Part 1: 
PRIORITIES

PART 2:
DECISIONS

PART 3:
LOOSE ENDS
 

SEGMENT 2

PART 4:
BY ANY MEANS 
NECESSARY

PART 5:
SACRIFICE

PART 6:
CONSEQUENCES
 

SEGMENT 3

PART 7:
THE FIVE STAGES 
OF GRIEF

PART 7 (continued)
Appended 3/11/01

PART 8:
ABSENT FRIENDS
(added 3/11/01)
 

SEGMENT 4

PART 9:
HOMECOMING
(added 3/26/01)

EPILOGUE
(added 3/26/01)

by Barbara Watson (samzmom@aol.com)

Segment 4 of 4. (Check out Segment 1,  Segment 2 or Segment 3 or none of this will make sense.)

RATING: R for some mature and graphic situations. 

CODES: P/T, J/C, 7/D, 7&T, P&K, P&J 

SPOILERS: Serious Season 7 spoilers and guesses

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Special thanks to Seema, Jam, and my oldest friend and DS9 source James Brown for help with the Maquis history lessons. I hope I didn’t screw it up too much.

PART 9 -- HOMECOMING

Being back in Federation space felt good, but it wasn’t the end of the journey. For that, they’d have to reach the Alpha Quadrant and then Earth. 

They’d been traveling for three days, Voyager towed by a Federation salvage tug, Admiral Paris’s ship, the USS Scobee, leading the way. In six more hours, they would cross the ‘finish line’—at least the first one—for they’d have another two weeks before they were securely in the orbital spacedock of Earth’s McKinley Station.

Now that the ship’s com system was fully functional, the crew had been taking turns contacting their friends and family at home. Captain Janeway was able to have an extended conversation with her sister Phoebe, Tom and B’Elanna had shown off the baby to Tom’s mother, and Joe Carey got to hear a play-by-play recap of his son’s high school graduation ceremony.

Because of the monthly contact they’d had with Earth during their last year in the Delta Quadrant, very few of the crew would be coming home to big surprises. They had already received any ‘Dear John’ letters or other news—good or bad—that would be coming, and they were now able to start making plans for their futures once again. The entire commissioned Starfleet crew had been granted three-months of compassionate leave, during which time they were free to rejoin their families, prepare for new assignments, or just reacclimate themselves to their lives and homes. And, despite the lingering questions about their legal status and careers, even the Maquis were celebrating the rapidly-approaching end of their journey. It was a hopeful time for the crew and the families they had left behind.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the families of those they had lost in the transwarp accident. Just before the first personal messages arrived from the survivors to their loved-ones, the families of the dead had received the heartbreaking news: their sons or daughters or spouses had survived the past seven years only to die within sight of home. For them, Voyager’s homecoming would be a painful reminder of how close they had come to a happy ending.

Then there were the families of those who had died either in the initial shockwave that tore them from home or as a result of the incredibly dangerous conditions Voyager had faced during their years away. These families had neither the celebration of returning heroes nor the comfort and condolences of a Federation very aware of their fresh wounds. None of the milestones—not the initial word of Voyager’s survival, nor the establishment of regular communication, nor this final report of the ship’s return brought them peace, comfort or good news. In fact, each story of progress and hope had served only to remind them of their loss. They had come to feel like the forgotten families of Voyager. And, while they were happy for those who would be coming home, they looked forward to they day they would finally stop hearing about this particular ‘lost-lamb’ of the Federation.

No one was more aware of these simultaneous and conflicting experiences than Kathryn Janeway. 

As the captain of Voyager, she had assumed responsibility for the lives put in her care. In the days since they left Starbase 32, she had spent her off-duty hours composing personal messages of condolence to each of the families of the dead, even those she had already written to once communication with Earth had been reestablished. She knew the story of Voyager’s resurrection would spread quickly, and she didn’t want the news to cause any more pain than necessary. She had also been busy writing letters of commendation for the survivors, petitions on behalf of her Maquis, Borg, and holographic crewmen, and preparing an official report on the mixed success and failure of their transwarp jump.

The projects had taken a toll on her, and she was now looking forward to turning her sights to preparing for a more upbeat task: crossing into the Alpha Quadrant, one of the last major milestones on their seven-year journey.

It was a bittersweet reality that they wouldn’t be making the crossing under their own power. She had always imagined standing behind Tom Paris as her pilot steered the ship safely home. As it was, she wouldn’t even be able to be on the bridge for this momentous day. Instead, she and her officers would gather in the mess hall, the largest room with forward-facing windows, as the ship was ‘handed off’ from Fleet Operations Beta to Fleet Operations Alpha. There would be no ribbon to break through, no line to cross, but instead—like the coming of midnight on New Year’s Eve—they would simply celebrate as the clock (and the Scobee’s sensors) told them they had reached the right spot.

Today’s gathering would be symbolic and casual. They’d save the formal celebration for their arrival back on Earth. But this would serve to end another chapter in the book of their adventure, and the captain was now counting the days—instead of the years—until she could close it for good. 

She was sitting at her desk in her quarters—her cabin now acting as her office as well as her home—when the enunciator sounded. She was happy and surprised to see B’Elanna come through the door. Only five days after giving birth, her friend was looking and acting very much like her old self, and that included—at least at the moment, Kathryn realized—her Klingon temper.

“I need you to tell me this isn’t true!” she was shouting as she burst into the room.

“Good morning to you, too, B’Elanna—now what are you talking about?” The captain genuinely had no idea.

B’Elanna threw a PADD down on Kathryn’s desk as she spoke. “I just got a letter from my old roommate at the Academy asking me if it was true that I married ‘the traitor.’ Apparently, half the Federation thinks Tom was a Maquis double-agent and that he was responsible for getting Voyager stranded in Delta Quadrant.” As she was speaking, B’Elanna could tell from Janeway’s face that this wasn’t the first time her captain had heard this gossip. B’Elanna’s expression changed as she realized the truth.

“You knew.” 

Janeway nodded. “Yes. Captain Wheaton told me a few days ago. But he also told me that the Federation went to great lengths to end those rumors once they learned what had really happened to Voyager.” This didn’t make B’Elanna feel any better.

“That was over three years after we disappeared. This rumor about Tom went undisputed for three years?” Her eyes challenged her captain as she asked, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Janeway stood and walked around her desk to face B’Elanna. “I didn’t know how. He’d been through so much—losing Harry, almost losing you, having to take responsibility for this ship while I was injured. By the time I found out, he started to make some real progress with Admiral Paris, and then Miral was born...he shouldn’t have to deal with this on top of everything else. I guess I just wanted to protect him from it as long as I could.”

B’Elanna understood the impulse to shield Tom from this news, but she also knew that he needed to be told before he—like she had—learned about it second-hand. “He deserves to hear about this from you, Captain.”

Kathryn knew it was true. “Alright. Is he in your quarters?” she asked. B’Elanna nodded as the captain considered how she’d break the news. “I think maybe Admiral Paris ought to join me. Just make sure Tom’s at home in about twenty minutes.” As B’Elanna turned to leave, Janeway added one final comment. “Starfleet knows the truth and so do we. He’ll prove them all wrong, B’Elanna,” she said confidently.

“He always does,” her friend answered before heading home to her husband.
 
 
 

As promised, B’Elanna saw to it that Tom was waiting when the captain and his father arrived. In his favorite new position, the pilot was lying on his back on the couch in their quarters, his infant daughter asleep on his chest as he read a book on childrearing from a datapad. B’Elanna scooped the baby gently into her arms so her husband could greet their guests.

“Sorry,” Tom apologized as he sat up. “She naps better if she can feel my heartbeat.” Wondering if this would be the first of many times when Tom would use Miral’s needs to justify his own, B’Elanna couldn’t let that go unchallenged.

“Tom, she ‘naps’ almost twenty-four hours a day at this point. Just be honest and admit that you can’t stand to put her down for more than a minute.” She kissed her husband on the head, then made an excuse to leave the three alone. “But you’re going to have to, because I promised Naomi she could tell Miral a Flotter story this morning.” B’Elanna was trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she gave the captain a long, intense look. As she was leaving, she looked back at Tom and said gently, “I’ll be back in an hour. I promise.”

Tom wondered what he was supposed to make of the hidden message he knew he’d just been sent. Maybe it had something to do with the two senior officers now sitting in his living room—somehow he knew this was an official visit. “Can I get you both something?” he asked as he walked to the replicator. 

“Coffee would be nice,” Janeway offered, and Tom ordered some for them all. 

As he handed the cups to his guests he asked, “So what’s the bad news?” The captain and the admiral exchanged glances, and Tom guessed he was right about the reason for his wife’s promise to return quickly. He braced himself for the worst.

He couldn’t have been more surprised at what he heard.

Only those who knew Tom and the full story of his brief period as a Maquis could know the irony—the absolute ridiculousness—of thinking he could have done what had been alleged. Captain Janeway’s offer to take him along on her mission had been a total surprise to him and to Starfleet, a moment of inspiration cooked up solely by the captain as she sought to improve her odds of success while giving a friend’s son a second chance.

As he listened to the captain speak, Tom couldn’t help but feel a flood of emotions that were familiar and painful all at once. He was facing the consequences of some bad choices made in a different lifetime. He had more than paid for those mistakes, yet people were still willing to see him in the worst possible light. Was his absolution only valid aboard Voyager? Did his redemption expire at the boarder to the Alpha Quadrant? The timing of this news made him think it just might.

