• This is the 16th installment in the Millennium series.
• Dedicated to the readers who have stuck around this long.
• It was posted to the net on January 1st, 2007.
• This was an especially tough story to write because of a very strong writer's block. Because of that, I had to haul out the hoariest old Trek trick of them all...time travel. (highlight only if you want to know what the trick is before reading the story.)

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            The hum of the warp engines ran along the edge of her consciousness like the familiar ticking of a clock.  Any deviation, no matter how slight, would intrude with as much force as a red alert klaxon, allowing her to react instantly to the aberration.  She supposed her chief engineer shared that sense with her, and may even have been better at it.

Sighing softly, Captain Kathryn Janeway looked away from the viewport, turning her back on the stars outside, and wearily contemplated her ready room.  A half empty coffee mug sat on the low table in front of her and it took a moment before she finally decided it was too cool to bother with.  Taking it over to the replicator, she placed the cup there to be recycled, watching as it dissolved into nothingness without really seeing it.  When the mug rematerialized, now clean and empty, she picked it up absently.

From the corner of her eye, her gaze lit on the silver thermos that contained her daily ration of the dark brew. It was more than just a thermos.  It was a small token of love given to her to start each and every day.  For a week, there had been no special blend of coffee and certainly, no token of caring.  There hadn’t been anything.

<>            The captain took a seat on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions as she closed her eyes, the hurt still lingering.  She and Seven of Nine had resolved their conflict, at least on the surface, but inside she was still wary, unable to trust where once she had complete faith.  This morning had been a perfect example.  Seven had reached for her, as she had so many times before this all happened, but Janeway pulled away, offering a false smile of reassurance as she insisted that she had to start her duty shift, though she didn’t think she was fooling Seven for a minute. She had to get over it.  Despite Seven’s recent actions, she was the most straightforward and brutally honest person the captain had ever met.  She insisted that she had never left Janeway; only that she had needed space and taken some time on her own.  Janeway had no reason not to accept that at face value.

Except every time she thought about it, it made her feel ill, and brought the taste of bile to the back of her throat.  If only Seven hadn’t fled to a friend, to the beautiful, brilliant Lenara Kahn.  If only she hadn’t been exposed to the example of someone who could always be there for her, as opposed to someone who often had to choose duty and career over the wants and needs of her beloved Borg.

Shaking her head fretfully at her wayward thoughts, Janeway took a seat and refilled her cup from the thermos. On the table beside it, a padd containing ship specs awaited her attention.  This was Janeway’s second year of commanding Starfleet’s transition vessel, and she had yet to learn everything about her ship’s capabilities. But as she reached for it, she heard the sudden sound of the chime at her door and forestalled her motion. She took an extra second to make sure her command mask was firmly in place before answering the request for admittance.

“Come in.”                  

The ship’s chief of security, Ro Laren, entered the captain’s ready room.  Glancing about the room, she spotted Janeway on the upper level and immediately ascended the short flight of stairs, her lean form moving with a palpable sense of deadly grace.  At the captain’s incline of her head, she took a seat in the armchair set at right angles to her.

“My daily security report,” she explained as she handed over a padd.

 A strand of dark hair fell over her forehead, and with a gesture of impatience, she tucked it behind her ear.  Janeway wondered at what was a rather uncharacteristic display of nerves for Ro.  Uncertainly, the captain skimmed the padd’s contents, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing stood out.  Placing it on the coffee table, she took a sip from her mug, peering intently over the brim at her officer. Tiny Bajoran ridges on the bridge of Ro’s nose made her look serious, even when she smiled, which wasn’t often.  She wasn’t smiling now.

“Anything I’m not seeing here?”

“Such as?” Ro lifted a brow, as if surprised by the question.

“I don’t know.  Your expression is a trifle...uneasy.”

“It’s not anything to do with the ship.”

Janeway felt her mouth tighten.  “Then perhaps it doesn’t belong here.”

 “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, Captain ...Kathryn.”  Ro dipped her head slightly.  “But I consider you and Seven to be good friends, and it’s not as if I have the opportunity to speak with you alone very often where it doesn’t have to be related to ship's business.  Despite our improved circumstances, our current situation is still a lot like it was on Voyager’s. We’re never entirely off duty here as we would be if we were on leave in the Alpha Quadrant.  I need to take my opportunities when they arise.”

“Is that why you dropped by with the report?”  Janeway felt a surge of resentment. “Creating an opportunity?”

“Just following your lead, Captain.”

Janeway regarded her narrowly, unable to deny she had a habit of cornering people and digging into their personal lives whenever she had an urge to meddle.  She wondered if her ‘victims’ disliked it as much as she did.

            Ro seemed to get a sense of that discomfort and she sighed softly.  “Kathryn, it’s obvious that things aren’t back to normal between you and Seven.”

            “Is it affecting the ship?”

            “Not any longer, not since you two have apparently reconciled, but then, most of the crew is more than happy to take things at face value.  I’m not, and never have been. That’s why I’m your security chief.”

            “Tuvok never presumed like this.”  Janeway’s tone was sharper than she intended and she made an effort to swallow back her temper.

            “On the contrary, Captain, I suspect he did, only with a great deal more subtlety than I’m capable of.”  Ro raked her fingers through her hair, the frustration evident.  “I’m not just here as your friend, Kathryn, I’m doing my best to act as your unofficial first officer as well, in so far as being someone you can confide in.  It’s impossible for Kelly to provide that comfort level for you. But I guess I’m not doing any better.”

            Janeway softened at the dismay in Ro’s voice.  She supposed she shouldn’t be so opposed to the idea.  It was just so difficult to be that open with those under her command, no matter how close she was to them personally.  After all, wasn’t that one of her biggest problems with Seven?

             “I’m not the easiest captain when it comes to granting that kind of access to my personal life, Laren,” she admitted reluctantly, after a long moment had passed.  “ I’m old school. A captain is supposed to be above all that.”

            “I know, and again, if we were on an ordinary ship, doing ordinary Starfleet missions in the Alpha Quadrant, then I wouldn’t be here.  You’d have access to other captains, even civilians on the outside whom you could contact over the comm, but that’s impossible on Millennium.”  Ro clasped her hands tightly on her lap.  “Kathryn, I just feel like you could use a shoulder right now and if it can’t be me, that’s fine, but don’t let it be because you don’t think you can.  We’re all here for you if you need us…me, B’Elanna, Kes, Dr. Pulaski.  You don’t ever have to feel as alone here as you did on Voyager.”

