The Journey Home

by Liz

A young writer has been hired to record the official account of Voyager’s adventures. The Paris-Torres family do not give an easy interview. Rated PG.

Disclaimer: This story and website are in no way affiliated with Star Trek: Voyager, and are in no way meant to infringe on the copyright and trademarks of Paramount Studios, a Viacom Corporation. All characters, barring those created specifically by the author for her own sole use, are © Paramount/Viacom and are used here without permission.

Here’s to all the people whose conversations, thoughts, and accusations have influenced this piece. Email me at el_kobogo@yahoo.com if inspired.

The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.

Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar to the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.

What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?

-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

At thirteen hundred hours Earth/PS Time on Stardate 54973.4, invasion sirens sounded on the planet Earth. To anyone who lives planetside, the wail of the invasion sirens is unmistakable. They sound deceptively calm and musical, swelling an octave in pitch, and they are loud enough for anyone on Earth to hear them. No one sleeps through that sound, because everyone knows what it means.

It had been barely more than two years since the Department of Emergency Response had last triggered the sirens, during the Breen assault on the heart of Starfleet’s command structure. Earth’s population remembered that day very well. It was marked by confusion, mass chaos and casualties, and the terror of citizens who had never experienced an invasion on their home soil. In many cities, emergency shelters were never even opened, because no one could verify the gravity of the situation, and in many cases local governments had forgotten how to access the shelters.

This time, however, there was no hesitation. In Tokyo, school children were quickly herded to emergency transport launch sites. In Calcutta, rush hour doubled in frenzy as citizens realized they could be facing battleground conditions on their own planet. In London, families woke and headed to the nearest underground access, where thick shielding would hopefully protect them from whatever disaster would soon arrive. In San Francisco and elsewhere, Starfleet and other defense personnel armed themselves and prepared to face any free society’s greatest fear: the Borg.

Only seconds before, a transwarp conduit had opened less than one light-year from Earth, just outside the Terran system. A tactical sphere—among the quickest and most versatile of Borg vessels—was spotted approaching the opening of the conduit from inside.

Twenty-seven Federation starships in all were ordered to make their stand ten thousand kilometers from the mouth of the conduit. It was a scenario very much like the one that had occurred eleven years before at Wolf 359, and any Starfleet officer who had been in active service during that time remembered that day’s disaster. Those who had been there either died, were assimilated, or survived in escape pods when their ships were destroyed; those who weren’t present had lost at least a dozen friends and family members in the worst battle of Starfleet history. On this day, there was even less time to prepare.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard, who would be elevated to the admiralty in less than a year, was in command of the Enterprise during this showdown and was there to witness the second documented arrival of a Borg sphere in Federation space.

“One does not hesitate to fight the Borg under any circumstances,” explained Picard, whose temporary assimilation into the Collective during Starfleet’s first encounter with the cybernetic race lent him a unique perspective into the Hive’s abilities. “Even if defeat is certain, resistance increases the window of opportunity of escape for others. Humanity has learned that lesson very well.”

“There isn’t a soul in this Fleet whose gut didn’t clench when the order came to meet that sphere when it showed,” said Captain Jelico of the USS Antwerp. “It’s true. Every day we potentially risk our lives in this job, but facing the Borg means risking a hell of a lot more than that.”

Commander T’Renn, in command of the USS Yaruba due to her captain’s absence on earth, concurred in her logs. “In situations such as these, ‘making a stand,’ as one would say, is the logical course of action. The success of the Borg on Earth would undoubtedly mean the end of the Federation as we know it.”

The makeshift armada prepared to open fire on the approaching vessel. A loose attack formation was ordered by Picard, who knew all too well the futility of such an effort. At most, they would buy Earth two, maybe three more minutes before the Borg’s arrival.

The sphere appeared within minutes of the initial alarms. According to Commander Data, who was then operations officer on the Enterprise, sensors immediately reported malfunctioning systems on the sphere as it emerged from the conduit. Data noted a 0.31 second glitch in communication relays on the sphere, which is virtually a lifetime among the Borg collective consciousness. Although Starfleet did not hesitate to begin their assault, every Federation ship was aware that something appeared to malfunction within the sphere.

The Borg vessel began breaking up before the armada had time to initiate an attack severe enough to cause any explosion. From headquarters in San Francisco, Admiral Owen Paris ordered a cease-fire and immediate retreat to five hundred kilometers away from the exploding ship.

It was lucky that he did, because what happened next was undoubtedly the most dramatic entrance in Federation history. The USS Voyager, after a seven-year accidental deep space mission, with over half that time believed lost and destroyed, shot through the exploding Borg ship and into the battlefield, where the ship slowed to a halt. They, too, had come through the conduit, destroying the Borg’s trans-galactic thoroughfare behind them. Against all odds, the ship and its crew were home.

At that same moment, another arrival was taking place, this one much smaller but no less grand. Miral Torres Paris, the daughter of two of Voyager’s senior officers, entered the world within seconds of Voyager’s own appearance in the Alpha Quadrant. Her mother, B’Elanna Torres, was a former Maquis who had commanded the ship’s engineering sections since the ship’s original disappearance. Her father, Thomas Eugene Paris, son of Admiral Owen Paris, was the ship’s senior pilot who had been given temporary leave from prison seven years before to help Voyager track down a missing Maquis vessel. Together they were part of a crew of misfits and misalliances who somehow became not just a team, but a family. Miral’s birth was for that crew the final, crowning symbol of seven years of living with the enemy, until the enemy was a friend and colleague. Before her birth, she was the crew’s hope; after, she became their pride. At all times, she was the symbol of their reconciliation.

Journalists have already documented the facts of Voyager’s journey and return. Historians have begun working on its significance. This book hopes to do something more, though—to show the people behind the news stories, and to tell the story for what it is.

Jake Sisko checked his watch for the third time since he’d boarded the train in Marseille. Typically he didn’t worry so much about an interview, but in this case he was especially nervous about the upcoming meeting. He’d been awarded an exciting contract—to write the first officially sanctioned account of the U.S.S. Voyager—and he was terrified the publishers would call him up any day now and renege. With only four, maybe five years’ experience under his belt, he still had trouble finding regular work. How he had managed to nab the book deal was beyond him.

