10:22 - Earth Mountain Standard Time
"Seven, I've got something to tell you and I'm not sure how you're going to react, so I'm just going to say it: I love you. And by that I mean that I'm in love with you. Madly, deeply in love with you. So much so that an hour doesn't go by that I don't think of you, that I don't want to be with you. What, you had no idea? Please, what do you think the captain of a Starship is doing spending so much time in Astrometrics? You didn't really think it was just to look at your starcharts, did you-?"
No.
She'll think I'm crazy. Not to mention desperate.
Maybe something a little less aggressive. "Seven, I have to ask you: are you in love with Chakotay? Because if you're not, if there is a single doubt in your mind, then I really think you shouldn't go through with this. You should postpone the wedding and give yourself more time to look at your other options--"
Too manipulative.
No matter how she feels about Chakotay, Seven might call it off just because I'm her Captain and she thinks it's what I want her to do. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.
Maybe I should try the poetic route: "Come with me and be my love, and we shall all the heavens prove--"
Good God. If Counselor Troi could see into my mind right now she'd have me committed. I shake my head, as if the action can clear away all the crazy thoughts that are warring for my attention. No use worrying about what I'm going to say until I get there. Until I get to Seven. Besides, it's not what I'm going to say that should worry me. It's how Seven will react to it.
Damn, but this lift is taking forever.
I look up at the doors, practically willing them to open onto the transport station. If it's not too crowded, I should be on Earth in less than 30 minutes. Then another 20 minutes to get to the San Miguel Mission, find Seven, pull her aside...
My hands nervously smooth the front of my new dress uniform, making sure the jacket is straight. As much as I may hate the somberness of the regular uniforms, I have to admit that I love the dress version. The combination of the fitted, waist-length white jacket and ribbed tunic with the black pants is a classic look, one that harks back to old Navy uniforms of the 21st century. The best part is that there isn't even a hint of that omnipresent gray, instead the stark black and white ensemble is offset by scarlet and gold ribbing along the pants and at my sleeves. And most importantly, it's a uniform I look damn good in, even if I do say so myself. I just hope Seven thinks so.
I always felt that she liked my old one, from something she said years ago, in those early days after she was severed from the Collective. It was just after the last of her body armor had been removed, and the Doctor first presented Seven to me in the silver bio-suit that clung more tightly than a second skin, newly-grown hair pinned tight upon her head. She told me then that she remembered something about the girl she had once been -- her favorite color. It was incredibly momentous, not only because it signified the first tiny step Seven voluntarily took towards regaining her humanity, but because of the color she chose. "Red," she revealed. "Her favorite color was red." The fact that I was standing there with my red hair, dressed in a red and black uniform wasn't lost on me. I felt the first stirrings of... something... between us. A slight frisson, singing along my nerve endings. Was that when it started? Was that when I began to fall...?
Only a few more floors to go.
I lean slightly on my left foot, getting the feel of my new boots. Good, the hypospray I replicated seems to be working. There's no pain at all right now, and the tightness of the boot around my swollen foot is only slightly annoying. I just wish I knew how long the effects of the hypospray will last. If the Doctor had been available I would have simply asked him to treat my injury, but he'd left a message with the computer that he was going down to Earth for four days, effective yesterday. I suppose he's proving how magnanimous he is by actually agreeing to help with the wedding. Unlike a certain cowardly captain who's been avoiding the bride for weeks--
Finally! The lift is slowing down. Another moment, and the doors swish open. I step out and glance around. Thank God, it's not crowded at all. In fact, it's...
Empty.
Empty? Where is everybody? Right now the station, which is about 10 times the size of Seven's Cargo Bay, should be teeming with citizens and Starfleet personnel traveling back and forth between Mars and Earth. The constant chattering of people queuing up for the transporters should combine with the whine of hundreds of simultaneous beam-outs to create a pleasantly sonorous hum, but instead there's nothing but...silence.
What the hell is going on here?
I walk further into the station, my boots echoing eerily on the tile. Are all the transporters malfunctioning? No, that's almost statistically impossible. Has there been some sort of accident? Has the station been quarantined? But surely I wouldn't have been allowed in here if so. Could there have been some sort of attack...?