            “God, you people didn’t get together on this, did you?” Ro’s face altered despite her best effort to remain impassive and Janeway groaned. “And you were the one they chose as their best representative in this?”

            Ro looked away, unable to meet her eyes.  “Rank has its privileges, I guess.”

            “If that’s the case, why isn’t Pulaski here?”

            “That’s the rank thing, Captain.  She made me do it.”  Ro’s expression was a mix of resentment and embarrassment.

            Despite herself, Janeway was startled into a rather inelegant snort of laughter.  The thought that her crewmembers…though admittedly, those to whom she was closest personally outside of Seven . . . had felt compelled to do this amused her.  And unexpectedly touched her.

            “Very well, consider your task fulfilled, Laren, and taken under advisement.”  Janeway hesitated briefly, and then nodded.  “I do appreciate what you’re offering me.  I may take you up on it some time.”

            “You only have to ask, Kathryn.”  Ro leaned forward earnestly.  “Any time.”

            “Thank you.”

            Ro rose to her feet with a bit of relief in her face obviously uncomfortable with the situation and taking that as a dismissal. As Janeway watched her glide down the ramp and out the door, there was a brief second when she almost called her back, but in the end, she let her go.

            Taking a second to straighten her shoulders beneath her tunic, she strode out of the ready room onto the bridge.  The soft sounds of the air ventilation system and the quiet murmurs of the alpha shift at their posts interacting with each other offered a human counterpoint to the constant thrum of the warp engines.  She saw that Ro had returned to tactical and was now immersed in something.  She did not look up as the captain entered, and Janeway glanced away as she headed for the captain’s chair. It was located on the raised part of the bridge, overlooking the rest of her staff and oriented directly toward the large viewscreen that dominated the front bulkhead.  At the moment, it was displaying the distorted image of shooting stars, the typical image offered when a ship was traveling at warp.  There wasn’t even a nebula or anomaly to break up the monotony of deep space.

            Glancing at the chronometer, she realized she had another thirty minutes before the shift changeover to beta. She could log off early, she thought, though the notion of going home didn’t really appeal to her…an uncomfortable thing to acknowledge.  Her quarters used to be a safe haven, a place where she could close the door and forget about being captain for a little while.  Now they seemed bleak and empty, even when Seven was there.

            Feeling her throat tighten, she rose to her feet.  “Commander, you have the bridge.”

           She didn’t look to see if her first officer, Keira Kelly would take the conn or not, nor did she notice the sharp look directed her way by Ro.  She just needed to get off the bridge, needed to be on the move, feeling restless and unable to settle herself. On the turbolift, she bent her head and closed her eyes, feeling as if the weight of the universe were on her shoulders.  It should be getting better, she thought with despair.  There was no way she could continue to function like this.
            The lift doors hissed open and she lifted her head, the command mask firmly in place. A few passing crewmembers noticed her and nodded respectfully, straightening to attention under her scrutiny. She didn’t demand military discipline, but she was a stickler for details, a by-the-book commander, and her crew knew it, reacting accordingly. She passed them, feeling unusually exposed and vulnerable as she moved briskly down the corridor.  She wasn’t even sure where she was headed until she was in front of the large doors of the civilian lounge.  This was a quiet area of the ship, unlike the crew lounge a few decks up that most of the crew, both Starfleet and civilian, frequented and usually boasted loud music with a raucous atmosphere.  In this lounge, there were few people scattered about the tables and the only sound was the slow tinkle of piano keys from a scientist manning the instrument on a raised dais.

            She moved unobtrusively to the replicator and programmed in a whiskey and soda, briefly hesitating before she overrode the normal synthale parameters and made it the real thing.  Sitting in the corner at a quiet table, she sipped her drink. The warmth spread through her and loosened the sharp edge of ice that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her chest.  She took another, larger swallow and closed her eyes.

Striding purposefully down the corridor, Seven of Nine felt a little apprehensive as she saw B’Elanna leaving the lab. She had no idea what Millennium's chief engineer would be doing in the science section of the ship, particularly since duty usually kept her too busy to visit on a whim.
               “B’Elanna Torres.”
                B'Elanna hesitated, and then turned to face the approaching Seven, offering a smile that didn’t quite convey a happiness to see her friend.  Seven stopped and assessed her dispassionately, keying on the facial expressions that she knew from experience indicated some form of deception from her friend. B’Elanna contrived to look innocent, faltered, and finally let out her breath in a rush.
            “Damn it, you weren’t supposed to catch me.”
            “What is your purpose for being here, B’Elanna?”

“I suppose you’ll find out anyway.”  B’Elanna crossed her arms over her chest.  “It’s ... well, it’s your birthday in a couple of days.  We’re ... we’re, ah, planning a surprise party.”  She frowned.  “Or, it was supposed to be a surprise.” 

Seven was charmed, all suspicion swept aside.  “A birthday party?  For me?”

“Not that you deserve it after the past few weeks,” B’Elanna said sternly and Seven dipped her head as she was reminded painfully of recent events.

“No, I do not deserve it,” she agreed humbly.

Looking somewhat embarrassed that she had brought it up, B’Elanna reached over to clumsily pat Seven on the arm.  “Well, water under the bridge, ‘Nik. Time to move on, and hopefully a party will help accomplish that.  For all of us.”

"Yes, it will.”

Seven tried very hard to sound like she agreed with that assessment, wishing that indeed, a party would be all that was required to heal the rift existing between her and Kathryn.  While the rest of the ship might believe that everything was back to normal with the couple, the reality was actually quite different. She would have attempted a smile, but knew it would be such a poor parody of one, it would raise more questions than ease any lingering doubts her friend might possess.  Right now, she didn’t have the energy to discuss it with B’Elanna, fearing it might make things worse rather than help.  Her recent actions had served to subtly undermine Janeway’s command, affecting the ship, and she had no wish to wander down that path any further.

“‘Nik?  You okay?”