But even Tom was surprised at how quickly that feeling passed. He had finally come to mean the mantra he had said for most of his adult life: he didn’t care what most people thought of him. Because the people that mattered all knew the real Tom Paris now, knew the man who had reinvented his life, reclaimed his rank and position, and who was respected and loved by his family and friends.

He also now knew for sure that what he’d said to his father several days earlier was true: he was prepared to face the consequences of his past. One of which seemed to be a willingness of strangers to think the worst of him. In light of the questions still hanging over his and B’Elanna’s future, he could live with that. It was the least of his problems.
 
 

When she returned, B’Elanna found him alone, recycling the empty coffee cups. “Are you ready for lunch?” he asked casually. Not what she was expecting to hear.

“Are you alright?” she asked. She’d prepared herself for anger or even depression, but the man standing in front of her was the picture of calm. “Before I answer that,” he said evenly, “I have to ask you: am I still married to the most beautiful engineer in the galaxy? And is that still our baby daughter in your arms?” Wow, she thought. How could he be taking this so well?

His questions were rhetorical so she didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she took a step closer and put her hand against his face. “This doesn’t upset you?” she asked, still searching for a hint of pain in his eyes. What she found was a quiet acceptance. Tom reassured her as best he could.

“It upsets me that it hurt you to hear about it. It upsets me that my family had to live with it for almost three years before they could be sure it wasn’t true. But I’m not going to let it ruin this moment for me—or for us. I’m happy, B’Elanna, for the first time since I was a kid. And I don’t have to prove myself to anyone except the two of you anymore.”

He moved her hand from his face and kissed her palm. “Now what do you want for lunch?”
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

The party started at 18:00 hours, and was strictly a family affair. At Admiral Paris’s request, the Scobee’s officers now assisting in Voyager’s repair were transported back to his ship. Somehow, Owen knew this was a private moment for Janeway and her crew, and he didn’t want his people intruding on their celebration.

As the first real social occasion after their accident, the mood was subdued, but light. They had all dreamed of this moment for seven years, and everyone seemed determined to make it the happy occasion they deserved for it to be.

Helping to elevate the mood was the formal debut of Voyager’s ‘Beta Quadrant baby.’ B’Elanna had warned Tom in advance that he’d have to share his daughter with their friends tonight, and he had agreed to rein in his overprotective new-father impulses. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes followed his daughter from one set of arms to another as she was passed from crewman to crewman. Not that the Doctor allowed any one person to hold her too long. He was taking his duties as Miral’s godfather very seriously—or at least that was the excuse he used when snatching her out of the arms of her latest admirer.

For her part, B’Elanna was feeling a little melancholy, though she wasn’t sure why. All day—even before her discovery of the rumors about Tom—she’d had a vague feeling of uneasiness. She couldn’t even name the reason. 

As had been true for much of the last seven years, as soon as B’Elanna’s mood took a downward turn, Neelix appeared out of nowhere to brighten her spirits. She was contemplating the stars from a quiet corner of the room when her friend approached.

“Are they looking familiar yet?” he asked. He could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t understand what he meant. “The stars,” he clarified. “Haven’t we been passing through Klingon space all this time?” 

B’Elanna could smell a Talaxian therapy session coming on—almost as clearly as she could smell Neelix’s ‘special occasion’ musk cologne. “That’s what they tell me,” she said softly. “But I haven’t been here since I was a little girl. I never really memorized the look of the constellations.” Boy, she did not want to be having this conversation.

Luckily, her friend had grown very skilled in teaching B’Elanna lessons without beating her over the head, so she reluctantly decided to let him take her down this difficult path. She almost always felt better in the end. She hoped that would be true today, too. And maybe Neelix could help her figure out her blue mood. Characteristically, he often knew what was bothering her even when she didn’t.

“Did you try to contact her?” he asked. “You told me once you thought she’d be on the Klingon homeworld.” He didn’t say ‘if she’s still alive,’ but B’Elanna knew that was the proper end of this sentence. During the entire year of regular contact with Starfleet, B’Elanna had made only a half-hearted attempt to find her mother. Not from a lack of interest; after her near-death experience several years earlier, she’d always wondered if her visions of her mother on the Barge of the Dead were real or the workings of her imagination. The answer made all the difference, for—if she did experience some kind of supernatural glimpse into the Klingon afterlife—her mother might actually be dead.

B’Elanna wanted to believe that her mother would be waiting for her when she got back. After finally making peace with Miral on the Barge, she couldn’t face the chance of finding out they’d never get the chance to reconcile in person. As long as she was stuck in the Delta Quadrant, she needed to keep that possibility alive. Complicating her decision was the knowledge that—having lost regular contact with any of her Klingon extended family many years earlier—the best way to track down her mother would have been through her father. And there was no way she was opening that old wound. At least not back then.

Neelix’s question was understandable, though. Here she had been, traveling through Klingon space for days. A quick call to the Federation ambassador on Qo’noS could probably have told her what she needed to know. Yet, with all the losses she had just been forced to face, B’Elanna wasn’t sure she could take any more bad news.

She turned away from the window and looked at the kind and gentle man trying—as always—to help her do the right thing. “I sent a letter to the colony on Kessick 4 in the final datastream. If she’s alive, someone there should know how to reach her.” B’Elanna knew that didn’t explain her reluctance to make a simple inquiry now that they were so close by. “Neelix, do you remember when Samantha, Tom, and Tuvok were missing in the Delta Flyer and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Naomi that they were lost?” His expression told her instantly that he did. “You didn’t want Naomi to have to face the possibility that her mother was dead—just like you’d had to face the loss of your family. You wanted to spare her that pain if you could.” She turned back to the stars. “Well, at least for now, I need to be able to believe that my mother is alright. I’ll find out soon, I promise. Just not yet.”

She braced herself for the gentle logic she knew she would hear next. “B’Elanna, I was wrong about Naomi. It’s never a good idea to avoid the truth. Besides, if your mother is alive, think of the opportunity you might be missing. To introduce her to Tom and her granddaughter. To let her see what a wonderful person her daughter has become. I’m sure Admiral Paris would be willing to help you contact her.”

She appreciated what he was trying to do for her, but she needed him to understand. “I’m not ready,” she said to her friend. “Soon, but not yet.” She put her hand on the Talaxian’s arm. “But I’m glad that—when I am ready—you’ll be here to help me though it. Either way.”

B’Elanna took a moment to reflect on all the ways in which Voyager’s morale officer had boosted her own spirits over the years. He’d made her Blood Pie on the Day of Honor, and banana pancakes when she was trying to lift herself out of her deep depression. She knew he’d snuck Tom extra replicator rations when they were celebrating an anniversary, and—most importantly—he had helped her get the courage to talk through her doubts about her relationship with Tom when her insecurities told her she and her then-boyfriend were a bad match. If it weren’t for Neelix, she might not be standing in this room now, watching her husband quietly obsess over their baby daughter. She knew how much she owed this man and she was grateful. “You know, my mother would really like you. You’re an honorable man, Neelix.” He smiled. He was a good friend, and he knew B’Elanna well enough to know when to stop pushing. 

She also knew that their crossing into the Alpha Quadrant would be bittersweet for him as well. “Neelix, we’ve spent the past seven years traveling 70,000 light years to get home. And when we get there, you’ll be 70,000 light years from yours. Are you ever sorry you decided to come with us?” It was his turn, she noticed to take a long look at the stars. 

“I miss being around other Talaxians sometimes. I miss some of the friends I made back there. And,” he almost hesitated to continue. “Sometimes I do wonder what would have happened if Kes and I had taken my ship and gone on our way after the captain helped me rescue her from the Kazon. If she might not have had a happier life in the end.” She could see the pain of ‘what might have been’ playing across his face. But she saw something else, too. When he turned back to face her, she saw a man at peace with his decision.

“But I’m not sorry I joined this crew, B’Elanna. Ever since the war, I thought I’d never have a family again. My family was the most important thing in my life, and when they were killed, a part of me died, too.” He looked into her eyes before continuing. “But I have a new family now. And a new home. My life is better than I ever could have imagined the day I first met all of you. So, no. I’m glad to be here. I’m glad I can share this moment with all of you.”

B’Elanna wondered if anyone else ever saw this quiet, introspective side of Neelix. She took a moment to wonder what all of their lives would have been like without him. She was grateful she’d never have to find out.
 
 

Tom was watching the Doctor snatch his daughter out of the arms of Sue Nicoletti when he saw Chakotay arrive. The first officer looked agitated—a rare state for a man with so much inner calm. Paris intercepted him on his way past. “You look like you’re having a bad day,” Tom said. “What’s wrong?”

His concentration broken, Chakotay considered if he wanted to answer the pilot’s question. He had come to like and respect Tom over the years—an amazing admission considering the contempt he’d felt for the man both in their months together in the Maquis and the intervening years before Paris had reappeared in his life on Voyager. But camaraderie still didn’t come easily between the men. The commander had to admit, though, he could use someone to talk to right about now, and Kathryn and B’Elanna would be too personally affected by the news he had just received. Taking a chance, he motioned for Tom to move with him to a quiet spot away from the festivities.

“I just got some bad news,” he said, referring to the PADD in his hand. “A posting I was hoping for didn’t come through.”

Tom knew from B’Elanna that Chakotay would probably be leaving Voyager after they reached Earth. She didn’t go into details—his wife kept her friends’ confidences—but Tom had pulled that much out of her the night of their party in holographic San Francisco. Tom assumed it had something to do with the change in Chakotay’s relationship with the captain, but he was still unsure how the commander could possibly be hearing about a new posting before they even knew if they’d be allowed to stay in Starfleet. He decided Chakotay would tell him whatever he was comfortable sharing.