Before I can advance any further, a dark shape rounds a pillar and nearly knocks me down. "Hey, watch it--" Two strong hands reach out and grab my elbows, steadying me, and I look up into ice blue eyes that widen immediately. "Captain!" the Lieutenant exclaims, releasing me. "I am so sorry, sir. Are you alright--?"
"I'll live," I say with a rueful smile. "Don't worry about it." The young woman smiles back at me, seeming relieved. She's tall, about 2 or 3 centimeters taller than Seven, with dark hair that hangs casually down to her shoulders. I notice her tunic is engineering gold -- maybe she can tell me what's going on. "Are you a transporter operator?"
"Yes," she nods. Then she grins. "Every day but today, that is."
"Why not today?" I ask.
The Lieutenant gives me the oddest look, like I'm either the least intelligent person she's ever had the misfortune to meet, or the most uninformed. "I'm sorry sir, but it's just not safe to transport people through an ion storm."
"Ion storm?" I repeat blankly. "What ion storm?"
She points to the bank of windows on the left wall that I hadn't previously paid any attention to. In the distance I can see violent flashes of silver and blue, the ion charges curling and bouncing in jagged streaks of electrical energy that seem intent on rending apart the entire expanse of space between Mars and Earth.
Oh. *That* ion storm.
* * * * * *
10:37 - Earth Mountain Standard Time
There have been a grand total of four ion storms recorded between Earth and Mars during the past three hundred years. *Four.* Until today, that is, when lucky number 5 hit, as the young Lieutenant was kind enough to inform me. She was also quick to volunteer how surprised she was that I had not heard anything about the storm since notification had been sent out repeatedly to everyone on the station from as far back as two weeks ago.
Of course I didn't tell her that I've been automatically deleting, unread, all of the "non-important" messages -- any that weren't from Seven -- for weeks now. Anyone who didn't reach my communicator directly hasn't been able to reach me at all.
I wonder if Deanna knew about the storm when we talked earlier? Probably. But I'm sure she, like the young Lieutenant, just assumed that a Starfleet captain would keep up with such things. No matter. Just a slight change of plans. The public shuttles take an hour to get to Earth, possibly two with heavy traffic. It will be cutting it close, but I should still make it to the wedding in time to talk to Seven.
I feel the lift slow down and step up to the doors, impatient for them to slide open. When they do, I nearly fall backwards from the immediate crush of people and the cacophony of angry, frustrated voices that assaults my ears. "Excuse me," I yell, pushing my way out of the lift and into the crowd. "Pardon me!" There must be thousands of people here, all crowded onto the dozen or so platforms, bodies pressed together into one large, immovable mass. And I do mean 'immovable.' I literally have to elbow my way through a group of ensigns, who apparently don't give a damn that I'm a captain on a mission--
Wait, is that Admiral Stapp over there on that platform, with his back to me? Right now I'd be willing to chat up the Borg Queen herself if it would get me to Earth any faster. "Admiral Stapp!" I call, but the din is so loud he must not hear me. I take a breath and dive into the throng, pushing past the people between us to finally reach the Admiral after what seems like several minutes. "Admiral," I say, tapping his shoulder. At first he doesn't respond, then I tap him again.
Hard.
Stapp turns an irritated face to me, which doesn't soften at all when he sees who it is. "Captain Janeway."
"Admiral Stapp, it's good to see you." I smile pleasantly, then motion to the crowd around us. "What's going on here?"
"Isn't it obvious? Too many people are trying to get on too few shuttles."
Well hell, I could have figured that one out on my own. "How long is the wait?"
"Three hours, according to the last announcement."
"Three hours?" I exclaim. I won't make it in time if I have to wait that long. "Is that three hour wait for... everyone?" I ask delicately. "Surely there must be some preference for someone of your status," I add with what I hope is a charming smile. If there is any preference for Admirals, then there's no way Stapp is leaving here without me.
"Do you honestly think I'd still be standing here if they were giving special consideration based on rank?" Stapp looks around him with disdain. "These shuttles run strictly on a first come, first serve basis. So you might as well get comfortable, Captain. You and I are both going to be here for a while."
The hell I am.