Seven blinked and focused on her friend.  “Of course,” she said with all the firmness she was capable of infusing into her tone.  Hopefully, it would be enough for B’Elanna to accept as the end of the conversation.  “I must attend to my duties.”

B’Elanna looked slightly doubtful, but she nodded.  “Yeah, I have to get back to engineering.  I still have a little time before I log off. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

The last was for the benefit of a few junior crewmembers that were passing by.  Seven watched B’Elanna walk away before she turned and went through the doors to her lab.  Inside, her civilian liaison, Lenara Kahn, was already at the workstation they both favored when performing shared research projects.

Studying her as she moved across the lab, Seven was struck by the notion that Kahn seemed somewhat disturbed.  She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, only that there was a certain agitation in her friend’s body language stemming from some unknown source.  But when Lenara became aware of her presence, she lifted her head and smiled warmly.  Seven decided that she was imagining things, undoubtedly because of her own sense of internal turmoil.

“Biometrics has sent up the last of their reports.”

Seven nodded approvingly.  The last planet the ship visited displayed some unusual anomalies in the atmosphere, resulting in unique and varied lower lifeforms.  She looked forward to going over the conclusions put forth by the department headed up by Samantha Wildman.

“I expect to find some interesting theories offered by the away team.”

 “Particularly from Dr. Anderson.” Lenara lifted a sardonic brow. 

Seven smiled faintly.  The man in question never went for the simplest, most logical assessment when a convoluted and extravagant one would do.  Sometimes Seven wondered how such an individual had ever made it through Starfleet’s rigorous requirements for civilians serving on a starship, but then, she had dealt with equally brilliant and unconventional minds during her time with the Theoretical Propulsion Group.  She should be used to it by now.  In any event, he was primarily Samantha’s problem and not hers.

“I shall leave it in your capable hands,” Seven said, inclining her head slightly.  “I will be in my office for the rest of the afternoon.”

But when she went into her office and took a seat behind the austere desk, she discovered that Lenara had followed her in.  Gracefully, without being invited, the willowy woman sank into the seat across the desk, folding her hands neatly on her lap and regarding Seven with grave scrutiny.  Intrigued, Seven lifted an eyebrow and waited for the Trill to say something.  As she did, she evaluated the woman, appreciating the high cheekbones, the classic features, the dark, deep-set eyes and spattering of elegant spots that ran over her temples and down her neck to disappear beneath the high collar of her white, lab coat. When she realized what she was doing, she felt a decided stab of what might have been guilt and shame pierce her chest.  She understood that it was perfectly natural to appreciate another’s beauty purely on an aesthetic level, but there was a fine line, and with the recent events, she did not dare such idle distraction.

“How are you and the captain?”

Seven flinched slightly, ashamed of displaying that much emotion.  She was usually under better control than that, particularly outside her quarters.  “We are fine.” The words came out harsher than she had intended, defeating the attempt at prevarication.

Lenara regarded her with evident skepticism. “Why are you lying, Seven?  It doesn’t become you. Though I do respect that you don’t want to talk about this.”

“Thank you.”

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about it.”

Seven frowned, feeling her temples begin to ache with a slow, measured throb.  “I fail to see what purpose it would accomplish.”

Lenara eyed Seven over the tips of steepled fingers. “Seven, just sharing with a friend can allow for healing.”

<>“’Just sharing with a friend’ is the crux of the problem.”  Seven spoke before thinking.  She had no idea where she had picked up such an unfortunate habit and made a note to curb it as soon as possible. Lenara looked vaguely surprised at the comment, but Seven suspected it was more from Seven actually saying it rather than the content.
            “I’m sorry that my offering comfort and support to you as a friend was misconstrued by the captain.”

“It was not only the captain that incorrectly evaluated the situation.  Some others in the ship did as well, which is contributing to the difficulty.”  Seven felt a sharp pain in the vicinity of her chest.  “My actions have interfered with her command.  That is unacceptable.”

“Perhaps, but affecting your partner's attitude on the job is usually a component of being involved with someone you work with.”  Lenara shook her head. “Life is complicated, Annika.  Of course we like clearly defined boundaries in everything, but frequently they're trod upon, particularly in personal relationships.  That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad, just part of living.”

“Nonetheless, it was unacceptable,” Seven repeated stubbornly.

“Well, I’m not going to argue about it since you’ve clearly decided it has, but Annika, regardless of what the rest of the ship may or may not think…and believe me, I suspect they think and are affected by it far less than you imagine…you have to do what’s right for you and the captain.”

Seven dropped her head.  “What if I do not know what is right for us?”  She found it difficult to breathe, a lump rising in her throat.  “I want us to return to what we were.”

“Impossible.”

Startled, Seven lifted her head at the flatly intoned words and Lenara returned her gaze sternly, before she appeared to soften slightly, sighing quietly.

“You can’t go back to what you were, Seven.  The events of the past few weeks have changed the both of you in ways that can’t be undone. You can only move forward to the couple you will be.  Life is a matter of constant growth and change.  Only a fool resists or denies it.  Because of what’s happened, you and the captain are now different people, and you both have to figure out how the two new people you are will be together.”

That was profoundly disturbing to Seven, even as she found it difficult to deny the assessment.  “Who are we now?” she asked plaintively.

Lenara patted her arm with apparent fondness.  “That’s part of the discovery process, I’m afraid.  I can’t tell you. You need to talk this over with the captain.”

“But lately it is clear that she does not want to talk to me.”

Lenara nodded as if she knew exactly what Seven was talking about.  Odd, since Seven felt adrift in a sea of confusion.  “She’s afraid, Seven.”

“Afraid?  Of me?”

“Of this newness between you, and of what might happen next.  She probably doesn’t know what to say and is afraid to say the wrong thing…the thing that will drive you away.”

Seven felt a sudden, irrational anger at the other woman.  “She could never say anything that would drive me away.”  The words were bitten off with ferocity.

Lenara blinked, but her tone was mild.  “I know that, but right now, she doesn’t.  Not deep down.  Not where it counts.  It’s up to you to make sure she does.”

“How?”

“Sorry, Seven, I can only come up with the theory.  I’m not so good at practical application.”  Her smile was bittersweet.

Seven’s disappointment was acid in her throat, though she didn’t know why she had expected answers from someone else. “I fear that is not my greatest strength, either.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Seven.  You’re a great deal stronger than most people know.”