“I guess I should get used to it,” the first officer continued. Tom didn’t understand. “Get used to what?” he asked.

“To being a Maquis again,” was Chakotay’s surprising answer. “That’s why this project fell through. I heard through a friend that the brother of the program’s director had been injured during a Maquis raid on a Federation scout ship. I wasn’t even involved, but there were just too many...complications. Of course, that’s not the official reason they gave. They mentioned my ‘uncertain status,’ but it’s the same thing.”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Apparently, you and I were conspiring to hijack Voyager, too.” 

Chakotay realized now that Paris knew about the rumors. “How did you find out?” he asked. 

“The captain and my dad broke the news this afternoon. It’s funny, Chakotay, but I seemed to have missed the meeting where we planned it all. Very clever of you to trick the captain into springing me from jail. And pretending to hate my guts added an extra element of realism, don’t you think?” 

Tom was being sarcastic, but Chakotay could tell he wasn’t really bothered by the lies spread about them. “You seem to be taking this remarkably well,” the commander marveled. 

Tom just shrugged, “It’s not like this tarnished my ‘spotless’ reputation. Think about it: before we got sucked across the galaxy, I was just a drunken liar who got caught while playing mercenary. This cooked-up story actually makes me sound like a rebel mastermind fighting for a cause I believed in. At least in the lie I’m smart and noble.”

Tom had a point. What difference did it make what people reviled him for? Especially when both stories were so far off the mark of the person Tom Paris had become. Chakotay had to admit he’d misjudged the man hiding under all that liquor so many years ago. Standing here, talking to this Tom Paris, he wondered if—under other circumstances—they might have ended up friends fighting together for the Maquis. 

Clearly Tom was wondering the same thing. “Sometimes I wish I’d been with you for the right reasons. If I’d been sober for more than five minutes in those days, I might have believed in the cause just as much as you and B’Elanna.” Tom was turning uncharacteristically serious. “You were only doing what you thought was right to defend your home and a lot of innocent people. The Federation didn’t give you many options, Chakotay. I admire that you had the courage of your convictions.”

‘The courage of my convictions,’ Chakotay played back the words in his head, wondering if he still had that same determination to defend what he knew to be right. The anger was gone lately, and with it the passion he had felt for his cause. It was too easy to intellectualize it all in retrospect. And the struggle that had been so black and white in his mind before he ended up on Voyager now seemed full of shades of gray.

For some reason, Chakotay also had a fleeting memory of seeing the Delta Flyer zooming toward an ocean planet on the verge of an ecological disaster, and watching Paris violate direct orders, risking his life to defend it. He smiled at Tom, as he spoke. “I seem to remember you found your own cause a few years ago—and your own courage. You know, I could have killed you for what you put the captain through that day, but I have to admit that I admired your taking a stand for your beliefs.”

Tom looked him in they eye. “You didn’t think I had it in me,” he said. 

Chakotay returned the honesty. “No, I didn’t.”

Tom just smiled. “Well, I paid for that decision, but I don’t regret doing what I thought was right,” he said, remembering his thirty days in Voyager’s brig, and the eighteen months he’d spent busted back to ensign. The remark led Chakotay to consider the consequences of his own choices. He didn’t regret them either, he realized, even if there were repercussions now.

“Don’t let all this get to you,” Tom continued, bringing their conversation back to Chakotay’s bad news. “You’re more than your past. We all are. People will realize that in time.” 

At that moment, the first officer saw a look of panic cross the pilot’s face, his eyes scanning the room. An instant later, the panic was replaced by a small sigh of relief. Chakotay turned to see what Tom was looking at. He should have known. The tiny face of an infant appeared over the shoulder of Ensign Wildman, who had apparently made the unpardonable error of blocking the lieutenant’s view of his daughter.

“Paris, you’d better watch it or your reputation as a ‘ladies man’ is going to be ruined for good.” 

Tom laughed. “I’ve just narrowed the field down to two specific ‘ladies,’ Chakotay.” Tom couldn’t help but nod toward the door where Captain Janeway had just appeared. “You might want to give it a try yourself,” he teased.

As the commander returned Tom’s grin and headed to greet his own favorite ‘lady,’ Paris had to stop and wonder if he and Chakotay were actually becoming...friends. If so, it was only one more miracle to be attributed to the fabled journey of the starship Voyager.
 
 

Kathryn was glad to see her crew having a good time. She was even happier to see the dark haired man walking toward her from the other side of the mess hall. It was funny, she thought. She had spent virtually every day of the last seven years working with, talking to, and enjoying the company of her first officer, but she had never allowed herself to acknowledge anything but a deep affection and respect for the man. Until recently. These days, just seeing Chakotay enter a room gave her a twinge of anticipation. She laughed at how this most comfortable of relationships was making her anxious—in very appealing and interesting ways.

She was feeling more and more at ease with the progression of their relationship—to the point that a part of her wondered why she had held back for so long. Another part of her was even more convinced she had done the right thing: how productive would it have been for the captain to feel like a schoolgirl at the sight of her first officer? No, she wasn’t going to second-guess herself now.

But she was going to enjoy the feelings she had in this moment. “Hi,” she said as he got closer. “Care to buy a lady a cup of coffee?” 

He smiled. “This is a celebration, Captain. I think the preferred drink is champagne.” 

She allowed herself a moment to think of the day when he’d never call her ‘captain’ again. “Commander,” she answered almost in retaliation for his formality, “if I want to stay awake to the end of the party, I think it’s going to have to be coffee for now.”

There were very selfish reasons why Chakotay wanted to keep her awake this evening, so he was happy to honor her request. They walked to the replicator and she placed her order. She checked to see if anyone could hear them before she spoke. “Can you keep a secret?” she said to him mischievously. 

He laughed, “For your sake and mine, I hope so.” 

Kathryn smiled, but indicated the replicated cup of hot coffee now in her hand. “I think I’m going to miss Neelix’s ‘special blends.’ But please don’t tell him that.”

They were in a relatively quiet spot, and she took advantage of the privacy and changed the subject. “You looked like you were in the middle of a pretty intense conversation with Tom Paris when I came in. Is everything alright?” 

Chakotay had already decided he wasn’t going to tell Kathryn his news just yet. “We were just plotting our next secret mission against the Federation,” he said with a mock conspiratorial tone. 

Janeway sighed. “I’m glad he finally knows,” she admitted. 

All of these reminders about consequences had Chakotay thinking now. “Kathryn, tell me honestly, what are you hearing from the Federation about our status?” 

She was hesitant to answer during what was supposed to be a celebration, but she would have told him later that evening anyway. “The situation is a little more complex than I’d been led to believe,” she admitted. “The issue isn’t really about the actions the Maquis took against the Cardassians in defense of the colonies. I’ve been pretty much guaranteed that those charges will be dropped. What’s more difficult are the raids on Federation ships and outposts. If they can prove you or your crew participated in those attacks, the advocate’s office doesn’t think they can let that go unpunished.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. “Those raids were our only way to get supplies and weapons to keep up the fight. We weren’t thieves—we were desperate people trying to hold off a ruthless enemy, with no one to help us. I don’t know what else they expected us to do!” His frustration was understandable, but Kathryn was worried that someone would overhear their conversation. She took a subtle step closer to Chakotay, and grabbed his hand in hers. The physical contact brought him back into the moment, and he realized that this wasn’t the time or the place.

When she was sure he had calmed down, Janeway released his hand and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. 

“Don’t be,” she said, and meant it. “You’re just passionate about your beliefs. It’s one of the many things I love about you.” He looked at her, then, with a sense of wonder. This woman—this captain—who’d been sent to hunt him down had become his best friend, his confidante and his soul mate. If there were any justice in the universe, she’d soon become his lover—and maybe more. The odds against them couldn’t have been more staggering, yet she loved him and even defended the actions she had been sent to punish him for. Life was strange and good.

“No matter what happens,” he said when he’d regained his composure, “we’ll get through it. Besides, after seven years in the Delta Quadrant facing the Borg, the Hirogen, Species 8472, the Vidiians...,” he could have gone on for an hour and not finished listing the hostile aliens the two had seen on their journey home, “...I’m not going to let three Starfleet admirals frighten me.” She laughed. Put that way, there was really nothing to be worried about. Their most dangerous battles were definitely behind them.
 
 

Neelix had asked Tom to help him in the galley, which prevented Paris from seeing something that—had he been watching—might have given him a heart attack.

The Doctor had just stolen Miral from the clutches of Samanta Wildman, and had what—in the moment—seemed like an inspired idea. “Seven,” he said. “Would you like to hold the baby?” Seven of Nine had been a Borg for sixteen years, and had a well-deserved reputation for fearlessness. Yet, at the thought of holding this tiny, wriggling...individual...she found her hands trembling. The Doctor gently placed the child into Seven’s unsteady arms, and showed the young woman how to properly support the baby’s neck. With the uncanny way children have of sensing uncertainty in the adults around them, Miral chose that moment to wake up and start crying.

Seven was still trembling, but, with the Doctor’s instruction, she moved the child to her shoulder and began stroking her back gently. Of course, at the sounds of his child’s cries, Tom began the three-meter dash out of the galley—and into the grasp of his wife. “Let it go, Tom, she’s fine.”

“But I heard her crying—” He could see now that Seven was holding his daughter, and he turned to look at B’Elanna. “Seven...,” he said when he saw them. 