True, he had a few things in his favor. His coverage of the Dominion occupation of Deep Space Nine had gained a lot of attention. He’d also done a good job with the original news story after Voyager’s return. And, he supposed, being the son of a prominent Starfleet officer never hurt when you were a journalist seeking work.

Not that he wasn’t thrilled to have landed the assignment! He’d wanted it badly, and not just because of the high-profile nature of the topic. It was simply an incredible story: a ship lost for seven years, and no one seemed to know what had really happened during that time. Even the logs and interviews failed to illuminate what the experience must have really been like for the 140 people trapped on board. Jake wanted to understand what they must have felt, stranded with nothing but the vaguest of directions to guide them home.

Hell—there were days when he thought he was that ship, on his own seven-year journey of mystery and terror. Life without a home wasn’t easy.

With a jolt, the train from Marseille finally began slowing to a halt after its fifty kilometer trip inland. Jake grabbed his satchel and loose padds and followed the other passengers onto the platform, where the bright sunshine and fierce winds of springtime in southern France were making themselves known. He pulled his coat tighter around himself as he surveyed the crowds on the platform. For reasons beyond him, this was a region that continued to frown upon universal translators. If he stood still for a moment, he thought he could count as many as five languages among the surrounding crowds—impressive.

He was heading off the platform and into the shelter of the station itself when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see a tall man in casual dress with sandy hair and a friendly grin approaching him.

“Tom Paris,” the man said by way of introduction, sticking out a hand in greeting.

Jake shook it. “Good to meet you, Mr. Paris. Thanks for coming to meet me.”

“No problem. And call me Tom,” Paris said loudly over the surrounding din as the northbound train pulled off behind them in a dusty cloud. “‘Mr. Paris’ makes me sound old. Now come on. It’s a windy day, but we don’t have far to walk.”

Jake hefted his satchel over one shoulder as they fought their way free of the crowds. “We live pretty close by,” Paris was saying over one shoulder, “so I didn’t bother to grab a transport. Don’t worry, it’s a little quieter on our street.”

Jake had to hurry to keep up with Paris, who clearly knew his way through the terminal better than he did. “When did you and your family move here?” he said, wincing as a gust of wind hit him in the face upon leaving the terminal building.

“Can’t wait to start pumping me for details, huh?” Tom said. “I’ll answer that, but first, is salmon okay for dinner? We have some real steaks—not the replicated stuff—but we can stick them in stasis if you don’t like fish.”

“Fish is fine,” Jake said, surprised that he expected him to stay for dinner. “My family’s old-time Creole,” he said to make conversation. “I could live on seafood.”

“No kidding,” Tom said. “Here, turn this way.”

Jake followed Paris around the corner to a quieter and narrower street. “I don’t mean to impose, of course,” he said. “I just assumed I’d find dinner on my own after we visit. I wouldn’t want to…”

Paris scoffed. “Nonsense. We’d counted on putting you up for the night, too. We actually have some other last-minute guests, a couple friends of ours who’ll be staying in the main guest room, but we still have a spare bed. It’s yours if you want it. That’s if you don’t mind the baby waking you up at five in the morning.”

“Well…” To his surprise, Jake found himself taking an immediate liking to Tom Paris. He wasn’t at all what he seemed to be from the other accounts or the older reports and records—the criminal, the player, the hotshot, or even the hero who broke warp 10. Jake still wasn’t quite sure if he should accept the invitation, though. Imposing on a source like that? What would his editors think?

Oh, what the hell. It might even get him better material for the book. “Sure,” Jake said, leaning into that damn wind. “I’d been planning to crash at the local hostel, but I’m a little short on credits anyway.”

Paris laughed knowingly and turned another corner. “Tell me about it. B’Elanna just landed a teaching and research position way out at Havana, but till she did that, we were afraid we’d have to move in with my parents for a while.”

“What about you?” Jake asked curiously.

“You mean work? Oh, this and that,” Tom said, stopping in front of a pair of thick, oak doors, each with its own enormous brass knocker. He fished a giant skeleton key out of his pocket. “I did a lot at first with Starfleet as a civilian consultant, helping them figure out what we did with the Delta Flyer. B’Elanna and I have also been toying with a couple shuttle designs that a few organizations are interested in. But we’ve decided that for now, with Miral so young, I’m taking some family time. And it gives me the chance to tune up a few holonovels I played with when we were still on Voyager.” He pointed at the building’s ancient facade. “Now get this. This building was constructed in 1703—long before the Federation or the European Union even existed. Pretty amazing, huh?”

Jake was impressed, and he wondered why a pilot and an engineer had chosen such archaic lodgings.

Tom pushed open the door. “We live on the top floor, so we’re in for a climb.”

Jake followed him inside, slightly dazed but grateful to escape the brutal wind outside. “So why France?” he asked as they attacked the first flight of stairs. He snuck one hand around to his satchel so he could unearth an audio recorder.

Unfortunately, Tom chose that moment to look over his shoulder at Jake and saw the recorder. He stopped climbing and looked him in the eye. “Hey, Jake,” he said, putting a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “We agreed to let you record this interview. But our conditions were that you tell us the second the recorder gets turned on, and that you turn it off when we say. I have a family to protect from people like you. Got it?” He raised an eyebrow at Jake, his eyes a cold shade of gray.

If Jake’s face were of a lighter complexion, he would have turned red to the roots of his hair. Good job, Sisko. “Sorry, Mr. Paris,” he said. “I didn’t mean to seem like I was… I mean, I’m still thinking like a reporter, you know…”

“It’s okay,” Paris said and clapped him on the shoulder. “And it’s Tom, remember?” Just as soon as it had vanished, the cheerful, open mannerisms snapped back into place, and Paris resumed his climb.

“Right.” Jake made a mental note: perhaps the harder edge of Tom Paris was there after all.

By the time they reached the top of the four flights of stairs, the awkward moment had long since passed. Tom opened the unlocked door to a scene filled with mayhem and immediately invited Jake in.

It reminded Jake a lot of his family’s home on Bajor. He could hear the hesitant wails of a baby struggling to decide whether she was happy or upset, and the comforting coos of a man’s voice in response. Against that, a racket of mass proportions was coming from a kitchen area off to the right, along with the smells of a meal in progress.

“B’Elanna, we’re here,” Tom called. “Why are you cooking? I said I’d do it.”

