• This is the 43rd installment in the Just Between series.
• It was posted on September 1st, 2000.

Sweetness and spice were the first things Kathryn Janeway smelled as she descended the large staircase leading to the main floor of the Indiana farmhouse. Behind her, moving gingerly in unfamiliar clothing that included jeans and a brand new pair of  hiking boots, Janeway's spouse of more than a year raised her head. Statuesque, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Seven of Nine was an exceptionally beautiful woman, even with the remaining metallic implants on her face giving stark testimony to her eighteen years as a Borg drone.

"Cinnamon," Seven identified in her precise tones, sniffing delicately as the couple reached the polished wood floor of the spacious foyer.

"I think Mom made rolls."

Smiling as she turned down the hall leading to the kitchen situated at the back of the house, Janeway pushed through the swinging doors to be greeted by the full, intoxicating fragrance of breakfast being prepared by her mother. In a nook by the screen door leading to the back porch, brightly lit by the morning sunshine sparkling through large windows, Ro Laren and B'Elanna Torres were already seated at an ancient wooden table, their plates stacked high with pancakes, sausage and bacon that both Starfleet officers were consuming hungrily. They were dressed in T-shirts and shorts, obviously prepared to enjoy their first full day of leave.

"I guess I was wrong," Janeway said, smiling warmly at the distinguished woman behind the kitchen counter. "I thought you made cinnamon rolls."

"I did," their hostess replied dryly as she picked up a dish of warm rolls and placed it on the counter. "Take them over to the table, please."

Tall, slender, with snowy hair and brilliant, sapphire eyes, Gretchen Janeway was as competent in the kitchen as her daughter was on the bridge of a starship, and far more creative. She quickly resumed her initial task of pouring a golden liquid into a hot, flat pan, the sizzle and smell providing a sharp memory of comfort and warmth to Kathryn who had eaten pancakes countless times in this bright kitchen while growing up.

"May I assist?" Seven asked eagerly, leaving her partner's side to join the older woman behind the counter. Despite her technical nature, Seven was a Traditionalist at heart, and the art of preparing meals from scratch was something she found quite enjoyable.

It was a trait her partner did not share. A proud proponent of the more modern advantages of living in the 24^th century, Janeway flashed a tolerant smile at Seven before snagging the rolls and quickly finding a seat in the breakfast nook. Depositing the bowl in the center, she set to work filling her plate from the other platters scattered over the table. As she acquired her food, she glanced across the table at the other women, offering a cheerful "Good morning."

Ro quirked a dark eyebrow. "Good morning, Captain."

B'Elanna, dark-haired with a proudly ridged forehead that denoted her Klingon heritage, returned Janeway's greeting with a respectful nod, and mumbled a "'Morning, Captain," through a mouthful of pancakes and syrup.

Technically, Janeway wasn't really B'Elanna's captain any longer, though Ro remained under her personal command. With the exception of Gretchen, all the women had just returned to the Federation after spending seven years in the Delta Quadrant. Commanded by Janeway, USS Voyager had been on a mission in the Bajoran Badlands when an entity known as the Caretaker pulled the vessel 70,000 light-years from home. A former member of the Maquis, Lt. Torres had subsequently become the ship's chief engineer, while Lt. Ro had filled many roles, from assistant security chief to helmsman. Seven of Nine, meanwhile, had served as the ship's astrometrics officer after being severed from the Borg Collective the fourth year into the journey.

As Seven and Gretchen joined them at the table, her mother bearing another large platter of pancakes, Janeway wondered if the other women were feeling as disoriented as she was. This should be a time of great joy, and while Janeway acknowledged that returning to Earth after so long was a true accomplishment, at the same time, she was first and foremost a starship captain. To be suddenly deprived of her vessel, dry-docked at the Utopia Planitia shipyards to be upgraded to current operating standards, had left her feeling somewhat adrift.

