

"Not that," Janeway waved her words away, feeling more than slightly embarrassed. "Since when are you so polite to reporters? I'd've thought you'd be threatening to chuck whoever that was right through the nearest window."

"Been there, done that," Phoebe said breezily.

"What?!"

"That was Phoebe's response to Elizabeth Ray the last time she came by for an interview---when Starfleet first learned you were all still alive," said Gretchen, carrying a tray into the room. Seeing the look on Janeway's face, she added, "Don't worry, it was only a threat. Fortunately, Ms. Ray had the good sense not to trouble us any further."

Janeway bit back a grin and reached for the tray. "Mmm. Caramel brownies. I've missed these." She helped herself to one, noticing that the tray already looked somewhat empty. "You only made half a batch, Mom?"

"No, I met your niece on the way from the kitchen to the living room," said Gretchen, chuckling. "That little girl shares your affinity for brownies, as well as your name."

"Oh, Mom, it's only an hour till lunchtime!" Phoebe exclaimed in dismay. She quickly got to her feet and headed toward the kitchen, unimpeded in any way by her advanced pregnancy. "Kathy! Honey, I don't want you eating brownies now. How about we save them for dessert?"

Anything further was cut off by the closing of the kitchen door, although a resounding "NO!" was heard quite clearly in the living room.

"It's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren," said Gretchen by way of excuse.

Janeway shook her head. "I'm still getting used to the idea of Phoebe as a mother. But since when did she become so mild-mannered?"

"Oh, she's still the same Phoebe--you don't want to get on her bad side," her mother answered. "Still, I think over the years she's learned how to get along with art critics, and by extension, reporters in general."

"And here I was starting to think marriage had been able to accomplish what the rest of us couldn't."

"Hal has many fine qualities, but he's not a miracle worker," Gretchen said dryly.

"You can say that again," said Phoebe, coming back into the room with her daughter in tow. The chocolate smears on Kathy's face and hands showed who'd won that battle. "At any rate, Captain, you don't want to get on the media's bad side. You never know when you might need them."

Gretchen asked, "Really, Phoebe, why would Kathryn need the press?"

"I don't care what they print about me," Janeway added. "It's not like I'm worrying about my place in the history books."

Phoebe looked up from wiping her daughter's face. "Right now you're Starfleet's golden girl, and a hero in the eyes of the Federation. But all that is subject to change."

"Meaning?"

"Come on, Kathryn," Phoebe said, meeting her gaze squarely. "I don't need to give you a lesson in Starfleet politics. You've been out of touch with the bureaucrats for the past seven years, but don't tell me you've forgotten how they operate, all the undercurrents and factions that are an integral part of HQ. I remember some of the stories you used to tell us---all I'm saying is, you don't know when you're going to need influential friends."

"I'll fight my own battles, thank you," Janeway retorted, and changed the subject.

Other than the attempted intrusion, it had been a very pleasant weekend, a welcome respite from the exhausting days at Starfleet. Janeway was sorry that Phoebe and Hal hadn't been able to stay for the entire time, but it had been good to spend some time alone with her mother. They had even gone for a long walk in the woods, once Janeway was convinced it wouldn't be too strenuous for Gretchen.

The older woman had immediately squelched Kathryn's concerns, seemingly torn between amusement and indignation. "I'm in great shape for a woman in her 70's. I may not be up to running a marathon, but I can certainly handle a simple outing. I don't know why you think I'm so decrepit."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Janeway said contritely. Then, hesitantly, "I just thought that after your stroke..."

Gretchen looked at her blankly for a few seconds and then understanding dawned. She reached over and took her daughter's hand. "Honey, that was years ago."

"But to me it was a recent occurrence, considering that I just found out about it," Janeway responded quietly. She then smiled and in an attempt to lighten the moment said, "Or do you think that only parents are allowed to be overprotective about their children and not the other way around?"

Gretchen had joined in her laugh, but Janeway knew her mother was aware of what she was thinking. Neither of them referred to it again.

She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee, stopping to admire the gold and rose-colored beams accompanying the rising sun. She'd seen the light of many stars over the years, but an honest to goodness Terran sunrise was special. For a change, it looked as though it was going to be a beautiful day, once the morning fog burned off. It had rained almost constantly since Voyager's homecoming. Not that she had taken much notice of the weather, except at odd moments. There were too many other things demanding her attention.

