I am happy.

It is boldly written in reddish-brown lipstick across the mirror of my bathroom. I can read it clearly while I'm trying to get ready for the five year reunion party tonight. While I'm desperately trying to care what dress I'm going to wear, and to put on some make-up.

But I keep looking at the proverbial writing on the wall. Shaky writing. Written in a fit of what? Rage, anger, scorn? I'm not sure I even have the energy for such emotions anymore. Maybe it's a glimpse of the pent-up sadness and the selfdeprivation that is stored deep inside of me. That is kept down by a thick layer of dullness, strength of will to not feel anything anymore. Least of all happy.

I should concentrate on the make-up. Conceal the dark circles under my eyes. Disguise whatever I have become and try to restore the Captain.

Maybe, if they don't serve synthenol only, I'll even forget I'm not the Captain anymore. If just for tonight. I can't let this crew down. There are loyal, even to this day.

The Captain can deal with this party tonight. Kathryn can't.

I am happy. It is written across the black silk dress I've finally decided to wear. It is written across the too thin figure I see in the mirror. The Captain never looked like this. But the Captain had friends looking out for her, some in particular, making sure she was all right. Telling her she was not alone.

There is nobody there to look out for Kathryn. Not anymore. And believe me, in five years I've learnt what it means to be alone.

Not that I don't do my job, not that I don't work. After five years I'm still occupied with all the data Voyager brought home. There wasn't exactly time during the war, and I was assigned on a space mission almost right away. My choice, and I've never regretted it. That's what keeps me going. A mission, the responsibilities of having an entire crew serving under me.

I just never wanted the responsibility for a single person. A single heart, looking at me for peace.

I have friends, many friends, acquaintances, business relations. A dog. But I don't have a family anymore.

My mother died a year after we made it back and Phoebe lives far away now, rebuilding one of the regained Federation Colonies. So are Mark and his wife, his children.

I sometimes find myself calling Q, asking for my godchild. He has not answered so far.

The Voyager crew is still my family. But I try to avoid seeing them without being too obvious about it. It hurts too much. Every member of my former crew, every life, every story they tell reminds me of what I had there. Of what I lost. Of who I've lost.

And it is no comfort to know it's mostly my fault. I'm still trying to figure out how I could have betrayed myself that much. Why I never realized it when there was still time, and why it suddenly became so painfully obvious when I learned of his relationship with Seven.

Of all people, dear god. Seven. The joke's on me, my friend leaving me for my... protégé. Even though this is not true. It's uncalled for, it's disgusting, and disrespectful to the two people I loved most in that distant part of space. Even though I want to be happy for them.

I tried to feel it in the beginning, tried to still spend time with both of them. Tried to let crewmembers talk to me about it, tried to listen to their conversations. I've tried to regard it as something beautiful, something joyous. Then I've tried not to look at them anymore, not to think about them every time. I've failed to do any of it.

He would still be my friend, if I could let him. And Seven would still seek me out for things she wants to discuss with me. I could have been a godmother to their twins. But as things are, I had to look up their names in a message B'Elanna sent me recently. Of course I got an official announcement and a long personal letter upon their birth, but I've deleted it long ago.

He knows. And I could not endure their clearly displayed happiness nor the barely disguised pity I saw in his eyes when I listened to the message. He tried to hide it, I'm sure, but I know it is there. Yes, I used to know him very well. Or so I thought. His relationship to Seven – I never saw it coming.

Although it probably figures, I think, walking Starfleet Headquarter grounds. The party must have already started, but I don't want to be one of the first. There is no way you can avoid talking to people when there are only a few guests around. Yes, it figures. He needs someone to look out for. Someone who shows him that he's needed. And Seven – she has grown into a remarkable woman. Not afraid to admit that she needs love. Oh, I needed it too, needed love. Hell, I still need it, more than ever. But I never learnt to tell. Either of them.

And I still find myself looking for them, as I finally find the strength to walk through the doors. And unsurprisingly it still works. Even in a room as crowded as this, I will make them out within seconds. Though this time it's not too hard, really. Almost everybody is gathered around them, looking at the twins. Seven is holding one, Chakotay the other.

Nobody notices me standing at the entrance. Nobody but him. Unsurprisingly a part of him is still with me, as he has promised ten years ago. He looks up from his sons face, his eyes gracing over Seven and his daughter before he meets my eyes. He is smiling.

He is happy.