Another clash of metal on metal sounded. “We were hungry,” called a woman’s voice.

A dark-haired man wearing a lieutenant’s Starfleet uniform emerged from the left with a baby writhing in his arms. Jake had seen his picture before—this was Harry Kim, also from the Voyager crew. What was he doing here? “Hi, Tom. Your daughter woke up from her nap,” he noted cheerfully.

“Thanks, Harry,” Tom said as he took the whimpering child in his arms.

A blonde woman in stylish civilian dress also entered the hallway and poked her head in the kitchen. “B’Elanna, can I help?”

“I can do it!”

Harry put a hand on the blonde woman’s back to reassure her. “B’Elanna, this is a kitchen, not engineering. Let someone else handle the chemistry. Besides, your other guest is here.” He went into the kitchen and seemed to take over with a noticeable decline in argument. After a moment, a short, dark-haired woman with the muted ridges of a half-Klingon took his place in the hallway. Jake tried not to fidget as she bluntly sized him up.

“B’Elanna, this is Jake Sisko,” Tom introduced. “He’s the guy Starfleet agreed to have write the Voyager book. Jake, meet my wife B’Elanna Torres and our daughter Miral.” He took one of Miral’s tiny hands in his and waved it for her. “Hello, Jake!” he mimicked in a baby voice. The baby whimpered, displeased.

“Tom, let the man inside,” Torres said, shutting the door behind them. “Did you say you were spending the night here, Jake?”

“Um, yeah, if that’s okay.” What should he do now? Jake tried to think of how he would have acted if he were going to visit Worf, but his mind blanked. In any case, this woman seemed to be an entirely different sort of Klingon.

Tom jumped to his rescue. “I already invited him, B’Elanna. Now both of you go into the living room and sit down so I can help Harry undo whatever damage you did in the kitchen.” He deposited the baby in his wife’s arms, kissed her on the cheek, and headed into the kitchen.

B’Elanna glared at him behind his back, but from the twitch in her lips, Jake sensed that she didn’t really mean it. “Come on,” she told Jake, and headed through a doorway to the left with her daughter balanced on one hip.

The blonde woman who had been watching till now smiled warmly at him. “I think they left out an introduction. My name’s Sandy Jameson.”

“Jake Sisko,” he said, shaking her hand. “You’re not part of the Voyager crew, are you?”

“Me? Oh, no,” she said and led the way into the living room, where three tall windows let in the late afternoon sunshine. “I’m with Lieutenant Kim. I met Harry right after Voyager hit dock, and I guess they adopted me into the family, so to speak.”

B’Elanna snorted from where she was crouched, digging through a bag of child’s toys. “‘Hit dock’ is right. Just when you thought we were through with the whole adventure, Chakotay had to take the helm and lose control of the thrusters. Twenty seconds from safety, and he crashes us again.”

Jake nodded, remembering the vids of the clumsy landing. “It wasn’t that much of a crash, though, was it?”

“Enough to be really embarrassing,” B’Elanna said, laughing. “But it wouldn’t be Voyager if something didn’t go wrong at the last minute.”

Jake set his satchel down at one end of a large, white couch and took out a recorder. Having learned his lesson, he first asked if he could turn it on. He had a feeling that upsetting Torres might bring a bigger wrath upon him than from Paris.

“I suppose,” B’Elanna said dubiously.

Jake recognized her apprehension; he had dealt with this before. “I know it’s a little strange to be recording what you say, but this is so I can avoid any mistakes later on. If there’s something you feel uncomfortable with, you can always ask me to leave it out. I’m not out to ruin anyone’s reputation with this book—just to tell the story.”

B’Elanna nodded skeptically. “I read the introduction you sent us. It’s a good beginning, but I don’t know about all that attention on Miral.”

“Oh, that’s just a draft,” Jake said, a little embarrassed. He remembered the few pages he had sent Torres and Paris before when he was still trying to get them to agree to the interview; that was the part about the Borg and about Miral’s birth. Ordinarily he would never show anyone something he didn’t consider a final product, but at the time he didn’t think they’d agree to the interview if he didn’t. And he really needed this interview.

Sandy jumped in. “It was fine, Jake, and we know it wasn’t a finished version. But I’m sure you’ve heard that the crew has dealt with some, well, sensationalized press since they’ve returned. They’ve had to be careful to whom they speak.”

Lieutenant Kim came back in. “Tom kicked me out. What are we all standing around for?” he said. “Have a seat, and let’s break out the wine.”

“Harry, this is France,” Sandy said mildly as she sat on the sofa. “You save the wine for the meal, remember?”

“Do I look French?” B’Elanna said. “Go get the glasses, Harry. There’s a bottle of Cabernet on the dining table, and some brandy hidden in Tom’s stash.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “Nothing like being ordered around by your friends when they don’t outrank you anymore.”

The baby seemed a little calmer now that B’Elanna had supplied her with a brightly colored rattle, which she immediately shoved into her mouth as far as it would go. Jake grinned at the sight. The baby had a handful of thin curls on her head, and her forehead ridges were surprisingly prominent for only being a quarter Klingon. Sensing the extra attention, Miral Paris stared back at him with wide, dark eyes.

“That kid’s a real charmer,” Harry commented as he reentered, wine glasses in hand. “She can scream like no other, but once she quiets down she’s great.” Jake noticed Harry and Sandy exchange a lingering glance.

Jake was getting very excited. This was material he could work with. One officer encounters romance upon his return, as his friends begin a new life with their baby girl… He was lucky Kim and Jameson were here. It was like four birds with one stone. Five, counting the baby, who really was turning out to be a charmer. She had by now quit her crying and was gurgling contentedly in her mother’s lap, having hauled herself into a sitting position.

“So, Miral is almost one year old, isn’t she?” Jake asked to start things off.

Her mother ran a hand through the baby’s dark curls. “That’s right. She’s been crawling around like a lizard for about two months now, and she certainly knows who people are.”

“Her first word was ‘Harry,’” Kim said proudly from the wine bar.

“It was not, and you know it,” B’Elanna told him. “It was ‘daah,’ which isn’t even a word.”

“Oh, come on, B’Elanna. You know I’m her favorite.”

“Anyone who spoils her like you do is her favorite.”

“Here, Sandy,” Harry said, handing his girlfriend a glass of deep red wine. “B’Elanna? Jake?”