B’Elanna interrupted him, “...is standing with the Doctor, who won’t let anything happen to the baby. Let her do this, Tom. She’s had a rough time lately. Babies are good therapy. Besides, you have to relax about letting her out of your sight. We won’t be able to be with her twenty-four hours a day. She’ll do better if she gets comfortable being around different people. Besides, you won’t be able to fly the ship with her in your arms, now will you?”

For a moment, Tom’s mind drifted back to their last time in the holodeck, and he remembered the baby carrier B’Elanna had replicated from the historical database. If he had one of those, he actually might be able to keep her with him at his post...
 
 

For her part, Miral Kimberly Paris was now thoroughly at ease on the shoulder of her Aunt Seven. And, to her own great surprise, Aunt Seven was growing increasingly content to feel the warm, wriggling bundle settle back to sleep against her. “You’re going great, Seven,” the Doctor complimented her. “She likes you.”

Seven’s occipital implant raised with her eyebrow. “She likes being held. The fact that I am the one holding her is irrelevant.” As she was speaking, Seven felt her shoulder become cold and wet. “What is...,” she moved her hand to touch the damp spot and pulled back a sticky white mess, “...this? She’s leaking some kind of fluid. Doctor—” 

He reached down into a large satchel tucked next to the couch and pulled out a white cloth. The Doctor passed it to Seven as he explained. “It’s common for babies to, well, ‘spit up’ a little. Just wipe it away and place the cloth between yourself and the child.”

The look on Seven’s face was a mix of surprise and disgust. “She regurgitated partially digested milk onto my shoulder?” Gee, when she put it that way. 

“It’s totally harmless, Seven. Babies haven’t developed complete control over their bodily functions.”

Seven was unsettled and mildly repulsed at the implications of the Doctor’s comment. Borg maturation chambers certainly had their appealing side, she now realized. However, as she looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, she began to feel an almost instinctual protectiveness. A humanoid child was thoroughly defenseless and totally dependent on those around her. Seven’s right hand moved to stroke Miral’s tiny fingers, which were balled up in a tight fist. As her hand felt the soft touch against it, the fist reflexively opened and took Seven’s index finger into its grasp. “Her helplessness is disturbing,” Seven said softly.

The Doctor watched as Seven began to display for this child a feeling he knew she had already experienced for Naomi and Icheb. In one of the great cosmic ironies, their Borg was great with children. It was now clearly a matter of time before Miral would be learning to play Kotis’Kot and studying the stars with her surrogate aunt. That is, if the crew stayed in contact after they got home.

The Doctor couldn’t help but consider a few fleeting and unsettling thoughts.

What would happen to them once they reached Earth? Would he be able to request a specific assignment like the other members of the crew? Would he be allowed to keep the mobile emitter that gave him the unprecedented freedom no other 24th century hologram had ever experienced? Would Seven be welcomed back as a rescued human woman or reviled as a former Borg drone? Would the Federation allow her to go on with her life, or lock her away to study her? And if they were both given their freedom and autonomy, what would they choose to do with the rest of their lives?

That led him to worry about their burgeoning romantic relationship. He had been in love with Seven, he realized, for several years, and they had been the closest of friends during that time. It was only recently, however, that she had appeared to take a similar interest in him. And, when it seemed that Voyager’s journey would last the bulk of the crew’s natural life, unusual pairings—like a hologram and a drone—had seemed almost normal. But the reality was different in the Alpha Quadrant. One’s choices of potential mates increased exponentially. Would Seven still view him in the same light when given the opportunity to know and interact with so many others of her own kind?

Whether the baby in her arms heightened her instincts overall—or perhaps she just knew the Doctor so well—Seven could sense that his mood had changed in the last few seconds. “Am I doing something wrong?” she asked, looking toward the child. She knew the Doctor was almost as overprotective as Lieutenant Paris.

“Oh,” he said, “no, you’re doing beautifully. You would make a great mother yourself one day.” 

She stopped for a moment to think about the possibility before she responded. “And you would be a wonderful father,” she offered. The Doctor had never told Seven about his experiments with a holographic family, and his bittersweet experiences with the children he had programmed for himself. But, parenting an organic child had never really occurred to him. Until now.

Seven came as close as she ever did to smiling. “Perhaps we’ll discuss this topic in greater detail one day in the future,” she suggested vaguely. The Doctor returned her smile. No matter what might happened when they finally reached Earth, at this moment it was clear: Seven only had ‘ocular implants’ for him.
 
 

By Neelix’s calculations, they were now just moments away from crossing into the Alpha Quadrant. “Attention everyone,” he said over the din. “We should be leaving the Beta Quadrant in about one minute now. If everyone has a beverage, I think the Captain would like to say a few words.”

As everyone reached for their glasses and Janeway made her way to the front of the room, B’Elanna acknowledged the pleading look in her husband’s eyes and nodded. It took Tom less than a second to reclaim their daughter from Seven’s arms.

Kathryn waited for her crew to come to attention before she began. “Almost seven years ago, we began our journey together. A few days from now, it will finally come to an end. During that time we have all shared a common dream that is about to come true. Ladies and gentlemen,” she glanced at Neelix to confirm the timing, “welcome home.” The captain raised her glass to her crew and they returned the tribute.

As everyone took a moment to embrace their friends, Janeway searched the room for her first officer. He was already on his way to her. “Congratulations, Kathryn,” he said as he hugged her. “You did it.” 

She pulled back and smiled. “We did it.” Only one more milestone to go...
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

Like most things one dreams about non-stop for years, returning to Earth was different than most of the crew had imagined. A single-minded focus on getting back had allowed them all to romanticize their homecoming. Of course, what they were actually coming back to was the reality of lives lived in limbo for almost seven years. Tom’s joke about Rip van Winkle hadn’t been too far from the truth; in some ways, they were coming back from the dead, and they and their families would require a substantial amount of adjustment before Earth felt like home again.

Before they could even set foot on the planet, they had to coordinate an unending stream of complex logistics. First on the agenda, B’Elanna and the captain worked with the crews at McKinley Station to maneuver Voyager into its docking slip. Once the ship was secured, the senior staff spent the majority of the day meeting with Starfleet officials in the Mess Hall. Finally relieved of their engineering duties, the junior officers and crew were busy packing down their quarters and getting ready to disembark. Starfleet had cleared an entire floor at the Academy dormitory for the crew’s use while they were being debriefed and processed, and Commander Chakotay had coordinated their room assignments. All that remained was to finalize the timetable for transporting to the surface, where they would finally get to see their families face to face.

By the end of the senior staff meeting, the schedule for the next two weeks was set. They would spend forty-eight hours moving into their new quarters, spending time with their families, and making themselves available to answer Starfleet Command’s inevitable questions about the last seven years. At the end of the week, there would be an official ceremony, with all the pomp and circumstance due returning heroes. Of course, while the ceremony would conclude their official welcome home, it would mark the beginning of the hearings, debriefings, and reporting that would bring true closure to their journey, finally resolving some of their most critical unanswered questions.

As promised, Starfleet’s JAG office had scheduled formal hearings on the status of the former Maquis, to begin in earnest the following week. The Liberty’s crew would have several days to consult with legal council before they would face the court, and the hearings were expected to take just a few days. The other crucial and lingering questions—the status of Seven and the Doctor, Tom Paris’s parole and commission, legal guardianship of Icheb—would all be taken under advisement by a specially appointed Federation tribunal. There was no pre-determined deadline for their rulings, but everyone knew the cruel sort of limbo so many of Voyager’s crewmen now found themselves in. Kathryn was assured that these rulings would be handed down with deliberate care and speed.

As soon as their official business wrapped up, the senior officers made their own final preparations for the short trip to San Francisco. A few of them had been given permission to stay off base: Kathryn in her sister Phoebe’s apartment, Tom and B’Elanna at the Paris family residence just outside the city. Just like the rest of the crew, they had to agree to make themselves available to Starfleet officials, and, until all proceedings were concluded, they were prohibited from leaving Earth.

All that was left now was to say their goodbyes. Not to their friends and coworkers—the crew would be spending quite a bit of time together over the next two weeks—but to their home for the past seven years. The ship would have to be evaluated before a final decision was made on a refit. If she were to be repaired and recommissioned, Voyager’s crucial systems would be stripped and rebuilt from stem to stern before she would be put back into service. Of course, it was possible Starfleet would decide the damage was too extensive and take her out of service. So much was still up in the air. 

Not surprisingly, B’Elanna wanted to take one more trip to Main Engineering before she could bring herself to leave. Tom was waiting for her in their quarters when she returned.

Instead of packing as he’d promised, Tom was sitting on their bed staring out the window, the baby draped over his shoulder, and a clear view of Earth filling the viewport. “Hey,” she said, surprising him from behind. “You can spend the rest of the night looking at it, or we can finish packing and actually get there.” He smiled sadly, but didn’t get up.

“I was telling MK about her uncle Harry,” he said softly. “And how happy he’d be to know we made it home.” B’Elanna sat on the bed next to her husband and rubbed his back gently. She wanted to believe their friend did know, but she suspected that thought would do little to comfort Tom. He shook off his grief and took a long look around the room. “I don’t think we’re ever going to get this stuff all boxed up and ready to go.”

B’Elanna agreed. “We should figure out what we’ll need for the next few weeks. I guess the rest can go into storage.” 

Tom nodded. “I wasn’t sure how much we should take with us,” he said. “I wish we knew if we were coming back.” Every moment of their future was in limbo at this moment. Suddenly the man so determined to face his past seemed a little hesitant about what that might mean.