* * * * * *
11:17 - Earth Mountain Standard Time
No one else seems to be around as I cross Voyager's shuttle bay, that's good. As long as my command codes haven't been rewritten, I should be able to get the Delta Flyer up and running and zip out of here before anyone's the wiser. Almost there-- up the small flight of stairs into the shuttle, close the door behind me and I'm home free--
Except someone's already here.
Although his back is to me, I can make out the single pip on his collar. An ensign. He's sitting in the pilot's chair, hunched over the console inputting some sort of diagnostic data into a padd. He's whistling, which may have kept him from hearing my approach. Good, I'll surprise him. And although no one else seems to have taken any notice of my dress whites, perhaps the ensign will be suitably impressed and forget to question my right to use a Starfleet shuttle as my own personal taxi.
"Good morning, Ensign."
The young man jumps, drops his padd on the floor with a loud curse, then spins in his chair. "Captain!" he yelps, his face blanching as he recognizes me. He immediately leaps to his feet and snaps to attention in one swift movement.
Wait, I know him. He's the one that was in Seven's Cargo Bay. What was his name -- Branahan? Brannigue...? No, Brannigan. Definitely Brannigan.
"At ease, Ensign Brannigan." I smile at him, and take a couple of steps into the shuttle. "So, how does she look?" I ask, nodding to his data padd.
He reaches down and picks the padd off the floor, begins to read his findings. "The Delta Flyer is in excellent condition, sir! Engines are checking out at 98.2% efficiency, weapons are at 99.1--"
I wave my hand, stopping him. "No need to report the full diagnostic. I just want to know if the Flyer is up for a little trip."
"Sir?"
I take another two steps until I'm beside him, within reach of the console. "I need to take the Flyer to Earth for an important meeting this afternoon. Do you think she's up for it?"
"Yes, she's up for it. But Captain..." he hesitates, shuffles his feet.
"What is it, Ensign?"
"I have orders, sir."
"What orders?"
"I've been told to make sure all the shuttlecrafts are locked down. All Starfleet personnel are to use the public transports to return to Earth."
Damn, I must not be the only person who's considered misappropriating the Flyer for personal means. "Whose orders?" I ask, allowing a hint of steel into my voice.
"Admiral Necheyev."
Well, of course, who else would it be? That's just the kind of day I'm having. But if I could find another Admiral to counter that command... "Let's see if we can't get you some new orders," I say, giving him a friendly smile. More bees with honey... I move past him and into the pilot's seat so I can access communications.
A few simple commands later and Lieutenant Selwyn, Admiral Paris' aide-de-camp at Utopia Planitia, appears on the viewscreen. "Captain Janeway," she says. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to speak with Admiral Paris. Could you contact him for me?"
"I'm sorry, Captain, but he's taken a few days' leave to be with his son's family on Earth and left instructions that he not be contacted except in an emergency," she replies with an apologetic smile. "And unfortunately, even if this is an emergency I'm not sure if I can reach him. Communications with Earth have been unreliable for the past 10 hours due to the ion storm, and there's no projection as to when they will return to normal."
Damn.
"Never mind, Lieutenant. It's not that important," I say, smiling to hide the lie.
"Is this something that Admiral Necheyev can help you with? I know she's still on Utopia Planitia. I could transfer you if you like."
Apparently there's just no getting around it. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That would be very helpful."
Another moment later and Necheyev fills the viewscreen. "Captain Janeway," she says in greeting, then sizes up my dress whites with a glance. "What's the occasion?"
I'm uncomfortably aware that Brannigan is still standing over my shoulder, witnessing everything. But if I have to beg, I will. I take a breath, preparing myself for the fight that I'm sure is coming. "I have an important appointment on Earth that I must attend in the next few hours. I need to use the Delta Flyer to get there, but this Ensign is under orders not to release it to anyone."
"And you want me to break protocol and rescind those orders just for you," she interprets.
"Yes," I say, unblinking.
Do I imagine it, or is there a hint of a smile in her eyes? Necheyev looks down at her desk before I can tell for sure. "Alright, Captain," she says, keying something into a padd. "I'm sending clearance for you to take possession of the Delta Flyer for as long as you need it. The orders are being sent to you at your location, as well as to the necessary personnel on Voyager and Utopia Planitia." She finishes entering the information and looks up at me. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No," I manage. "Nothing else. Thank you."
