NOTE: Sorry this took so long. Big work project + softball injury + no running for two weeks = writer's block. Worst case I've had since college, probably. I'm clear to run and play ball again, finally, which always clear my head. So the rest of this should go better. More soon.

ROAD TRIP

Part 2

You are drifting in that murky darkness between restless sleep and full wakefulness when the foghorn sounds.

Your cramped little apartment is a good two kilometers from the Golden Gate, but the horns are still audible at this distance. You've come to know them well in the weeks away from Voyager. You know which pitch originates mid-span and which comes from the south tower. The horns have become a low, rolling background to your dreams, and they're no longer enough to rouse you from sleep. But today the intermittent moan has a melodious counterpoint, something high-pitched and insistent that demands your attention.

It takes a full minute for you to sort the sound of an incoming comm from the rumble of the horns, and another few seconds of furtive slapping at your chest for you to realize you are not wearing a uniform or a comm badge.

With a groan, you lever yourself up from the sofa and lurch across the living room. Two steps into the journey, your shin collides with the corner of the coffee table. You bark out a curse at the shock, and then another when the empty whiskey glass rolls off the table and falls on your bare toes, curled against the chilly floor.

By the time you make it to your desk to answer the comm, your mouth is dry and your head is throbbing along with your shin and you remember just how much you had to drink last night. Running a hand through your still-sweaty hair you fall into the desk chair and activate the comm.

"Chakotay here," you sigh.

The comm screen flickers, and the shadowy image coalesces in to the long, thin face of Moe Crall. He's in uniform, but his fair hair is standing on end, as if he were just awakened, too. "She's here," the Counselor says without preamble.

You blink and wait for more details, but Moe offers nothing. "Who's where?"

Moe glances over his shoulder and turns back to you. "Captain Janeway. She's here."

Instantly awake, you sit up and note the setting behind Moe: a comm station in an open control room. A handful of uniformed officers stand behind him, peering intently at their consoles. "At HQ?"

Moe nods. "She talked her way through the first security checkpoint before they could call me."

"She's trying to get to Voyager," you say, somewhat unnecessarily; it's the only reason she'd have to talk her way through security, and the only reason Moe would call you.

"I'm not sure how long we can stall her for you."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

You are out of your chair and halfway across the apartment before Moe can close the connection.

You grab for your boots and belatedly realize that you are still in your running clothes from the night before, which now reek of stale sweat and alcohol. The time it'll cost you is regrettable, but it can't be helped. Losing two minutes to the sonic shower is preferable to facing Kathryn while you smell like Tom Paris after three days of shore leave.

Cleaner and somewhat more presentable in your new gray uniform with full Commander's pips, you signal for a site-to-site. As the beam takes you, the foghorn echoes again in the distance. The sound pounds through your head, and you wish you'd taken the time for a detox spray. And a big glass of water.

=/\=

Moe meets you in the transporter room. "Where is she?" you demand as you step down from the pad. Your bruised shin protests; you ignore it. "Did she board?"

"About five minutes ago. The second security team held her up as long as they could."

Moe waves you out of the transporter room and to the right into a deserted corridor. "She kept telling them she'd left something behind and she needed to find it."

You nod. You know the feeling. "How about the third checkpoint?"

Moe chuckles. "She threatened to call Owen Paris and they let her through."

"She'd have done it."

"I know. That's why I told them to just let her go."

The two of you round a sharp corner and enter the control room, where a schematic of Voyager's interior is displayed on the main viewscreen. "What's she been doing?"

"Just wandering. She went to the Bridge first and stayed there for a few minutes, then went into the Ready Room, the Conference Room, some of the control rooms."

When you realize there's a moving green dot on the schematic, you frown. "She won't thank you for tracking her movements."

Moe ignores you. "I think she scared the tech team half to death when she beamed aboard."

You give him a grim smile. "I'm sure she did."

"Most of them are back at posts now."

Minutes pass while you and Moe watch the green dot meander from room to room, deck to deck. When you close your eyes, you can visualize the journey she's making – the empty corridors, the quiet spaces, the hush that can't quite drown out the echo of remembered voices. You sensed them when you were there, the shadows of the living and the dead, and you felt haunted by their presence…until you reached your quarters, where you finally slept in silent darkness.

The green dot doubles back on itself near the lower observation port on the underside of the primary hull.

"What's she doing?" Moe mutters, half to himself.

"Looking for something," you answer automatically. When Moe cocks an eyebrow at you, you shake your head. "We'll know when she finds it."

The green dot wanders a moment longer…and then stops at the center of the lower primary hull. You peer at the schematic for a tense second, and gasp. An opportunity has just presented itself to you, and you have no intention of letting it slip away. Not this time. "I have to get aboard," you say, turning to Moe. "I have to go to Voyager."