“We should take it all, Tom,” B’Elanna said evenly. “Just in case.” She handed him a storage box and moved the baby to her crib so they could finish compacting their lives into so many cargo containers.

It took them the better part of three hours. All of their possessions were now neatly stacked in two piles, the larger containers encoded for delivery to the storage compartment they’d been assigned on the base. Only their clothes, the crib, a few datapads, and the bat’leth would be sent to their temporary residence at Admiral Paris’s home.

After they finished packing, the couple took turns in the sonic shower and got dressed to leave. In doing so, there was now no way to avoid the last reminder that their long mission had really ended. “I will never get used to this new uniform,” Tom said as he wrestled with the proper placement of his pips on the red quilted collar. 

B’Elanna wasn’t any happier about their new ‘wardrobe.’ “Is it as hot and uncomfortable as it looks?” she asked as she lifted her own version of the garment off the bed. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Although all the fasteners are on the front and there are fewer layers. I bet I’ll be able to beat my old record time in getting you out of yours.”

B’Elanna would have thrown a pillow at him if they weren’t all packed away. She knew her body demanded a few more weeks of recovery before they could play those kinds of games.

Tom checked in with the captain as soon as they were dressed. Janeway gave them permission to head to the surface and made plans to contact them in the morning. As they prepared to leave for the transporter room, Tom took B’Elanna in his arms. “This will always be the first home we made together,” he said sentimentally. “I’m gonna miss it.” 

She took a long look around them. They had lived in these quarters less than a year, but she knew exactly what he meant. “Me, too,” she agreed. “But look on the bright side: maybe our next place will have more than one room.” She leaned up and gave Tom a quick kiss on the lips. There was no way she was going to let her husband get too morose on their first night back on Earth. 

“Let’s go,” she said with great resolve, handing him their duffle bags before picking up the baby. They both knew that, no matter what they would face in the coming weeks and months, the most important mission of their lives had just officially ended. There was no turning back now.
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

While everyone else packed their lives into crates, the Doctor and Seven of Nine tried to find ways to occupy themselves. They had spent most of the afternoon instructing Starfleet technicians on the proper way to install a Borg alcove, but that only took a few hours. What few personal possessions they had were easily placed in duffles. Now they stood together in sickbay, wondering what to do next.

Starfleet had suggested the Doctor’s program be transferred to Louis Zimmerman’s lab on Jupiter Station, but he had asked, instead, to stay with the rest of his crew. Out of deference to the doctor’s wishes, the base personnel had reserved a small holosuite for his exclusive use. They also agreed to let him keep his mobile emitter for the time being, with the promise that Starfleet engineers would have several scheduled opportunities to examine the device. The Temporal Prime Directive worked in the Doctor’s favor in this case, since Federation personnel were prohibited from doing too detailed a study of the emitter’s 29th century technology. Their investigation would be limited to a few rudimentary scans, which would be classified instantly.

Seven had been assigned her own quarters on the base, and she requested (and was granted) a room close to Icheb. Her pupil had spent very little time alone since his reintroduction to humanity, and she wanted to be close by if he needed her.

For now, though, there seemed to be nothing left to do. After confirming that most of the crew had already transported to the base, Seven called the captain and received permission to disembark. The Doctor would have to wait, however. As the chief medical officer, he would be duty-bound to stay aboard until everyone except the captain had gone ashore.

“Well,” he said to Seven as she prepared to leave. “Will I see you later?” 

She fidgeted nervously. Why was it that their little dating dance never seemed to get easier? “I don’t have plans for the evening. I could help you design a your new holographic quarters,” she offered, “if you’d like.” 

He smiled. He would like very much. “1900 hours?” he suggested. 

Seven nodded. “I’ll see you then,” she said, then turned and left.

Exercising one of his newer freedoms, custom designed by the mother of his new favorite Klingon, the Doctor prepared for the next step in his own personal journey. “Computer,” he called out. “Initiate subroutine Omega 2A.” With that, his obsolete uniform was replaced by the gray shouldered style they would all be wearing now.

As he put the finishing touches on the last of the ship’s medical files, he began to contemplate the design of his new ‘quarters’....
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

With her crew’s departure spread out over the course of an entire day, the captain couldn’t avoid a sense of disappointment that this most anticipated of moments held so little fanfare. She did see the wisdom, though, of letting her people get readjusted to their lives and families with some measure of privacy. There would be a lot of interest and attention paid in the next weeks and months. It was probably just as well that today’s reunions were low-key.

Her own first night home would be complicated, she knew. Her sister would meet her at the transport site. After an all-to-brief reunion, they would head to Mark’s home to get Molly. Phoebe had offered to pick up Kathryn’s dog herself, but—after facing everyone from the Borg to the Vidiians—Janeway wasn’t about to be frightened off by one harmless ex-fiancée. Besides, there was some closure she knew she needed in saying a final goodbye to the man she’d once loved. Afterward, they would transport to Phoebe’s apartment and studio just across the bay in Berkeley for a quiet dinner at home.

The plans had been made for days, but somehow Kathryn decided to improvise a slight change in her itinerary. She left her meticulously packed quarters for the short trip down the hall. She wasn’t totally surprised to see his room a mess. “Need a hand getting packed?” she called out as she entered. 

Her first officer’s head peeked around the bedroom wall. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going,” he joked. “Just have the repair crews work around me.”

She laughed. “Isn’t it amazing how much ‘stuff’ we’ve collected while on replicator rationing? I was tempted to recycle half of my things just so I wouldn’t have to pack them.” He knew this was a lie meant to make him feel better about his own overgrown collection of things. Kathryn was a collector, a ‘pack rat’ as Tom had called her once. She’d no more recycle her precious possessions than he would.

“I’ll tell you what,” Chakotay offered, “just throw everything into the nearest crate. I’ll sort it all out later.” She laughed and started doing just that. In short order, they had everything ready to go. Like Tom and B’Elanna, he would be taking only the basics with him to his new quarters: a few newly-replicated uniforms, some civilian clothes, his Akoonah and medicine bundle, and a few datapads. He stuffed them all into his duffle bag then took a look around his home for the last time. Then he turned to face her.

“Thank you,” he said with great sincerity. 

“I told you it wouldn’t take very long,” she said referring the their packing, and totally missing his meaning. 

Chakotay looked at her for a long minute before he continued. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” he clarified. “For rescuing me and my crew, for trusting me enough to make me your first officer. For being such a good friend. I owe you everything, Kathryn.”

She didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” was what came out. “For being willing to try it my way. For all the times you knew I was wrong, but stood by me anyway. For being my partner and my best friend.” She took a step toward him and took his hand in hers. “Thank you for not giving up on me.” She pulled him to her and hugged him tightly.

When she finally pulled back, she remembered the reason she had come to visit him in the first place. “Do you have plans tonight?” she asked a little tentatively. 

“No,” he answered. “My cousin is away on a Vulcan archeological expedition, so there’s no family waiting to meet me. But I just assumed you’d want some time alone with your sister.” When she looked up at him, Chakotay noticed how vulnerable this tough, strong woman seemed tonight. 

“I’m anxious to see her,” Kathryn admitted. “But I...after everything we went though to get here, it just seems wrong to spend our first night home apart.” She searched his face for validation. “Does that seem silly?”

He could only smile. “No. In fact, I wanted the same thing. I just didn’t want to intrude on your time with Phoebe.” 

Kathryn was relieved. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Actually, she’s looking forward to meeting you.” He wasn’t sure why that comment made him nervous. Kathryn now seemed anxious to start their evening. “Well then, I just need to make sure the rest of the crew has gotten down safely and I’ll get ready to go.” She pulled away and headed toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She smiled at him one last time and headed back to her quarters.

As he watched her leave, Chakotay couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of their lives as a couple. As he began to change clothes for their departure, he couldn’t help but face the reminder of all they still had to overcome before leaving their ranks and duties behind. He held the new issue uniform in front of him and sighed. Soon, he thought. Very soon.
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

Kathryn had seen her sister in letters from the datastream and then live on her viewscreen as they got closer to Earth. Somehow, that hadn’t prepared her for the seven-year-older woman who met them at the transport site. Her ‘baby’ sister no longer had the flawless skin of a thirty year-old. If Kathryn wasn’t mistaken, those were the beginnings of wrinkles at the corner of Phoebe’s eyes. It only reinforced how much of each other’s lives they’d been forced to miss. It also made her wonder how different she now looked.

“Welcome home, Kath,” Phoebe said as they embraced. “My god, where’s your hair?!” 

Chakotay smiled. He knew Kathryn was wondering why everyone made such a big deal about her hair. “It was impractical.” Janeway explained. “Three years into the trip I hacked it all off.” Her sister couldn’t hide her disappointment. Phoebe was an artist, and Kathryn’s long red hair had been the captain’s one nod to aesthetics and romance in an otherwise—in her sister’s opinion—dry scientific life.

“Well, it will always grow back,” Phoebe reassured her, instead making Kathryn just a touch insecure. It was about this moment that the younger Janeway realized the identity of the man standing next to her sister. “So, I guess this must be Chakotay,” she said smiling—not at him, but at Kathryn. The sly look in the woman’s eyes now made it the commander’s turn to feel a little insecure. He was nothing if not charming, however, and he decided to make a good first impression on this woman who he hoped would be a part of his life for quite a while.

“It’s good to meet you, Phoebe,” he said extending his hand. She threw her arms around him instead. 

“You, too,” she said with great enthusiasm. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, more than a little cryptically. “Mother’s looking forward to meeting you.” That raised a question he had forgotten to ask. The sisters filled in the gaps for him.