For Seven of Nine, who had been assimilated by the Borg at age six, and had never actually set foot on the Human homeworld before yesterday, Janeway believed it had to be even more unsettling. But the composed young woman didn't show it as she took a seat next to her spouse. Instead, she filled her plate with pancakes and proceeded to consume her breakfast, slicing apart small bites with precision, and transferring them to her mouth with reserved efficiency.

"Captain, Laren and I are heading up to Mars to check out living arrangements," B'Elanna said as she filled her plate again. "Is there anything you or Seven want us to do for you while we're there?"

Janeway glanced at Seven. "I can't think of anything. Can you?"

Seven shook her head. "No." She shot a look at her partner. "I have an appointment to meet with Dr. Brahms in three days time ... on 'Monday' ... for a tour of the TPG facility.  Today, I intend to visit Phoebe's studio."

"We'll visit my sister after breakfast," Janeway promised before turning her attention back to the engineer. "So you're planning to live on Mars?"

"It'll be close to work," B'Elanna said, shrugging slightly as she referred to her posting at Utopia Planitia.

"Seven and I will be living in San Francisco, assuming she doesn't choose a posting with the Vulcan Science Academy or the Trill Ministry of Technology, of course." She directed a small grin at her partner, receiving a warm glance from the pale eyes in return.

Apparently, this was news to Gretchen, and the older woman frowned as she looked up from her plate. "You know you're welcome to stay here, Kathryn," she said, her voice troubled. "In fact, I was under the distinct impression that you and Annika were going to live here on the farm while you were on Earth."

Janeway studied her fork intently, wondering how she was going to handle that one. Staying with her mother had been the initial plan, especially since it would give Seven a support structure in the event Janeway ended up working away from her. The night before, however, the captain had discovered something that had changed her mind and made it very uncomfortable for her to remain in Indiana. As it were, if she hadn't seen through an upstairs window that Commander Patterson's hovercraft was gone, she might not have come downstairs at all, not ready to face the man from Starfleet Headquarters who was her mother's new lover.

"I think my house in San Francisco will be a little more convenient for the time being," Janeway said, lying as smoothly as she was capable of ... considering who she was speaking to. "Particularly since there will probably be a lot of briefings held at Starfleet Command in the next week or so."

Gretchen did not accept that explanation. "It takes thirty minutes for a hovercraft to travel to the Portage Creek Transport Station from here, and then, seconds to transport from there to the San Francisco terminal which is only five minutes away from Starfleet Command by air tram. This is your home, Kathryn, and certainly Annika should be allowed time to become used to Indiana."

Janeway chewed her mouthful of bacon uncomfortably. "We don't want to be a bother," she tried, once she had swallowed. "It's too much work for you to have us stay here." She realized how absolutely lame that sounded when Gretchen stared at her disbelievingly for a moment, before turning her attention to Seven, who was halfway through her stack of pancakes.

"Annika, why doesn't Kathryn want to stay here?" Gretchen asked the Borg directly, something that was an absolute disaster as far as the captain was concerned.

"Kathryn does not wish to remain where you and Commander Patterson copulate," Seven replied readily, before her spouse could forestall her response, the young woman not even looking up from her meal.

B'Elanna choked on her milk, the white liquid gushing from her nostrils, and Ro Laren immediately stood up with her empty plate, taking it over to the sink.

"I think we should go," she suggested quickly to her lover who had finally stopped coughing and sputtering, wiping her face with a cloth napkin. "We'll want to get to Mars as early as possible to look at what they have to offer in living quarters."

"You're absolutely right," B'Elanna wheezed in agreement and got up from the table, swiftly carrying her plate over to the counter, gobbling up the final bites as she went. "Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Janeway," she mumbled through a full mouth. "We'll have your hovercraft back by this evening."

The last sentence was flung back over the engineer's shoulder as the two women bolted from the kitchen through the back door, the screen slamming shut behind them. Janeway placed her fork carefully on the side of her plate and bowed her head, wishing she could go with them, and very conscious of her mother regarding her steadily with dark eyes.

