CHAPTER 6

Jupiter Station

Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres was not happy.

"If you had listened to me the first time, we wouldn't have wasted the last two hours on a security system that wouldn't protect it from a targ!" B'Elanna's face flushed with frustration as her voice grew lower and more dangerous with each passing word.

"I'm a doctor, not a security officer, LC, so it's not really my fault now is it?" Doctor Lewis Zimmerman rolled his eyes to the ceiling as annoyance marred his already craggy features. "You're the so called expert on the autonomous self-sustaining mobile holo-emitter, so fix it!"

"Mobile emitter! Is it so hard to just say mobile emitter? And stop calling me 'LC'!" B'Elanna's roar of frustration filled Doctor Zimmerman's office, which was set in the heart of the Jupiter Station.

Six days ago when Admiral Janeway had signed off on B'Elanna's request to recruit the modern father of holotechnology to assist her in reinforcing security measures on the prototype of the newly commissioned emitter for permanent use she had said to Janeway, "I've dealt with the Doctor for seven years I think I can handle this guy".

The look on the Admiral's face then had given B'Elanna a moment's pause, there had been a look of godly knowing. But B'Elanna had shaken it off, self-assured as she was. Now it took all of her patience not to knock Doctor Zimmerman over the head with a hyperspanner.

"I can say it just fine, I am a genius after all, LC. My point is that your term is imprecise." Zimmerman crunched down hard on his breadstick, a few crumbs escaped from his lips as he stalked around his lab, plate in hand. "When your Admiral Jane asked me to take time out of my busy schedule to help you out with this project that is obviously so far above your ridged head, I had hoped you'd be a bit more capable than this."

A growl emitted from the woman that would have intimidated the sturdiest of people, this man however either didn't notice the warning or didn't care.

"If you'd allocate more energy to the structural integrity grid like I had suggested then we wouldn't be having trouble with the shield array now." More crunching followed this proclamation and thus he missed the look of murderous intent shot his way.

The less than flattering and very loudly spoken Klingon expletive however did draw his attention.

"You kiss your baby with that mouth?" Zimmerman had to admit he liked this woman, she was so easily provoked.

The baby in question, Miral Torres-Paris, was presently with her godfather, which Zimmerman had to admit surprised him in a most pleasant way. He felt proud of this particular Mark One EMH of his in a way that was unusual for him. The only other person he felt this way towards was… "Haley? Haley!"

The sandy haired elfin featured woman entered calmly at the almost hysterical summons. "Yes, Doctor?"

Haley's voice had a melodic quality to it that had reminded B'Elanna of Kes when she had first been introduced to Doctor Zimmerman's assistant. What had surprised B'Elanna to learn after two days at the Jupiter Station was that Haley was a hologram, she had thought that to be the reason why any seemingly sentient being could stand being in the presence of the acerbic doctor for any extended period of time, but she had been told that aside from maintenance Haley's program had been left unchanged since her inception. Her daughter's godfather aside, B'Elanna thought Haley a particularly impressive feat of holotechnology. Not that she'd tell this petaQ that.

"Get Reginald up here, at least he knows something about holography!" Zimmerman let the forgotten plate of salad clatter atop a workstation as he once again stalked about his lab. "People think since you can manage a warp core you can do anything."

"Mr. Barclay is at Starfleet Academy." Haley's voice betrayed no inflections aside from infinite patience.

"What?! When did this happen?" Zimmerman threw his hands up as he displayed the epitome of exasperation. "Why am I the last to be told about everything?"

"He informed you when he left ten days ago." Haley recalled the moment perfectly. Reginald Barclay had told the two of them with a beaming smile that he had been asked to take over for Admiral Janeway as the instructor for Interquadrant Communications. Doctor Zimmerman had been so engrossed in the new holospy program that he had merely grunted with irritation in response.

"Well, I guess I'm stuck with you then." The look he gave B'Elanna was not unlike a look a person would give a not so interesting bug that they had just squashed beneath the sole of their shoe.

"I'm jumping for joy too." B'Elanna sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Doctor, we're receiving a hail through the Utopia Planitia communications array." Hayley's hazel eyes looked up to the ceiling as if she was remembering something rather than relaying what the Jupiter Station's computer was informing her of. "It's for you, Commander Torres."

"Of course it is. Who bothers talking to me these days? I'm just one of the most brilliant minds of the last millennia, but who would want to talk to me?" Zimmerman waved a hand towards the outer room, the lobby of sorts. "Please make it quick, we've got a lot of work to do without you delaying us with maudlin displays of affection."

B'Elanna had to forcefully keep her mouth shut as she stormed out of the lab into the relatively comfortableness of the outer room. She plopped down heavily and with a long suffering sigh onto one of the desk chairs before she activated the monitor.

Her husband's handsome and eternally boyish face was framed within the small view screen and even though he had a gentle smile to his lips the vision he made caused B'Elanna to lose her breath as her heart sped up and the blood coursed more quickly through her veins as if preparing her for a fight.

"Hey, beautiful." Tom's voice was flat, lost sounding and she could easily see that he had to struggle to maintain his composure. "How're my two favorite ladies doing?"

"We're fine. Miral's with the Doctor." Not one to mince words that was the extent of B'Elanna's need for pleasantries. "What's going on?"

"It's all gone wrong, B'Elanna. All wrong." Her husband's brow creased as he looked almost pleadingly at her through the small screen. There weren't tears, but the redness in his eyes clearly indicated that recently there had been a momentous amount.

"Tom?" As opposed to humans, B'Elanna's chest became overly hot, constrictive, not out of fear necessarily but more of a defensive response, readying the person to go on the offense quickly. "Please. Tell me what happened."

"The Borg, B'Elanna, the damned Borg! They—" He looked away as he wiped his eyes with his shaky hands. Tom's eyes burned from the tears that had already been shed and now they ached from the strain. "Oh, god, they killed her. She's dead, B'Elanna, the Admiral—Janeway is gone!"

"But that's—that's not possible." B'Elanna's face flushed hotly from the adrenaline that shot like quicksilver through her veins. "She's Janeway! She can't die!"

"B'Elanna, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." Tom had never felt more useless than he did at this moment. He wanted to be there. To hold and comfort her or even take a few Klingon infused blows. But all he could do was sit in his damned chair and watch as his wife's world fell apart around her. "B'Elanna?"

A great, deep and full-bodied, rough with pain, enraged, deafening bellow emitted from B'Elanna Torres then and the message, though impulsive and unintentional, was clear. Be warned, Sto-vo-kor, a mighty warrior is on her way.


"All right, my little warrior." The hologram smiled brightly which caused deeper creases to form on his already lined face as he coaxed the little girl towards the transporter room.

The Doctor relished the feel of the warm, tiny hand in his and the little sounds of wonderment that emitted from his goddaughter as they walked along the promenade beneath the transparent aluminum dome that protected carbon based life forms from the hydrogen rich gases of Jupiter's air. He also found comfort that the little girl would not pick up on the more… robust language her mother used when extremely annoyed with Doctor Lewis Zimmerman, a brilliant man but a bit rusty on the social delicacies, which after almost a week with the man B'Elanna tended to have less patience with.

"I want to stay longer! Please." The little girl with forehead ridges that announced her Klingon heritage looked up at her godfather with big dark brown eyes filled with a determined glint. She was a little over two years old, precocious for her age, and wanted nothing more in life than to explore the multiple worlds around her.

"It's time for your dinner." The Doctor tried to resist, but the small pout and furrowed brow were making it extremely difficult. He used all the will-power he could summon to make his voice sound more commanding. "It's important for growing little girls to get enough nutrition."

"I'm not little!" The scowl was back as little arms crossed over her barrel shaped chest clad in shades of navy blue and forest green.

"Of course not. My mistake, for you are a mighty warrior." The Doctor smiled again, reassuringly.

In fact, Miral was small for her age, seemingly thin boned and tiny in stature but he knew that the seemingly diminutive form concealed above human strength. He had thought to worry about such a thing for when Miral developed, but aside from having little temper tantrums common for all children she was well-behaved and kind.

"And mighty warriors must eat, to keep up their strength to do battle and gain honor." The Doctor had found it a bit odd at first that Miral had taken to the idea of Klingon valor, but then he figured it was good for her to not reject her Klingon heritage as her mother once had.

"Banana pancakes?" Again, those dark brown eyes captured the Doctor in their persuasive hold.

"I suppose." It took quite a bit of effort on his part to refuse the little girl anything, so he usually just conceded to her wishes. "Spoiling her rotten" was what he had been accused by Miral's mother of doing, but he had to smirk at that since B'Elanna also had difficulties saying no to her little girl. "I'll even have the replicator shape them into little bat'leths for you. How's that sound?"

"With strawberry syrup?" Again Miral got a nod of acceptance to her request.