“When is she getting back to Earth,” Kathryn asked. 

“Not for another month,” her sister answered. “She’s on the only Federation ship in the sector, and Starfleet had to dispatch a transport to go get her. You know Mother; she was furious that she didn’t know you might be back so soon. She never would have gone so far away if she thought she’d miss being here for your homecoming.” 

Kathryn turned to Chakotay and filled him in. “Mother is coordinating a project for the Federation cultural ministry and the Cardassian government to help salvage works of art and other artifacts damaged or lost during the war. It’s really just a way to help diffuse the years of hostilities.”

Phoebe added some of the latest news. “Rumor has it that the Cardassians are making overtures for Federation aid and assistance in rebuilding. Very controversial, as you might imagine.” It was hard for Chakotay to think of yet another Federation/Cardassian alliance without instantly feeling the rush of anger he had lived with as a Maquis. Yet he knew these were different times, and that the Dominion War had changed everything, several times over. He’d reserve judgment—for now.

He was happy, though, when the conversation turned away from politics. Phoebe had grabbed her older sister’s arm as they began to make their way toward the exit. “Well, I know Mother is sorry she can’t be here, but there is one other old girl who will make quite a fuss about your return.” 

Kathryn smiled sadly. “If she still recognizes me after all these years.” She turned to her sister as they reached the main doors. “Are you sure Mark doesn’t mind our coming by to get her. Molly’s been his dog for the past seven years.” 

Phoebe knew Kathryn wasn’t really worried about Mark’s reaction to returning her dog. She was really asking if Mark minded seeing her again. “I think he feels like giving up Molly is the least he can do to make up for...,” Phoebe watched Chakotay out of the corner of her eye before she continued. “Well, let’s just say I think he wonders how you really feel about his moving on with his life after you were lost.”

‘How I feel about his marrying someone else,’ Kathryn thought. It was funny. Though part of her had been sad to hear of Mark’s marriage, another part of her was relieved. By the time her ‘Dear John’ letter had arrived, her own heart had moved on as well. And she was grateful to him for keeping Molly. Now, with the promise of a new life with a new love, she realized she’d be happy to see her old friend and former flame one more time. Her reply was for Chakotay as well as her sister. “He shouldn’t be worried. I’ve moved on, too. I just hope he’s as happy with his new life as I am with mine.”

With that, they stepped though the door, and into the warm, fading sunshine of the California summer evening. Kathryn slipped her hand into Chakotay’s and squeezed it gently. He leaned over and whispered into her ear. “Welcome home, Kathryn.” 

She turned her eyes to meet his, not even bothering to wipe away the tears. “I can’t believe we’re really here,” she said softly. “I can’t believe we made it.”

They stood there for a few moments, just drinking in the familiar sights and smells of this place they had known so well. In another lifetime, or so it seemed. After a moment, they headed for the underground transport that would take them to Mark’s home in the Olde Mission District. This would be only the first of several surreal moments they would experience in the next few hours.
 
 

Mark was still living in the same house she had helped him pick out over a decade earlier. Kathryn could never figure out why he’d want to live in such an old place—one of the few to survive the big quake of 2294—when the newer homes had so many more modern conveniences. Still, it was a quaint and charming place, and she had grown fond of it over the years. Particularly the handcrafted stained glass door at its entrance.

There were two reunions to be had behind that door, she knew. One would be about bringing closure. The other—hopefully—about finding a lost love. It was the later that caused her the most anxiety. Chakotay could tell she was nervous, and tried to be reassuring. “Dogs never forget their people, Kathryn. She’ll know you. Don’t worry.” Still, as they waited for a reply to the doorbell, her stomach did small cartwheels.

When he answered the door, they both stood there awkwardly. Finally, she made the first move. “Mark,” she said as she leaned over to hug him. 

His eyes were tearing up as he returned the embrace. “Kath, you look wonderful. It’s good to see you.” He pulled the door open wide, “Please come in.”

The three stepped inside, and Kathryn couldn’t help but notice the lack of a big red dog in the room. Her anxiousness caused her to overlook an important introduction. “Hi,” she heard him say, “I’m Mark Johnson. And you are?” 

She turned as he answered. “Chakotay. I’m Kathryn’s...first officer.” True, though less than complete. 

Mark sensed as much, but was hardly in a position to comment. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, before realizing the frantic look on Kathryn’s face.

“She’s in the yard,” he said. “I’m sure she can’t wait to see you.” He led them through the house to an immaculately landscaped enclosure behind it. Before they were even though the door, a large Irish Setter bound toward them, a wet tennis ball in her mouth. She dropped the ball at Mark’s feet and sat at attention. Kathryn’s face fell. The dog didn’t even sniff her. 

“Good girl, Chloe,” he said as he took the ball. “Now, where’s your mother?” Of course. This dog was too young to be hers. It was one of the puppies Molly had been carrying when Kathryn left on her ‘three-week’ mission. Before Mark could explain, Kathryn saw a blur of red out of the corner of her eye, walking as fast as four old legs could maneuver, a fluffy tail wagging wildly.

“Molly!” Kathryn called to her. The old dog picked up her pace and threw herself at her mistress, who was suddenly sprawled on the grass and covered with more kisses than she’d had in the last seven years combined. “My Molly,” she said, in the moments when she could come up for air. “I’ve missed you sweetheart.” She reached out and hugged the big dog to her, her hands reflexively scratching the same spots she knew to be Molly’s favorites. They sat together on the grass until Kathryn had scratched or rubbed every inch of the dog’s fur. Any doubts she’d had about being remembered were put to rest forever.

When they came back inside, Mark invited them to stay for a cup of coffee. Kathryn politely declined. “It’s been an exhausting day,” she said truthfully. “I’m anxious to get settled in.” He pretended to understand, and she didn’t bother to reassure him. They would be friends again one day, she knew. But for now, it was probably best that they keep a little distance.

Phoebe took the doggie bed and favorite toys while Chakotay clipped on the leash and led Molly outside. As Kathryn turned to say goodbye, Mark decided to risk it. The answer might make him feel better about the way things had ended up. “So,” he asked, “do you love him?” 

She was caught off guard, but smiled. “Yes. He’s a good man, Mark. I can’t imagine my life without him.” 

He smiled, then took her in a warm embrace. “Then he’s the luckiest man in the world,” he said sincerely. 

She pulled back and touched her hand to his face. “Take care of yourself,” she said gently. 

He took her hand from his cheek and kissed it. “Maybe we can have lunch after you get settled in,” he said. “I’d love for you to meet Janelle.”

“I’d like that,” she said before turning to go. 

When she reached the bottom of the steps, Mark saw Kathryn take the leash from her first officer’s hand, then watched as the man put his arm around her shoulder as if it were destined to be there. “Bye, Kath,” he said under his breath. He noticed she didn’t look back.
 
 

Phoebe’s apartment was a large loft in a converted warehouse in Berkeley’s old arts district. Most of the buildings dated from the late 20th century; anything older was turned to rubble in the big quake. All windows and tall ceilings, Phoebe’s home also served as her art studio, and featured a rather eclectic collection of half-completed paintings and sculptures. She had cleared out an old storage room on the lower level for Kathryn’s use. It would be her big sister’s temporary home until she could sort out her life.

Molly took no time getting settled in, her well-worn bed carefully placed alongside Kathryn’s. The trip from San Francisco had exhausted her, and Kathryn realized the toll old age was taking on her girl. The dog was sound asleep in less than ten minutes.

Phoebe replicated a nice vegetarian dinner—Kathryn noticed her sister’s kitchen was, as usual, practically empty—and they sat around talking for most of the evening. Phoebe and Chakotay seemed to hit it off, sharing the same interest in spirituality, art, and ancient cultures. It was funny, she realized: her impulsive, head-in-the-clouds sister was actually much more like Chakotay than she was. Rather than annoying her as they once did, her sister’s ramblings now seemed compelling and fascinating. Had Phoebe changed so much, she wondered, or had Kathryn—perhaps through her relationship with her first officer—come to appreciate the parts of her sister that had once seemed to irresponsible and flighty?

Phoebe, who had once tagged along uninvited everywhere her older sister went, had also seemed to develop a better sense of when Kathryn needed to be alone. After dinner, she placed their dishes in the recycler, and excused herself.

Chakotay considered leaving, too. It was now almost midnight, and he hadn’t even seen his new quarters. The last thing he needed was to be found wandering around Starfleet Headquarters lost in the middle of the night. He could tell, though, that Kathryn wanted him to stay. Once again, he was caught squarely between his heart and his head. Granted, there was no bed check back at the dormitory. But he still couldn’t figure out when it would be safe for him to let down his guard and truly relax about his relationship with this woman who was still his captain.

She sensed his uncertainty and knew he would take his lead from her. She took his hand in hers. “I don’t think you should go back to the base alone this time of night,” she said softly. “It might raise too many questions.” 

He wasn’t sure. “More questions than my not coming home at all?” he asked. 

She decided to abandon logic. “I want you to stay.”

She wouldn’t need to beg, he knew. But he wanted to make sure he understood what she was suggesting. “Are you sure you’re ready,” he asked. 

She almost laughed. “If I’m not ready by now, I can’t imagine I ever will be.” She stood up and walked to the front door, picking up the duffle he had left just inside. “Here,” she said. “Why don’t you get ready for bed. I don’t think I should make love to you while you’re in that uniform.”