As soon as they docked at McKinley Station, the Voyager crew had beamed down to HQ. A mercifully small group of Admirals met them, shook their hands and murmured how proud they were of them. Although the holocameras recorded every movement and detail, the press was kept at a distance. And within a short time, the families were allowed in.

Immediately, the hall was filled with the sounds of joyful reunions on every side. Janeway watched, smiling, as Naomi Wildman waved eagerly to a tall Ktaarian, yelling, "Daddy! Daddy!" Then suddenly, the girl turned to her mother and asked, "That is him, isn't it?" Upon receiving confirmation, she rushed into his waiting arms. Samantha, who had been standing talking quietly with Neelix, quickly followed.

Janeway meant to go over to Neelix, who was looking a little dazed, but she was distracted by the sight of Joe Carey embracing his wife and exclaiming over how much their two boys had grown. And then she spotted Owen Paris shaking hands with B'Elanna, the look on his face about what could be expected from a man meeting his half-Klingon daughter-in-law for the first time. Next to them, Tom still held his teary-eyed mother in his arms. Janeway would have liked to see how Owen greeted his son…

And then there were those who had no families waiting, Seven and Icheb and the Doctor, along with most of the Maquis. Janeway saw Chakotay talking to a man who could only be Lieutenant Barclay and started toward them.

"Kathryn!"

Mildly shocked to hear her own name again after so long, Janeway turned around and was promptly caught up in a double embrace with her mother and sister. There were tears, and laughter, and a feeling of relief and thankfulness too deep for words.

"I can't believe you're really here. After all this time…" Gretchen kept saying.

Phoebe seemed to be too overcome to speak at first, but finally got out, "God, Kathryn, what the hell did you do to your hair?"

Finally, Phoebe and Gretchen released her, and she saw with amazement and a little dismay how much they had each changed. Gretchen's hair, once a shining chestnut, was now pure silver. Janeway knew her mother had started going gray years ago, but it was a shock to see it so completely different. As for Phoebe, although she knew from letters that her sister had married and started a family of her own, it was strange meeting a brother-in-law and three-year-old niece.

Those feelings of strangeness were soon dispelled, as each family continued their reunions in private. Suites at the Hilton had been arranged for whoever wished to avail themselves of Starfleet's hospitality. The captain no longer had to worry about her crew and could relinquish the burden of her concern, for at least a while. She didn't think of them again until the next morning.

Once the families had departed, Janeway, along with the rest of the Voyager crew quickly fell into a new routine as they began the seemingly unending process of debriefing. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder, with all the logs and reports she'd sent ever since Pathfinder had established contact, what was left for Starfleet to discover, what they hoped to learn.

The days were long and exhausting, beginning early in the morning and lasting till evening, with very few breaks. Sometimes Janeway was alone with a panel of officials, other times together with Chakotay or Tuvok or other members of her senior staff. The cast of listening admirals varied slightly, but there were two who were always there: Alyana Necheyev and William Ross. They listened impassively, only rarely asking questions.

Janeway found the sessions tiring, and increasingly irritating. It was hard to adjust to not being the master of her own time anymore as she had been on the ship, difficult to be at the beck and call of the Admiralty after so many years of making her own decisions. In the Delta Quadrant she had often wished that the burden of command had not rested solely upon her shoulders, that she'd had the luxury of conferring occasionally with a higher level. But now that she was confronted with those higher ups, she found herself chafing. There were so many things they just didn't understand and that were so hard to explain. Some of the questions didn't even seem to make any sense, or were irrelevant or simplistic. Janeway had to frequently remind herself to remain calm and answer each question to the best of her ability.

Her rising sense of impatience was also heightened by the many things she wanted to do but couldn't. Aside from wanting some time to breathe, spend time with her family and possibly look up some old friends, she wanted to check on her crew, see how they were adjusting. Yet for the most part she only got to see them from a distance, across a crowded briefing room.

She told herself that once the debriefs were over, things would settle down, and she'd be able to shake this restlessness. She didn't understand why she still felt unfulfilled--they were home now, and wasn't this what she wanted? What she'd yearned for and sacrificed so much over the past seven years? What the hell was wrong with her, why wasn't she happy?

Deep down, she felt there was something missing. Something or more accurately, someone who'd always been a part of her homecoming in the past. Mark.