"Any time, Captain," she says with a nod. Then the viewscreen clears and a light on the control panel simultaneously begins to flash, signaling an incoming message.
To say I'm astonished would be an understatement. It can't possibly be that easy. Why would Necheyev go out of her way to help me...? But I can't wonder about that now, not when time is running out.
"May I?" I reach for the Ensign's data padd and quickly download the Admiral's message onto it, then hand it back to Brannigan with the clearance codes visible. "I believe that should be everything you need," I say, knowing I sound terribly smug.
"Yes, sir. Can I do anything else to help you prepare for your flight, sir?"
"No, I think I can handle it." My hands fly over the control panel as I start to bring the ship's systems online. "That's all, Ensign. You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir," he says quietly. He turns to leave, his manner rather like that of a scolded puppy's.
Maybe because things seem to be turning my way again. Maybe because I suddenly realize the boy is just doing his job. Or maybe because I think one arbitrary act of kindness deserves another. For whatever reason, I reach out and touch his arm, stopping him. "Oh, and Ensign Brannigan..."
"Yes sir?"
"Only strangers address me as 'sir.' Members of my crew address me as 'ma'am.' Got that?"
I flash one of my genuine smiles at him, and he grins back at me as if he's some peasant that has just been granted a boon by his Queen. "Yes ma'am!"
* * * * * *
12:38 - Earth Mountain Standard Time
And now here I sit in orbit over Earth, cursing the idiots who came up with these damn Atmospheric Protection Laws. Why the hell should we be forced to follow some out-dated, three-hundred-year-old regulation? Sure, I understand the initial reasoning for limiting the number of ships entering Earth's atmosphere during a single 24 hour period, but that was before the transporter system cut down on the amount of air traffic and made such laws virtually obsolete. Except during ion storms, apparently, when the traffic levels rise over 400%. But the laws were put in place to guard against continuous atmospheric pollution, not one day's worth. Today couldn't possibly have any lasting repercussions at all to the atmosphere, to the planet, or its people.
To anyone else but me.
But my cursing does absolutely nothing to get me out of the holding pattern I'm stuck in, along with the 500 or so other ships that are waiting for permission to enter the atmosphere. God, how many are in front of me now? I check the console. 84. Still? Damn it, I don't have time for this! "Computer, connect me to Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram," I demand.
A fizzing sound, then the same static-filled answer I've been getting all afternoon. "Unable to comply."
I'm going to scream.
I can't reach the Doctor, B'Elanna, Tom, or even Chakotay. I can't even reach the San Miguel Mission where the wedding is being held.
I can't reach Seven.
My fingers hover over the control panel, tingling from the slight electrical field that immediately forms between my skin and the metal. Even with the shields at maximum the ship still picked up a charge as it bounced through the worst of the ion storm. Now it's in the distance, behind me, but I can still see flashes of the storm out of the corner of my eye. And I can still hear the crackle in the air, feel the electricity singing along my nerve-endings.
I can't just sit here. I've got to move.
A touch of a button and I could simply blast my way through to the head of the line, disable all the ships in front of me and fly past them on down to Earth.
To Seven.
I'm tempted. God, I'm tempted. But losing control won't do anyone any good. Better just to calm down. Relax. I force myself to sit back in my chair and take a breath. Seven will wait for me. No matter how late I am, she will wait. I'm sure of it. I feel it with everything that I am. She won't take such an important step in her life without me there with her, to watch over her.
My fevered mind immediately fills in the fantasy -- Seven will want to wait, but Chakotay will become impatient. He'll force her to go ahead with the wedding. Maybe he knows about the storm? Maybe he tells her I won't be able to get there today? Whatever he says, she agrees. Then they'll gather in the chapel for the ceremony, before the Catholic priest that Chakotay's grandmother insisted on, as well as the elder tribesman who will help perform the ceremony. Seven will be radiant in white, Chakotay handsome in his black tux. Everything perfect. Until the priest gets to the part where he says, "Is there anyone here who has any reason why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony?"
That's when I'll throw open the doors, storm in and shout, "I do!" Or better yet, maybe I'll just stand there in the doorway and whisper Seven's name. Her enhanced Borg hearing will make her turn to me, though no one else has heard a sound. I won't say another word as I hold my hand out to her. Instead I let her see it all in my eyes, how much I love her. My heart will feel like it's about to beat out of my chest, and then she'll smile and throw her bouquet at the alter, leaving Chakotay gaping after us as she runs down the aisle and takes my hand. Then I'll whisk her away in the Delta Flyer and we'll soar off together towards the setting sun--
Oh God.