The Doctor recalled how he had told Admiral Janeway about Miral's enjoyment of eating the batter made bat'leths with "blood" on them. The Admiral had looked so aghast at this that he had wished for his holographic camera to capture the amusing expression. But like so many before her, Kathryn Janeway had succumbed to the little girl's wishes and had confessed later to the Doctor that she had found it "strange, a bit grotesque, but adorable". Despite the rank of Admiral, those who knew Janeway well were quite aware that she gladly took orders from her goddaughter. With sparkling blue eyes and a wide bright grin. And in turn, Miral adored her godmother.

He thought idly that perhaps B'Elanna would be willing to let him take Miral to San Francisco for a visit with the Admiral since the Borg had been taken care of. The threat to Earth might have happened only ten hours ago, but the Doctor knew the capacity for people to remember the tragedy, the epic event, and then move quickly past it to focus on their own lives. It was how humans continued on, he supposed.

The Doctor kept Miral close as they entered the transporter room, she had a tendency to want to explore and push buttons if left unattended. The transporter chief smiled brightly and greeted the Doctor respectfully and then Miral with a high pitched lightness to his tone that made the Doctor shake his head. Why adults spoke to children this way was beyond him.

"Say goodbye to the Chief, Miral, and be sure to thank him." The Doctor had already told the man their destination and after Miral waved happily they disappeared in a sparkling of blue energy until they found themselves back on Jupiter Station where they were greeted by Haley, with… tears in her eyes, and a rather severe looking Doctor Zimmerman.

The lines between the Doctor's eyebrows creased deeply in sudden worry. Something had obviously happened to make the ever composed Haley cry and for the always flippant Doctor Zimmerman to look so grim.

"Doctor, I'll take Miral. It's time for your dinner isn't it, sweetie?" Haley held her arms out before her as she bent down to be eye level with the girl who had suddenly become shy. But finally she did step forward into the arms of the hologram.

"Can I still have battle lit pancakes?" Miral's small arms surrounded Haley's neck and it would have perhaps been uncomfortable had the hologram been required to breath.

"Of course." Haley smiled, albeit sadly, at the Doctor before she headed to the mess hall.

"Doctor, please, come with me." Zimmerman didn't wait for a response as he led the Doctor out of the room to the hall that led to his office.

"What's this about?" The Doctor had such a feeling of dread that he thought perhaps he would overload his systems if the feeling increased any more. But he didn't overload when his concern soared as he took in the comfortable outer room to the holoprograming lab. It was in shambles. The ruins of Haley's glass and steel desk littered the gray carpet and he couldn't even imagine what had contorted the titanium stools and dinner table into such oddly twisted shapes.

"You should probably sit down." It took Zimmerman a moment to realize that were no longer any places to sit. "Computer, two desk chairs."

Before they were even fully detailed, Zimmerman seated himself heavily in one as he waited for the Doctor to do the same. "I don't feel like I should be the one to tell you this, but Commander Torres has been… incapacitated. Taking my furniture along with her."

"B'Elanna did this?!" The Doctor scanned the room once more and could now see the markings on metal that looked to be indentations made by fingers.

"She was… upset." Zimmerman couldn't really think of a better term as he was uncomfortable with such emotional displays from beings. And never would he have expected the scene that awaited him when he had rushed into the outer room to see what that accursed yelling was all about and the crashing of glass. B'Elanna Torres had torn apart the room. He would have had a snide comment and a complaint or two but the way she had been slumped against the wall with her knees drawn up against her chest had stopped him. And then she had looked up and her face had been reddened from both tears and the heat that he could feel emanating for her when he had bent down to help her to her feet.

"Commander?" He had been careful to avoid becoming like his dining room table as he had let go of his grasp on her arms.

Then she had told him what had happened and as if in a daze she had informed him that she would be going to Earth as soon as the next transport was ready. He had asked her about the Doctor then, but she hadn't heard his question and walked unsteadily out of the room.

"What do you know about the Borg attack?" Zimmerman watched the mirror image of himself look distraught and wondered if he had the same expression on his face.

"Just what was on the comm. channels. They're not back are they?!" The Doctor had almost stood then, abruptly, but Zimmerman had stopped him with a hand and a shake of his head.

"No, they're gone. The cube was destroyed. What you don't know, it would seem, was who was on that cube when it blew… when it… imploded." The words were leaving him. He had been more than happy that the cube had been obliterated. But he hadn't known then what he did now. And now that celebration seemed bittersweet since he had to tell his "son" that he had just lost his "mother".

The Doctor sunk deeper in his chair as he felt without a doubt that he was extremely ill-prepared for what was to come.

"Your Admiral Janeway…"

The Doctor only heard those three words before his program suddenly and completely decompiled.


Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres and the Emergency Medical Hologram Mark One known simply as the Doctor were seated onboard a Jupiter Station transport shuttle on route to Earth. Neither beings felt compelled to break the silence that had formed between them, so they sat silently in reflective contemplation oblivious to the other passengers onboard. Their thoughts mirrored as they remembered the woman who had been their Captain, their friend, their guide, and their biggest champion.

I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye, but despite our differences you helped me become a good officer and I'd like to think you're proud of me for it.

I am.

The gentle, sincere voice in B'Elanna's mind of the woman who had left them far too early caused a heat to rise in the half-Klingon from both rage at the injustice of it and from the incomprehensible sadness that had been her constant companion since she had learned of the loss of their commanding officer from her husband only an hour or two before.

She had lost track of time as she had been busy packing her daughter's necessities and her own and bringing the Doctor's program back online after it had decompiled into his mobile emitter. Luckily he had also been linked to the quite sophisticated hologrid of the Jupiter Station's holoprogramming lab and it hadn't been too difficult to get him back. Though she remembered that he hadn't been necessarily comforted by his escape from oblivion.

B'Elanna had never seen the Doctor look more devastated and if anyone had any question as to the legitimacy of his sentience they only had to look at him then and there would have been no more doubt. Tears had filled his dark eyes when he had crushed B'Elanna to him as he had spoken words of sympathy and of pain into her ear as she had done the same.

What had surprised her then was how somber Doctor Zimmerman had been, no snide comments had passed through his lips, only words that had held empathy that she had not expected he had been capable of emitted from the man as they had said their goodbyes. And then Haley had given them warm hugs meant to comfort as she too apologized for what fate had given them.

Now, B'Elanna kissed the small ridges on her daughter's forehead as her child sleepily snuggled deeper into her neck. The little girl had been aware early on that her mother and godfather were sad about something, but neither had the strength to tell the little girl that her beloved godmother was gone. They hardly had the strength to tell themselves that reality.

"Attention Jupiter Station shuttle passengers, we will be landing at the San Francisco transport station in five minutes. Please have your luggage collected within those minutes. Thank you. And welcome to Earth. I hope you have a pleasant stay."

B'Elanna gathered her daughter's belongings in the arm that wasn't presently filled with a slumbering Miral and she tapped the Doctor lightly on his foot with her own shoe to gain his attention.

The Doctor's dark eyes had something akin to confusion in them and then cleared as he realized why he had been taken out of his musings when he saw that the passengers had all risen out of their seats as they awaited departure from the shuttle. He had been replaying the words that his Captain had spoken on his behalf that had first assured him fully that she indeed thought of him as an equal member of her crew. It had been ironically after he had painted a less than flattering picture of his crewmates and his experiences onboard Voyager despite the fact that he had only meant to use his crewmates' physical parameters as a starting off point.

Our definition of what constitutes a person has continued to evolve. Now we're asking that you expand that definition once more, to include our Doctor. When I met him seven years ago, I would never have believed that an EMH could become a valued member of my crew, and my friend. The Doctor is a person as real as any flesh and blood I have ever known. If you believe the testimony you've heard here, it's only fair to conclude that he has the same rights as any of us.

"B'Elanna?" The Doctor's hand rested lightly on the dark brown curls of his goddaughter's as he looked sadly upon her. He had wanted to take a trip to San Francisco with the little girl, but this hadn't been what he had in mind. He turned his eyes to the woman he had addressed for the first time since they boarded the shuttle to Earth. "What're we going to do without her?"

"I wish I knew, Doctor." B'Elanna followed the flow of exiting people as she hugged her daughter close to her. "Could you imagine if she saw us now… wallowing in self-pity? If she could see how lost we are without her I wonder if she'd be disappointed in us."

"B'Elanna?" The Doctor's voice sounded hurt and confused.

"I, I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm just so—so angry. And there's really no one I can take it out on, except you I guess. Lucky you, huh?" B'Elanna tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace.

"She wouldn't be disappointed in us." The Doctor hadn't heard the apology as he thought about how the Captain, the Admiral, would think of them in this moment of tragic lost. "She would understand, she would be comforting, sympathetic. But never disappointed."

"How can you be so sure?" B'Elanna most definitely was not.

The destruction she had brought upon the small office at the Jupiter Station had been her initial reaction. She doubted very much that Janeway would have approved of that. B'Elanna hadn't even approved of her actions later when she had come to her senses. Though her apology had been given it had not been taken. Instead Doctor Zimmerman had simply said that Haley had wanted to redecorate anyway.

