"So what do you think?"
I glance over at Admiral Paris, my lone traveling companion in the turbolift that is hurtling me towards Voyager's bridge, and give him a blank look. He nods to my collar and the new adornment I'm fiddling with. "Do you feel any different?"
"Not yet," I answer. "But ask me again in about 6 months."
"I will," he smiles. Owen watches me a moment, then shakes his head and moves to stand in front of me, between me and the lift doors. "Here, you're getting it all crooked." As he reaches for my collar I lift my chin and allow him to straighten my Admiral's bars. "I just wish Tom could have been there to see the ceremony," he comments.
"I wish he could have been there too," I admit. "But some things are just more important. With both Miral and B'Elanna sick, it didn't make any sense for him to come alone. Like I told Tom, I'd rather he stay with them and know that they're alright. I didn't want him here if he was going to be worried the entire time."
"But he had really been looking forward to it--"
"I know," I smile slightly. "He must have told me so himself at least a dozen times. But I could tell he also wanted to stay home and take care of his family, and who can blame him for that?"
"My son, the responsible family man," Owen says with obvious disbelief. "What did you people *do* to him out there in the Delta Quadrant? And why didn't you do it sooner?"
"Don't blame me," I laugh. "You've got B'Elanna and Miral to thank for that. Especially Miral. I think being a father agrees with him."
Owen finishes straightening my bar and places a hand on my shoulder, his face becoming serious. "Modesty doesn't suit you, Kathryn. I know what a positive influence you've been on my son. You've always had faith in him, sometimes even more than me," he says, ducking his head. "I only wish your own father could see you today. And I'm not just talking about your promotion, but the person that you have become. He would have been so proud of you."
"Thank you," I whisper and quickly glance down, trying not to get too emotional. It simply wouldn't do for Voyager's former Captain to be crying when she walks onto the bridge.
Just a few more decks and we'll be there, and I'll sit down in my old chair for one last time. My final journey on Voyager. This time it's purely ceremonial, a short trip from Utopia Planitia to Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, where Voyager is scheduled to do a fly-by amid fireworks over the Golden Gate Bridge. Then we'll land on the Presidio, and the ship will be open to limited public viewings for six months before being sent out on its next mission. Apparently people are clamoring to get a first hand glimpse of the vessel that survived the Delta Quadrant, and with its ranks still so alarmingly low after the Dominion war, Starfleet has decided to capitalize on its potential as a recruitment incentive.
The rest of it was all Owen and Tom's idea -- scheduling my promotion ceremony to coincide with Voyager's symbolic return home, then having me walk onto the bridge an Admiral as I take the conn one final time. And I admit, when Admiral Paris first approached me with the plan, I thought it was a good idea too, if only for the opportunity to see my people again. But it worked better in theory than in practice.
Once I had given my approval, the entire crew was asked to join in the ceremony. But apparently Admiral Paris should have sent out the invitations as an order, not a request. Only 47 crewmembers sent in their RSVP's, and of those that had promised to come, a mere 32 actually showed up for the ceremony. 32! I know how much everyone is enjoying their time off -- after 7 years they certainly deserve every nanosecond of it -- and I understand that they might not want to take a moment away from their extended vacations. And I could have predicted that there would be those who resented my promotion, thinking that it was wrong for me to reap the greatest rewards of our return when I was the one who got us all stranded in the Delta Quadrant in the first place. But I would have thought that the majority of my crew would want to come for Voyager's sake, to help celebrate the ship that brought us home. Not to mention the opportunity to be with all of their crewmates one last time before we drift away from each other completely. But I suppose everyone else feels like they've seen enough of Voyager and its crew to last a lifetime.
Everyone else has already moved on.
But then again, so have I. I haven't even stepped foot on Voyager since we moved the alcove. Seven and I have been so busy, either getting settled into our new home, or visiting Mom in Indiana or Phoebe and Jordan in San Francisco. And the traveling! To any and every exotic location that has piqued Seven's curiosity.
And everywhere we've gone, we've made love.