I really am insane.
It's a lot more likely that I'll get there in plenty of time to talk to Seven before the actual ceremony. She'll listen very patiently, very attentively as I tell her why I've been acting so strangely, so aloofly these past weeks. Then she'll smile and hug me, but when she pulls away I'll see the sorrow in her eyes. The pity. "I am tremendously honored that you would share your feelings with me, Kathryn. I also have feelings for you. You are my Captain, my mentor and my friend. But it is Commander Chakotay that I love. I hope you can understand -- you have always been like a mother to me." Then I will lie and say it's alright, that I just wanted her to know, and that I hope we'll always be friends. Then I'll go out and take my place in the church sanctuary, my face a mask of stone as I watch Seven pledge her undying love to that bastard--
Stop it.
Imagining worst case scenarios does me no more good than the silly romantic fantasies. It's all useless speculation about the unknown. And the greatest unknown is Seven herself.
But I can't stop myself from wondering... what if Deanna is right? Could Seven be marrying Chakotay for some other reason besides love? And then there's the biggest question of all -- what does she feel for me? Is there any possibility that she has stronger feelings than friendship? Could she possibly care for me as much as I care for her?
I think about that last time we were on a shuttle alone together, when Seven had succumbed to paranoia after overloading her cortical node with too much non-related data. She'd tried to make sense of it all by inventing a litany of conspiracy theories -- that Chakotay was trying to take over the ship, that someone had deliberately stranded us all in the Delta Quadrant. And, worst of all, that I had deliberately severed her from the Collective in order to deliver her to Starfleet as some sort of object for experimentation.
That hurt most of all. Not only that she didn't trust me, but that she could think for one moment that I could ever let anyone harm her. The idea hurt her too, I think, because she stole a shuttle and tried to run away from us, from me, but of course I couldn't let her go. So I beamed over to the Flyer alone so I could talk to her through the forcefield she'd erected to protect herself. From me.
I don't remember now the exact words I said, only that I felt like they were the most important ones I had ever spoken. The most heartfelt. I simply had to earn back Seven's trust. I reminded her about our past, the details of our relationship. How I had freed her from the Collective, helped her take her first faltering steps towards her humanity. I even gave the actual stardates, ending with the first time she had told me "thank you." I was off by a day, as Seven softly corrected me, but I could tell she was impressed, moved that I could remember such things without the aid of a cortical implant. She couldn't know that those dates were precious to me, milestones etched in the walls of my heart.
Finally Seven agreed to let me help her, and she lowered the forcefield. And then, as she sat in the pilot's chair, I came forward to bend down on one knee before her. When I did I had to lean in, coming dangerously close to those tempting lips. God, how I wanted to kiss her. Was it my imagination, or did her lips part ever so slightly, her breath quicken at my proximity? When I stopped my descent and met her wide eyes I know I saw Seven swallow hard, her jaw muscles working like she was experiencing some overwhelming emotion. Could she possibly have been as affected by my closeness as I was by hers?
I didn't let myself find out. I couldn't. Instead of taking the Delta Flyer back ourselves, I had Voyager beam us both off the ship, and then bring in the Flyer on a tractor beam. If I'd spent one more nano-second that close to Seven I would have surely done something stupid. Like kiss her. Or tell her I love her. Or rip off that bio-suit and take her right there in the pilot's chair.
I sigh, and check the console again. How many ships ahead of me now? 83? Damn it! At this rate I won't get there until next week! Alright, patience is getting me nowhere. Time to change my strategy. If I can't use my influence and sheer strength of will to beg, barter and cajole my way ahead in this line, then my name isn't Kathryn Janeway.
I order the computer to contact the ship in front of me, a small freighter named the Falcon, and hold my breath, praying that the storm won't interfere at this range. Thank God the computer is finally able to comply as the viewscreen flickers once, twice, then fills with a static-riddled image.
"I'm Captain Janeway of the Starship Voyager," I say, aiming a winning smile at the scruffy captain that appears. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor..."