"Because I know Kathryn Janeway well enough to be sure, and so do you." The Doctor looked pointedly at the Lieutenant Commander. "What do you truly believe she would feel if she could see us now, Commander?"

B'Elanna stopped short of answering the Doctor's question as she spotted familiar faces, somber as they were, awaiting their arrival at one of the hover car rental alcoves. The lot of them were dressed in the gray and black uniforms of Starfleet officers: a Captain, a commander, a lieutenant commander, and a lieutenant stood together as a united front.

B'Elanna then turned to the hologram that wore the same number of pips as she. It had been a commission that the Admiral who had bestowed it upon the EMH over a year ago had stated in her husky tones "long overdue" as she had smiled proudly, brightly, dark blue eyes had shimmered as her delicate and sure hands had fastened the pips to the collar of an absolutely bursting at the seams hologram. B'Elanna knew exactly how that same Admiral would feel now if she looked upon the group of Starfleet officers who had served her with unwavering loyalty and devotion for over seven years.

"Proud, Doctor. She would be proud."

CHAPTER 7

Over the next few hours, hundreds of individuals received both personal and official notification of the death of Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

On Earth, in San Francisco, a gray haired man fell heavily into the arms of the woman who was to be his mother-in-law and is allowed to weep for the childhood friend he had always loved.

At Starfleet Academy, a well respected expert on artificial interspatial flexures used to transmit communications interquadrantly was intercepted after his class by his adopted family to be told of the passing of their matriarch and even in his grief he felt comforted by the others around him like he had never felt before.

On the USS Archer, a mother and her daughter are contacted by the latter's best friend. They detected immediately this was not a happy call. And long after the screen turned to black, the two women shook with grief and cried out at the injustice of the universe for having taken such a person from it.

At the Daystrom Institute of Technology, a young Starfleet Academy student was interrupted in his work study program by his mentor and constant guide to humanity and was told somberly that her guide, her mentor, her friend had been taken from them by a force only the two of them could fully understand.

On Orion I, a student of cosmology dropped a PADD containing his life's pursuit disproving a theory of multiple big bangs forgotten at his feet as he read of the news that the woman who had been his biggest defender against formal charges regarding the death of a dark matter entity was no more.

At the McKinley Station, two friends were called away from their work on redesigning escape pods to be more efficient and comfortable to receive notice that the woman who had instilled confidence and trust in themselves and each other on a supposedly routine away mission all those years ago had died as only she could, heroically.

And thirty thousand light years away in a different quadrant of the galaxy, a man was seated with his wife and adopted son as he was told the news of a woman's death through the impersonal means of a recording. His reaction had been one of disbelief at first, that this couldn't possibly be true, but he knew that the young woman who had the unfortunate task of informing him of such tragedy would not say such a thing unless absolutely certain. His son comforted him with a hearty, prolonged hug and his wife, whose belly was full with child, mingled her tears with his. She had not known the woman who had died well, but she was eternally grateful to her because of the safety she had helped secure and the wonderful man she had allowed her to have in her life forever.

Years later, they would tell their child, named not a Talaxian name but a human name, stories about the woman for whom she had been named. The child would learn that there had been a brave, wise, compassionate woman who had sailed through the dangerous quadrant with a small ship and a mismatched crew and because she was strong and true she had brought her crew home. And though the child's father had never spoken the name to the woman directly, it would remain a name of great honor and respect for generations to come.


"On November 27th, 2380, Admiral Kathryn Janeway of Starfleet Command, acting chairperson to Starfleet Intelligence, and the renowned and commemorated former Captain of the USS Voyager, who on May 23rd, 2378 brought her ship and crew home against impossible odds from the Delta Quadrant, has died at the age of forty-five while defending the Earth from the Borg attack that ended in the implosion of the Borg cube. She was survived by her mother, Gretchen Janeway, and her sister, Phoebe Janeway. The memorial service will be held on December 1st at 1 P.M. Pacific coast Earth time at the presidio in San Francisco."

The people around the quadrant who watched in stillness at the news feed regarding the famous former Captain of the lost ship Voyager were now shown a clip of the woman in question at the first press conference held after her ship had returned home.

She had an undeniably powerful presence that held one mesmerized by her energy, her strength, her intelligent blue eyes, her bright smile, and her throaty voice that bespoke a woman of great authority and greater warmth. She had rested a small, delicate hand on her upper chest as her emotions rose with each word she had spoken as she exalted her crew with words of how brave, how compassionate, how strong they had been in the face of such adversity.

She had spoken of the community, the family that had emerged from years of being together, the bonds that were now unbreakable, and the incredible journey they had gone on together. How the steadfast crew had served her well and how she had hoped that she had been able to serve them with the same determination and distinction.

She had been many things in those moments: proud, emotional, grateful, gracious, and above all she had been captivating to behold. She had become, perhaps reluctantly, a celebrity overnight and now, despite being gone, would remain in the hearts, the minds, the imagination of many, many individuals, their children, their grandchildren, and so on because she had been…

"… the people's Admiral."

CHAPTER 8

Indiana

The Delta Flyer III hovered above the spacious grounds of the Janeway homestead as the passengers within looked upon the childhood home of their late and great former Captain. Though no one aboard the craft had ever actually seen the farm for themselves they had heard numerous stories about it that had lent it a simple, yet magical air most likely due to how their Captain's voice had always lightened to a softness rarely displayed and how they had been able to detect only the tiniest amount of moisture gathered in her blue eyes when she had spoken about the place she had called home for seventeen years.

Captain Chakotay gazed out of the transparent aluminum window with moist, dark eyes as he thought about the woman who had been a child here, he knew a happy one. Over the course of their relationship, she had told him a number of stories of how much she had loved her home in Indiana: the open space, the smell of the fertile soil and how she had adored running through the cornfields with her dog, laughing heartily all the while. He wondered with a sad smile how many memories this place held of the woman he had loved intently for so many years.

"Tom," Chakotay's voice was gentle, a bit rough with emotion, but strong. "Set us down."

The Delta Flyer III settled gently and with ease onto the expansive lawn several meters from the well-worn farmhouse.

"Um, I don't think we're allowed to land here." Harry knew very little about agricultural farms such as this one, but what he did know was that technology such as the shuttle they were currently on was certainly not allowed within the boundaries of this traditionalist community.

Tom Paris disengaged the artificial gravity plating beneath his latest creation before he looked at his friend seated next to him and shrugged in the seemingly innocent, nonchalant, and cocky way that only he was truly capable of. "Mrs. Janeway said if anyone gave us any trouble we should tell the guy to either shut up or to take it up with her."

The assumed response from objectors to their landing here would then be to let it slide since Gretchen Janeway was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Tom had to smile at the thought of the silver haired woman.

Aside from Jarem Kaz who hadn't yet had the privilege, they had all initially met their Captain's mother at the first welcome home party after Voyager had arrived quite unexpectedly on Earth's doorstep. It had first astonished and then amused them to find that their commanding officer's mother had given many traits to her oldest daughter. They had shared the same voice inflections, mannerisms such as talking with their hands and putting those same delicately boned hands onto their hips, and the same charismatic yet commanding presence. And thus they had been captivated by the woman who had given birth and raised their stalwart Captain who had seemed to grow younger by the second in the presence of her mother and younger sister. Exasperated "mother's" and "Phoebe's" had followed each charming but perhaps embarrassing story about the Kathryn Janeway the two women had known as they had spoken excitedly to the enthralled crew. Tom suddenly grew grim as he thought no light-hearted stories would be told this late evening, this was after all not a welcome home party.

Harry Kim also pictured the woman in question, Gretchen Janeway, and how upon first seeing her at their homecoming it had been readily apparent that she was the mother of his Captain. He tried not to think about how the similarities between the two women would affect him now. His own comfort was not what was important. Honoring the Captain, the Admiral, that was their purpose.

"Addy Janey's home?" Miral hugged her mother's neck as she snuggled close. Her ridged brow pressed against her mother's cheek as she curiously peered out the window.

"That's right. This is where your godmother grew up." B'Elanna placed soft kisses on her daughter's forehead as she tried to keep her voice strong and sure.

Having had to tell Miral that her adored godmother had been killed in glorious battle had been the hardest thing B'Elanna had ever had to do in her life. And though the little girl hadn't known what that had meant entirely, she had enough knowledge gained from her parents' expressions and tears that she had also cried. Once Miral had calmed down to the point that only sniffling had remained she had been told that she would not be able to see her "Addy Janey" again, that she was in Sto-Vo-Kor because that was where great warriors went, and that she had loved Miral very much. Miral had nodded her understanding then, but had vehemently informed her parents that she had wished to see her godmother just once more, to say goodbye and to tell her that she loved her too. After this proclamation more tears had been shed and Miral had found herself in a tight hug between both her parents. Then they had told her that they too wished for the same thing, but not to worry, they had promised Miral that her Addy Janey knew how much her little warrior had loved her. And that had satisfied the little girl.

