A/N: I haven't thanked MissyHissy3 for the past couple of chapters, but she's been wonderful as always. Especially since she's had vastly more important things to do this week than reading my Trekkie drivel, yet she did it anyway.

Twenty One

We materialise on the bridge of the Dieglian just as Tom's raising the shields and cloak. He gets up from the ship's controls and crosses the space between us in two long strides, crushing B'Elanna to him as soon as I let her go. I step away and drag my helmet off, gaze fixed on the viewscreen.

In front of us the cube is still teetering on the edge of full death, but its mutilated limbs have already fractured. The space before us looks like the aftermath of a destroyed planet, rings of debris radiating out in the wake of the successive shockwaves. I can see the 'fleet shuttles that have survived exiting what's left of the Borg ship as the Section 31 evacuation continues, and I know instinctively that for an operation of this size there will be more bodies than room to accommodate them.

I rip off the rest of my suit as I head for helm and slide into Tom's seat. I scan for lifesigns and there are at least a hundred still left on the cube. I look up again as fierce light blooms and an explosion big enough to pulverise most ships takes out one ripped wing.

"Has this ship got a brig?"

"Only a small one," Tom says, as he and B'Elanna move to stand at my shoulder. "Why? What are you thinking?"

I stand up, making way for the Dieglian's true pilot. "We need to start saving lives."

"What?" B'Elanna's voice explodes out of her with as much force as one of the shockwaves out there. "Save them? After everything they've done? To Seven? To Kathryn? You're out of your mind!"

I spin to face her. "We have to mitigate this. Do you understand? If you and Tom don't want to be on the run for the rest of your damn lives, we have to mitigate this. Saving lives is a start. Seal off one of the decks – shut it down, cut all power except emergency life support. Forcefields at every turbodoor and Jeffries tube entrance – and any other nook or cranny they might be able to break through. Then we start beaming them in, as many as we can before that thing loses structural integrity entirely."

B'Elanna shakes her head, still incensed, but Tom speaks up.

"He's right, B'E. We have to."

"Make it happen. Do it now," I tell her.

Another explosion lights up our viewscreen and in the time it takes me to turn away from the glare, B'Elanna has moved to one of the Dieglian's engineering consoles. She keys in commands and in less than a minute she's done what I asked.

"Deck nine," she says. "I've added Benzodiazepine to the air supply. Should knock them out for a while, at least."

Tom starts beaming over whatever Section 31 personnel he can. He grabs them in batches of ten, timing each transport between the shockwaves so he can raise the Dieglian's shields to weather each storm as the cube continues to break up. The force of the Borg ship's death throes shakes us and rattles the Dieglian's bones, but she holds firm.

"That's it!" Tom exclaims, eventually. "No more lifesigns over there. They're either here or in their own shuttles."

"Then let's get out of here before she blows completely."

"Where to?"

I lean over his shoulder and key in the same coordinates I used in Seven's escape pod. Tom nods and pushes us into low warp. Within seconds the mess behind us has vanished, replaced by the whirl of passing stars.

I suck in what feels like my first breath in hours and step back. I can't really take in everything that's happened. I can't process it. Yet we're going to have to formulate a plan. We're going to have to work out where to take Seven, for a start. She's going to need treatment and what will probably be a long convalescence, somewhere no one will find her or even think to look for her. She can't stay aboard my ship, it's too small and we have virtually no medical supplies. I wonder what Kathryn's plan was. She must have had one, knowing that she wasn't going to get out to help Seven herself…

Kathryn.

Kathryn…

I shut my eyes and think of her, and the instant memory that blooms before me is the image of that tiny figure spiralling away into eternity, but I push that away. That's not how I want to remember her – helpless and lost – when that wasn't ever, even during her very worst days, how she was in life. Instead I go back to the last chance I ever had to hold her, the chance I should have used to pull her against me and once and for all leave her in absolutely no doubt of what she meant to me. That moment in the cargo bay when she looked at me with that smile, the same bright, unfettered gesture that turned me inside out with hope more than once during our days on Voyager.

The pain hits me like a sledgehammer, smashing me full in the chest with such tangible physicality that I suck in a breath and struggle not to bend double over the wound. I'm fighting the urge to lash out, to smash something in an act that may help transfer some of this feeling into pain of another, fixable sort, when Tom speaks.

"Approaching the coordinates. Sensors are showing a ship – it's small…"

I swallow hard, shoving it all down deep, somewhere it can't overwhelm me. There'll be time for grief later. Plenty of time. The rest of my life.

"That's my ship," I say. "Ayala's at the helm."

Tom nods. "Hailing," he says, and then, a moment later, "He's responding. Audio only."

That's not unusual – just another part of our ship that needs repair. "Mike?"

"Chakotay? Holy smoke – is that you? Where are you?"

"I'll explain later," I tell him. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," Mike says. "I've got someone here I think you're going to want to see."

I rub a hand over my face, relieved – I was almost afraid to ask whether Seven had made it or not.

"Ayala – it's Tom Paris here," says Tom. "We can't beam you through the cloak and I don't want to drop it."

"Fair enough. Got a suggestion?"

"If you're up for some fancy flying, I think you can make it into one of the cargo bays."

"Hang the lights out for me, Paris," Ayala drawls. "Let me show you a thing or two."

Tom grins as he opens the cargo bay doors and clears the cloak. Together the three of us watch the little ship come about and edge closer.

B'Elanna rests a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Let me take helm. You should go with Chakotay. Seven's going to need your medical training."

"The EMH can be there," Tom tells her. "He's mobile-emitter equipped and will be able to deal with whatever injuries she has far better than I can."

"No.." B'Elanna flicks me a look as she says, "I think she's had enough of machines for one lifetime. She'll need you. You'll understand when you see her. They treated her like just another computer component, Tom. The machine they had her connected to – she was wasting away."

Tom and I don't talk much on the way to the cargo bay. I'm too preoccupied with trying to figure out what we're going to do next. We walk in to find most of the space taken up by my ship – Ayala's done a good job of parking her fair and square in the middle of what's turned out to be an even tighter space than I remember. The hatch opens as we approach and Mike appears a minute later, boots clanging on the ramp. Someone else follows him down and for a split second I'm astonished that Seven has managed to recover so quickly.

Then she steps out from the ship's shadow and my universe turns inside out.

It's not Seven.

It's Kathryn.

It's Kathryn Janeway… alive… here – now.

She stops at the bottom of the ramp, hands loose at her sides, watching me. There's a light in her eyes and her lips are curled into a slight smile. I stare at her, unable to breathe, unable to move. As I watch she glances down at herself and waves her hands slightly to indicate what she's wearing.

"I borrowed another of your shirts," she says. "Ayala seemed to think you wouldn't mind."

[TBC]