Intellectually, she knew he wouldn't be there, had accepted he'd gone on with his life. She'd thought she was over the pain she'd felt upon learning of his marriage. Hell, she'd moved on as well and had been well on her way to doing so even before receiving his letter. But deep down, "home" still meant Mark's house in the Marina district, the one they'd shared. Not her mother's place in Indiana, and certainly not the sterile Starfleet apartment she'd had, a twin to the one she occupied now.

The first time Mark took her to see the house had been a beautiful clear day in late November. He leaned casually against a tree in the tiny backyard, hands in his pockets, the wind whipping through his dark, curly hair. He raised his voice to be heard over the dog's excited barking, "Well, Kath, what do you think?"

"Down, girl!" Janeway looked up from where she was kneeling on the ground among the leaves, trying to hold the unruly animal back from dashing off to the nearby Marina Green. "Well, Petunia obviously approves of the neighborhood."

"Don't you want to step inside and see what the actual house is like?"

"Not necessary. If it's good enough for Petunia…" she said teasingly. "Oh, all right. Just answer me this: does it have a bathtub?"

"For your information, there is a Jacuzzi in the master suite," he said, drawing her to her feet and leading her indoors. "And there's room for a King-sized bed there as well."

"Then that takes care of my major requirements." She stopped at the entrance to the living room and took in the cathedral ceiling, the built-in bookshelves and the large picture window which afforded a spectacular view of the bay. "Mark, this is absolutely beautiful!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "I thought you'd like it."

He watched as she wandered around, looking into the rest of the rooms. "What's this small room next to the kitchen?"

"I thought you could use it as a study."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Mark, but I can't monopolize your work area. What will you use?"

"I'm claiming the library next to the dining room. Come on, there's more to see."

Knowing she wouldn't be as entranced by the carefully reproduced country-style kitchen, Mark didn't insist they linger but led her straight to the master bedroom. She smiled at the large expanse, the antique moldings and trim, as well as the thoroughly modern fixtures in the bathroom. "It's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "The whole house is just perfect--Mark, you've got to take it."

"Already signed the papers this morning," he said smugly.

She slipped her arms around his neck. "Then what do you say to our inaugurating the place and starting your ownership off on the right foot?'

"A wonderful idea," he answered and lowered her to the floor.

She'd still maintained a separate apartment, located only minutes away from HQ, but that was more of a convenience than a dwelling. She rarely slept there, using it only when Mark was away or when she was keeping highly irregular hours. In later years she'd given some serious thought to simply giving it up altogether. Mark, to his credit, hadn't brought up the subject, perhaps sensing that she needed her own space, needed a physical separation between her life in Starfleet and her time with him.

Mark's house had always been her destination when she'd return from a mission. "You're so nice to come home to," she'd once said, quoting an old song and he had answered seriously, "It's nice to have you home again." She knew that Mark didn't exactly sit around counting the weeks and months while she was away--he had a satisfying and full life of his own--but she knew he meant it.

Every separation was followed by a warm reunion, and then she was off once more. They had followed this pattern for over ten years. During all that time, Janeway knew, their friends and families were waiting for them to take their relationship to the next level. Mark had asked her to marry him, but had never pressured her. Janeway knew she couldn't possibly be more committed to him than she already was, and yet… Marriage to her meant starting a family. Mark never complained about their long separations, but how would they be able to reconcile those periods apart with children and family life?

It was a lot of little things that eventually prompted her to reevaluate her position. Mostly, it was because she'd never accepted limits in the past, so why should she accept now that she would be unable to have both a Starfleet career and family? She'd intended to discuss this with Mark, and then Starfleet had given her Voyager.

State-of-the art design, 15 decks and 700,000 metric tons of sheer perfection. She felt as giddy as a child with a new toy, and spent months poring over the blueprints. Admiral Laurel over at Starship Design had laughed at her enthusiasm. "I knew you'd love it, Kathryn. This is the ship I promised you, all those years ago." She had been touched at his remembering a promise made long ago when she'd done a stint as his assistant. She'd had other commands before Voyager, but this ship was special. She couldn't wait to take her out. Unfortunately, the circumstances that necessitated moving up the launch date by nearly a month made for a less than ideal shakedown cruise.