"Have you ever been here, Seven?" The Doctor looked nervously out the window as he wondered what the locals would think of him. He then looked at the woman seated next to him and reconsidered his nervousness as he wondered what the locals would think of her since her technological advancement was more readily apparent.

"No." Seven's one word, clipped response was her attempt to hide the disappointment and regret she felt that she had never been to the childhood home of Kathryn Janeway.

When we get to Earth I'll take you there.

It had been one of the few times that Seven could recall that Captain Janeway had not lived up to her words. Seven was fully aware that Admiral Janeway's time had been devoted to assisting the Federation to strengthen after the Dominion War, to handle conflicts between the many civilizations within the Federation purview, not to mention the Admiral's own hands on approach to everything from vessel refits and diplomatic ceremonies. If it hadn't been for the Admiral's intervention and the assistance of Harry Kim and Jarem Kaz, Seven and Icheb would have perished due to regeneration deprivation while the two of them had been incarcerated when a Borg virus had infected many on Earth. And if it hadn't been for the Voyager crew that virus and the corrupt Admiral who had wanted to be the Borg Queen would have surely been victorious. These were the events that had occupied Admiral Janeway's time. Seven had known this, but that hadn't stopped her from wanting to see Bloomington, Indiana for herself, and she had wanted to be with Kathryn Janeway when she had. Seven had thought that if she could see where her former Captain had grown, she would have a better understanding of who that child had matured into. Seven contemplated the idea that perhaps she still would have that chance.

"Neither have I. It looks pleasant enough." The Doctor tried to smile reassuringly to Seven perhaps more for his benefit than hers since she looked as impassive as ever, though he suspected she was just as apprehensive as he.

They were about to converge on the home of a woman who had just lost her daughter and another who had lost her sister. There was simply no way to prepare for such an encounter. Especially since heavy feelings of guilt had grown in each of them as they had made their journey from California to Indiana. Many had felt that they should have been there with the woman who had brought them home safely, to defend her, to fight alongside her, and to die with her. Now all they could do was grieve for her and to remember the woman they had all loved.

"Indeed." Seven looked around the cabin and noted how no one had stood from their seats yet, unease written on everyone's expression. Only Jarem Kaz looked particularly confused regarding everyone's hesitation that had led to his own.

The silence in the cabin that had transfixed all those in it was suddenly and quite noisily interrupted by a hand banging repeatedly on metal.

"Uh, guys?" Harry watched the white haired woman on the view screen as she continued to strike the hull of their vessel before he turned in his seat to regard his shipmates with nervousness in his eyes. "We should probably disembark now."

"Hey, Harry, how about you be the one to tell her to either shut up or talk to Mrs. Janeway, huh?" Tom had emerged from the pilot's seat and patted Harry on the shoulder in encouragement.

Harry Kim blanched at the very thought of him telling an elderly lady to shut up. "Uh, I'm sure she's just… curious about us, that's all."

Tom and Harry were the last to depart from the ship through its aft section onto the grassy lawn upon which they encountered what the others who had gone before them had. A sturdy looking woman, stout with age, with a halo of snowy white hair brushed away from her broad, strong features wrinkled deeply from time. She was garbed in almost garish colors of red and green and orange and purple, but somehow pulled off the draped ensemble with ease, though perhaps not elegantly, but definitely confidently as if she didn't particular care what the people lined up in front of the landed vessel thought of her. Piercing gray eyes took in the group clad in Starfleet dress uniforms of white tunics and black pants with skepticism. Her pursed lips, that seemed to indicate she had just eaten something decidedly distasteful, made the group think that perhaps they should care what this woman thought of them. And then with an inelegant snort she addressed them.

"Ugh, you all look like you're heading to one of those stuffy Federation dinner parties… and you're the caterers." Her voice held just the faintest hint of an accent; one in which they had heard much stronger versions of in Tom Paris' "Fair Haven" program.

After they had looked at one another uncomfortably, since her observation had been a somewhat accurate description of their new dress whites, the snowy haired woman did something that made them all take notice… she smirked, a lop-sided grin that each and every one of them recognized as the prototype of a grin they had seen far too often or perhaps not enough. It was a grin of humor, mischievousness, and utter arrogance. This was certainly a Janeway.

"Ma'am, I'm Captain Chakotay and I—" The proffered hand was waved away as the woman shook her head and held up her hands in order to forestall any more words, a multitude of golden bangles clanked noisily together at her wrists.

"Now, now, don't you all go around 'ma'aming' me, I won't stand for it. Makes me feel old. I'm Martha Janeway, but just call me Marti." Another crooked grin. "And I won't stand for those pesky ranks here either, understood?"

The woman's words had been said with a light, teasing tone but something about her made them take her orders to heart. And then she had surprised them again by moving more quickly than they ever expected her to be able to at her age and immense build as she gathered a rather flabbergasted Chakotay into a tightly held hug.

"Oh, my dear boy, a terrible, terrible loss for us all, our little Kathryn… gone. But at least you're all here. Her friends, yes? Good, good. We'll celebrate our little Katie-bug tonight in true Janeway fashion." Tears had fallen from her eyes as she continued the hug. And then just as abruptly as it had begun she pulled out of the embrace to wipe away her tears and to laugh a short little bark at herself. "Look at me going on and on. Well, come inside, it's getting chilly out here, no? This Indiana weather. People wonder why I moved. Can't stand it. Give me hot, sunny days all year round. Remember to secure your ship. You can never be too careful these days. That's what I say. I wish it weren't true, but we live in different times now. Back when I was your age you used to be able to leave your ship anywhere you pleased without any worry some… robber would run off with it. Now," she patted her left hip. "I don't go anywhere without my phaser."

The older woman had gotten almost halfway to the house before she noticed she had been walking alone. She turned impatiently around and motioned with both her hands, somewhat frantically, to the group of people who looked to her like a bunch of fish out of water with their mouths agape and eyes wide. What was their problem, she wondered to herself.

"What's your problem? Come on now, pick up the pace." She nodded in satisfaction as finally the lot were taken out of their trances and walked steadily to her stationary location. When they had finally reached her she took up the lead again in quick, lumbering strides. "We have much, much to do. First things first though, take those god awful uniforms off, they hurt my eyes, you see. But nothing black, dreadfully dull and morbid that color. Our little Katie-bug was anything but dull, you know. She was so vibrant and full of life. When she'd come visit me it would take all my energy to make sure she wasn't falling out of trees or whatnot. Don't forget to wipe your feet I don't want you tracking mud all over the place, understand."

The porch steps creaked soundly under the weight of the corpulent woman who led the way to the front door before she turned quickly around to freeze them with narrowed gray eyes. "Now I know all you youngsters are used to replicated food, but that's just not allowed here, so mind your manners, all right. My sister-in-law prides herself in making all of her food from scratch. I don't understand it myself, seems a rather slow way to go about feeding yourself, but it's not really my place to say anything. And I hope you all have strong stomachs because I brought many, many treats along with me. Well, what are you waiting for? Come in, come in. We don't have all day for you to be gawking like catfish, do we?"

"Why do I feel like we've just gone through a level eight ion storm?" Tom had whispered the words to his wife who held their daughter in her strong arms, but his words had been overheard and the white haired woman looked pointedly at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Now, young man, just because I'm old doesn't mean I don't have fine hearing, you see." The white haired woman snorted as she took in the blonde haired man's blush. "The cute ones always think they can get away with anything."

A few coughs and suppressed laughs accompanied the deeper reddening of the Commander's face as he tried desperately to apologize, for what he really didn't know.

The white haired woman suddenly barked out a loud laugh and waved off his apology. She held the front door open as she motioned with a hand towards the opening. "Come on now, in you go. Don't forget about those dirty shoes."

Obediently upon entering, they all wiped their feet diligently on the rug that read "Welcome". A bombardment of delicious smells assailed their senses as they moved from the foyer down a long hallway until they reached a large study where the white haired woman instructed them to settle their things and to "get out of those god-awful straight-jackets" before they were to enter the kitchen where the two other Janeway women were presently. With no time to change out of their uniforms entirely before they were to meet their former Captain's mother and sister, they had opted to remove their uniform jackets and pulled on easy to get to tunics from their suitcases over their gray undershirts in hopes that would appease this rather bombastic woman. It didn't really seem to, but she didn't appear to be displeased with them either. They were satisfied with that.

They followed like little chicks behind a great mother hen as the old woman led them back down the long hallway, through the dining room and to the double doors of the kitchen which she pushed in with little effort. She walked into the kitchen with flourish and a proclamation that "Katie-bug's crew finally made it", but the rest stood frozen just inside as they came face to face with the two women who reminded them close to painfully of the woman they had loved, the Admiral they had lost, and the Captain they would forever miss.