Seven thought that was self-evident and not precisely helpful.  Lenara seemed to read her thoughts in her expression and smiled wryly.  “I meant emotionally, Seven, not because you’re Borg and physically superior. You have a big heart. You just have to listen to it and let it guide you.”

Seven considered it.  “I have been trying,” she confessed, “but I do not appear to be making any discernable progress.”

“Progress isn’t always immediate or visible.  You, as a scientist, should know that.”

“This is not a particularly scientific endeavor.”  Her tone was more disgruntled than she meant it to be. Lenara laughed.

“No, I don’t suspect it is.  It’s messy and complicated.  That’s why I prefer the lab.  Things are nice and clear and well defined here.”

Seven could not disagree, but she knew that for the moment, she could not grant it any more attention than she already had.  Others were already glancing curiously through the transparency that separated the office from the lab, curious about their superiors so deep in discussion and their duties that had been left unattended for an unacceptable period of time.

            Seven needed to get back to work.  At least there, she possessed some measure of control.

“We have to plan a surprise party for Seven.”

Ro Laren blinked as she came through the door, regarding her spouse of two years uncertainly.  “What?”

“Seven caught me, and now I have to plan a surprise party.”

B’Elanna looked more than a little disgusted with herself, but Ro focused on the crucial bit of information revealed in that sentence.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at B’Elanna.  “Caught you doing what?”

B’Elanna threw out her hands as she paced about the couple’s quarters.  “That’s not important.  What’s important is that when I ran into her outside the lab, I had to come up with something and that’s all I could think of.”

Ro had not become chief of security for one of Starfleet’s elite vessels by being obtuse. “What were you doing in the lab?”

“Will you focus?” B’Elanna snapped with exasperation. “How the hell are we going to plan a surprise party in two days?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”  Ro tilted her head.  “B’Elanna, what did you do?”

The Klingon, finally pinned down by her spouse’s uncompromising stare, exhaled audibly.  “I may have had a little chat with Lenara Kahn when I was passing by the lab.”

Now Ro was truly alarmed.  “What kind of ‘little chat’?  Not the kind that you had with Angela James on Voyager?!”

“No.”  B’Elanna hesitated.  “Not exactly.”  She pursed her lips.  “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, Prophets.”  Ro leaned feebly against the wall, staring at her partner in horror.  “Why would you do something like that?”

“I just wanted her to be clear on the fact that she has no chance with Seven and is never going to have a chance with Seven.”

Ro was nonplused.  “And how did she respond?”

“She didn’t seem too disturbed,” B’Elanna admitted, with some dissatisfaction.  “If anything, she seemed ... amused.”

“Count your lucky stars.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ro let out her breath in a huff.  “Lanna, Kahn’s a civilian.  It’s bad enough when you have those little ‘chats’ with other officers, but when it comes to civilians on board ship, you need to be a lot more careful.”

The Klingon considered it, apparently not liking the assessment much but having to accept its validity.  “Fine, I won’t do it again.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it this time.”

The security chief continued to stare at her.  “On your honor?”

B’Elanna frowned mightily, but finally dipped her head grudgingly.  “Fine.  On my honor.   Happy?”

“Not at all,” Ro said honestly, “but I guess I’ll have to settle for it.  Damn it, B’Elanna—“

”On my honor, Laren!”  Ro hesitated and B’Elanna tilted her head slightly, regarding her with serious eyes. “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

Ro rubbed the ridges on the bridge of her nose.  “Okay.  No harm done, I guess.  What the hell were you doing ‘passing by the lab’ anyway?  You don’t need to be anywhere near the science decks.”

B’Elanna managed to look bashful, a decidedly unnatural expression for her craggy, Klingon features. “I was by sickbay this morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing like that.”  B’Elanna held up her hands to calm her partner.  “It was just a checkup.  To see how things are going.”

            Ro faltered, and suddenly felt weak, groping for a seat on the nearby sofa.  “Any news?” B’Elanna hesitated, but a small grin played about the corners of her mouth and Ro felt an extremely odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, half joy, half sheer terror.  “‘Lanna?”

“According to Pulaski, it took.  We’re three weeks along.”

Ro felt her cheeks ache and realized she must be smiling as broadly as her partner was.  It was an unfamiliar sensation but she didn’t want it to end. B’Elanna moved toward her, stopping in front of her, and Ro leaned forward, slipping her arms around her waist and pressing her cheek against the still flat stomach.  Closing her eyes, she imagined she could hear the extra heartbeat inside, even as she knew it was impossible to hear anything, or so soon, for that matter.  Above her, B’Elanna gently stroked her hair, fingers tangling lightly in the dark strands streaked with an occasional thread of silver.

“You’re happy?” Ro asked, a little anxiously.

“I’m ecstatic. This is what we were hoping for, what we planned for, Laren.”

“And this is just the beginning, my mate.”

            B’Elanna’s laugh was full-bodied.  “Don’t think I don’t know that. A little girl with our stubbornness and determination all mixed together?  Kahless, we’ll be lucky if we survive it.”

           Drawing back from B’Elanna’s abdomen, Ro looked up at her and tightened her arms about her waist.  “Are we thinking of names yet?”

            “How about it gets bigger than a peanut before we start doing that.”

            Ro studied her face, her smile fading.  “You worried, love?”

            There was a brief hesitation, various emotions chasing each other across the olive features, too fast for Ro to decipher them all, before they settled into a rueful expression that mixed with slight apprehension.  “Not exactly.  It’s just…if something goes wrong…”

            “You don’t want to be too attached,” Ro concluded.  “Naming her…”

            “Laren, she’ll be a hybrid, like me, and we both know that for every success in crossing species, there are three instances that have problems…”

            Ro stood up and enfolded her into a strong embrace.  “Darling, nothing’s going to go wrong.  You’re in perfect health, Dr. Pulaski is the best doctor around, not to mention having an extremely over qualified EMH to back her up.  And as for being a hybrid, that’s only to our little girl’s benefit.  She will have the very best genes of Bajor, Klingon and Terran in her and that can only make her beautiful, capable and strong.   Honestly, love, she’ll be here before you know it.”
            B’Elanna held onto her tightly.  “You’re right.  I know you’re right.  I’m just….”  Her voice was muffled from where she had it buried into Ro’s neck and managed a bit of a strained laugh.  “Maybe it’s hormones.”