Mark had contacted her right before the ship left Deep Space 9 for the Badlands. They'd already said their good-byes earlier on Earth, and she was a little surprised by his call. She had been extremely busy with last minute details, but she'd assured him he wasn't bothering her. Their conversation hadn't been of major importance--centering mostly on Bear, Petunia's successor. He'd discovered the reason for the dog's recent "illness" and promised to look after her for the duration. Janeway was touched by his thoughtfulness. After she'd closed the channel, she suddenly found herself very glad that it was only going to be a three-week mission. As Voyager broke orbit a few hours later, she came to a decision. She smiled, thinking of what Mark's reaction would be when she told him she was ready to set a date.

Then fate, in the form of the Caretaker, intervened.

When she was younger, Kathryn had enjoyed the tales of Greek mythology, of heroes and epic quests. One of her favorites had been Odysseus, who returned after 20 years of fantastic adventure to find his Penelope waiting faithfully. He hadn't been forgotten; even his old dog was still anticipating his arrival. Whereas she had returned after only seven years, but there was no one waiting for her. She hadn't wanted Mark to spend his life in mourning for her, had in fact told him this explicitly on more than one occasion. She was truly glad he'd been able to move on with his life, but she still felt a sense of loss.

She'd been alone many times before, but loneliness had taken on new dimensions over the last seven years. It wasn't just the sex she missed; not since her first posting as an ensign had she had a lover on board. Other people sought out involvements with every tour of duty, but for her, romance and all that went with it simply wasn't part of the job.

No, she missed having someone to love, someone who loved her in return. And Mark had been so much more. He'd been her anchor, her rock, her stability in an unstable world. When she was in his arms the outside world ceased to exist, as did the persona of Captain Janeway. She shed her official role as easily as she did her uniform and not until she took it up again did she have to remember her duty as a Starfleet officer.

That had been one of the hardest things about the years in the Delta Quadrant, always being "on", never truly able to relax. Except for the brief interlude when she and Chakotay had been stranded on the planet they named New Earth. It was a forced respite from the role of captain, and one she did not truly enjoy when it was thrust on her and shown every sign of being permanent. Not until their last few days on the planet, in fact…And then there had been a whole new set of complications.

She'd gone through this so many times before, tried repeatedly to define her relationship with her first officer. She was tired of the endless attempts to balance a proper captain-first officer protocol with their growing attraction. For the most part they hadn't been too successful, and had always ended up hurting each other, sometimes worse than others.

The long years in the Delta Quadrant had at least given them several opportunities to repair their relationship, but it was a long, hard road; it often seemed that every step forward was immediately followed by three steps back. Finally, toward the end of the journey they had discovered that two things still remained to them, had always been there no matter how bad the situation between them became. Loyalty and trust. Somehow their friendship was able to survive. And that was enough of a foundation for them to slowly and cautiously begin finding their way to each other.

She found herself thinking more and more about the future these days, but there were simply too many uncertainties. When the debriefs were finally over, when she learned what Starfleet wanted from her, indeed, when she decided what she wanted from Starfleet--what then? She had no idea what Chakotay wanted to do with his life.

She had once told him she couldn't imagine a day without him, and that was true now more than ever. She missed him, missed the daily contact, whether they were working through a life-threatening crisis or simply a stack of monthly reports. She missed spending time with him, missed their meals together in the Mess Hall. Suddenly it seemed like ages since the last time they'd been able to just sit down and talk.

She roused herself from her reverie and glanced at the chronometer. She was going to be late if she didn't hurry. Crossing into the bedroom, she went to the closet and pulled out a uniform, feeling the same quick stab of surprise that she did every morning. She quickly dressed. When she finished, she stood once more in front of the mirror, studying the new style, the gray material that had replaced the familiar red of the years in the Delta Quadrant. Only the narrow strip of turtleneck poking above the jacket's neckline now displayed the command color.

As she fastened on her pips, she remembered a long ago conversation with Phoebe about Starfleet uniforms. At that time, Janeway had recently switched from science track to command, trading blue for red. Phoebe had made a comment about it clashing with her hair. But even her sister acknowledged that the uniform perfectly matched her, on several levels. It seemed that back then everything had been simpler, clearly defined in bold, primary strokes. Now the certainty had been replaced with shades of gray.