* * * * * *
14:09 - Earth Mountain Standard Time
No guests here in the... what's it called? The atrium? The vestibule? Whatever it is, it's vacant. I pull the outside door shut behind me and take a breath, then step up to the large oak doors leading into the chapel. They're closed -- is that a good sign? I can't hear anything, no noise at all coming from within. Does that mean the service hasn't started yet? Or are the stucco walls simply so thick I can't hear inside the chapel?
My hand reaches for the cool iron handle, tentatively pushing one of the doors open. It's not the grand gesture of my earlier fantasy, but I can't help but flash on the image of me throwing open the double doors just as the priest says, "Is there anyone here who has any reason why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony?"
The door swings wide with a loud creak and my eyes immediately seek the altar, half expecting Seven to turn and look at me as I enter--
Except she doesn't.
Because there's no one here.
The chapel is empty.
Could I be in the wrong place? I slowly walk forward down the aisle, swallowing back the cold fear that fills my stomach as I look for some evidence, some sign that will tell me I've made a mistake. That Seven was never here. I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. There -- behind that pew. A folded slip of paper peeking out from a hymnal. I pull it out, and open it with trembling fingers. The paper is a light taupe, eggshell thin, with pictures of lavender and mauve flowers decorating the border. Inside it reads, in old-fashioned calligraphy:
"Please join us in celebrating the wedding of
Commander Chakotay, First Officer, USS Voyager,
to
Annika Hansen, Astrometrics Officer, USS Voyager"
Details about the service follow -- I'm vaguely aware of something about a flute player and a reading from some sacred tribal text -- but all I can focus on is the name under Chakotay's. I rub over it with my thumb, feeling the raised letters bump ever so slightly against my skin. 'Annika Hansen.' There it is, all spelled out in lavender and taupe --
Seven's gone.
Married.
She's his. His wife. His bride. His 'Annika.'
My vision... turning red... my heart... throbbing in my ears... I stumble backwards onto the pew and sit down, my mind numb, reeling. I hadn't even let myself consider the possibility. I hadn't allowed the thought to enter my mind. Of course I would get here in time. I had to.
Except I didn't.
I stare ahead at the solitary altar jutting up from the middle of the sanctuary, its white surface gleaming in the light from a side window like a perfect block of ice. I flash on an image of a glacier slipping down into a frozen sea and I can almost hear the waves crashing, the waters swirling red, blood red. Except it's not a glacier at all, but a ship -- a ship that's sinking, drowning, taking away all that I love...
The fingernails of my right hand begin to dig into my thigh, but the sharp pain is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Like I've been sucked out an airlock into space, my lungs pierced by hot daggers, and pain, pain... everywhere. I gasp, and my breath comes out in a sob as hot tears begin streaming down my cheeks.
Didn't she know that I was coming, that I was on my way? That I always come for her, no matter what? Why didn't she wait for me--
But why would she?
Why would Seven wait, just for me? I haven't talked to her in weeks. I've been ignoring her completely, and today I show up over an hour late for her wedding. So really, what did I expect?
I choke on a sob, tasting the salt from my tears. Did she even miss me? Did her eyes search the pews for me when she walked down the aisle? Did she listen for my entrance as she said her vows? Did I even cross her mind as she left the chapel with her new husband, as they headed off to their honeymoon?
My fingernails dig so deeply into my leg I think I may start bleeding.
If only that ion storm hadn't slowed me... But I can't even complete the thought. I should have known about the storm. I should have been here. I should have told her sooner that I didn't want her to get married, that I wanted her for myself.
That I loved her.
This is all my fault. My responsibility. My pain.
Mine.
Then my tears change, and I find I'm crying for more than just this moment. I'm crying for the entire oeuvre of terrible mistakes I've made that have led up to this, starting with 'the Great Mistake' -- the decision to strand Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. The lives that have subsequently been lost, destroyed because of me. Lindsey Ballard. Joe Carey. Even Rudie Ransom. The countless others.
And then I'm crying for Daddy, and for Justin, and my own ineffectualness, my inability to change their fates. To change my fate. And finally I cry for Admiral Janeway, and I think that I'd rather be her right now, that she's the one who was lucky, that I wish it had been me who sacrificed my life for everyone I loved. And I wonder if she still would have gone through with it if she had known how I would eventually fail her, how I would fail myself. If she would have thought it was worth it--
Of course she would.