Off a side trail in the Grand Canyon, under a blanket on a gondola in Venice, in one of the underground springs on Mars, in the pilot's chair of the Delta Flyer in the middle of an ion storm. Then almost every night we've gone to bed and made love again, for hours and hours on end. At times I wonder if I'm a little old to be so... enthusiastic. But Seven doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I've started taking that nutritional supplement she suggested just to make sure I can keep up with her. My Seven is evolving into a passionate, eager, and seemingly insatiable woman. And surprisingly experimental -- or maybe not so surprising, given her personal history. But somehow I know this is different from when she wanted to experiment with her emotions. Maybe because I feel like I'm an equal participant, not a test subject. Or maybe it's because there is such a sense of playfulness when we're together. And of caring. We've made it into a game, to see who can determine the best, most effective methods for giving each other pleasure. She numbers each new position we come up with -- at last count we were up to 108 -- and we add new accessories and accoutrements on a regular basis, until I feel like I've tried more things in the past 3 months than I have in the past 30 years. But who's complaining? I'm a scientist at heart, and these are definitely experiments that I can get on board with.
Owen is giving me a curious look, probably wondering why I'm grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Hopefully he'll just assume that I'm glad to be an Admiral. Really glad. Ecstatic, even.
Is that the feeling she brings out in me...? Ecstasy?
I'm hesitant to put a name to it, because the last time I felt anything even close to this was... right before Justin and Daddy died. Sitting there in the cockpit with my father and my fiancé as we finished the Terra Nova's trial run, I remember thinking that everything was so very perfect. Realizing in that moment that I was truly happy, but feeling even then that it was too much, that I didn't really deserve it. Seconds later my doubts seemed confirmed as my world shattered right before my eyes. Now, as irrational as it may be, I'm genuinely afraid to acknowledge to myself how happy I am for fear that something horrible will happen again. My only consolation, the one thing that makes me feel that Seven and I might be safe, is the knowledge that things aren't perfect between us.
She still hasn't said she loves me.
I try not to be too concerned, to let it worry me. I try to focus on her actions instead. She certainly seems to care. Seven is so incredibly, amazingly gentle with me. And so solicitous. She holds me as I fall asleep, and when I wake her arms are still around me, and she's looking at me with just the softest hint of a smile. 'What are you doing?' I ask. To which she always replies, 'Watching over you.' I feel so safe, so protected...and so loved. But I still wish she'd say the words.
We've had our share of disputes too, which I suppose is to be expected. Seven could always irritate me more than anyone else with that damn stubbornness of hers, and that hasn't changed just because our relationship has. The worst disagreement, our first official fight as a couple, in fact, was over where we would live. Originally I wanted to move back into my old house in San Francisco, but Seven wouldn't hear of it. She didn't want to displace my sister and her girlfriend from their home. This suited Phoebe, of course, but damn it, I had really been looking forward to throwing my sister out on her ear. The idea had been growing on me ever since I first introduced Seven to Phoebe, and my dear sister promptly accused me of deliberately getting myself lost in the Delta Quadrant just so I could finally find an interesting fiancé. The barrage of teasing, the likes of which hasn't been seen since we were teenagers, has only been escalating since then. And not just directed at me, but at Seven too. Luckily she seems to be taking it all in stride, somehow sensing that Phoebe's rather vocal disbelief over how such a beautiful young woman could be interested in a 'crusty old Captain' like me is just my sister's way of needling me. It's all meant affectionately, I know, and so far I've been able to laugh off most of Phoebe's jokes, but I swear if she offers one more time to set Seven up with someone closer to her own age I'm going to have to throttle her.
God only knows why Seven has taken such a liking to someone so irritatingly obnoxious, but the fact is she has, and no matter how much I cajoled her she wouldn't change her mind about us moving into my old home. Once Phoebe found out the verdict she magnanimously offered to let us stay with them as long as we wanted -- which really was the absolute least she could do considering she was getting a new house out of the deal -- but just a few days of being around my sister had already begun to remind me why I'd gone out into space in the first place. So we instead opted for choice number 2, and an extended visit to Bloomington, Indiana.
Seven was ecstatic with the decision, and even I enjoyed staying with my mother at first. And Mom? She obviously delighted in the company, grinning from ear to ear as she told Seven endless stories about my childhood. Watching their interaction, I often felt moved to tears. Like when Mom taught Seven how to cook her patented caramel brownies from scratch -- something neither of her daughters had ever had any desire to learn. How wonderful it was to see the genuine affection that shone from my mother's eyes and the shy, pleased smile that graced Seven's face when she succeeded. But most of all I adored the long nights spent laying in my old bed, snuggling into Seven's arms, feeling the familiar sounds of the house wrap around me like a favorite old blanket -- the lazy chirp of the crickets, the slight creak of a floorboard, the groan of a mattress spring. I had almost forgotten how amazingly loud even the slightest sound can seem in the country, but it didn't take long for me to realize what that implied. If a squeaky mattress spring can reverberate through the entire house, what about a whimper? A moan? A cry? Seven and I would have to learn to be quiet. Very, very quiet.