He laughed as he watched the immovable line pushed another ten feet back. Apparently, as long as she could pretend he wasn’t her subordinate, she could make an exception. “I don’t know,” he said smiling, “many of my fantasies have involved getting you out of yours.”

She threw the bag at him as she walked toward the bedroom. “Humor me,” she said as she went. He planned to do that, and more.
 
 

As she suspected, they fit together perfectly—though she was surprised at how aggressive this gentle man could be. They’d both waited a long time for this, however, and she found herself getting a little carried away herself. There was no going back now, she realized, and the thought made her smile. More than crossing into the Alpha Quadrant, docking her ship in Earth orbit, or smelling the salty bay breeze fill her lungs, this experience—feeling the soft kisses and caresses of the man she loved on her body—let her know she was finally home.

This moment began her new life, she realized. Leaning over to kiss him one last time, she wrapped herself in his arms and drifted soundly to sleep.
 

~*~*~*~*~
 
 

This was an old, familiar sensation: feeling the bright light and warmth of the sunshine pouring throught his bedroom windows. For a second, Tom wondered if he was still a child about to wake up from the most extraordinary of dreams. The hand that suddenly appeared on his butt told him that was probably not the case. He rolled over to kiss the hand’s owner, then had a very bizarre sense of déjà vu. He’d lost his virginity in this very room when he was seventeen years old. Now he was waking up in it with his wife.

Ironic, he thought, that he’d gotten more action in this bed as a teenager than he had last night. Three weeks and counting...

“Good morning,” he said softly. “How do you like my room?” It was very late when they had finally stumbled in the night before. They’d taken time only to strip off their uniforms and collapse on the mattress before both had fallen sound asleep. In the morning light, however, B’Elanna could see the wall of adventure novels, the model ships, and a pair of old skis propped up in the corner.

“It looks like you just left if yesterday,” she said. 

Tom was just as surprised. He had assumed the Admiral would have thrown out every reminder of his shame the same day he’d thrown out his only son. Just another way in which he had underestimated his father’s love, he now knew, as he looked around at this virtual shrine to his youth. “I’m pretty sure the clothes don’t fit any more,” he kidded, wondering again why falling in love with B’Elanna had made his body gain and lose weight so unpredictably. Surely all the exercise he was getting should have kept him svelte. No matter, he thought. She clearly loved him as he was.

B’Elanna made a mental note to raid his closet for things she’d want to keep. Maybe his old clothes didn’t fit him anymore, but she suspected some of his t-shirts would make perfect nightgowns for her.

They were about to enjoy their first long kiss of the morning when their three-week-old alarm clock decided to go off. At the sound of her daughter’s cries, B’Elanna knew someone else had first dibs on her body. Denied his own enjoyment, Tom crawled out of bed and scooped his daughter into his arms. “Your timing stinks, Monkey,” he said, using his pet name for his child. He’d had to explain it to B’Elanna: Miral Kimberly. M.K. Monkey. It made perfect sense to him. Besides, every daughter needed an embarrassing nickname bestowed by her father. It was a Paris family tradition.

B’Elanna had propped herself up in the bed and reached out to take the baby from his arms. She settled her daughter under her breast; the crying stopped as soon breakfast began. Tom plopped himself at his wife’s side and began to stroke his daughter’s hair, as he did every morning while B’Elanna fed her. “What do you want to do today,” he asked as he watched them. It was a free day for Voyager’s crew, Starfleet understanding that they had a lot of personal business to attend to now that they were home.

“I don’t know,” B’Elanna said. “Your sisters are coming for dinner, so we can’t go too far,” she reminded him. “Do you have anything in mind?” 

He looked a little far away for a moment—not the carefree man who had just sat down beside her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “There’s a package I’d like to deliver.”

She understood. “Great. Why don’t you take a shower while I finish feeding MK. Then you can get her dressed and changed while I get ready.” 

Tom was back in the moment now, and laughed. “You know, your suggestions always seem to leave me on diaper duty. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

B’Elanna laughed. “Seventeen hours of labor, Tom. I’ve got to get you back some way.” She leaned over and kissed him before swatting him off the bed. “Get going,” she teased.

As she watched him pick up a change of clothes and head for the door, B’Elanna let herself enjoy seeing her husband in this place, this room that had been such a part of his life as a child. There was a happy ending in this house for him, she now knew. One big mystery solved. She only hoped the rest of their questions would have equally pleasant answers.
 
 

After a quick breakfast with Tom’s mother, the couple retrieved the padded case and headed out. Incredibly anxious to be back in the pilot’s seat after feeling like a passenger for most of Voyager’s final weeks, Tom signed out a two-seat shuttle for the short trip to Marin County. He’d confirmed the address in the Federation database, and made sure the family would be home when they arrived. He parked the craft on a landing pad near the residence and they headed out. 

B’Elanna was carrying Miral, knowing that Tom would want to hold onto the case for as long as possible. A part of her had wondered if Tom would keep it for himself. It had been a gift from him, after all, and one of the few tangible connections he would ever have to their lost friend. Somehow this gesture seemed more appropriate, however. As they reached the front door, she confirmed the name above the bell. John and Mary Kim. They were in the right place.

The visit stated out awkward, but congenial. Tom was amazed at how much like his mother Harry had been, and he loved seeing the walls covered with pictures of his friend as a young boy. Sometimes it amazed Tom that he had only known Harry for seven years. He could barely remember a time when he didn’t feel like he had a little brother.

The family was polite and gracious, and they clearly enjoyed seeing the two young people Harry had written them about so often. But their pain was tangible, and a part of Tom wondered if he was right to intrude on their grief. He decided to get to the point as quickly as possible. “I found this in his quarters,” Tom said, remembering his first look inside his best friend’s home after the accident. “I gave it to Harry on his last birthday.” Tom handed them the case and watched as Harry’s father lifted out the gold saxophone. “He was really starting to get good at it. I thought you might want to have something from his time on Voyager.”

He watched as Mr. Kim closed his eyes and fingered the instrument silently. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

B’Elanna noticed Harry’s mother smile. “Wait here for just a minute,” she said before leaving them. When she came back, she was holding a box. “Harry sent us a letter in the last datastream, before....” She decided not to finish the sentence. “He asked me to dig this out of his things so he could give it to you when you got home.”

Tom took the box hesitantly. It held a small datachip plugged into a hand-held holoprogramer. Tom moved his thumb to turn it on. When he saw the program name on the screen, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. ‘Captain Sulu and the Adventures of the USS Excelsior.’ It was to have been their next holodeck role-playing game. Mrs. Kim didn’t understand the significance, but she explained, “This was the first one Harry ever wrote. He was twelve, I think. He was always complaining that he couldn’t talk his friends into playing with him.”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a new adventure Harry had planned for them, but an old one. He took the chip from the imager, and smiled. “Thank you,” he said as he put it in his pocket. “This really means a lot to me.” He was surprised to find another gift appear in his hand, a datapad with an unread message. 

“He sent this, too,” Mrs. Kim said softly. “But perhaps you’ll want to listen to it in private.” Tom remembered the day they had rushed to finish their final letters for the last datastream. Why would Harry have sent one to him? He decided to wait until later to find out.

The exchange of gifts seemed to break the tension, and the Paris’s found themselves staying for several more hours, sharing stories of their son’s adventures—carefully editing out the ongoing side-show that had been Harry Kim’s love life. They talked for a long while about the way Harry had solved their transwarp instability problem, in the process probably saving his friends’ lives. And Tom told them about their son’s posthumous and long-overdue promotion. It was a cathartic experience for all of them, but it soon left Tom and B’Elanna exhausted. After a while, they said their goodbyes and headed for the door.

Once they were settled into the shuttle and about to take off, B’Elanna asked the question she’d been wondering for half the day. “So what was on the chip?” 

Tom just smiled. “Just a reminder from Harry that it was his turn to play captain,” he said sadly. “Let’s go.”

B’Elanna didn’t understand, and she didn’t need to. “Do you want me to fly us home?” she asked out of consideration for Tom’s emotions. The question alone seemed to bring him to life. 

“Are you crazy?” he answered, smiling over at her. “In fact, let’s do a little sightseeing before we head back.”

They spent the next hour touring the wine country from the air, then flying over the bay, around the Golden Gate Bridge, and finally buzzing his father’s house before Tom steered them back to base. Flying was therapy for him, B’Elanna knew, and she was just as happy to have him work out his grief from the pilot’s chair.

As they put down at the base hangar, she soon realized their little trip had reminded Tom of one more old friend. “I need to get to work fixing the Flyer,” he said almost to himself. B’Elanna smiled. He might just have been thinking out loud, but she knew this was just the kind of project Tom needed to get him though the difficult days ahead. B’Elanna decided to talk to Kathryn about it in the morning.
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

Chakotay had returned to the base early that same morning, no one the wiser about the way he had spent the previous night. Kathryn was spending the day with Molly and a few old friends from the Academy. They agreed to meet on the base for dinner that evening. Chakotay didn’t have the luxury of enjoying his day off, however: the commander would spend this morning with his Fleet appointed legal counsel trying to map out a defense for the charges still pending against him and trying to secure pardons for his Maquis crew.

He didn’t mind spending his day this way. He was determined to get his past behind him now that the future looked so promising. Last night had been an important first step in making a new life for himself, but it only left him more determined to get the whole legal mess over with. He wanted Kathryn openly in his life, not just in his bed. That simple luxury continued to elude him as long as he was a Maquis outlaw.

He had showered and changed into a fresh uniform, and was leaving his new quarters when he ran into Seven. She was dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, in a loose-fitting linen shirt over simple black slacks. Her hair was subtly different too. “Where’s the fire?” he said as she rushed past him. 