It was just a design change, she reminded herself, different colors, different tailoring, somehow more military than the old uniform style had been. Such a little thing, but a reminder once again of how even Starfleet had moved on without them.

She had just finished brushing her hair, wondering once more if she should just let it grow out, when the comm unit signaled. She paused before opening the channel, glancing at the incoming ID, and then broke into a broad smile.

"Hello, Kathryn," said Chakotay.

***

Although he hadn't said it out loud, Chakotay hadn't been looking forward to Voyager's return as much as some of the others on board. The captain, for instance. He'd known from the outset how driven she was to get the ship home, almost to the exclusion of anything else. As with so many other things, her needs had taken center stage for him and her goals had become his own, until he had to struggle to remember that there was nothing left for him personally to go back for.

The Maquis movement was dead. Most of the Maquis were dead as well, their homeworlds devastated by war, their families scattered. The treaty with Cardassia had borne the predicted bitter fruit, even though those warnings had fallen on deaf ears at the time. Chakotay didn't feel vindicated now, nor did it give him any satisfaction to learn that the Cardassians, too, had paid in the end. Not when he considered the destruction of Dorvan, or the devastation on the worlds of the DMZ. Now, after the war, there were still planets under Cardassian "control" that by right should be independent. No, there was very little in the Alpha Quadrant for him to look forward to.

But he'd still gotten caught up in the excitement, in the exhilaration of Voyager's triumphant return. He had smiled to see the crew's reunions with those they'd left behind. But for every joyful event like Harry Kim embracing his parents, or the quiet understated way in which Tuvok greeted his wife T'Pel, there were other, more bittersweet scenes. He remembered Neelix's crestfallen expression upon seeing Samantha Wildman in her husband's arms, the Talaxian's face revealing a tale he'd never told anyone. And Ayala watching Joe Carey and his kids with a hungry, aching look, undoubtedly wondering if he'd ever hold his own children again. They had been forced to flee in the first wave of Jem'Hadar attacks, and more than a year after the war ended, their whereabouts were still unknown. Dalby at least had the dubious comfort of knowing exactly where his brother was--languishing in a Federation prison, along with the other surviving Maquis. The cause they'd been fighting for had long since been rendered moot. But it seemed as though Starfleet was still intent on punishing them.

He'd almost forgotten, out in the Delta Quadrant, what it meant to be Maquis. He had slipped into the role of Starfleet officer almost seamlessly, as if the bitter years since his angry resignation had never occurred. He had thrown himself into being Janeway's right hand and chief supporter, and incredibly, had found a measure of peace. He hadn't been the only one. After the tension of the first few years, he and most of the others had settled comfortably into life on board Voyager, been welded into a unified crew, devoted to captain and cause. Only now, back in the heart of the Federation, did he remember that the uniform was just a façade.

He felt trapped, as he hadn't since he was caught on the rickety stairs leading to the surface of the Ocampa homeworld, sure he was going to die. Then Paris had come back for him, on Janeway's orders, and hauled him to safety. Even a short time later, when he set his ship for a collision course with the Kazon vessel, he knew Janeway would pull him out in time. He hadn't expected her to throw him and the rest of his crew into the brig for the next 70 years, but he'd been pleasantly surprised when she offered to fully integrate them into her crew. A rash decision perhaps, but one born of necessity. He wondered now what would be the repercussions of that act in the Alpha Quadrant.

Starfleet had not made any official pronouncement concerning the Maquis, not yet. The Admirals politely turned aside all questions, giving the excuse that they needed to be in full possession of all the facts before any decisions could be made. Chakotay, Torres and the rest had been undergoing full debriefing sessions on a daily basis, just like the Starfleet members of the crew. There were no overt distinctions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Maquis were being eyed somewhat askance. And in the last few days, he couldn't help but notice that the Maquis crew was increasingly being isolated in separate debriefs. Most of the questioning dealt with events that had occurred during the first two years of the journey. Questions centering on Seska, Jonas and Suder. Instances of insubordination, when the captain's orders had been ignored.

That wasn't the only topic of questioning, of course. He also was thoroughly cross-examined about all their contacts with the Borg, particularly when he was temporarily in command. Did he adequately convey his reservations to the captain about forming an alliance with the Borg against Species 8472? Why had he been so quick to break the alliance once the captain was incapacitated? What exactly had transpired when he had been "assimilated", as one Admiral persisted in referring to the time he was linked to Riley's mini-Collective? Why had he agreed with Janeway's plan this past year for herself and two other crewmembers to be deliberately assimilated?