“Half a glass, Harry,” B’Elanna said.

“I’ll have mine with dinner,” Jake said. He had a feeling they might be doing their fare share of drinking tonight, and he didn’t want to get sleepy or loose-lipped. He was working, after all.

He took a chance and turned on the recorder, setting it on the table in plain view. “Okay,” Jake said, trying to act businesslike. “So tell me what it was like when you finally pulled into dock a year ago.”

“You’ll have to answer that, Harry,” B’Elanna said, taking a sip of wine. “I was a little preoccupied at the time.”

Harry laughed and sat next to his girlfriend. “It’s hard to say, actually,” he said smoothly, putting an arm around Sandy’s shoulders. “I wasn’t sure what to think.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Tom, emerging from the kitchen. “A few days before you were ready to risk the entire ship on that conduit. And you expect us to believe you just stood there?”

“I’m serious!” Lieutenant Kim protested. “We were all like that, the whole crew. I mean, haven’t you ever lived for something for so long that when you finally get it, you don’t know what to do with it or what to think?”

Jake nodded. It was kind of like this book deal.

“Right,” Tom goaded. “I’m sure once I left the bridge you peed at your station, you were so excited.”

“Why did you leave the bridge?” Jake knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Paris himself.

Tom grinned and pointed at Miral. “There was someone I had to meet.”

Tom Paris ran the several decks from the bridge to sickbay, having been paged by the ship’s EMH with the news of the successful delivery. Impossible thoughts jumbled around in his mind. He was a father? They were back in Federation space? They weren’t going to be assimilated? His father was there waiting for him? B’Elanna was okay, and so was the baby?

The baby?! Holy Mother of… This had actually happened.

Part of him wondered what had happened to the Doctor’s earlier warning that Klingon labor could last for days. Trust B’Elanna to be the only Klingon or human woman he’d ever known to get it over with in under an hour. He hoped like hell she really was okay.

He burst through the doors, took one look inside, and hurried to his wife’s side, where the Doctor was calmly cleaning up the post-natal wreckage. B’Elanna was sitting up, holding a wriggling wad of blankets in her arms.

“B’Elanna?” he said, still panting from his multi-deck sprint.

She looked up at him, an exuberant if tired smile across her face. “Here,” she said, and held the baby up for him to see.

He looked at the little infant bundled against her chest. His daughter… She was so little! And she was here!

“She’s beautiful!” he told B’Elanna, and kissed her. She kissed back.

“Yes, I believe this one may be worth keeping,” said the EMH. “Congratulations, lieutenants.” The new parents barely registered his presence.

Tom reached out and gently touched his daughter’s cheek and took her miniscule hand in his. She looked back at him, her bright red face crinkled into what looked like a faintly worried expression, as if she wasn’t sure this was the right place.

Tom laughed. “It’s okay,” he reassured her softly. “We’re your parents. You’ll be okay.” The word ‘parents’ gave him a thrill. They really were!

He sat down on the edge of the biobed next to his wife and put his arm around her. “Are you all right?” he said. “I can’t believe I wasn’t here, I should have told the captain to make somebody else fly the ship, I—”

“We’re okay,” B’Elanna said. “You got us home, Dad. That’s what counts.”

“Dad…” He shook his head in disbelief. “She’s so perfect. She has your nose.” He carefully touched the little button nose on the baby’s face.

B’Elanna laughed at the baby’s whimper. “Here, you should hold her, too.”

“Me?”

“No, the Borg. Yes, you!” she said. “Come on.” Childbirth had obviously neglected to remove her capacity for sarcasm.

The Doctor nodded to Tom reassuringly. “Support her head with one hand and you’ll be fine.”

Tom did as he was told. She was so light! Still astonished at the very existence of the squirming bundle in his arms, he couldn’t believe how right this felt. Everything: her unfocused eyes, her tiny cranial ridges still swollen from birth—she was perfect.

“Wait just a moment,” he heard the Doctor say. “Don’t move, any of you!” Tom looked up; he had a good idea what was coming.

After a moment, the EMH returned with his notorious holo-imager in hand. “Let’s capture the moment.”

“Wait, Doctor,” B’Elanna protested. “Set the timer. We want you in the picture, too.”

The Doctor was taken aback. “Really? You do?”

Tom agreed. “You’re her godfather,” he said. “You’re family.”

A smile spread across the hologram’s features. “Who am I to protest?” he said and set the camera on a nearby cart. Pressing the timer, he rushed over to where Tom and B’Elanna sat, holding their new baby.

Tom’s smile was completely genuine as he waited for the picture to take. Delta Quadrant, Alpha Quadrant, none of it mattered. He knew he was home.

Jake had been right; they were all drinking their fare share that night.

Not that anyone was drunk. But it did seem that the whole table, barring little Miral, of course, was hovering on the edge of a relaxed, steady buzz and were now content simply to laugh and enjoy the company. Jake felt more at ease now, and with the light tapping of rain just beginning outside, he was glad he’d chosen to stay the night.

They had already polished off the meal. Coming from a long line of expert chefs, Jake wouldn’t have called it the most exquisite dinner of his life, but there was something exceptional in its lack of flourish. Like no one here felt the need to prove anything.

And to think that almost eight years before, these people had been near-enemies to each other, caught in a situation no one would envy.

“So what was it like?” Jake said. “What was it like to know you were stranded on the other side of the galaxy? I mean, when it first happened, you didn’t think you would find a way home at all!”

Tom Paris smirked. “I’m not the best person to ask, Jake. It was a pretty good feeling for me—I just wanted to get away from where I was. And there’s nothing like being stranded 70,000 light-years away from home if you want a fresh start.”

B’Elanna, too, seemed amused by the memory. “I was angry at first,” she said thoughtfully. “The Maquis were my family. But after a few weeks in the Delta Quadrant—after the captain put me in charge of that engineering section—I realized I had to make a go of it, or I would fall apart.” She lifted Miral from the high seat onto her lap. The infant struggled half-heartedly for a moment, but then seemed to decide that her mother’s arms were as good a place to be as any. “I think there were times when I did get close to the edge,” B’Elanna continued, more subdued now. “But no one would let me stay there for long.”