Although a challenge, it was actually rather exciting, at least in the beginning. I felt like a teenager, giggling and whispering as I made out with my girlfriend, trying not to wake my mother as she slept in the room right next door. But by the third week, the constant worrying and self-monitoring was getting to me. All I wanted was to let go -- to shout, to scream. To stop burying my head in a pillow every time I came.
The obvious answer was for us to hurry and get our own place, but before I could talk Seven into it my Mom came up with an absolutely brilliant idea -- at least as far as she and her new 'daughter' were concerned. She suggested that we move in with her permanently, an idea that Seven absolutely loved. I flat out refused to even consider it, telling them both that there was no way in hell I was going to live in my mother's house with my new wife. Although I appreciated the fact that my family seemed to be welcoming Seven with open arms, this was just too damn open for my tastes. We needed the privacy of our own home. But Mom and Seven didn't give up on the idea, oh no. They simply modified it. They both thought it would be just as acceptable if Seven and I simply stayed in the neighborhood. And, as luck would have it, Mrs. Donaldson had just moved in with her son and put her house on the market. Seven and Mom both agreed that it was the perfect opportunity for us. I disagreed. Heartily. Vociferously.
With every bone and fiber of my being.
But no matter how many times I explained to Seven that a traditionalist settlement is not exactly the best choice of homes for a former Borg drone, or that being in such close proximity to one's mother isn't always a good thing, Mom would come up with some counter-argument. She'd say how much it would benefit our relationship if Seven was able to experience the same environment as the one that I grew up in. Then she'd point out how 'expedient' it would be for us all to live close enough together that we could drop in on each other any time we wanted. Mom even described the arrangement as being 'most efficient,' a phrase I swear had never once come out of her mouth before she met Seven.
Finally Seven came around to my way of thinking, but not because of anything I said or did. Ironically it was because of Mom herself. After an afternoon of unexpected thunderstorms cut short her plans of shopping at the Farmer's Market, my mother returned home one day to a silent house. Assuming that Seven and I had gone out on one of our trips, she then decided to do some laundry, starting with the upstairs linens. One too-rapidly-thrown-open bedroom door later, and Seven became convinced that distance between family can be a good thing. A very good thing.
So after extricating ourselves from 'position 72' and exchanging several red-faced apologies, Seven and I both agreed that a house on the West Coast might be better for us after all. We quickly settled on a new home in Half Moon Bay, just south of San Francisco, far enough from both Phoebe and Mom that I could learn to appreciate my family again, and still close enough so that Seven can visit them whenever she wants. The secluded two-story house has its own private beach, and boasts a deck, two screened-in porches, a pool, a Jacuzzi, and a traditionalist kitchen. And in the past few weeks it has also been outfitted with one fully-functioning Borg alcove, as well as a military grade, Borg-enhanced security system.
With all of these new changes in my life, I admit that I've been too absorbed to think about anything or anyone else. Starfleet and my looming promotion have been the absolute last things on my mind. I certainly had no interest at all in planning some silly promotion ceremony, and was more than happy to leave it all up to Tom when he volunteered to help his father with the arrangements.
Still, I'm disappointed with the way the whole thing played out. The ceremony itself is nothing but a blur to me now, losing much of its relevance when I realized how few of my people had actually shown up. And where the hell was my senior staff? I'm most disappointed in them.
I can't really blame Tom and B'Elanna for not being here today, but what about Chakotay? Harry Kim? And Tuvok, for God's sake? What about him? I suppose it's understandable that he would be reluctant to leave Vulcan so soon after his treatments, and the polite excuses that both Chakotay and Harry forwarded seemed reasonable enough. But their absence just seemed to cast a pall over the whole ceremony.
And I missed them, damn it.
Thank God Mom and Phoebe came. There they were sitting with Seven, the three of them smiling so proudly, watching as another Janeway achieved the rank of Admiral, knowing what it means to me to be given the opportunity to honor my father's name like this.