Seven had never before encountered an individual with the type of speech pattern as the woman who had referred to herself by the designation of "Marti". The order of the words seemed chaotic and only efficient in the speed that they left the woman's mouth. And yet Seven had managed to follow what the woman had been saying with ease. The woman seemed a paradox to Seven. Marti could move swiftly though it was with uneasy lumbering movements, her voice was light in tone, but loud in volume and laced with the low tones of sympathy and sadness, and most intriguing was that she made Seven feel nervous while still feeling comforted. Marti was a curiosity. So as Seven removed her uniform jacket in preparation for the dark blue tunic she had so recently taken out of her suitcase she observed the woman as covertly as she could, which must not have been enough for Marti looked at her pointedly before she approached an apprehensive Seven.

"My dear girl," Marti looked upon Seven with curious, sympathetic gray eyes as she rested a soft, wrinkled hand on Seven's wrist which was laced with metal. "Have you been in some sort of accident?"

The voice had been quiet enough, but Seven detected a few eyes on her including the worried ones of the Doctor. Nervousness shot through her thin frame, but Seven hid it, buried it deep, so she stood tall with her chin tipped up as she spoke in clear, even tones. "No, I was not in an accident. Kathryn Janeway rescued me from the Borg six years ago."

For a moment the gregarious old woman seemed speechless, but that was not meant to be. She let out an astonished laugh before she hugged Seven to her plump body. "Of course, of course, you're Seven of Nine! My little Katie told me a bit about you. She said you were a wonderful person. Smart, brave, honorable. She didn't, however, mention what a looker you are."

Seven could feel her chest warm by the words that her former Captain had spoken to the white haired woman. Though her metallic encased eyebrow did rise at the last statement. "What is… 'a looker'?"

"Oh, my Katie was right, you are wonderful." Marti handed Seven the dark blue tunic before she winked at her. "If I was sixty years younger, you'd be in trouble."

"I would be?" Seven pulled the thick tunic over her gray undershirt as she watched the woman walk away to approach Miral and her parents.

The Doctor had watched the exchange with large dark eyes, and only when the white haired woman departed did he make his approach. He had heard and could see Seven's confusion as to what had just transpired and he was charmed by it. "She meant that you're a very attractive woman, Seven, and that if she was your age she'd try to have a romantic relationship with you."

"Indeed." Seven rarely if ever blushed, but the warmth in her cheeks indicated that this was one of those rare times.

"All right, now that you're all at least half-way presentable, follow me." The white haired, rotund woman hadn't waited to see if anyone had followed as she seemed to just assume that they would as she walked sturdily down the long hallway, through a dining room that was casual and well-used, and then to two thin wooden doors that the woman pressed her hands against to allow entry.

"Katie-bug's crew finally made it." The woman was barely within the kitchen before her proclamation had ringed out and the people behind her seemed instantly paralyzed by the women within.

Something akin to fear washed over Seven in a cold wave as she watched the two women as they almost simultaneously shifted their attentions away from food preparation to look upon the assembled crew.

At the gray marble topped island in the middle of the large old fashioned kitchen, Phoebe had dropped her small knife next to the half diced up carrots on the cutting board before she wiped her hands on a nearby towel and stood from the kitchen stool. The willowy frame of the dark red haired woman seemed tense beneath the simple, loose fitting dark green dress she wore; her blue eyes were alight with something that bespoke danger, a warning.

A few feet away from her youngest daughter, Gretchen Janeway settled the recently baked bread onto a cooling rack before she too wiped her hands clean utilizing her floral printed apron which she soon pulled off to let settle on top of a nearby counter. The petite silver haired woman brought her thin arms around herself as if cold, unlike her daughter, the dark blue eyes of a woman known by many for her warmth were dull and she looked exhausted and though still an elegant and lovely woman, she looked all of her seventy-one years.

Seven could sense through the elevated heart rates that an acute anxiousness settled over the Starfleet officers as the two women looked evenly at them for what seemed like a very long moment. And finally the tense silence was broken as Gretchen Janeway's lips curved into a small sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I know that we would have all liked to have seen each other under much better circumstances, but that apparently wasn't meant to be. I'm glad that you could come. It… feels right that you should be here. Kathryn's family."

Gretchen Janeway wasn't the energetic woman Seven remembered, but the older woman still had the same graciousness, the same warmth, and air of ageless wisdom and Seven felt comforted by it. And by the warm embrace that Seven was treated to by Mrs. Janeway before she offered the same welcome to the other Starfleet officers who in turn whispered their earnest condolences into her shiny silver hair as she nodded her head and gripped them a bit stronger.

If Gretchen Janeway felt put out by the stranger known as Jarem Kaz she didn't indicate it as she too embraced the man with her thin, but strong arms. There was a definite shimmering of barely contained tears in the kind blue eyes of the Trill doctor as he looked upon the woman who had raised the extraordinary woman they had all gathered at the aged farmhouse to remember. He had been momentarily caught off guard when the petite woman had hugged him to her, but he had recovered quickly and reveled in the comfort he had found so easily in the arms of this woman. Even in the midst of the incredible pain this woman was no doubt feeling, she offered great solace to them.

Phoebe, unlike her mother, exuded an almost palpable energy, the younger sister of their former Captain had possessed the same when some had met her previously, but this time that energy wasn't friendly or bubbly, this time the energy bespoke anger, contained but perhaps just barely. The woman's bright blue eyes were narrowed as she glared at the collection of Starfleet officers whom she had felt had little place here, even though she knew rationally that her sister had considered them family. So it was with little surprise that she did not offer her arms for comfort, but instead crossed them over her chest and stood tensely next to the island.

Martha Janeway, who had poured herself a rather large amount of an amber colored liquid after she had entered the kitchen, could easily detect the tension that radiated off of her niece and so with one last finishing drink she took the dark red haired woman's arm into her hand and led her out of the room with a simple and light order. "Come now, Phoebes, let's get the living room ready, all right?"

Seven watched with purposefully concealed concern as the large, white haired woman hastily led Phoebe Janeway out of the kitchen with a swing of double wooden doors left in their wake. There had been something in Phoebe's blue eyes when they had rested upon her that had filled Seven with a feeling of shame and guilt. She wondered if Phoebe knew what the ex-drone's part had been in the destruction of Kathryn Janeway. And Seven felt an almost debilitating fear that the red haired woman knew full well. The hand that touched her shoulder startled Seven and a quiet, but noticeable sound of surprise emitted from her lips.

"Seven?" The Doctor's brow creased in worry as he let his arm drop to his side. If the Doctor didn't know the woman better he would have thought she was frightened of some unseen horror, he had never known her to be scared or insecure so he wondered at her distraction. "Are you all right?"

Too absorbed with thoughts of the Endgame virus, Seven hadn't noticed as individuals had left the fragrant kitchen, each had been loaded with food items to be carried into the expansive living room. She could discern that the Doctor was worried about her, but she did not feel deserving of such sentiments. How was she to tell the Doctor that the virus was still contained within her? The virus that had destroyed the Borg cube, that had killed Kathryn Janeway.

"We should join the others." Seven did what she had become quite accomplished at doing; she buried her emotions and brought an impassive mask to her narrow features.

Thank you, Seven.

Seven's gait had almost faltered when the voice of her former Captain had sounded in her mind. Those words had echoed frequently the last several hours. She feared that it would be a constant phenomenon, to have to hear the last three words that the beloved woman would ever utter. Seven also feared that it wouldn't be.


"Come now, Phoebes, let's get the living room ready, all right?"

Phoebe felt her aunt's insistence in the hand that grasped her arm, and as she had when she was a child she obeyed the woman's wishes. Although her almost forced exit had not deterred her from shooting one last pointed look mixed with betrayal, disgust, and fury at the gathered Starfleet officers and one blonde haired woman in particular.

Phoebe Janeway had been utterly fascinated by the former Borg woman her older sister had introduced her mother and her to at the homecoming celebration. A striking woman with golden hair and icy blue eyes, narrow but attractive features with full lips that rarely showed the woman's emotions, but a formfitting suit that left little to the imagination had been presented to Phoebe that day. The visible metallic implants that adorned the woman's face and hand displayed what the woman had gone through and Phoebe had felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy.

The letters she had received from her older sister had depicted this… Seven of Nine as supremely intelligent, selfless, strong-willed, caring, and with a burgeoning sense of humor that at times seemed misplaced but always enjoyable. Phoebe had detected a hint of something in her sister's voice when she had spoken of Seven that went beyond the overt tones of pride, admiration, and friendly affection. There had been an extreme lightness, a wistfulness that bespoke a woman who held the woman she spoke of as quite important and dear to her, someone she loved immensely. Phoebe had wondered at that and had even went as far as to needle her sister about it but her needling had been rebuffed quickly and severely by a rather long-winded and stern lecture about appropriateness, moral integrity, and an unrelenting denouncement of Phoebe's maturity level. Being quite accustomed to her sister's prim and proper ways, Phoebe had not been too put out but she had stopped her teasing.