Jake nodded. He’d read the official logs from all seven years. He knew about some of the darker times—Torres’s depression and her occasional conflicts with fellow officers came quickly to mind. But he would wait to ask the deeper questions.

Harry Kim spoke up, too. “I couldn’t believe it when Captain Janeway decided to blow up our only way home. It really hit me hard. There I was, an ensign straight out of the Academy, without any kind of experience to fall back on… The first year or two were rough.”

Miral chose that moment to belch, breaking up the solemnity. “Well spoken,” Harry admitted amid the laughter. “It’s too bad, really. I wish I could have realized sooner that things weren’t so bad. I wouldn’t have wasted so much time dreaming of Earth.”

“You couldn’t help it, Starfleet,” B’Elanna said. “Besides, you kept us all on track.”

“When did you begin to feel at home on Voyager?” Jake asked, really curious now. He noticed Sandy across the table from him, also listening with fascination.

Kim shrugged. “That’s one of those things,” he said. “I spent practically the whole seven years wishing for a way to get back to Earth, and it was only when Earth showed up on our viewscreen that I realized I’d been at home on Voyager all along.”

“What about you?” Jake asked B’Elanna and Tom.

“I was always too busy to think about it,” B’Elanna said. “I suppose I felt at home early on; but it took another few years before I began to like it.” She smiled at her husband.

“I think it was when I realized I had some real friends,” Tom said, then reconsidered his answer. “Of course, with these two for friends, who needs enemies?” Dodging a playful punch, he got up and moved around the table to his wife’s side so he could play with Miral. The little girl was utterly fascinated as he began tickling the bottoms of her still-pudgy feet.

“This drives me crazy,” Tom said. “The Doctor has promised us her reflexes are fine, but this is the first baby I’ve ever seen who’s not ticklish. I wonder if she’ll grow up to be this serious.”

“She reminds me a lot of my sister,” Jake said. “Kendra’s about two and a half, but when she gets fixated on something, she’s as serious as a Bajoran vedik.”

“Two and a half?” Sandy said. “That’s a big age difference!”

Jake heard that a lot. “My mother died when I was young,” he explained. “Kendra is my half-sister.”

“Your old man was Captain Ben Sisko, right?” Harry asked. “We heard stories about him through the data stream our last year or two in the Delta Quadrant.”

Jake nodded, both proud and sad. It was strange to be an adult, self-sufficient and more or less successful—but wishing more than anything that he and his dad could just throw that baseball around one more time. Everyone at this table seemed to know his father’s story, however, so he was spared the telling of it.

Jake checked that the recorder was still on. “What about your families? I’m sure it’s been wonderful to see them again, get reacquainted…”

Everyone at the table looked elsewhere or at each other, and nobody answered for a moment. Jake wondered what he had said to cause the awkward moment.

Harry broke the silence. “Well, the apple pie was great. But do you know what it’s like to be twenty-nine, you’ve just completed the most famous and daring missions in Starfleet history—and all your mother wants to know is if you’ve practiced your clarinet?”

Sandy laughed loudest, and ruffled Harry’s hair. She seemed to have some experience with Mrs. Kim. “I think everybody felt like that, Harry,” she said. “Everyone from Voyager I spoke with had something to say about how much their families were driving them crazy!”

“That’s what family’s for,” Harry said contentedly.

“I’ll buy that,” B’Elanna said with an amused look at Tom.

“I do my best,” her husband answered, but didn’t really laugh. “Coming back to see my folks was, well… I wouldn’t call it apple pie. I think they expected me to be as thrilled to be with them as they were to see me.” He paused. “This is one of those things that shouldn’t go on the recorder,” Tom told Jake. “Not if the old man himself will be reading it before long. Let’s just say we have two grandparents who love to baby-sit, and I’m perfectly happy with that.”

Jake wondered what he meant.

Admiral Owen Paris was a successful man. He had risen through the ranks of Starfleet with lightening speed. He had a total of fourteen first contact missions under his belt, three combat decorations, and a record so pristine, it shined. Always a competent officer, he took on command decisions and crisis management with an ease that seemed carved into his very genes.

But life outside of Starfleet would prove a greater challenge then that natural talent could handle with grace. Such is the fate of many senior Starfleet officers; family life is difficult to balance with the demands of a Starfleet career, and many opt to avoid the dilemma altogether. Owen Paris was stubborn, however, and he insisted to Anne Elizabeth Conroy that he would make it work. In exchange, she became his wife.

The couple remain married to this day and are the parents of three adult children. The youngest of those children, Thomas Eugene, began life as his father’s ideal candidate for the ranks of Starfleet—a bright, courageous, and sometimes reckless child who seemed persistently curious about all things Starfleet, where his sisters soon found other interests more appealing. Owen Paris gladly embraced the boy’s fascination. He gave his son flying lessons at an early age, enrolled him in accelerated academic programs, and always held him to the highest of standards.

Yet Tom Paris also had a rebellious streak that few noticed at first. Starfleet had room enough for rowdy and raucous young men and women, provided they stayed within the rules, so Owen chose not to worry. He continued to encourage Tom to pursue a future with Starfleet, neglecting his son’s other interests because he felt confident that Tom would find as much success in Starfleet as he had himself. Tom was sent to Starfleet Academy with his parents’ firm blessings.

However, the picture-perfect Starfleet family soon found itself torn apart, as many picture-perfect families eventually do. In brief, Tom Paris’ initial dishonesty after causing a shuttle crash at Caldik Prime that killed three officers resulted in the total loss of his career. A period of about one year passed, during which he wandered aimlessly around the Federation, followed by a two week stint with the Maquis that ended abruptly with his arrest by Starfleet security. A strange series of events led Captain Kathryn Janeway to seek his assistance with her mission to find a particular Maquis cell. Voyager’s disappearance led to the surprise reappointment of his commission.

Yet on Earth, the Paris family knew very little of the events that followed Tom Paris’s disappearance. Once Voyager was located, Admiral Paris led the charge for a full effort to bring the ship home. In time, contact with the vessel was established, thanks to the MIDAS array, and all of Voyager’s families in the Federation were now able to communicate with their loved ones. Lieutenant Paris’s parents and sisters sent pictures, letters, and sound clips as often as they could, often maxing out their allotment of space in the transmission.

In return, they received only silence.