I suck in a breath as my fingernails slowly begin to release my thigh.
Voyager's long journey is over. Its crew has been returned to their families. And twenty-two of them will not have to die in the Delta Quadrant. Tuvok will not succumb to brain disease. And Seven will have the opportunity to live past the next three years.
Seven.
Can it be a mere coincidence that that one word represents both the name of the woman I love and the number of years I spent in the Delta Quadrant? Can it be just a coincidence that she is the only person who truly benefited from Voyager's seven-year journey, the only person who is honestly thankful for my Great Mistake? Rescuing Seven from the Borg and helping return her to humanity is the one wholly positive thing that I can look back on, the only thing about my experience in the Delta Quadrant that doesn't also bring a sense of guilt. And today she is here on Earth, starting a new life, with a new husband. My Seven is happy, with a world of promise and possibility ahead of her.
And suddenly I realize that I'd do it all again, travel the entire length of the Delta Quadrant once more even if everything turned out exactly the same. I wouldn't change a nano-second of it if it meant that Seven would not be exactly where she is at this moment. Here on Earth. Happy. Human. Of course it was worth it.
Because she's worth it.
I know this thought will eventually give me some comfort, but at the moment I can't bring myself to feel anything but anguish that our story ends this way. But eventually I know I'll learn to live with the pain. I'll go on, the same as I always have.
I will survive this.
Until then, this is the reality I have to deal with, the truth I have to accept -- that I was too late, that Seven is really gone. And now nothing will ever be the same.
* * * * * *
I don't remember making a conscious decision to leave. But suddenly I'm standing, wiping my face, composing myself before I leave the church. Then I'm outside, heading down the street towards the football field where I'd parked the Flyer. I'm vaguely aware that the hypospray I'd taken earlier must be wearing off, because my foot is starting to throb again. As I pass a small park, I feel people staring at me, and imagine that I must look strange limping through town in my dress whites. But I just don't give a damn.
"Ma'am?" A voice calls behind me.
I keep walking.
"Ma'am?" The voice is stronger now, closer. "Excuse me, ma'am--"
I whirl on the interloper, getting ready to bark out 'Leave me alone!' but the words die on my lips when I see the owner of the voice. It's a fair-haired girl, about 9 years old, running towards me with an old-fashioned notepad in her hand. "What? What is it?" I demand, sounding harsh despite my attempt not to.
The girl slows to a stop, and hugs the notepad to her chest. Actually it's not a notepad at all, I notice, but a worn sketchbook. "I was... umm... I thought..." she stammers, then says in a rush, "Are you her? Are you Captain Janeway? Of Voyager? The ship that made it home?"
I cross my arms over my chest, and tilt my head to the side. "And if I said I was?"
"My umm... Mom... she sent me over here... she said I should get your autograph." The girl points to a park bench off in the distance, where a young blonde woman sits beside a baby stroller. She is watching us, and waves when I look her way. I acknowledge the greeting with a slight nod.
"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway," I admit to the girl. "Who's the autograph for?"
"For me. I want to be just like you!" she says with a grin.
"You mean you want to be a Starship captain who gets her crew lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years?" I ask, with a sarcasm that is lost on the little girl.
"No, I want to be a Starship captain who gets her crew *home,*" she says quite guilelessly, "no matter what."
She's so young, so innocent, with those rose-colored ideas. And destined for disillusionment. "I make it a rule not to give out autographs," I explain. "It's an antiquated custom, and Starfleet doesn't exactly condone its officers acting like anything other than what we are -- people who are just trying to do our jobs."
The girl's face falls. "Does that mean no?"
My lips curl into a warm smile. She may become disillusioned one day, but not today. I crouch down in front of her and whisper conspiratorially, "Don't tell your mother this, but every now and then it's okay to break the rules. But only if it's very, very important. Is this very, very important?"
"It is!" she says, nodding seriously. "It's very important. Very, very important!"
"Okay then." I reach for the sketchbook. "Is this what you want me to sign?"
"Yeah -- anywhere is good," she says, handing me both the pad and a drawing pencil. "It's my Momma's. She likes drawing pictures of Piper and me."