What Phoebe hadn't expected upon meeting the Seven of Nine was how the almost Vulcan like woman lost her impassive expression that almost seemed plastered on when she had stood next to her Captain and had been introduced to Phoebe and Gretchen. Phoebe was a master at detecting the nuances of emotions displayed on faces and through body language and what she had seen in Seven at that moment had told her much about the young woman and about her sister.

Seven had stood slightly behind her Captain in what Phoebe had considered a protective stance. Who or what Seven had thought her Captain had needed to be guarded against Phoebe hadn't a clue. But there it was, as if Seven had been the sole protector of her charge, the Captain. Then the shifting of alert blue eyes had ended abruptly when her older sister had laid a hand on Seven's upper arm and those icy eyes had warmed perceptibly as she looked upon the Captain with what Phoebe later decided was deeply held devotion. Phoebe had seen similar expressions upon many of the others, who had been a part of Voyager's crew, but this look had definitely made Phoebe take note and with little surprise her mother had also picked up on it. During their transport back to the Janeway farm, the two women had spoken quite seriously about what they had both seen, but neither had been able to draw any irrefutable conclusions.

Seven's affectionate expression had contained nothing as base as lust or longing when she had looked upon her Captain. It had been an expression riddled with complexity and beautiful in its simplicity. Seven of Nine loved her Captain, unconditionally. It seemed such an absolute as to be fact. A woman who had lost her humanity at only six years of age only to be thrust back into it eighteen years later had, over the course of four years, found it again in the woman who had given it back to her mercilessly. And that four year journey, Phoebe had been fully aware of, had not always gone smoothly.

Phoebe had been driven to tears by some of the tales of the heated disagreements between Seven and the Captain through her sister's correspondence. Phoebe knew full well how stubborn her sister could be and if this Seven person had managed to break through that inflexibility, good for her. That was always what Phoebe had always thought would be good for her older sister, someone who could challenge her. Not many were capable of the feat, but this Seven of Nine had seemed more than accomplished at the task.

The look of acute nervousness that had settled upon Seven's features when she had been introduced to the two Janeway women also relayed significant information to Phoebe. Seven hadn't seemed entirely nervous or even interested when she had been greeted by many of the other crewmember's families, but when she had been presented with Phoebe and Gretchen that had clearly changed. It hadn't been a demonstrative display, but it had been obvious to Phoebe and she had tried to be less energetic or what her sister had referred to as "obnoxious". Although that had not stopped her from the warm hug she had given Seven after Gretchen Janeway had allowed Seven release from her own.

But now in her childhood home as she absently and noisily placed a basket of clanking silverware on a long wooden table clothed in white cotton, Phoebe felt no inclination or desire to hug Seven of Nine. In fact it had taken a considerable and drawn out lecture, a few warnings, and finally a plea on behalf of what Kathryn would have wanted from her barely contained mother to convince Phoebe that a physical altercation with Seven would not only be unwise, unhelpful, and uncouth but would also have disappointed Kathryn immensely. Phoebe had ultimately relented to her mother's wishes and had promised to rein in her anger as best she could. Phoebe's fury at the woman who she had thought loved her sister so greatly, so purely, and yet had not saved her, in fact had been the implement in which her sister had been killed, was settled at the pit of her stomach in a hot and heavy mass. No, Phoebe's cheeks flushed with her rising temper, she had no desire to hug that… that Borg.


The fragrant smells of pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, steamed assorted vegetables, fresh baked bread, vegetable biryani, and a number of other aromatic food items suffused the air of the wood enfolded living room of the Janeway homestead as a steady stream of long distance and extended relatives, neighbors, childhood friends and teachers of Kathryn Janeway tried to bestow their greatest sympathies to all present, especially onto Gretchen and Phoebe.

The silver haired matriarch received the solemn compassionate words with soft words of gratitude and even softer smiles of appreciation. Gretchen knew that those who came to her home this evening were there to pay their respects to the woman they had all known at one time or another, one form or another, and she did appreciate the sentiments but a part of her was annoyed to have to offer words of comfort to these visitors.

Gretchen would always nod in agreement at every accolade said to her regarding Kathryn. If truth be told it was getting a bit redundant and disingenuous to hear these people talk of her daughter as if they had even known her for the past decade, perhaps even more time than that. Gretchen shook off the uncharitable thoughts and chalked it up to fatigue. She was aware that she was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but people needed this time, Phoebe needed this time, to come to terms with the death of Kathryn before the funeral and more importantly, before the memorial service in San Francisco that was sure to be filled to the brim by the highest of Starfleet brass speaking words that seemed so well rehearsed to be completely and utterly inane.

"Here, dear, you look like you might need this."

Gretchen's attention was taken away from the woman who had been Kathryn's tennis coach all those years ago to Martha Janeway, her late husband's rather gregarious, sometimes obnoxious, older sister and she smiled. The first true smile she had presented in the last hour or so. Martha placed a small glass tumbler filled with a strong smelling gold colored liquid in her hand and she accepted it hesitantly. In the last hour, in true Irish tradition, many toasts were made in Kathryn's name and Gretchen wasn't entirely sure that a strong drink was what she really needed. Martha obviously thought otherwise.

The two Janeway women had not always been in agreement about a great many things; child-rearing and marriage just among the many subjects, but Gretchen knew how Martha had so greatly adored her daughters and Kathryn especially. Phoebe had never had the patience or calm for Martha Janeway's usually lengthy tales about the great and honorable ancestry of the Janeway name, but Kathryn had always sat in rapt attention when her aunt had relayed story after story. Kathryn had always been especially and deeply enthralled with any story that contained the illustrious Shannon O'Donnell Janeway and the Millennium Gate.

Gretchen thought about the hesitant way her oldest daughter had carefully and regretfully informed her aunt that Shannon O'Donnell had not in fact been the enterprising woman Martha had thought she had been. To Kathryn's great shock, her Aunt Martha had simply smiled and told her niece that stories shouldn't be overburdened by facts.

When she had been informed of the death of Kathryn, Martha had taken the first transport from Cuba to Indiana almost before the communication between her and Gretchen had been disconnected. And now, for the last several hours, Martha had been a source of strength and comfort for Gretchen and she was thankful for that. Despite her rather taciturn nature, Martha had a steady strength that Gretchen held onto for support. And, most importantly, Martha kept reminding her of how Kathryn wouldn't want grief and sorrow in her honor, but love, remembrance, and humor. And family.

Family… which brought Gretchen to the consideration of the small group of Starfleet officers who she knew without looking stood awkwardly around as people who they could not know asked how they had known Kathryn. "We were part of her crew" would be the resounding answer. Gretchen knew full well that they were more than that. Seven years together had created a bond between the senior officers onboard Voyager that was unbreakable, even in death.

Kathryn hadn't spoken much about herself during those seven years, but she had regaled Gretchen and Phoebe with numerous stories about her crew; some were quite harrowing, others hilarious, and all were said with a great deal of emotion. It was through those stories that the two women had been able to acquaint themselves with this new Kathryn, one they recognized, but still didn't fully know. Seven long years always being the Captain had changed Kathryn. She had become more relaxed within her own commanding presence and unrelenting energy, but had also seemed constantly alert as if an unforeseen danger was always looming on the horizon, a woman who had hardened somewhat but at the same time had allowed her subordinates closer to her heart than any other.

When Gretchen had first seen her eldest daughter disembark and enter the throng of families, she had barely recognized the self-contained and authoritative woman who had walked towards her and Phoebe, but then Kathryn had smiled, Gretchen had almost forgotten how bright that smile could be, how warm and loving, and then they had embraced one another and the tears were unsuccessfully kept at bay. And Gretchen knew she had finally been given her daughter back. That had been over two years ago, she was given only two years before her daughter was stolen from her again. Only this time, she would never get her back. And Gretchen felt sick at that reality.

"Gretchen, it isn't proper to let an old woman drink alone."

Martha's teasing voice brought Gretchen out of her thoughts before she brought the glass to her lips and imbibed a small amount of the cool liquid that heated her throat on the way to her stomach. The coldness that had been a formed and heavy mass thawed when the drink settled and Gretchen leaned in to the ample warmth of her sister-in-law. Gretchen held onto one of Martha's hands with her own and moved them towards the kitchen, away from the people gathered.

"You just say the word and I'll hustle people out." Martha's voice was serious and entreating and Gretchen had to smile at the tone.

"No, no, we're not the only ones who… who loved Kathryn, they need this time as well." As the words escaped her quietly, Gretchen knew that she too needed this time. She had made herself be the strong one, the one to support her daughter, Kathryn's crew, everyone… but perhaps that wasn't what she needed to be now. And as she felt the arms of her sister-in-law enfold her petite form, Gretchen allowed the tears of anguish and loss to fall once again.


Seven could not think of a time in her life when she had felt more uneasy in a crowd than she did at this very moment. Many eyes had fallen on her in the last seventy-four minutes; curious mostly and some fearful, but the stares had all been averted quickly to the mother of Kathryn Janeway and Seven had been left mostly alone with her former crewmates.