Jake woke suddenly to a crash so loud, it could have been in the room with him. Once he realized it was only a thunderstorm and not a torpedo, he relaxed and tried to force the ringing in his ears to subside.

A baby’s wail began to swell through the house. Jake moaned quietly. His sister Kendra was young enough that he was still very acquainted with this sound, and while he could typically sleep through anything… He tried to stuff his head under his pillow, but it did no good.

It wasn’t really the kid’s fault that he couldn’t sleep. This was an unfamiliar house and a strange evening. He’d imbibed more non-synthetic alcohol than he was accustomed to, and then add in a thunderstorm… Taken together, these factors weren’t conducive to a good night’s sleep.

After another minute or two of thunderclaps, he gave up trying to sleep. There were three tall windows in the main room that opened above the street; maybe a little outside air would help.

He crept through the unfamiliar darkness, thinking again of Cassidy’s house on Bajor. He didn’t really call that cottage home, even though his father had bought it and his stepmother and half-sister now lived in it. He was absent so often these days. But it was at least a house he knew, and he knew that no matter how old he was, there were times when “home” was something he would want. Badly.

Jake sighed as he traced a pattern on the window pane with one finger. The thunderstorm might have woken him up, but that wasn’t what was making him feel this way. His writer’s mind could perceive that easily enough. It was everything: the past three weeks of travel and more travel and wearing the same clothes out of the same duffel, the strange foods, the unfamiliar people… Nine days out of ten it was exhilarating to him. That’s what made his life exciting. Only a few nights ago, he’d found himself squished into a booth in a Jenaran bar on Seti Prime, between two females his age: a Vulcan triathlete and a Betazoid ballerina. The evening had evolved into an adventure he most certainly did not regret.

It was when he was alone, like this, among people who knew each other well but him not at all, that the discomfort sank in. The knowledge that he was a stranger, someone without close ties, whose friends had flown to the four corners of the Federation and some beyond, whose parents had died or disappeared, and who had nowhere to go to remind himself of who he was.

He loved the freedom and thrived on it. But there was a hidden edge to the freedom that confused the hell out of him every once in a while—when he witnessed the things he wished he had: intimacy. Love. Familiarity. Friendship. He wondered if the former officers of Voyager knew the value of what they had.

The rain still beat against the window, but softer now. At the same time, the baby’s cries grew closer. Looking over his shoulder, Jake saw the dark shape of a man with a bundle over one shoulder approaching him.

“Jake?” said Tom Paris quietly. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine,” Jake insisted at a whisper, afraid to wake the house.

“Good.” Tom came up next to him, bouncing Miral on his shoulder and waiting for her cries to subside. Jake was at a loss for what to say as he watched Miral hiccough and rub her face in her father’s shoulder.

“Not sure why we’re trying to be so quiet,” Tom said at last. “The whole house is awake, thanks to this little bundle of joy.”

“It’s no problem,” Jake reassured him. “Really, I’m used to it.”

“I’m used to it, too,” Tom said, “but that doesn’t mean I sleep through it.” He didn’t sound angry; just an average parent, slightly grumpy at having his sleep interrupted.

Miral was calming down now that she had the security of a pair of safe arms holding her tight. Jake could see her wide, dark eyes staring at him over Tom’s shoulder. Without thinking, he reached out and touched the girl’s cheek, wiping off a tear. Miral stared at him even more intensely now.

Tom laughed quietly. “If she’s that fascinated with men now, then Kahless knows what her teenage years will do to me.”

Jake’s ears pricked. “‘Kahless?’”

“Oh, that. People usually look at me funny when I say that. B’Elanna picked it up after we got back and she had to deal with some Klingon emissaries about this and that. I’ve started saying it, too.”

Jake laughed appreciatively and stared out the window. This was surreal. Up all hours of the night with a man he didn’t really know and his hybrid baby girl, discussing the finer points of Klingon cursing?

“Hey,” Tom said. “You want a drink of something? Water?”

“I’m fine,” Jake said. “I’ve intruded enough already.”

Tom shrugged one shoulder as if to say that he didn’t mind, but left it at that. “I’ll say this,” he said, changing the subject. “After living on a spaceship for seven years, it’s something else to be on Earth during a thunderstorm. A couple friends of ours from Voyager tried living in Bombay, and the weather there was so bad it drove them straight back to San Francisco after two months.”

“Couldn’t take the monsoons?”

“Never stood a chance,” Tom laughed. “What about you? You have a home somewhere, or do you just wander around investigating other people’s personal lives?”

Jake opted for the humorous approach. “I mostly just invade the homes of strangers, steal their secrets and their silver and head out of town by first light.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Miral woke us up, then, isn’t it?” Tom asked his daughter. She whimpered and turned her head the other way. “I remember being a free-floater once,” Tom mused, probably not aware of how old he was making himself sound. “I hated it.”

“Really?” Jake said, intrigued. This surprised him. Where was the recorder when you needed it?

“Yeah. ‘Course, I was too drunk most of the time to remember much.” Tom glanced over at Jake. “Off the record? It was after Starfleet, before the Maquis. I had a rough couple of years before Voyager.”

“What did you do?” Jake was wide awake now. This information had been left out of the public briefings.

“You mean what did I do to get myself in trouble? Or what did I do to pass the time?”

“The second one,” Jake said. He was actually a little embarrassed to ask Paris about his prison time—not when he was staying in the man’s house.

“I drank, gambled, and made an idiot of myself. I flew ships for people.” Tom shook his head at the memories. “I took some unbelievable risks, and did some things that by all rights should’ve sent me back to Earth in a coffin.”

“Like what?”

Tom was shaking his head at a memory, but he didn’t appear willing to share. “Enough to learn my lesson. Eventually.”

Jake thought about the past two years of his own life, ever since he’d left Deep Space Nine. He’d taken his own share of risks, but they tended to be calculated, carefully planned and executed. Often professional in nature, like that two month stay on Cardassia to document the rebuilding efforts, dodging angry survivors who wanted someone to blame for the destruction. Despite some scary moments, his risks had paid off. So why did he feel so jealous of Tom Paris and his wild adventures?

“There must have been some good times in there,” Jake pressed. He knew he had more than just regrets from his own resume of wandering. Jake thought of the feature on Cardassian distilleries and the generous amount of “research” he’d done for that particular piece. Or that terrible gossip-like column about the latest diplomatic scandal on Risa. Those had been little more than insane debauches, but he couldn’t take them back now. Nor did he want to.