            “Maybe.”  Though she kept her tone mild because B’Elanna had only given voice to Ro’s own fears and secret doubts.  Still, one of them had to be the positive one in this situation, and while they would undoubtedly take turns in the upcoming months, right now, it was Ro’s turn. They held each other for a long moment before drawing back to exchange a long, slow kiss, one of hope, reassurance and commitment.  Afterward, B’Elanna nestled in her arms and Ro felt that the crisis was over…for the moment.

“What are we going to do about the captain and Seven?”

Ro resisted the urge to sigh.  “Are you sure we should do anything?”  She didn’t want to tell her about her unsuccessful conversation with the captain.  “They’re adults, after all, and perfectly capable of handling things themselves.”

“If that were the case, they’d already be back together.”  B’Elanna frowned, her brow furrowing.  “Ro, I’ve never seen them like this.  It’s like they don’t know how to even start to fix it.”

“Maybe all they need is time.”

“Maybe all they need is a little help.”

“Like what?”  Ro doubted she would like what she was about to hear.

“They need to get off by themselves for awhile.  Be alone with no distractions from the ship.”  Conviction gleamed brightly in B’Elanna’s dark eyes.

Ro offered a wry chuckle.  “Lots of luck there.  In case you hadn’t noticed, ‘Lanna, we’re out in the middle of the beta quadrant, with no back up in sight and a mission that’s going to last another few months at least.”

“Then we’re going to have to find a way to make it happen.”  B’Elanna slipped out of Ro’s embrace and began to pace the living the living area of their quarters.  Suspecting this would take a while, Ro exhaled softly and resumed her seat on the sofa, leaning back to watch her spouse pace.

“We need to get them into the holodeck…no, a shuttle, and arrange a little ‘malfunction’.”

Apparently, it wasn’t going to take long at all for B’Elanna to come up with a plan of attack…an outrageous one, at that.  Ro frowned, a sense of foreboding strong within her.  “Lanna, I don’t know about this…”

B’Elanna stopped and turned to face her, her jaw set in that way Ro knew so well.  “It’ll be a piece of cake, Laren.  If they’re trapped on a shuttle in vacuum, then they’ll have to talk to each other.”

“How are you going to get them onto a shuttle and out into space?” Ro asked reasonably.

B’Elanna offered her a meaningful look.  “That’ll be your job.  Some kind of emergency, maybe?”

Ro felt her mouth go dry.  “Trick the captain with an emergency mission just to get her alone with Seven?  Prophets, there goes any hope of my becoming a first officer in the near future.”  B’Elanna made a face and Ro firmed her mouth.  “You have to take into account all the consequences for this, Lanna, not just what might happen in the best case scenario where they end up back together and happy and don’t hold us accountable for acting in a completely unprofessional manner.”

“What if we bring Pulaski into this?  She might have a few ideas.”

“And if she takes the blame, there’s not much the captain can do to her because the doctor carries the rank of admiral?  Way to take responsibility, Lanna.”

A pained expression crossed B’Elanna’s olive features.  “You really don’t want to do this, do you?”

“It was hard enough to talk to the captain this afternoon.”  Ro raked her fingers through her hair, leaving it disarrayed, and added for the benefit of B’Elanna’s expectant expression, “It didn’t have much effect.”

“Oh.”  The engineer’s disappointment was palpable.

Ro rose from the sofa and went over to her, slipping her arms around her waist.  B’Elanna snuggled into her embrace, nuzzling her neck somewhat sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, baby.  I just want my friends to be happy.”

“I know.”  Ro rested her chin on the top of her head and stared at the far bulkhead.  “We just have to trust that they’ll find their way back on their own.”
            B’Elanna was silent for a moment.  "Or help them find it."
            Ro sighed.