The small group of Starfleet officers had sequestered themselves in a corner away from the food and near the fireplace. The eyes of the officers flitted sporadically towards the numerous photographs situated on top of the mantle for they had already examined the pictures studiously when they had first entered. But they still could not help when their gaze was drawn to the photos of their former commanding officer in her many guises and years of age.

A number of the pictures had elicited warm smiles, a few softly released chuckles, but mostly eyes that misted over with emotion. A few especially caught their attentions. One in particular displayed a rather plump image of their former Captain as a girl of about six with wavy flame red hair that fell about the well-worn leather jacket that contained a pair of gold wings pinned to the front. The child smiled so happily, so carelessly, her liberally freckled cheeks rounded fully with the grin. It was a grin that they thought they were fully aware of but they had never seen it so unburdened in all their time with their Captain and their hearts caught at the sight.

The other photograph which fascinated them had been taken much more recently. The newly appointed Admiral had been out of uniform when the picture had been taken, clad in a V-necked black sweater with her shoulder length auburn hair curled around her bare collarbones and a contemplative expression had made her look thoughtful, relaxed, and beautiful. The pale pallor of years in space had been replaced by a sun touched complexion and the freckles that had been numerous in childhood had reemerged more subtly but just as endearingly.

"It's not fair." Tom's voice was soft, gentler than was characteristic of the sometimes brash and frivolous man. "She got us all home and now… now she's gone."

B'Elanna held her slumbering daughter in one arm and her husband in the other as she nodded her head. She felt tears caused by a mixture of sorrow and anger form in her dark eyes. "I just wish the damned Collective would finally be gone for good."

"As do I." Seven's voice was hard and sincere, but she knew better than anyone how resilient the Borg were and she had her doubts that the Collective had been completely destroyed despite the great decimation caused by one determined woman.

Kathryn Janeway had bested the Borg against Species 8472, taken Seven of Nine from her Queen, stolen technology from a sphere, instigated a resistance movement within the Collective via her involvement with Unimatrix Zero, destroyed one of only six transwarp hubs, stopped an assimilation virus from sweeping Earth, and finally destroyed the most powerful vessel the Borg had ever devised. That much devastation, even the Borg couldn't recover from anytime soon.

"We should have been there." Harry's tone was low and held regret and admonishment. "Voyager should have been there. Maybe we could have helped."

The truth that if the Voyager crew had been there with their former Captain they would have most likely been assimilated as the Einstein crew had been did not detract from the certainty in Harry Kim's voice. Somehow, they would have made it through, he had reasoned, they had been in worst spots than battling one lone Borg cube.

"I don't get it. She didn't even tell any of us she was planning on going to that damned cube. It wouldn't have been a problem; she wouldn't have even needed to ask." Tom took his slumbering daughter from his wife's arms as he welcomed the comfort of the small form. "We would have offered Voyager. Hell, she had the authority to requisition even the Enterprise."

Tom shared his best friend's belief that if Voyager and her crew had been there, perhaps the Admiral wouldn't have been lost to them. With her trusted ship and steadfast crew, Admiral Janeway would have, as she had done so many times in the past, triumphed over the seemingly unbeatable opponent.

"It was something she had to do alone." Chakotay's voice was as sure as Harry's for he knew Kathryn Janeway and why she had gone to the cube with only a small vessel and an even smaller crew.

Kathryn had to face her demons. She had helped the Borg defeat Species 8472 in a war that would have led to the demise of the Collective, but at the time, she had thought it would have led to the destruction of the rest of the galaxy as well. She had made a deal with the devil and despite Chakotay knowing she would never openly admit to such vulnerability, it had affected her immensely. Assisting the resistance from Unimatrix Zero and destroying the hub had not only been her way of dealing blows against the Borg but also to repent for her assistance in their survival.

Most understood Chakotay's words, but it did not ease the feelings of guilt and the thoughts of "what ifs". Her crew should have been there, to save her or to die with her in defense against the Borg. Instead they had all been nestled safely in their respective places and only saw from afar the great threat that had been upon them, while their former Captain had been turned into a perverse and hideous parody of herself. Her body, her mind, perhaps her very soul had been twisted and mutilated, locked away and suffocated under the thoughts of billions, stripped and disfigured. She had been turned into the devil incarnate and the horrid being that had emerged had reveled in it. Only one of them had seen what Kathryn Janeway had been transformed into, but Seven had not spoken to any of them with much detail about what she had seen. Truthfully, they weren't fully prepared to ask and they had figured she wasn't prepared to tell.


The last true conversation Seven had participated in with Admiral Janeway filled her thoughts with the weighted and simple truth that Seven might have been capable of preventing the events that had led to Janeway's death.

They had been in the Admiral's office at Starfleet Command; Seven had completed her thorough analysis of the cube and had deemed it inert, dead, and as harmless as anything having to do with the Borg could ever be. Though Seven had no data to support her trepidation, when the Admiral had told her she intended to board the cube to further study it the former Borg drone had been disturbed by the prospect of her former Captain boarding even an inactive cube.

"You may want to consider waiting for a time, just to be certain." Seven's hands were clasped tightly together against her back as she held her chin up in an almost confrontational fashion, her voice had bordered on entreating.

Admiral Janeway leaned against the back of her chair as she appraised Seven with her piercing blue-gray gaze. Her voice was sincerely curious as she replied. "How long a time?"

Janeway watched Seven consider her question, she could almost see the thought processes like churning wheels behind the icy blue eyes of her former Astrometrics officer turned advisor and professor for Starfleet.

And when Seven replied it was with the utmost certainty, very close to commanding. "Ten years would be sufficient."

Janeway smirked, laughter barely restrained, as she nodded her head, amused, but also deeply touched at the protective stance Seven was obviously displaying. The Admiral's tone was lightly sardonic as she made her reply. "Are you suggesting that for the next ten years I shouldn't hesitate to send officers, scientists, and such to inspect the cube to their heart's content, but I personally should give it as much distance as possible?"

Seven either didn't pick up on the tone or chose not to as her response was quick and serious. "That sounds to me like the ideal strategy."

Again she was touched by the show of concern, Janeway's expression softened, but her voice held the steeliness of her authority as she questioned the young woman and wondered about her motives. "And what sort of message would that send?"

As she thought about the question posed to her, Seven's head tilted to one side while she maintained her eye contact with the seated woman before her. A woman she loved deeply, fully, guardedly. But as the truth came to her mind she spoke them earnestly as she was not accustomed to lying, especially to the Admiral. "I was not concerned about messages, merely about attending to your safety, to keeping you alive."

Admiral Janeway's eyes were more blue than gray as she smiled at the honesty in Seven's voice, but her eyes also held resolve. And once Kathryn Janeway's mind was set, nothing could deter it. Not even the concern of a woman she cared for immensely. She had to go to the cube. She had to see the Collective vanquished once and for all.

"Sometimes in order to feel alive, one has to take chances with one's safety." As the words escaped between her lips, Janeway wondered at them and knew they were the truth.

When was the last time she felt truly alive back here in Alpha Quadrant? Probably almost two years ago when the Borg virus had swept Earth and she and her former crew had defied Starfleet Command in order to save Seven, Icheb, and the Doctor and really Earth itself.

As hard as it had been in the Delta Quadrant, Janeway missed the constant energizing quality traveling through the unknown always filled her with. How ironic that as a Captain of one of the smallest ships in the Fleet in an unexplored and often times dangerous quadrant she had felt more in control of her own destiny than as a high ranking Admiral in the heart of Starfleet and the Federation. She had been the Captain, the lone authority with the responsibility of more than a hundred people on her shoulders for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to just be Kathryn Janeway. She had feared that she simply could not just be Kathryn, so she had immersed herself in her Admiralty and it had proven over the course of two years to be immensely… unsatisfying. But Janeway knew what was making her so restless, she missed being at the helm of a starship, doing what she had set out to do from the very beginning of her studies at the Academy. To explore, to discover, to seek out. The added sense of danger the unexplored offered her was also lost to her as she went through the sometimes interesting but usually tedious tasks of being an Admiral. She needed to feel that danger again, even if it was more imaginary than anything else since the cube was about as dangerous as a piece of space rock.

Seven apparently didn't agree because her icy blue eyes narrowed as her voice became that tone Janeway had heard many times before. The tone that seemed to say "Captain, you are being unwise in your decision making." It was the tone that made Janeway even more determined to have it her way. The voice held something else that Janeway couldn't readily identify but it seemed an odd mixture of regret and resignation. "No. One really does not."

Seven was brought out of her remembrance by Chakotay's somber voice. "It was something she had to do alone."

"She was not alone." Seven's voice rose as it filled with self-castigation, remorse, and disgust. "I was there."

Seven felt the tears spring to her right eye and she rushed away from her former crewmates before she moved swiftly through the crowd as she heard voices call her name in concern.