Of course I mustn't forget that the Doctor was there too, or he'd never let me hear the end of it. In fact, he not only attended the ceremony, he was actually waiting for us the moment Seven and I stepped off the transporter pads. I was a little surprised to see Reginald Barclay waiting with him, but from what Seven says the two have become quite good friends. I suppose it makes an odd sort of sense -- a gregarious hologram with egotistical tendencies and an anti-social man who suffers from holographic addiction must get along splendidly. Put the two together, however, and the word "fussy" gets taken to a whole new level. The Doctor and the Lieutenant were so worried about getting good seats at the ceremony that they whisked Seven away before I could even find Owen and Admiral Necheyev. As it happens, they needn't have bothered to hurry at all.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid that the reception is going to be just as anti-climactic, if not more so. Seven and I had been planning on co-opting the event for our own personal reasons and using it to announce our engagement. Although it's common knowledge that she has been living with me, we haven't made any official declaration about the new status of our relationship before now. Actually Seven had wanted to tell everyone sooner, but I convinced her that it would be more efficient to wait and tell the entire crew together, that way we could invite everyone to the wedding at one time. I even convinced her that we should leave our engagement rings at home today, so no one would guess our news before we were ready to tell them. If she suspected that my request was at all motivated by nervousness over the crew's reaction, she was thoughtful enough not to call me on it. Now making the announcement when most of our friends are absent hardly even seems worth it--
"Here we are," Owen says. Finally! I pull myself from my thoughts, feeling the lift coming to a stop. As I always do before walking onto the bridge, I straighten my jacket, give my hair a slight toss, then let my 'command face' slip into place as I square my shoulders--
Wait a minute, something doesn't feel right. I move my shoulders again, and feel... nothing. That's odd -- why haven't I noticed it before now? The pain in my neck and shoulders seems to have disappeared. But I have no time to consider the reason for this before the doors are swishing open. I start forward, but the Admiral is still standing in front of me, blocking the exit.
"What?" I ask when he doesn't move.
"After you," he grins, and steps to the side, allowing me to look out onto the bridge.
I search out Seven's face immediately and find her smiling back at me, looking even more stunning than usual. At my request she's wearing her new silver bio-suit, which combines the original material from her very first outfit with the lower neckline of the newer suits' style -- a modification that I made myself, specifically for the occasion. I thought it appropriate that Seven wear something reminiscent of the first moments she joined the crew. And to be honest, I've just always thought she looked so damn sexy in that silver suit. I can't help but sneak an admiring glance down the body that the shimmering material displays so amazingly well. A warmth fills my chest, not only in appreciation of her beauty, but at the aching familiarity of the sight, Seven standing at attention at the aft ops position, by Tuvok at tactical-
Tuvok?
I turn and focus fully on tactical, where Tuvok is watching me with one eyebrow raised questioningly, then I quickly scan the rest of the bridge. There's Harry Kim, over at the forward ops position, Chakotay, sitting in the Captain's chair, the Doctor standing by him. And at the helm positions, Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres.
Everyone is here. My entire senior staff.
"Well, don't just stand there," Owen prods, pushing me forward.
I step onto the bridge and Chakotay stands and salutes. "Admiral on the bridge!" he calls. Then everyone else stands to attention and salutes as well.
Even Seven.
I hear the turbolift doors close behind me, and realize that Admiral Paris has left me alone with my crew. "What's going on here?" I try to demand, but my voice comes out a husky murmur as I feel my eyes fill with tears. I blink them back furiously, struggling to maintain control.
Chakotay smiles, and answers for everyone. "We've come to celebrate your promotion."
"But... you weren't at the ceremony..." I say weakly.
"We watched the entire thing from here, on the viewscreen," Tom explains, flashing that boyish grin at me.
My eyes light on B'Elanna. "What about you? And Miral? You said she was sick--"
"Don't look at me," B'Elanna says quickly. "That was Tom's idea."
"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" he asks, giving his wife a mock glare.
"Normally yours, but I know an imploding warp core when I see one--"
"Captain." Seven draws my immediate attention. "Miral is well, and is currently being cared for by Samantha and Naomi Wildman, who are waiting for the reception to begin in Holodecks 1 and 2 along with the remainder of Voyager's crew."
"The remainder of the crew...?"
"The 139 members of Voyager's crew not currently present on the bridge," she explains.
139? Along with the senior staff, that's... everyone. The entire crew. Every single last one of them. I glance around the bridge at all the smiling, expectant faces as the realization sinks in that my whole crew came after all. I turn dazedly to Seven. "Were you in on this?"
"I was," she nods, with a slightly apologetic smile.
"We all were," Harry chimes in.
"It was deemed that the effectiveness of the 'surprise' would be enhanced by the cooperation of the entire crew," Tuvok adds.
"You mean you all managed to pull this off without a single person spilling a word of it to me?" I ask in amazement.
