I would find them at random sitting by her coffin. Sometimes, they would talk to her. Sometimes, they would cry and sometimes it was as if they weren't even there themselves. If done right, we would have had her placed high on a scaffold in hopes to direct her to somewhere better than here, somewhere beyond. But all we can offer is to have her coffin placed in the conference room for a days time before her funeral.

I'm glad my crew has taken the time to come see her. I'm glad they are allowing themselves to grieve.

I stand beside her now. I'm adorned in my dress uniform and though it should be a sign of respect, I feel as though I'm mocking her. I feel flustered all alone with her. I should be saying goodbye but I realize we never really said hello. We're strangers. In fact, I have learned more about her in the last twenty-four hours than I have during her entire stay here on Voyager.

I place my hand against the grey material of the Federation flag, draped across her coffin. I can still see the image of her right before the Doctor clicked her capsule shut. She looked serene. She lay like a sleeping princess, her long hair cascading down her body, her uniform clean and proper with he hands resting on her chest. I didn't want to witness her being tucked away into her final bed. But Chakotay wanted me there as he placed an eagle's feather underneath her palms.

"Rosanna Little Iron. You have lived as a mighty warrior and died as one as well. You bring honor to your family and to your people. We honor you with this The Eagle Feather. May the spirits guide you." He said it all, so softly.

I felt as though he should have been announcing it loudly to his small, solemn audience, his words bouncing off of the grey, sterilized walls. But he spoke with a soft tenderness you would only use when soothing a young child from a nightmare.

The very real feather was one of the few remnants he had left of his father. I felt as though I should have argued but I could see it was not only right, but the most perfect act. They may not have been of the same tribe. But they were of the same heart.

I stand there with no feathers to offer or a mournful song to sing. All I have, is my hand pressed against fabric and a heart yearning to be more. "Thank you" I whisper to her "Thank you….and I'm sorry."

A throat clears. I look up to see a handful of my crew dressed in their best, holding traditional drums. We had a smattering of crew members who could sing and were willing to learn a traditional mourning song for the occasion.

"The Commander is prepared to commence" Ensign Vorik informs me.

I give him a sad smile he pretends not to register. He is so young and so stoic. We have asked a lot of him. Today, he provides an impressive baritone to sing for the death of one of his crew mates and tomorrow he will stand as a representative for another crew member, to be condemned. I nod and make my way towards the mess hall where I will stand and wait as the processional of drums and mourners will fill the halls of Voyager with the harmonic cries of grief. They will lead her back to me.

It will be so beautiful. It will be so jarring. It will be imperfect, this strange ceremony pieced together by Federation and Lakota traditions. But we will honor her spirit and when we turn towards the windows to the sound of the whistle, when we see her safely be cast away into the inky blackness that is space, we will know she will be truly free.

I have to believe that.

Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,

So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes,

And made their bends adornings; at the helm

A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle

Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,

That yarely frame the office.…

The computer drones on as I lightly finger the mouth of my mug. My quarters are dim as I curl up against the window and watch the stars go by. I should be at ease but my body is vibrating with anticipation for the sentencing the following morning. My body lets out a jolt as a chime alerts me of someone at my door.

"Come" I call out.

BE'lanna enters, timidly.

"BE'lanna" I say somewhat surprised placing my cup on the coffee table.

"You're relaxing. I can come later." she replies nervously

"Don't be silly. Can I get you anything?"

From the barge

A strange invisible perfume hits the sense….

"What are you listening to?"

"Oh uh…computer pause program! Just a little Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra to be exact."

"As good as The Mistress of Kahless?" she attempts to tease

"Up there" I reply with a chuckle "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"No..no"

She usually is never so timid. I'm always so fascinated by this woman. Her range for emotion is impressive at best. She may jump towards anger but few are able to see the depth of her vulnerability and the multitude of her tenderness. She's ringing her hands and lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"BE'lanna…"

"It's just seems off!" She exclaims "I mean sure I don't know her very well. But to kill someone…kill someone! She just….it just seems off!"

"I know" I sigh "I'm socked as well."

"I mean we aren't even going to give her trial? I'm sure there is some explanation to this!.."

"You should sit dow…"

"She's a good kid! At least from what I know! I know torture changes people but she was in a coma and then suddenly up! No one should be in a state to kill right out of a coma!"

She's pacing now. Her arms crossed tightly against her body.

"You're right and we can…."

"…The coma is just weird in itself! I'm not a doctor but who just pops awake like that!

"Lanna"

"…I mean yeah she can't talk. But from what I've heard she wasn't much of a talker even before. You won't even do a trial? Klingons even do a trial!…"

"You…"

"…I mean sure it's mostly decided before it starts and the judge is usually four goblets in on the blood wine but…"

"BE'LANNA!" I shout

Finally, she pauses. She looks at me bewildered. I stand, approach her and place my hands on her shoulders.

"She confessed 'lanna. She confessed to me when she was first apprehended. If you have a confession, then there is no need for a trial."

"Oh" she replies quietly "Have you decided…what to do?"

My hands drop and once again anxiety buzzes throughout my body.

"I'm deliberating. Tuvok is still investigating so…Im waiting on the facts."

She looks at me, her face changing from quiet shock to speculation.

"You're waiting? On facts?"

"Yes I…"

"Since when do you of all people wait for anything?" she asks taking a step back, the accusation burning in her tone.

"Excuse me but I feel you are reaching a line." I reply sharply

"You have been my captain and my friend for sometime now" she states her voice wobbling slightly. I feel a blush heating in my cheeks after hearing her admit to our close relationship.

"When have you, Captain Kathryn Janeway, ever wait for facts? What happened to the Captain who punches through? You would investigate a sneeze if you felt something was wrong."

I am silent. In dismay.

"Fine. Condemn the kid. But you and I both know something is wrong here. You and I both know there was more going on here. So if you won't do anything about this then I will!"

With that, she spun on her heel and exited my quarters not even bothering to be dismissed.

I let out a huff and make my way to follow her, to reprimand her, to remind her who exactly is the superior officer in this situation. But when I reach the door I stop. I realize she is completely right. Why haven't I been investigating? Shouldn't I be deep in research? Shouldn't I be pouring over Tuvok's reports? Shouldn't I be grilling the culprit myself?

My fists clench until they drawl blood.

Complacency was never a trait I embodied. So why do I practice it now? Who am I? What's happened to me?

My thoughts are interrupted when I catch a shadow move in the corner of my eye. I quickly turn to see what could be in the room with me. I see nothing. I meander about my quarters to check for what is amiss. I see nothing.

So it is then, the Great Captain Janeway, The Wanderer With Many Questions, The Critical Eye of Starfleet, shrugged off the oddity and went to bed.