Moe raises both eyebrows at you. "Why?"

You push past him and head back to the transporter room at a fast jog. "I think I know what she's doing."

Moe trots along behind you. "What's going on?" he calls. "We can't just let you board, Commander. We don't know what she's-"

You skid to a halt and turn on the young counselor. You take a deep breath and offer the truth. "I think she's going to take the Aerowing."

Moe's mouth falls open.

"But I can keep her from going too far," you continue, mindful of the time passing, formulating a plan even as you reassure Moe Crall of your intentions. "I think I can keep her here. But I have to get aboard."

"You're sure she's not going to run?"

You chuckle and start off down the corridor again, offering two more truths as you go. "No, I think she is going to run. But I might be able to stop her."

Moe darts down the corridor behind you. "We should call Admiral Paris."

"Won't matter," you call over your shoulder. "She won't listen to him. Not this time."

"Why not?" Moe catches up to you and grabs your arm. "Why not, Commander?"

Furious, you whirl on him. "Because she's done, Moe," you growl. "She's done with all of this, as much as I was a week ago." Images from your long, emotionally fraught debriefing flit through your memory. If mine was bad, hers had to have been worse. "She's had enough of answering professional questions that become personal and giving painful answers. She's done reliving the last seven years in detail, and she's ready to move on." So are you, you realize. You are ready, finally, for this moment, this confrontation, whatever it turns out to be. "Paris can order her to stay," you continue. "Get Nechayev and Hayes here if you want. She'll gladly ignore them, too."

"But you think you can keep her here?"

"I know I can," you say. "I may be the only one who can, and you're wasting time."

Staring at you, Moe clenches his jaw. "All right," he finally nods. "But I'm coming with you."

You nod and dash off down the corridor, Moe hot on your heels.

Seven years together. Seven years of wary cooperation, careful camaraderie, warm friendship, and quiet tension have led you this moment, to this decision you have just made.

He can try, but where you and Kathryn are going, Moe Crall can't follow.

No one can.

=/\=

The Bridge is full of techs. Upon entry, you pause for an instant, torn between reveling in the familiar activity and bristling at the unfamiliar faces.

As you step down to the center seats, the ship's comm sounds, and Kathryn's distinctive voice fills the Bridge. "Aerowing to Voyager."

A nervous tech steps to the Ops station, and you wonder briefly what Harry's doing right now. "Yes, Captain?"

"Release the Aerowing's docking clamps, Lieutenant."

The young tech glances around the Bridge, but no one offers guidance. He falls back on his training. "Captain, I am obligated by regulations to ask if you have logged a flight plan."

You suppress a sigh of irritation. These kids and their rules. They should all go get lost in the Delta Quadrant for a few years and see just how far those rules will take them.

Kathryn's voice returns, far too calm for your liking. "I have not logged a flight plan, Lieutenant. Please release the docking clamps."

The tech notices you standing in the center of the Bridge. You hold up one finger. "Stand by, Captain," he says, as much to you as to her.

You turn to Moe. "Let her go," you say.

Moe flushes bright red. "I thought you said you could get her to stay."

"I can," you reply, "but first we have to let her go." Moe gives you a wary look. "She takes the Aerowing out to survey the ship," you explain. "She used to do it a few times a year. Let her do it one last time. Then I can bring her in." Not, Then I will bring her in. You hope Moe hasn't heard the evasion. You step up beside the tech at Ops. "She needs this, Moe." We need this. We have to do this. We have to try. "I asked you to call me if she tried to board because I wanted to talk to her. This is the only way she'll let me get close to her." The tech beside you frowns. You ignore him. "This has to be on her terms, and these are her terms. I have to let her go before I can bring her back." Your heart hammers against your ribs.

The young counselor hesitates, then nods once at both you and the tech, who activates the comm. "Prepare for release, Captain," he says.

You motion the tech to stand aside and release the docking clamps yourself. You hide your sigh of relief from Moe, who has surely sensed by now that the situation is far more than it seems, even if he hasn't guessed your exact intentions.

When the Aerowing's telemetry data starts to stream in, you tap your fingertips against the console in satisfaction. "Clear the Bridge," you order without looking up, and hold your breath.

You feel everyone in the room turn their eyes to Moe Crall, who pauses, hisses a curse, and steps past you. "I hope you know what you're doing," he mutters, and all the techs fall in behind him.

As the Bridge doors slide closed, leaving you in solitude and silence, you keep your eyes fixed on the telemetry data. Kathryn flies the Aerowing along Voyager's belly and up over the shuttlebay, where she turns and brings her vessel over the top of Voyager, aft to fore, headed for the primary hull.

"So do I," you murmur. "So do I."

-END Part 2-