---

            Janeway stumbled a bit when she entered the turbolift and realized that she had drunk far more than she should.  Her equilibrium wasn’t all it should be and a part of her was dismayed at her apparent lack of control.  She was a starship captain, damn it, and she needed to be better than this.
           With an effort, she straightened her shoulders and thrust back the dizziness that danced lightly around her vision. As the doors hissed open, she strode purposefully along the corridor leading to her quarters, knowing it was very late and she had undoubtedly missed dinner.  She hoped Seven wasn’t too annoyed, but on the other hand, perhaps that would lead to a fight, and it was possible a loud, knockdown, drag out fight was exactly what they needed. God knew nothing else was working.
            But the quarters were quiet when she entered and she surveyed them with a frown.  There was a plate beneath a stasis field on the counter to her right and she eyed it a moment before moving over to deactivate the field.  It was corn and potato casserole, her favorite. Too bad she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry.  Picking it up, she carried it over to the replicator and disposed of it, the plate dissolving into a flash of sparkles.
            In the doorway of the bedroom, she paused when she saw the mound on the left side of the bed, the blonde head just barely about the covers that had been pulled up over her shoulder.  For a moment, the feelings were so strong…a mix of love and longing and anger and ache…that Janeway’s knees actually went weak and she had to lean against the wall.  Gazing yearningly at the slender form of her spouse, she wanted nothing more than to fall into Seven’s embrace, to crawl into her arms and shut out everything that hurt.  Unfortunately, that sanctuary was denied her, so long as the source of all her pain was Seven herself.
            Janeway swallowed back a sound of pure agony and moved silently through the bedroom into the ensuite where she listlessly prepared for sleep, removing her uniform and running it through the replicator to renew it before donning an oversized t-shirt.  Out in the bedroom, she hesitated briefly before quietly pulling back the covers and sliding between the sheets.  She carefully rolled over on her side, facing away from Seven, though she felt her heart ache when her spouse didn’t stir a millimeter.  Obviously this was far less bothersome to her than it was to Janeway.
            Stiff, every muscle rigid, Janeway doubted she’d be able to fall asleep.  Lying there in the darkness, she listened to the regular respiration of her spouse, feeling as if life would never be the same for her.  Then somehow, between one breath and the next, she was asleep, or at least, unconscious to the world. Wakefulness took some time, a drowsy spell where her body showed a decided preference for not waking up at all.  When the sharp edge of awareness finally did arrive, she realized why she had been so reluctant.  A headache dug into her temples, sharp shards of pain that made her whimper softly and reach out for her spouse, wanting Seven to do something: retrieve a hypospray from the doctor, offer a soothing massage to her temples, just hold her like she used to do and if not ease the agony, then make it easier to bear.
            Except the bed was empty with Janeway’s seeking hand finding only bare and cold sheets.  The emptiness inside her seemed to expand, and with an effort, she opened her eyes.
            Everything was unfamiliar and she sat upright so quickly that the sharp throbbing in her temples almost made her vomit.  For a moment, nausea warred with the darkness edging her vision before she was able to bring both under control with a massive effort of mental energy.  Carefully, she opened her eyes once more and took in her surroundings.
            On a second survey, it turned out they weren’t unfamiliar after all, yet remained horribly out of place.  She was lying in her bed in the captain’s quarters…on Voyager.
            She shook her head slightly, an absurd attempt to bring things back to the reality she knew.  Nothing changed.  The bed was not as large as she remembered, but then, the bed she had slept in for four years had been smaller, hadn’t it.  She hadn’t requisitioned a larger one until…
            Until Seven had moved in.
            “Computer.”  Her voice was sharp, tinged with the slightest trace of panic.  “What's the Stardate?"
            "It is Stardate 51369.6.”
            “Impossible.”
            She didn’t realize she had spoken out loud until the sound of her voice echoed in her ears, though the computer did not deign to answer.  She slipped from the bed and stood up, the deck cold beneath her feet.  Looking down at herself, she realized she was wearing a peach silk nightgown, something she hadn’t been in the habit of doing since discovering she had a decided preference for having her night clothes torn from her body by superior Borg strength.  She distinctly remembered putting on a t-shirt the night before.  Of course, she also distinctly remembered going to bed on Millennium and the Stardate being six years later. Was she dreaming?  Frowning, she pinched herself on the forearm, disappointed at the sharp pain that resulted.  On the other hand, she had experienced extremely lucid dream states before, usually at the hands of alien intervention.  Then there were other possibilities.
            “Computer, command prerogative double blue dash seven nine. End program.”
            No response and nothing changed.  No luck there.
            Could this be an actual temporal distortion?  If so, there had been no warning, but if it were a type not before encountered, there wouldn’t necessarily be an alert from the bridge or the science decks prior to its occurrence.
            Was she the only one affected?  She reached for the communicator lying on the nightstand, stopped, thought about it and slowly drew back her hand.  If this was a temporal distortion of some kind and she actually had been transported back six years into the Delta Quadrant, then there were certain rules and regulations that had to be followed, and they didn’t always include letting others know there was a time traveler in their midst.  She struggled to remember what exactly had been going on at this time six years earlier.
            “Computer, please play back the last two days of Captain’s Logs, including any personal ones.”
            Twenty minutes later, her memory was refreshed about the incident with the Mari, a telepathic race who had arrested B’Elanna for improper violent thoughts while the captain had been pressed to the limit to find a way to free her.  If it hadn’t been for the efforts of Tuvok and other members of her crew, it might have ended quite differently, with B’Elanna’s mind wiped and the Mari still oblivious to the trafficking in violent thoughts in their ‘perfect’ crime free society.