I flip through the book, seeing page after page of the little girl's face smiling back at me, interspersed with pictures of an infant. "Is Piper your sister?"
"Yeah. She's just a baby though. I'm almost 8," she volunteers.
"You're very tall for your age, aren't you? I thought you were at least 9 or 10," I comment. The young girl smiles and preens in response, twirling from side to side as I search for a blank page. There doesn't seem to be a single one that doesn't have a picture on it, and I hate to write on the back of such personal drawings...
Wait, I have a better idea.
I carefully unfold the wedding announcement that I'd kept crumpled in my left hand. "What's your name?" I ask, turning the paper over on its back.
"Faith," she says. "I'm Faith."
"To Faith..." I say aloud as I begin to write. I veto the quote that is my first impulse -- "The fault lies not within our stars, but in ourselves" -- and instead write:
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new
lands,
but in seeing with new eyes." - Marcelle Proust
Beneath that I simply add, "All my best, Captain K. Janeway."
"Here you go," I smile, handing the paper, pad and pencil back to the girl.
"Ooo, pretty flowers," she coos, turning over the announcement to see the front. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," I say, starting to stand. But Faith crooks her finger at me, so I lean back down. "What is it?"
"My Momma says you are very brave," she says. Then she lowers her voice in a stage whisper, "and pretty too!"
I stand up quickly. "Well...uh, thank her for that, I suppose." I pull at my uniform jacket, straightening it reflexively. "You'd better get back to her now."
"Thank you, Captain Janeway!" Faith starts towards the bench, then turns back and politely adds, "It was very nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too," I say, waving goodbye. The mother waves back to me as Faith joins her. I nod briskly to her and then continue towards the Flyer, the brief distraction already forgotten by the time I reach the football field.
I wonder if Seven will want children. If her child would be blonde and fair like her. Or dark, like Chakotay.
I wonder if they're making their first baby right now.
My motions are automatic as I enter the shuttle and prepare it for take-off. A moment later it's rising into the air, flying over the church I just left. My fingers absently rub over the phaser controls. One blast would destroy it. One blast would make it go away -- the physical manifestation of Seven's marriage. The physical monument to her happiness.
I deliberately remove my hand from the controls and sit back, letting the ship hover. Where do I go from here? I have no idea. I can't go back to Voyager. Not now. I can't face that emptiness.
Phoebe's.
I'll go to Phoebe's. To my house. My bed.
I punch in the coordinates to San Francisco, then, as an afterthought, I instruct the computer to contact my sister. Communications must be fine here on Earth because she appears on my viewscreen after only a few moments.
"Phoebe. Hi. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be-- "
"Where the hell are you?" she snaps.
"What?" I stare at her blankly. Why would she care where I am? She wasn't expecting to see me today.
"I said, 'where the hell are you?'" she repeats. This isn't like Phoebe. She looks frazzled. Worried.
"I'm leaving Arizona," I respond, getting a little worried myself. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"We've got a situation."
"A situation? What kind of situation?" My mind rushes through a thousand possibilities. The Borg are attacking. Admiral Necheyev only pretended to release the shuttle to me, and now she's sending out a security detail to arrest me for stealing it. Or maybe the Timeship Relativity has finally returned to snatch me back to the Delta Quadrant where I belong--
"It's Mom."
"Mom?" I lean forward, muscles tensed. "What is it? Is she alright?"
"She's fine. But she's got a problem. Or should I say, *you've* got a problem."
"What problem?" I demand. "What's going on?"
"Just go to Mom's. She'll explain everything when you get there."
"Phoebe," I growl as I input the new coordinates, "tell me what's going on."
"You'll see," she answers, unfazed by my command voice. Then with a maddening smirk she adds, "You'd better hurry."
"Phoebe, tell me what this is about--!"
But she's already ended the transmission.
A few minutes later I'm landing the shuttle in the open field behind Mom's house, then jogging all the way to the porch. I take the steps two at a time, adrenaline making me forget about the pain in my foot. "Mom!" I fling open the door and rush into the hallway. "What's going on? Phoebe said-- "
Then I come to a complete stop as I look into the living room, and my world falls away.
"Captain." Seven of Nine turns to me, her gaze haughty, cool. "I have been waiting for you."