Tom was still thinking. “I suppose,” he finally said. “It’s not anything I’m proud of. I did a lot of gambling, even cheated a few times to keep myself from going broke. Walked out on my bar bills. In general, I just made an ass of myself. Then along came the Maquis, followed by Starfleet Security, and the ‘good times’ were over.”

Jake was afraid to move for fear of interrupting the story. Tom stood, staring out the window, swaying slowly from side to side to comfort a drowsy, drooling Miral.

“One thing about prison is, it gives you a lot of time to think,” Tom said. “And that’s exactly what I didn’t want to do. My sister tried to come and see me once. Talk about a disaster. She meant well, but I was angry and embarrassed. I cut the meeting short. I wouldn’t see anyone else after that. Captain Janeway even had to track me down in the work yard to get me to talk to her. You know what her offer was, right?”

Jake nodded.

“You’d think that once I realized she was offering me a way out, I’d snap it up,” he said. “But I didn’t, not right away. I guess I didn’t have anything out there waiting for me. Just my freedom, and I’d done enough damage to my friends and family with that.

“But I accepted her offer anyway, thinking that I could stomach maybe a week or two of Starfleet and then I’d be out in the streets, ready to find somewhere else to bury myself. Imagine my surprise when a little trip to the Badlands turned into 70,000 lightyears!” he laughed. Miral stirred, but he hushed her. “Now, eight years later, I’m a family man with a pretty dull life. No complaints, but talk about a surprise ending.”

Jake didn’t know what to say. He looked out the window, past the drops of rain dribbling down ancient glass panes. The streets were dark except for a single streetlight about thirty meters away; the concrete below glimmered a little with puddles of water collecting on the uneven pavement.

Just then, a woman’s giggle escaped from the other guest room, followed by a man’s voice which was quickly stifled.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Those two are like rabbits,” he said. “Harry should just go ahead and pop the question. We all know he’s going to.”

Jake laughed, glad for the interruption. “When did they meet?”

“Oh, not long after we got back to Earth. Sandy was one of the civilian consultants brought in to help the crew find places to live and work—the ones who weren’t staying in Starfleet, that is. Harry fell for her like a load of bricks.”

“But he stayed in Starfleet.”

“Yeah, but he looked at his other options. Careful as ever!”

Jake didn’t know what to say. He felt an overwhelming wave of jealousy rise into his throat. It was crazy, of course. He was too irresponsible to want a family of his own. He was too unsettled to even think about that level of commitment. Hell, he couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive.

But Tom Paris was a man who had survived what Jake felt he was living now, and what’s more, Tom Paris now had a family around him much larger than a wife and baby. He had a circle of friends who genuinely cared for him. What did Jake have? Pen pals.

Tom smiled, as if he could read Jake’s thoughts. “Hang in there, Jake,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Now me and the little lady are going to bed. Again.”

Jake watched Tom disappear into the shadows again. Miral had fallen fast asleep, her head comfortably tucked under her father’s chin.

Amidst all the stories of heroism and triumph, little attention is paid to the darker side of Voyager’s experience. Psychological and medical profiles maintained by the ship’s EMH reveal that at least half of the ship’s crew suffered from clinical depression at least once during the voyage. The crew formed uniquely tight bonds, and when one crewmember died—as did several over the years—the effects were especially difficult for the rest. A perpetual shortage in workforce plus the lack of any qualified ship’s counselor meant that the emotional burdens borne by the crew became that much heavier.

Even the officers did not remain immune to the frustrations and difficulties of life under these circumstances. While they have each said little regarding the darker passages of their story, troubling times did exist.

During a two-month crossing of totally empty space, Captain Janeway herself succumbed to a serious depression, resulting from residual feelings of guilt for having made the decision to destroy the Caretaker’s array. According to ship’s logs and other documents, Janeway remained in seclusion whenever possible, leaving her first officer in command of the ship. Other factors point to a crippling state of mind, ending only when Voyager itself had escaped the Expanse.

Janeway has responded to inquiries regarding this period with bravado. “I’d like to see how any other captain would do if you shoved her in a sleeping bag and didn’t let her out for two months,” she reportedly told Starfleet Command.

Janeway is not the only officer whose seven years showed signs of trouble. Chief Engineer B’Elanna Torres fought several of her own demons over the course of the ship’s journey. Conflicts with fellow crewmembers, anxieties resulting from her mixed human-Klingon heritage, and her lack of formal officer training all contributed to the various psychological battles she waged.

Perhaps especially frustrating for the young lieutenant was the absence of any family member in the Alpha Quadrant who might worry about her—particularly painful when Voyager established contact with the Alpha Quadrant. Abandoned by her human father and on poor terms with her Klingon mother, Torres received no letters through the data stream until the final months of the ship’s journey. Her closest circle of support consisted of the Maquis, most of whom were killed by Dominion forces in the early years of Voyager’s absence.

The news of the Maquis’ demise, received during Voyager’s fourth year in the Delta Quadrant, sent Torres into a severe depression which led her to deliberately seek out physical injury to compensate for emotional pain. A high tolerance for pain, thanks to her partial-Klingon heritage, meant that she continued in this vein for several months unnoticed. Even Helmsman Tom Paris, with whom she had forged a romantic relationship, was unaware of the nature of her injuries. Torres nearly died in one of her self-engineered accidents before other officers stepped in.

A strong-willed woman not given to discussing her personal life in detail, Torres has barely commented on her ordeal. She said once in an interview, “It wasn’t easy to trust my friends again—even though they might die or abandon me, too. But I had to, to survive.”

She has recounted a single story from this period, not long after Captain Janeway allowed her to return to duty. Torres was in the mess hall after hours, eating alone—relishing the experience, something she hadn’t allowed herself to do in some time. Lieutenant Tom Paris and Ensign Harry Kim entered in search of a late-night snack.

The relationship between Torres and Paris had been strained by her depression, so the encounter was awkward at first.

“Hi,” she said, making the first gesture.

Tom Paris remained silent, but Harry Kim was glad to see his friend and fellow officer back on her feet. “B’Elanna, how are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” she said uneasily.

“We were just coming in for a midnight snack,” Harry said. “Looks like you had the same idea?”