He caught himself thinking longingly of the earlier sessions, when he shared a debriefing room with the captain. Those question and answer periods weren't any less exhausting than any of the others, of course, but he didn't mind them as much. Those were the only times he had been able to see the captain since they got back. When he wasn't answering a question he was able to observe her, and he was struck once more by her ability to perform under pressure, her remarkable strength of character. He knew she was probably even more exhausted than he was--he could see the weariness in her face, in the way she held herself. But her whole attitude was so calm and collected, the same grace she'd always displayed under fire.

That was what had attracted him to her in the first place, what he at once most loved and hated about her--her cool demeanor, her "never let them see you sweat" attitude. No surprise there. He'd always been attracted to strong women. But at the same time he found himself wanting to help protect her, to take some of the heat away from her. But Kathryn Janeway seldom acknowledged that she wasn't invincible, rarely admitted that she couldn't do it all alone. The times when she allowed him to get past the facade were few and far between.

Over the years, they'd had a complicated relationship encompassing both their professional and personal lives. More than once the line had blurred until even they couldn't tell anymore where one ended and the other began. This had been a never-ending source of friction between them and it had blown up on more than one occasion. But every time he thought the chasm was too great to be bridged, something managed to bring them back together once more.

Now that they were no longer in the Delta Quadrant, he didn't know if it would be easier or harder for them to have the kind of relationship they both obviously wanted and needed. It was too soon to tell. First of all, they needed to finish their business with Starfleet. And then? He had no answers, only questions. How could he ask her to be a part of his life if he didn't even know what that would entail? He wasn't sure he'd even be given the option of staying in Starfleet, much less if he was going to accept it. And what did she want?

One thing he did know for sure. He missed her, missed their daily contact with each other. He had been holding back since their return, not wanting to bother her or interfere as she began picking up the threads of her former existence. But now he came to a sudden decision. He was going to call her and to hell with Starfleet or anything else coming between them any more.

Any trepidation he'd had was banished instantly when her image appeared on his screen. "Chakotay! What a pleasant surprise!" She seemed genuinely glad to see him. "How have you been doing?"

"Not bad," he said, beginning to breathe a little easier. "That is, considering I've been cooped up with a bunch of steely-eyed admirals for the last two weeks. Some of them could even give your death glare a run for its money."

She laughed appreciatively. "I'll take that under advisement. " She paused for a moment. "I've been meaning to call you, but somehow--"

"Too worn out at the end of the day," he finished. "Same here."

She made a face. "I'd rather face a Traychan beast than spend another day going over the same data for the umpteenth time." She then caught herself. "Well, it's bound to end sooner or later. Even Admiral Cobum has to run out of things to say at some point."

"In other words, you think there's a light at the end of the tunnel."

"Yes." She grinned. "Let's just hope it's not an oncoming shuttle."

"Did you have to bring up shuttlecrafts?" he said in mock dismay.

"Sorry. I know that's a sore point for you," she said, her eyes dancing in amusement. "I heard Starfleet did a final accounting and came up with the exact number of shuttles you managed to wreck over the years."

"Now wait just a second," he said, holding up a hand. "Their tally is way off. For starters, not all of those shuttles were a total loss. The majority were as good as new after a few repairs. But Starfleet didn't make the distinction."

"Uh huh," she said skeptically.

He shot her a look and continued. "And furthermore, I wasn't always the pilot. There were plenty of times that someone else was at the controls."

"I can tell you've been rehearsing your defense," she said. "So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?"

"Do I need a reason, Kathryn?"

"No, you don't," she said softly. "I've missed you."

"So have I," he answered. "And you know what I miss most?"

"What?"

"Having dinner together. What do you say we meet at Rutigilano's this evening after we're each done with our respective briefings, say at 1800?"

"That'd be wonderful," she said immediately. "But better make it a little later. I can't guarantee when they're going to cut me loose."

"All right, 1900 then."

"It's a date."

He smiled at her choice of words. "Great. And maybe I can shake my 'watchdog' for a change."

"Excuse me?"

"Ensign Charles Oliver. My eager and officious liaison officer who dogs my heels every time I set foot outside my apartment."