"It required a great deal of ingenuity," the Doctor says, swaggering up to me with a smirk on his face, "and not a little bit of acting. If I must say, I myself gave quite the performance today. You never suspected a thing when I pulled Seven away from you earlier!" Then he leans in and murmurs quietly, "You're looking pale. Perhaps you should sit down."
One quick nod of agreement, and I pat him on the arm and head for my chair.
"Captain, we are receiving a transmission," Seven interjects.
"It's 'Admiral' now, Seven," Harry corrects her, "not 'Captain.'"
Seven shoots him a haughty glare that plainly says, 'I will call her whatever I damn well please,' then turns back to me. "The transmission is for you... 'Admiral.'"
"On screen," I say dazedly as Chakotay moves over to the First Officer's seat, allowing me to sit down in my chair before I collapse.
A moment later the viewscreen is filled with a very familiar face -- one with golden eyes, fuzzy sideburns and spotted skin that is complemented by a purple, pink and topaz outfit that may very well be one of the most hideous things I've ever seen. And one of the most welcome sights I could have asked for today. "Neelix," I murmur, a smile teasing my lips.
"Captain Janeway!" he exclaims, smiling brightly. Then Neelix leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "Although I suppose by the time you see this, you'll technically be an Admiral, won't you?" So this is a recording. Thank God he cleared that up before I started talking back to the screen. "Even though Seven was kind enough to arrange for me to be there with you in spirit on your big day, I must admit that I still feel like I'm letting you down by not being there with you in person."
When did Seven have the time to--? Ah. This morning, when Barclay and the Doctor pulled her away.
"After all," he says with a twinkle in his eye, "who there is qualified to truly coordinate a celebration of this magnitude? Who's going to prepare the chadre kab? Or the leola root stew? Or help Tuvok make his delicious triple-chocolate wikki fruit sundae with warm fetran sauce?"
I don't have to turn around to know Tuvok's eyebrow just leapt into his hairline.
"Oh well," Neelix shrugs, leaning back in his chair, "at least I've been able to pass along some of my favorite recipes to someone who genuinely appreciates cooking. Seven of Nine tells me she's become quite the gourmet lately, and she's really looking forward to sharing some of my suggestions with you. She even promised to slip some of the more 'experimental versions' into your regimen during the coming weeks." I wonder about the phrasing, then Neelix flashes a grin so sly, so knowing it leaves little doubt that he and Seven had one hell of an interesting conversation before this recording began. "That should give you something to look forward to," he says with a wink.
"I'll consider myself forewarned," I mumble, loud enough for Chakotay to hear and chuckle sympathetically, unaware that it's not Neelix's cooking suggestions that worry me.
"But that's not the reason for this transmission," Neelix continues. "As Starfleet's 'Official Ambassador to the Delta Quadrant,'" he beams at this, obviously still relishing the title I gave him, "I have an official message for you, on behalf of the Talaxians, the Ocampa, and all the hundreds, possibly thousands of other species that you've helped along your journey." He clears his throat and straightens his jacket, then begins, his tone very proper. "'To Admiral Kathryn Janeway, for bridging the gap between our quadrants, for making friends and allies when others saw only enemies, for changing nearly every life you touched for the better, and for proving that faith really is the strongest weapon of all, I'd like to say..." Neelix allows his voice to trail off, pausing dramatically as his jovial expression changes into one of seriousness, of sincerity. Then he inclines his head and says simply, "Thank you."
The screen maintains Neelix's dear face for several long seconds, then reverts back to the silent image of Utopia Planitia. And for a moment I allow myself to truly feel it -- how far this crew has come. And not just the physical distance, but the closeness we now share. We've all been through hell several times over, but we still managed somehow to make it through to the other side.
Together.
Like family.
I take a shaky breath. "I don't know what to say," I murmur, to no one in particular. "Except thank you all." I look around the bridge, not caring that everyone can see how moved I am. "Thank you for this, for surprising me, for being here with me..."
Chakotay reaches over and gently takes my hand. "Where else would we be?" he asks.
I smile tremulously, and think to myself that he may not be such a bastard after all.
"Admiral," Harry breaks in, "Utopia Planitia is asking if we're ready to disengage."
"Tell them we are, Lieutenant," I school my features into a calm mask that is belied by the fact that I'm still trying to blink back tears. "Mr. Paris, set a course for Earth." Then I add huskily, "Set a course for home."
He glances back at me and nods, "Yes, ma'am!"
After a moment I look over my shoulder, up to the ops position. I hold Seven's eyes for an instant as she smiles softly at me, then I turn back to the view screen, cross my legs, and relax into my Captain's chair one last time.