How could they understand that it was Seven who could have stopped the Admiral from going to the cube by stating that it was unsafe despite the data to the contrary, or that she could have asked to accompany the Admiral onto the cube and probably would have been allowed due to her expertise and familiarity, that she could have been with the Admiral even after assimilation and been with her forever. How could they understand the loneliness that she had discovered within her Admiral when they had met on the mental plane of the Hive Mind, how she had felt within herself the anguish and strength that allowed the Admiral to overcome her imprisonment within the Borg Queen, how Seven had been with her former Captain when she had died as she uttered three simple words filled with more complex emotions than Seven could easily identify. But she knew what one of the feelings was and it had filled Seven with an overwhelming sense of despair and joy and endless regret.

Thank you, Seven.

And with those three words, Seven had known, and did know, her Captain, her Admiral, her friend, her counsel, her mentor, her constant guide and inspiration to regaining her humanity had also been… her great love.


"Don't you think one of us should go after her?" The Doctor's holographic arm had been clasped tightly by B'Elanna who forestalled his movement as she shook her head.

"If she wanted to talk to us, she wouldn't have run off like that." B'Elanna and Seven were not the best of friends, but the half-Klingon was perceptive enough to know that what Seven needed now was not the Doctor or anyone else trying to either cheer her up or sympathize with her.

B'Elanna knew what it was like to lose someone close to her, but even more so, to be the cause of that loss. Nearly two years ago, her mother, Miral, had died in her arms from a knife wound that B'Elanna herself had inflicted in order to maintain Miral's honor and to stop the suffering that her mother hadn't wanted to endure in front of her daughter. There were times when B'Elanna could still feel the warm sickening dampness of her mother's blood on her hands. She figured Seven, having to be the carrier for the virus that had destroyed the cube and its Queen, felt similarly.

"I think B'Elanna's right, Doctor." Jarem Kaz's kind blue eyes looked off to where Seven had just departed. He suspected he knew the underlying meaning to Seven's words, but knew he wouldn't and shouldn't be the one to voice them. "She needs some space."

Chakotay could feel a flush of anger warm his body as he wondered about all this concern for Seven and more importantly Seven's rather uncharacteristically demonstrative display. He felt as if he was missing a large piece of the puzzle, he had a semblance of an idea of what that piece could entail and with that another wave of anger mixed with jealousy filled his large frame. He had lost the woman he loved, but it was Seven who was being treated almost as if she were now a widow. If there had been any sort of vocal complaint from Chakotay it was forestalled by the entrance of one man whom he had heard of, seen brief images of, and had been furiously jealous of for several long years.

"Mark."


Martha had reluctantly allowed her sister-in-law freedom from her embrace as more people entered the home to extend their sympathies to the woman who had just lost her daughter. She watched with concerned gray eyes as Gretchen stood tall and gracious, though with an almost visible weight that pressed down upon her slim shoulders. Martha Janeway didn't understand the point of a wake; they were uncomfortable and solemn at best. So she decided to do what was traditional for her people during such a ceremony, she pushed her large frame into the kitchen to get herself another drink. The one she had just poured herself a few minutes ago was now in the hands of her sister-in-law.

The sorry vision that greeted her as she entered raised her hackles; Phoebe Janeway sat despondently at the small breakfast nook with a bottle of Martha's most prized whiskey, mostly empty, in her slim hands as she dozed against the wall.

"Phoebe Elsa Janeway, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Martha pushed her lumbering form quickly towards her young niece, her voice filled with disapproval as she pulled the nearly empty bottle from the limp grasp of Phoebe Janeway. "That was my special bottle! And you didn't even take the time to enjoy it."

Phoebe gurgled out an indecipherable response as her heavy eyelids fluttered, but she remained slumped against the wall.

After Martha carefully poured the rest of the contents of the bottle into her glass, she brought a hypospray out from one of her deep and concealed pockets. With a soft hiss, the mixture of detoxifying serum and a strong stimulant brought Phoebe into consciousness abruptly and with a pounding headache that her aunt had apparently not deemed it necessary to relieve.

"Oh god, my head…" Phoebe's mass of red curls fell in thick waves down her back, over her shoulders, and across the sides of her face as she bent over the table with her head held in her hands. She was in the midst of deciding whether to throw up here in the kitchen or outside when the strong unmistakable smell of coffee hit her squarely in the face as the mug was placed on top of the table. She released her hold on her pounding head as she grasped the mug and brought the steaming bitter liquid to her lips.

As she nursed her tumbler filled with aged whiskey, Martha seated herself across from her niece on the wooden bench. Her gray eyes narrowed as she watched Phoebe take tentative sips of the strong coffee. "Do you want to tell me why you've been hiding away in here for the last hour? Your mother has been having to deal with all those godforsaken people on her own you know. I'm sure they all mean well but what do they expect from her, I just don't know. I've never liked these wakes, if you ask me they're stuffy and uncomfortable. But you're not making it any easier for your mother."

"What do you expect from me?" Phoebe groaned as the coffee settled uneasily in her stomach, her blue eyes didn't look up from her hands for she could already well imagine the expression on her aunt's face.

"I don't expect anything from you, Phoebes." Martha put the pad of her index finger underneath the other woman's chin and raised it so that blue eyes would finally meet her own steady gaze of sympathy mixed evenly with firmness. "I know you're in pain. That you're hurting and angry and feeling the loss deeply, but you're not the only one who lost Kathryn."

"Those people didn't lose Kathryn." Phoebe pushed away from the table fiercely as she stood and towered over her aunt. Her eyes blazed with a renewed anger that the copious amounts of alcohol had dulled for a little while until her aunt had decided to intervene. "They never had her. They were just her crew. I'm her sister. Her family. Not them!"

Martha watched as the heat of Phoebe's anger colored her high cheekbones and the pale lightly freckled skin of her neck and upper chest and finally began to understand this woman's fury. In a lighter voice unaccustomed to the woman she voiced her certainty. "You're jealous for no reason, Phoebe. They didn't replace you or your mother or hell even me. They merely joined the ranks of Kathryn's family."

"I. Am not. Jealous." Even as she stated the words stridently as her fury filled her with heat, she knew that the words were simply not true. She was jealous, she had been extremely jealous.

After having been apart for seven years, Phoebe had barely recognized the woman her sister had become. The easy confidence and authoritative presence, the darkly laced and scathing sense of humor, the cynical perception of those around her, the voice that had lowered over the years to give it a hard and unrelenting timbre, and the unease in which Kathryn had interacted with her family had replaced the woman who she had hugged good-bye at Voyager's launch ceremony. This unknown entity that her sister had become carried herself with self-assurance which bordered closely to arrogance and a superior air as if Kathryn Janeway knew something important that no else could. Her sister had always seemed to seek the approval of those around her whether it be from an instructor, an admiral, and especially their own father but when she had returned gone were her concerns of what others thought of her, her accomplishments and achievements even her mistakes and rule breaking had all been summed up and dismissed with four simple words that spoke volumes… I was the Captain. And with those words a heaviness almost visible had seemed to lay on her sister's shoulders. Gone were the easy smiles and unrestrained laughter, every emotional response seemed a forethought, as if Kathryn would decide which emotion she would display and to what extent before it was allowed to show on her expression or her tone.

Even two years after Kathryn's return, Phoebe had still felt estranged from her sister. They had rarely spoken to each other in the last few years and had seen each other even less. Her mother would always tell her in that understanding, soft voice of hers that Kathryn would need time to reacquaint herself with her home, her planet, what the Federation had become after almost being destroyed in the Dominion War. But it didn't seem that Kathryn took much time at all after she came back. She had always been either at Starfleet Command or off on a mission and had seemingly worked nonstop after being promoted to Admiral. Kathryn had always had an unrelenting energy but after her travels through the Delta Quadrant that energy had turned into something well contained, molded into an air of unrelenting command, and something that seemed almost dangerous as if someone could easily get burned by standing too close to her.

When Phoebe had questioned her sister regarding her unceasing missions Kathryn had merely looked at her patiently and stated that the Federation needed all the assistance it could to rebuild and that she had a responsibility as a Starfleet officer. The belief that that sense of responsibility was something that Phoebe could never understand wasn't spoken, but the meaning had seemed clear in her sister's patiently condescending words.

Kathryn had always been the responsible one, the person who had direction in life, a set purpose, lofty goals, and the ambition and abilities to attain them all. Phoebe, on the other hand, had always been the free-spirit, unburdened by things such as rules and protocol, of such structural constraints and linear path through life. Kathryn had not always been understanding of their differences but she had never made Phoebe feel like a failure or a person she simply had no time for… until her sister had returned home. More often than not, Phoebe had felt like another responsibility loaded onto her sister that would only take precedence after the Federation was returned to its former strength and glory. Her sister had just not had the time to be entangled with the carefree life of Phoebe.

So, after seven long years of hoping and praying that her sister would return to them, when she finally did she seemed even farther away in the same space than she had in all of those years away in a distant part of another quadrant. And at this very moment Phoebe Janeway seated across from her aged aunt she realized the truth. She had lost her sister over nine years ago; it was only now that she realized that fact and also the knowledge that it was permanent.