Her lips twitched. "I know what you mean. On the one hand, I'm glad I've got someone to run interference for me, but at the same time, Jarvik's endless fussiness drives me up a wall."

He snorted. "That seems to be a common characteristic. There are times I'm absolutely itching to knock some sense into him."

"Engaging in abuse of lower officers, Commander?"

He shook his head. "I'm tempted, but Oliver is so eager to please he'd probably enjoy it. Or at the very least, ask for more."

She gave him a look. "I'm going to ignore that." The front door signaled. "I've got to go. Until tonight?"

"See you then." He smiled before breaking the contact.

***

At the end of a long and grueling day sitting in conference room beta-47, Janeway was glad she had a pleasant evening to look forward to. On the other hand, the anticipation was making it harder for her to listen patiently to the droning Admiral. She supposed she should be grateful that someone other than herself was speaking at the moment. She had been in the "hot seat" all day, the only person present other than the cadre of Admirals.

She'd been surprised not to see B'Elanna Torres there as well. For all the griping about the debrief sessions, there was a method to Starfleet's madness. They had a schedule of sorts worked out, detailing which topics would be covered each day, as well as which personnel were expected to attend each session. This was usually made available one or two days in advance.

Janeway's first inkling of any changes had been when Jarvik steered her past the scheduled conference room. "Where are we going?"

"There's been a change of plans for today, ma'am," the ensign said smoothly. No matter how many times she had told him that she didn't care for that form of address, Jarvik still persisted in using it. She bit back a sigh. She was getting too old to break in new ensigns.

"Why?" she asked, although she really didn't expect to get anything out of him.

"I wasn't informed, Captain." No surprise there. Well, at least he hadn't called her ma'am again. Maybe there was still hope for young Ensign Dante Jarvik.

She soon found that the venue was not the only difference. Instead of a technical discussion on Voyager's efforts toward perfecting the slipstream drive, she found herself being questioned on a variety of unrelated topics. Seska's attempts to give replicator technology to the Kazon, Tuvok's "training classes" for some of the former Maquis, how a Hirogen hunting party had managed to take over Voyager and the conditions of the cease-fire. As well as many other questions dealing with the Vaadwar, Species 8472 and the Borg. There was no pattern to any of it; it almost seemed to Janeway like a randomizer was used to generate which question would be asked next. Well, that was not entirely true. For the last two hours, the questions had centered on the circumstances surrounding her short-lived alliance with the Borg, a topic that had been covered in-depth the first week.

Finally, Janeway had had enough. "Excuse me, if I may ask a question now--how much longer is this going to take?"

"We should be finished shortly," Admiral Cobum answered. His tone indicated that he didn't particularly care for her question.

"Not today's session--the whole process. This has been going on for weeks, a virtually unheard of amount of time for a standard post-mission debrief."

"But this isn't a standard situation," interjected Necheyev, for once breaking her silence. She had been content for the most part to sit back and allow others to take the active role. "Voyager's circumstances were far from ordinary, as I'm sure you will agree. Seven years in the Delta Quadrant--"

"Of which you've already received all pertinent information, including mission logs, sensor readings and astrometric data, in addition to the myriad reports you requested prior to our return to Federation space." Janeway knew it was bad form to interrupt a superior officer--Necheyev in particular didn't take kindly to such things--but plunged ahead recklessly. "If I may ask, just what are you looking for?"

Necheyev gave her a chilly smile. "I understand your impatience, Captain, and I sympathize." Then, as if she had spent all the time allotted for conciliatory remarks, she went on briskly, "Well, I suppose we can wrap it up for today, if there are no objections?" She glanced at her fellow Admirals. "Good. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at 0800. Dismissed."

Janeway stood at attention as the Admirals passed before her, then sank wearily into her seat. She closed her eyes momentarily. When the last sounds of shuffling feet died away, she rose once more and sighed. She hadn't really expected to get a straight answer from Necheyev, but it had been worth a try.

A quick check of the time told her it was already after 1800. She would have to hurry. As she headed toward the exit, she briefly debated stopping off at her apartment first, before meeting Chakotay for dinner. Time was a factor, of course, but more importantly, she wasn't sure if it would be better to show up in her uniform or not. She didn't want to send him the wrong message. Although she'd be damned if she knew just what message she did want to convey. She shook her head at her own foolishness and continued down the corridor.