            In seventeen days, if she remembered correctly, items would begin to disappear from the ship, equipment and weapons taken by a high-energy transport beam, including a holodeck program that contained the personality of Leonardo DaVinci.  She could order that space avoided, of course, but that would change the past, or rather, the future…her headache, which had been easing slightly, returned in full force.  She hated temporal anomalies with a passion.
            Why was she here?  It was her experience that time travel didn’t just happen, something usually caused it and for a reason.  And that reason had to be addressed before things could return to normal.  She strained to remember any other events that had occurred in the upcoming days but failed to come up with anything of significance.  It had been a relatively quiet stretch of space, as was often the case.  Her life on Voyager…all their lives…had been nothing more than stretches of tedium and boredom interspersed with intense incidents of danger, destruction and death.  There had been nothing unusual during this period, but then, if the timeline had been altered or tampered with without her knowledge at the time, she wouldn’t necessarily remember.  The ‘she’ who existed at that time had been replaced with the person she would become six years later.
            God, she was going around in circles at this point.  Nor did it help that she was suddenly very hungry.  That would teach her for bypassing the dinner that had been left out for her.  She headed for the door, hoping that Seven had left her something for breakfast before it struck her sharply that at this particular period of time, she and Seven were not a couple.  They had yet to even indicate a romantic interest in each other, though God knew, it had certainly been stirring in Janeway at the time.
            Strength draining from her, she had to take a seat in the chair facing the foot of the bed.  As she did, she remembered how Seven and she had sat there all those years ago, discussing how they would embark on a relationship and how the captain had resisted so hard only to find, as she would so many times in the future, that resistance to this particular Borg was completely futile.  Despite herself, a smile lifted the corners of her lips and Janeway entertained the possibility that she would have to do it all over again.  The rest of it would undoubtedly drive her mad if she was forced to relive too much; the confrontations with the Hirogen and the Vaadwaur, the loss of crewmembers, the struggle to keep going in the Delta Quadrant, all the while knowing what was going to happen and helpless to change it without potentially causing something much worse to happen.  But being with Seven again?  Watching her grow and learn, loving her with all her heart as Seven loved her…no, that wouldn’t be bad at all.
            But it would be so very difficult not to display any kind of fore knowledge until she managed to find a way to return to her own time.  She would just have to play it by ear, fitting into the role of being who she’d been then.  She exhaled audibly.  Trying to keep all the tenses straight would be an irritating, yet ongoing reality.
            She stood up and went into the ensuite where she found a uniform waiting for her.  She couldn’t remember if she had been in the habit of putting one out for herself.  She thought it had been Seven who started that tradition.  After taking a quick shower…a much shorter ration of hot water than she was used to on Millennium…she pulled on the uniform and went out into the living area.  The coffee from the replicator was just as bad as she remembered it, devoid of caffeine and all the other good stuff that only the real thing possessed.  God, it would be months before Seven learned how to make a decent cup after a Bajoran orb teleported her, Chakotay and B’Elanna to Deep Space Nine where Phoebe would teach her the special Janeway recipe.
            Stiffening her shoulders, she finished her breakfast, forced down the tepid coffee, and headed for the bridge.  She wasn’t quite sure what she’d do once she got there, but hopefully it would come to her.  As the turbolift ascended, she worried that she couldn’t remember if she had actually gone to the bridge on this day. Finally, she accepted the impossibility of her being able to duplicate her actions entirely.  It would be hard enough to remember exactly what she had done during the various major crises that would occur in the future.  There was no way she could remember the little details of day-to-day existence.  She would just have to follow her routine as best she could and hoped she didn’t make a mistake that attracted attention.
            She suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable as the turbolift door slid open to reveal the familiar confines of Voyager’s bridge.  She paused briefly, absorbing the sight and sounds of her old ship, of being with her old crew.  To her left, Tuvok monitored the security station, while across from him, a younger and considerably thinner Harry Kim monitored operations.  Down on the main level, the solid build of Commander Chakotay was settled in the command chair while at the helm, located in the foremost part of the bridge and dominated by the large viewscreen looming over it, Tom Paris skillfully piloted the ship.
            Careful, she thought, as she nodded briefly in greeting to her security chief.  Gracefully descending the short flight of stairs, she eyed Chakotay as he relinquished his seat to her.
            “Good morning, Captain.”
            “Good morning,” she said, taking her position as he sat down beside her a split second later.
            “Report.”
            “On course for the alpha quadrant,” Chakotay said pleasantly.  “All systems normal.”
             “Good.”  Before she quite realized what she was doing, she had accessed the small console in the arm of her chair and was going over the status reports of the ship.  Routine had a strong influence on her, she decided ruefully, much stronger than she consciously realized.  She supposed it wasn’t much wonder that she hated change so much in her personal life.  Yet, the protocol and routine imposed on this vessel would make it easier for her to maintain her secret for as long as possible.
            Then the hiss of the turbolift doors caught her attention and she turned to her right, looking over her shoulder.  She felt her breath catch as she saw the unmistakable form of Seven of Nine in the turbolift and thought suddenly that she wouldn’t be able to maintain her secret at all.
            Not with the woman she loved so close…and yet so very far away.