“Oh, Commander,” she said, only now realizing he was even there. She showed him the datachip in her right hand. “I am assisting the Doctor with his new quarters,” she said a little self-consciously. “And I’m late,” she admitted. 

“Don’t let me get in your way, then,” he said smiling. Seven and the Doctor. It still made his head spin. But whatever made his friends happy was just fine with him.
 
 

She buzzed at the entrance to the holosuite. (Starfleet had been thoughtful enough to install a privacy lock on this normally public room.) The doors opened to show a holographic replica that exactly duplicated the base’s crew quarters. Given his choice of any setting, the Doctor had elected to live just like the rest of his crewmates. Well, with a few additional touches.

“Good morning, Seven,” he said as he welcomed her. “Did you finish them?” 

She nodded. “A few minutes ago. I hope they’re to you liking.” She moved to the control panel just inside the door and inserted the chip. “Computer, initiate subroutine Gershwin Monet Beta 2.” Instantly, the standard issue dresser was replaced by a player piano, and the non-descript wall hangings with two original-looking impressionist paintings. 

“They’re wonderful,” he said, impressed with her work.

“I have another surprise for you,” Seven said unexpectedly. “Computer, download EMH autonomous wardrobe. Initiate and resynch program.” The Doctor zimmered in and out as his program restarted. 

“What was that?” he asked. Seven handed him a PADD. I thought you might like the ability to choose your own clothing,” she explained. Until this moment, an engineer needed to reprogram new outfits into the doctor’s datafiles each time he wanted to change out of his standard-issue uniform. On the PADD, however, was a listing of approximately fifty different changes of clothing the Doctor could request of his own free will. He was touched.

“I thought you might want to wear something casual for our picnic,” she said. “You can select whatever you’d like, but I’d recommend file Delta 501. It’s a particular favorite of mine.” 

He smiled. This was a lovely turn of events. He had designed Seven’s wardrobe for so long, he was now anxious to see what she’d picked out for him. “Very well,” he said. “Computer, initiate subroutine Delta 501.”

While the Doctor wasn’t programmed to feel pain, tactile sensations were a necessary part of his interactions with the physical world. He could ‘feel’ everything from pressure to temperature to texture. And this new sensation could only be described as...constriction. He looked down at what he could see of his new clothing. Tight pants in a faded blue with a contrasting top stitching. He could feel pockets at the waist and the loops where a belt might be worn. Interestingly enough, Seven hadn’t bothered to add a belt to the program—an unusual oversight for someone normally so precise. He couldn’t see more than the arms and front of his shirt, but he realized it was made of a thinner version of the same material used in the pants. Funny, he noticed, how it was equally coarse and soft. It, like the pants, also seemed too small for him.

“Do you like it?” Seven asked, showing an obvious appreciation for her own handiwork. “They’re called ‘blue jeans,’ she explained. Circa 1995, though I have had them distressed as if worn for a few years as B’Elanna recommended.” He was now beginning to understand.

“B’Elanna recommended this outfit to you?” he asked. “Isn’t it a little...form fitting?” 

Seven smiled. “Yes,” she said. “The clothing is designed to conform to the male body. Lieutenant Torres said something about ‘turnabout being fair play.’ I don’t understand the reference, but I have to agree with her assessment. It is a very attractive look for you.”

The Doctor grimaced. His ‘assessment’ was being squeezed with every step he took. After years of the looser uniform pants, this was going to take some getting used to. Still, the look on Seven’s face made him think it might be worth the discomfort.

“Well, then,” he said trying to get used to the strange sensation of being fondled by one’s own clothing. “If you like it so much, I guess this is what I’ll wear. Shall we go?” He downloaded his program into the mobile emitter and picked up the basket of food he’d replicated. “After you.” He showed her to the door.
 

~*~*~*~*~
 

The rest of their week flew by. After an initial day of respect and privacy for the crew, plans for Voyager’s homecoming celebration were reaching a climax, and Starfleet’s returning heroes were finding themselves the center of a flurry of attention. Governments from every planet in the Federation seemed to want an interview with the Delta Quadrant pioneers, and they even found themselves the subject of stares and whispers as their faces became well known across the world.

Some of them were handling the fuss better than others. Naomi had become quite a star, as had Neelix, the Alpha Quadrant’s only resident Talaxian. Kathryn was shocked to learn that the story of Voyager had been turned into a series of popular children’s books, and their real life adventures were now routinely taught in Federation schools. 

The attention was less than welcomed by the former Maquis, who would have been just as happy to slip quietly back into the fabric of Federation society. B’Elanna wasn’t thrilled, for instance, to see her life discussed publicly as if it were one of those old television ‘soap operas’. And, while she knew the commotion would eventually die down, she was an intensely private person now faced with instant celebrity. It made her supremely uncomfortable.

Tom, on the other hand, let it roll right off him. He’d spent the week ignoring all the fuss, intent on helping B’Elanna prepare for her hearing. Maybe it was his life as an admiral’s son that allowed him such detachment, she guessed. Or that their being seen as heroic might help to combat the years of unfounded and untrue rumors about his involvement in their disappearance. No matter what, she envied they way he could shut it all out.

The morning of the ceremony, she allowed herself to hope that it would all come to an end soon enough.

While both the Paris’s hated the new standard issue singlets, B’Elanna had to admit that the dress uniforms were quite nice. She thought Tom looked especially handsome in the white formal jacket. They had just joined the rest of their friends at a pre-ceremony reception for the crew and their families in the Academy’s dining hall. It was the first time most of the crew had seen one another in almost five days.

B’Elanna knew something was different about Chakotay the moment she saw him. There was a bit of the old Maquis fire in his eyes, though this time she could tell it was from happiness rather than pain. She was just ready to ask about this change in him, when her attention was distracted by the man walking toward her tentatively from across the room. 

Tom had been standing only a few feet away talking with Kathryn when he saw his wife’s eyes go blank. He didn’t even bother to excuse himself before heading to her side.

“B’Elanna, what is it?” he started to say before turning in the direction of her stare. The man was getting closer now, barely looking in their direction has he came toward them. He was a head shorter than Tom, a human, mid-fifties, handsome, with a dark complexion, and jet black eyes. He looked familiar, though Tom couldn’t place why. Paris made the connection just seconds before the man spoke.

“Hello, B’Elanna,” he said softly. 

She just glared back at him. Tom wasn’t sure what to do; this was his wife’s call to make. He thought for a moment that she might pass out before he saw her steel Klingon strength of will ignite her courage. “Hello, daddy,” she said flatly. “It’s been a long time.” 

John Torres looked shamed, and rightfully so. “Too long,” he said softly before turning to introduce himself to his son-in-law. “You’re Tom Paris, I assume,” he said hesitantly. 

Tom didn’t know what to say. “Yes, sir,” was all he could squeak out. He wanted desperately to put his arm around his wife while she faced her long-lost father, but he knew she didn’t want or need that kind of support right now. 

“John Torres,” the man said, as if Tom didn’t already know.

Tom’s next impulse was to slug the coward who had caused his wife so much lifelong pain. Again, though, he knew that was B’Elanna’s call to make. 

Perhaps because she was caught off guard, perhaps her husband’s own successful reconciliation was still fresh in her mind, but B’Elanna decided in that moment to offer up her anger. She’d never forgive her father for abandoning her and her mother. She’d never forget the way the pain of that loss had colored her entire life. But now, standing before her was a tired, old excuse for a man, clearly wracked with guilt and full of a lifetime of demons. Maybe he was punishing himself enough for the both of them.

They stood awkwardly for a moment before she broke the tension. “You look well,” she lied. 

“So do you,” he was being sincere. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” he said, a tender look in his eyes. How ironic, she thought, that he should find her beautiful now. But then she supposed he always did have a thing for Klingon women. He kept talking, afraid now that he might never get the chance again. “I just wanted to see you one more time, to tell you how much I’ve missed you, and how proud I am of the woman you’ve become.” She didn’t know how to respond.

“Thank you,” was all she could say.

The crowd was being ushered to their tables now, and B’Elanna’s look told her father she had to be going. Torres started to step away, then quickly turned back, a pleading look in his eyes. “I’d like to spend some time with you if I could,” he blurted out. She was ready to decline when he added, “I have news about your mother.” 

Afraid B’Elanna might rip it up, he handed Tom a small card with his contact information. “I’ll be on Earth for the rest of the weekend,” he offered as he backed away. “I hope you’ll let me finish this conversation before I have to go.” With that, he smiled sadly and walked away, leaving his daughter and her husband stunned. 

“Are you okay?” Tom asked when they were finally alone. 

“I think so,” she said flatly. She was numb, he could tell. 

“What should I do with this?” Tom asked, referring to the card her father had handed him. 

“Keep it,” she said softly. She looked again at the empty space where John Torres once stood. “For now.”
 
 

After the reception, the crew was escorted to the parade grounds for their official welcome home. As expected, they were serenaded by a Vulcan children’s choir, and subjected to ponderous speeches by several Federation officials. Then the academy’s elite Nova Squadron flew the traditional ‘missing man’ formation in honor of their lost friends. It was a very staid, very respectful event, followed by the unveiling of a memorial commemorating the return of the lost ship. Like all such ceremonies, there was an element of ritual intended to bring a sense of closure to their ill-fated journey.

Of course, no one knew better than Voyager’s captain how tenuous that closure now seemed. Not only were they still grieving the loss of their friends, the f