"Captain Janeway!"

Turning around, she saw Owen Paris coming toward her and waited for him to catch up.

He gave her a quick hug. "How are you, Kathryn?"

"Fine, Owen. It's good to be back."

"How are you adjusting? Finding things changed around here?"

She laughed. "In terms of red tape and bureaucracy, some things will never change. Starfleet owes us one hell of a party when this is all over."

He looked startled and then said, "Oh, right. After the debriefs. Incidentally, how are those going? Knowing you, you're probably champing at the bit by now."

She grimaced. "You might say that. Sitting around with the brass was never my idea of a good time."

"I don't know about that, Kathryn," he said lightly, "I seem to recall your spending pleasurable time in my company."

"That's because you're not a stuffy old admiral."

"I appreciate the sentiment," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But Alyana Necheyev isn't exactly old."

"But she certainly is a stuffed shirt."

"You'll get no argument from me there. Off the record, that is."

"Of course." She went on, "Getting back to the 'welcome home' celebrations, I remember in the good old days those used to be held within a few days of a ship's return. I guess things have changed. But it'd still be nice for them to show their appreciation in some way. After all, we're heroes," she finished sardonically.

He looked as though he was about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. "Everything in good time, Kathryn."

She glanced surreptitiously at her chronometer, and began edging away. "Well, it's been nice running into you like this, Owen, but I really should be on my way."

He reached out and caught her arm. "Kathryn, wait. I was wondering if you had a few moments? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

She hesitated. She could guess what this was about. Tom, or more specifically, how the Admiral and his son were getting along these days. This was a topic she really did want to sit down and discuss with Owen, but it wasn't going to be a short conversation, nor did it deserve to be. "I'm sorry, Owen," she said regretfully. "I've got plans for dinner--in fact, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry." She touched his arm apologetically. "How about a rain check?"

He smiled tightly. "All right, then. Another time. I hope you enjoy your evening."

She nodded and continued on her way. As she turned to exit onto the street level, she happened to look back. He was still standing where she had left him, a thoughtful and troubled look on his face.

***

By 2000 hours, the thought occurred to her that she would have been able to go home and change after all. She glanced down at her uniform in distaste, then signaled the waiter for another synthale. Still no sign of Chakotay. She craned her neck, but from her vantage point she really couldn't see the entrance. If only she'd remained at the bar and declined to be seated. But running late as she was, she'd thought he'd already be waiting for her.

The waiter deposited the glass at her elbow. "Would you like anything else, Captain?" Translation: she was taking up space.

She forced a smile. "No, thank you. I'll wait for my friend." She paused. "Would it be possible for you to notify me when he arrives? He's about 1.8 meters tall--"

"Dark hair and eyes, and a tattoo on his left temple," finished the waiter with a knowing smile. She colored slightly. "Don't worry, Captain, when he comes in, you'll be the first to know."

Half an hour later, she was starting to get worried. It wasn't like Chakotay to be so late. She wondered if he'd gotten hung up at HQ. She tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Chakotay." Nothing. She tried again, this time speaking a little louder. No response, except a glare from the couple at the next table. She rose and went out into the corridor outside the ladies' room and tried once more.

It was possible his comm badge was malfunctioning, or else he wasn't wearing it. She decided to try his apartment, on the off chance he was there. She went back through the dining room and made her way to the bar, intending to ask where the nearest public comm was.

The restaurant was growing more crowded, and people were lined up at the bar. She tried to catch the bartender's eye, but he wasn't looking in her direction. He was focusing instead on the wall-mounted vidscreen. So were most of the people in the vicinity. She glanced that way as well and then, through a babble of excited voices, caught the announcer's words.

"…has been detained by Security, along with other members of his Maquis cell. Sources at Starfleet report that the 'Voyager Maquis' are going to be arraigned tomorrow morning on charges of conspiracy, treason and murder. Speculation has already begun on whether the charges will be reduced or even dropped completely, because of the mitigating circumstances of the Maquis' service on board Voyager. But if that were the case---"

She stood frozen in place for a few seconds, her mind refusing to take in what she had just heard. Then she slapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Admiral Hayes."

There was a slight delay before she heard, "Hayes here."

"Admiral, what the hell is going on?"
 

FINIS

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