---

            Seven groaned softly, feeling a throbbing in her temples that was almost blinding in its intensity.  Opening her eyes, she was surprised and shocked to find herself standing upright…and in a Borg regeneration cubicle.  Immediately, she wrenched herself away from the alcove and stumbled from the dais, feeling as if her worst nightmare had come true, almost falling to the metal deck before she regained her footing.  Shakily, she teetered on unfamiliar spike heels, staring down at herself and seeing not the grafted cybernetic parts and space-black armor as she initially feared, but rather, a brown biosuit that had not resided in her wardrobe for years.  Relief ran strong and swift throughout her body.  She did not yet know where she was and what was happening to her but at the very least, she had not been assimilated.
            With an effort, she calmed her breathing and looked around, absorbing the sight of containers and the line of four Borg alcoves, a workstation and storage boxes.  It was at once incredibly strange and altogether too familiar.  It was Cargo Bay Two.
            What was she doing on Voyager?  And dressed as she had before she joined Starfleet?  Confusion reigned and she forced herself to remain still, to reason out what had suddenly become unreasonable.  The last thing she remembered was lying in her bed in her quarters on Millennium.  Unhappy and confused, she had remained still as she heard the captain enter their quarters, listening as she picked up the plate of dinner left for her and disposed of it, apparently uneaten, in the replicator.  Heard her as she crossed the living area to the bedroom where she stood in the doorway for some time, watching her.  Seven had wanted to turn over, to reach out her hand and ask Janeway to join her, but was too afraid of being rejected yet again.  So she remained silent, pretending to be asleep.
            The bed dipped several minutes later, after Janeway had spend time in the ensuite preparing for bed, and then Seven felt her roll as far away from her as possible, back to her, clearly not wanting any contact at all.  Seven wept silent tears, convinced that nothing would ever be right again and certain that she would spend yet another night in wide-awake misery, when suddenly, and inexplicably, she was asleep.
            And now she was here.  Nothing made sense.  Was this a temporal distortion of some kind, sweeping her from her bed and throwing back into the past?  She placed her hand on her stomach, dismayed to feel ridges beneath the thin fabric of the biosuit.  If she had somehow been transported back in time, why did she now have the abdominal implant that had been removed in her second year on Voyager?  Had only her consciousness been transported?
            Or was this a nightmare of some kind?  A fantasy?
            Frowning, she lifted her chin.  “Computer, end program.”
            Nothing happened and somehow, she wasn’t surprised.  Life had never been that easy for her.
            “Computer, what is the Stardate?”
            “It is Stardate 51369.6.”
            This was very bad and all she could think of was that she had to report to the captain.  She took a step forward and nearly fell again, twisting her ankle slightly in the type of heel that had not been worn for years…or at least, not since the last time Janeway had taken her out to a formal dinner.  Even then, Seven preferred lower heels, both for comfort and the fact that she did not like towering over her spouse while dancing.  As it was, she could not believe she had ever found this an efficient way to maneuver.  The Doctor must have been insane to design such footwear and at the time, she had simply not known any better.
            She would just have to adapt, she told herself firmly.  Starting off more cautiously, she wobbled her way out of the cargo bay and into the corridor.  Crewmembers passed by, faces she had not encountered in years, including one she would never see in the Alpha Quadrant because he wouldn’t make it back.  She had an incredible urge to stop and say something to him, which would not only be completely out of character for her at this time, but would also be a complete violation of the Temporal Prime Directive.
            Ah yes, the Temporal Prime Directive.  She worried at it as the turbolift carried her to the bridge.  Perhaps she could not report to the captain, after all.  If there was some kind of reason for Seven to have been displaced in time, some kind of mission for her to carry out, perhaps it was imperative that she not tell anyone what was happening until she knew more…and that included her beloved spouse.
            Her breath suddenly caught as the doors hissed open and she froze.  She and the captain were not involved at this juncture of time.  As a matter of fact, Seven was still a figure of some suspicion for most of the crew, including Janeway to a certain extent.  If she began acting oddly, or at least, more oddly than they were used to, she could find herself in the brig where she would be unable to do anything at all to extricate herself from this very vexing situation.
            “Seven?”
            Tuvok was regarding her curiously and Seven realized that she had been standing for too long on the turbolift.  Janeway had risen to her feet and was looking at her, while Chakotay loomed mere inches behind the captain.
            “I…” Seven hesitated.  She should have taken more time to regain her bearings, she berated herself, rather than rushing to see the captain.  Her first instinct to seek out Kathryn had been so strong it had overridden her intelligence.  It was far from being the only time it had ever happened, she knew, but right now, it could prove a most costly mistake.
            “Are you all right, Seven?”
            The captain’s voice was deep and concerned.  Seven stared at her.  Was there something in the captain’s gaze?  No, she had to be imagining it.  Janeway had always been more considerate of her than she was to other crewmembers.  Of course, there was an obvious reason for that in retrospect, but she shouldn’t have known it then, nor could she respond to the kindness as she wanted.  The headache that had been receding surged back with renewed determination.  Thinking both in past and present terms could be enough to destroy her cortical node, and she decided it would be better only to think in present terms and forget about the future for a while.
            In the meantime, she had to make some kind of decision, formulate some kind of plan.
            “May I see you in your ready room, Captain?” she asked finally, after taking far too long to come up with something to say.
            Janeway frowned, but dipped her head slightly in assent.  “Of course.”
            She led the way and Seven followed, abruptly conscious of Chakotay’s eyes on them.  He looked as if he expected Seven to assimilate the captain right in front of him and she realized she didn’t miss that look at all.  She also recognized that, at the time, she never would have noticed it, nor accorded it any emotion whatsoever since his opinion was of absolute no value to her.  Therefore, she should not look or feel the slightest bit hurt by such condemnation.  He was not the only one on the vessel who distrusted her.  She made a mental note to avoid B’Elanna for as long as possible, afraid she would find any attempt by the Klingon to be rude to her rather amusing, something that would only exacerbate the situation.
            Inside the ready room, the captain took a seat behind the desk and looked up at her.  Seven was about to sit in the chair facing her when she realized that was not what she was supposed to do.  Instead, she forced herself to link her hands behind her back and stand at attention, even as she knew it would give Janeway a kink in her neck.
            “Seven, please take a seat.”
            Seven resisted the urge to smile and attempted to look baffled.  “Take it where?”
            The captain closed her eyes and a trace of what might have been disappointment crossed her elegant features.  Seven had to remind herself not to react.  Just because she was extremely adept at reading Janeway’s expressions now, she had not been then.  She had to be very careful.
            “Please, sit down, Seven.”
            Seven hesitated a moment, and then sat down in the chair, arranging herself with precise attention to both posture and form, knowing it would not do to look too graceful or comfortable.  After all, she supposedly had known this woman…and humanity…for only a very brief time.
            “What do you wish to see me about?”  Janeway leaned forward, linking her hands onto the desk and regarding her with keen eyes.  Seven’s memory of doing the most inappropriate and sensual things on that desk made the heat rise in her cheeks, much to her horror.  She hoped the pinkness of her face was not readily apparent to the captain.
            Worse, now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.  Desperately, she cast about, trying to come up with something.
            “I wish to discuss…”  Seven faltered.  She was horrible at this.  The only way she could keep from being exposed would be to avoid contact with everyone, especially this woman.
            “Yes?”
            Janeway’s eyes were narrowed and they assessed her with somewhat chilly dispassion.  Seven realized it had been some time since she had experienced that. Frantically, she searched for a scenario and failed utterly, falling back finally on what had served her for so much of her existence…the complete and unvarnished truth.
            “Captain, there has been a temporal incursion.”
            Janeway blinked and looked surprised.  “How so?”  Her tone was sharp.
            “I am not the Seven you know.  I am actually from the future.”
            Janeway let out her breath slowly, looking Seven up and down.  Her gaze lingered for a long moment on her midsection and Seven wondered why…it usually lingered a bit higher under normal circumstances, even in this period of time…before those keen bluish gray eyes rose to meet hers squarely.
            “Explain.”
            “I am actually from six years in the future.”
            “I see.  And what has caused you to return to this time period?”
            Seven shook her head.  “I do not know.  I experienced a period of unconsciousness and when I regained awareness, I was in my Borg alcove here on Voyager.  I am unaware of any significant situation at this time that would cause such an event.  I did not experience any sense of displacement or physical anomaly aside from a headache, which is now subsiding.”
            “Where were you when this happened?  In the future, I mean?”  Janeway was once again staring at Seven’s midsection.
            Seven became cautious.  The thought of alien intervention occurred to her.  Perhaps she had been captured and placed in some kind of simulation in order to elicit information about Millennium.  Voyager and its varied missions were a matter of public record in the Alpha Quadrant, and to a certain extent, now in the Beta Quadrant due to the information databases exchanged with the Confederation so a believable re-creation could be done by someone with enough advanced holographic technology.  It was unlikely, but possible.
            “Another vessel,” she replied shortly.
            Janeway tilted her head.  “In the Alpha Quadrant?”
            Seven wanted to smile.  The captain’s resolve to get her ship home had never wavered, and it would not be unlike her to want to know if they eventually returned even though, she knew as well as anyone, the dangers in knowing future outcomes.
            “No, I was not in the Alpha Quadrant,” she replied honestly.
            To her surprise, that did not dampen the captain’s intensity.  Instead, a light of what Seven could only determine was eagerness suddenly appeared in Janeway’s eyes.
            “The Beta Quadrant, by any chance?  On a ship called Millennium that's currently on a year long mission to explore that area?”
            Seven blinked and was forced to swiftly re-evaluate her situation.
            “Kathryn?”
            Janeway exhaled audibly and stood up, circling the desk.  Seven had barely enough time to rise so that she could capture her in a strong embrace that was fiercely returned.
            “Oh, God, Seven, it is you.  I didn’t know…your abdominal implant made me think I was dealing with a Seven from another timeline.”
            “What is happening, Kathryn?”
            “I don’t know, darling, but we’ll find out.”  Janeway’s facial features were set into utter determination and authority, an expression Seven had been missing for far too long. It thrilled to hear the commanding tone and suddenly, she had the unmistakable, if illogical, feeling that everything was going to be absolutely all right after all.

---

            “Do you think anyone else has been brought back in time?”