“Oh, this. Yeah.” She glanced at Tom. “I haven’t had pancakes in a while—you know, you get those silly cravings sometimes…”

“Sure,” Tom said.

Harry eyed the two lieutenants. “Hey, you know what, Tom? I just realized I forgot… I need to check in with Chapman. He’s watching my post tonight.”

“Harry,” B’Elanna protested, “you don’t have to leave.”

“Come on, stick around,” Tom urged.

“Sorry, buddy,” Harry said. “Duty calls. I’ll be back in fifteen!” He left the two alone in the dark hall.

B’Elanna poked at her remaining pancakes uneasily. “So…”

Tom pulled out a chair at her table and sat down. “Good save today in the Delta Flyer, by the way,” he told her, referring to her emergency engineering feat that had saved their lives during the virgin run of the Delta Flyer, the craft they had designed together. “We wouldn’t have made it back if you hadn’t done what you did.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“No, thank you,” he told her. “I guess we’ve all had so many close shaves, we’ve started taking each other for granted. Maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.” B’Elanna heard what he was saying behind the words. She knew she had hurt him by not confiding in him—and that he felt guilty for not having paid closer attention when she was hurt.

“I had a shift in sickbay when you were there after the, um, holographic shuttle simulation,” he said, not quite casually. “You were asleep the whole time, though, so I guess you didn’t know.”

B’Elanna felt her face flush. No, she hadn’t known.

“It’s probably better you weren’t awake, though,” Tom mused. “I probably would’ve said something to make it all worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been pretty short on good things to say lately, apparently.” He shrugged. “At the time, I just wanted to know why the hell you didn’t talk to me about what’s been going on. Not very good bedside manners on my part, huh?”

“Tom, none of this was your fault.”

“I’m glad you’re saying that now,” he said. “Although two months ago would have been even better.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t confide in you,” she said, the words coming with difficulty. “But it was my problem. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“No, it was my problem. That’s what happens when you love someone.”

The two sat in silence for a long moment.

Tom was the first one to speak. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said softly. “Let me be there for you next time.”

“That’s asking a lot,” B’Elanna said.

“I know.”

B’Elanna stared out the window at the stars streaking past. “It’s not fair,” she murmured.

“What’s not fair?”

“Most people have a home with a family and friends, and a regular job and a life. But not us—we’re stuck on this ship, wandering across the galaxy. We’re constantly in danger, and we’ll probably never stay in one place for more than a few days.”

Tom tentatively reached across the table to touch her hand. “Maybe that’s home enough.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

The morning eventually arrived after a few more hours of tossing on turning on Jake’s behalf. He felt like there was a separate thunderstorm taking place inside his head, one no less chaotic than the tempest that had long since passed outside. He never experienced insomnia, so he didn’t know what to do besides get one of his pads and make a few notes for the book.

By the time a sliver of sunlight peeked through the shutters on his door, he had finished at least a chapter’s worth of material. It would need editing, but rough drafts were always satisfying. And also, there was something about his surreal late-night conversation with Tom Paris that had given him a different perspective—a sense that the unknown could still be bearable. Jake had no more plans for his future than he had the day before, but somehow this morning, he didn’t feel as lost.

He emerged into the kitchen when he heard the first sounds of someone else awake. It was B’Elanna, holding Miral in one arm as she made breakfast for herself with her free hand. Miral had apparently just finished a bottle and was dozing off again, her cheek smushed against her mother’s shoulder.

B’Elanna noticed him at the door. “Can I get you anything?” she asked quietly so as not to disturb the baby.

He almost refused, but his stomach growled, betraying him. “Whatever you have is fine,” he said.

“I’ll make you a raktajino. The replicator’s right there, if you have anything else in mind,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Just fine,” he lied.

“That’s good,” B’Elanna said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Little Miss Paris here didn’t do as well.” The half-Klingon gently rubbed her daughter’s back. “When do you leave Earth?” she inquired.

“Not for a while,” Jake said. “My grandfather still lives in New Orleans, so I was going to do a few more interviews and then spend some time with him.”

She nodded. “Well, if you’re still around, there’s going to be a Voyager reunion in a couple weeks. Admiral Paris is throwing a birthday party for Miral.” She smirked. “He tried to invite the whole Fleet, but Tom talked him into just keeping it to family and the Voyager crew.”

Jake’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t think anyone would mind if I came?” He regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth. He really must be tired—an invitation like this, he should accept the second it was offered!

B’Elanna shook her head. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t think you’d be welcome.” She checked to see that Miral had fallen asleep. “Anyway,” B’Elanna said, “something tells me that this is about more than just the book for you.” She glanced up at him, as if to confirm that her judgment was correct. He knew it was.

B’Elanna gave a half-smile and stood up. “The others will be awake soon. Take all the time you need, Jake.”

A year since her return, Voyager the ship has changed drastically. Refit with newer technologies and updated systems, she still flies, but with a different crew and under a new captain. A replica of the vessel as it was during the Delta Quadrant years stands in the Presidio in San Francisco, welcoming visitors eager to learn about cultures and phenomena from across the galaxy. The ship has earned her place in history.

The crew have also changed. Many of them have returned to their native worlds. More than half of the crew chose to leave Starfleet after returning home, on the grounds that seven years’ service was more than enough. Those who have remained in Starfleet have accepted a variety of missions, and a very few have embarked on yet another mission of deep-space exploration—this time, intentionally.

Yet Voyager’s return has also unified the crew in a very particular way. As they prepare to meet for their one-year reunion in Point Reyes—a small, secluded town to the north of San Francisco—they have gathered to remember a time that they shared and a ship they called home.

“Home”—one of the strangest words in the English vocabulary. Yet the concept is universal, stretching across lines of species and culture. Even for nomadic peoples, home is a word with enormous weight. It implies comfort, security, and family. And as all of the Voyager crew have learned, home inevitably changes.

Perhaps the most enduring lesson that anyone might gain from the adventures and sacrifices of the crew of this ship is the enduring ability of the individual spirit to do more than survive, but remain true to values and beliefs in the face of tremendous odds. For them, and one hopes, for us as well, home became much more than a place. Home is possessed within.

Thanks for reading. If you’d like to read any of my other stories, please send a request to el_kobogo@yahoo.com.