Belatedly becoming aware that perhaps she should not have responded to the question, Seven had raised her head, looking back and forth between her spouse and mother-in-law uncertainly.

"Kathryn?" she prompted inquiringly. "That is the reason."

"Yes, Seven," Janeway said in a low voice, "it is, but I rather you had not put it so ... bluntly."

"Well, I'm glad she did." Gretchen's color was high as she stared at her offspring. "Obviously, we have a failure to communicate here, and I think we need to straighten it out. I suppose my next question is: why is Annika able to give me a straight answer when my own daughter refuses to?"

"It's not like that, Mother," Janeway tried, finding it hard to look at her parent, concentrating, instead, on the butter melting on the top of her pancakes. "I just think that you should have some time alone with ... er, Patterson."

"His name is Michael," Gretchen corrected, frowning. "He and I have been together for over a month. Certainly you knew that when you came here."

"Actually," Seven offered helpfully, "she did not know until last night ... when she discovered you and the Commander kissing in the kitchen."

Janeway raised her eyes to meet Seven's, and the Borg abruptly subsided, clearly startled at what she read in them.

"I believe I should visit Phoebe now," the young woman added hastily and stood up. She hesitated briefly over her plate as if wondering if she should take it with her, but another glance at her spouse served to make up her mind and she followed B'Elanna and Ro's lead in fleeing ...  out the back door and across the lawn toward the house where Janeway's younger sister lived.

That left Janeway to face her mother all alone, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at the older woman. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said, attempting a conciliatory tone. "I didn't want to ... start this discussion in such a way."

"I don't understand, Kathryn." Gretchen was very stern. As an educator, Mrs. Janeway had developed the sort of voice that made one feel like they were six years old again. Janeway had developed a similar intonation and inflection for dealing with lower ranked officers who had done something that displeased her. "I wrote to you regarding all of this in my last letter. How could you not know about Michael and me until last night?"

Janeway squirmed.

"I ... was very busy in the weeks leading up to our return," she explained weakly. "Not to mention how buried I was in paperwork after arriving at DS9. I kept meaning to get to it, but ... well, you know what it's like in Starfleet."

Gretchen held her gaze, and then seemed to sigh, looking away as she shook her head. "You mean I know what it's like for you in Starfleet. You're just like your father that way, concentrating so hard on your duties that you forget to take care of your personal life. I had hoped Annika had cured you of that, but it's obvious she still has a long way to go."

Janeway was immediately defensive, then annoyed at her mother for making her feel that way. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't read it, but how was I supposed to know that you were saving the news that you had become involved with a man half your age for your last letter?"

She tried biting her tongue, but it was far too late, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Gretchen raised an elegant eyebrow. "Michael is not half my age. He's not any younger than ... than Annika is in comparison to you. What difference does it make?"

They just had to keep throwing that one at her, didn't they? Janeway thought irritably.

"Fine," she said acerbically. "But he's only a Commander, Mother. What kind of future does he have if that's all he's managed to achieve at his age?"

Astounded, Gretchen stared at her, and then abruptly, she smiled.

"First he's too young for me, then he's too old to have a future in Starfleet. Do try to make up your mind, Kathryn. In any event, what exactly does his rank have to do with anything?"

"Daddy was an admiral," Janeway said frostily.

Gretchen sobered and looked at her daughter. "That's certainly not why I married your father," she said, suddenly quite serious. "Honestly, Kathryn, I think it's time we had a talk about Edward. That seems to be what's really bothering you here."

Janeway felt a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered, if she ran very fast, if she could catch up to her spouse ... or better yet, Ro and B'Elanna, who were probably halfway to Mars by now.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Seventy? Kahless, I hope I'm that energetic when I'm thirty! Did you hear Mrs. Janeway and Patterson last night? I thought they were going to come down through the ceiling near the end." Then she started to laugh, a full-bodied, Klingon explosion of humor.

Ro glanced at her and snorted, infected by the other woman's amusement as she tried to keep her hands steady on the controls. "You know, if we hadn't be messing around ourselves at 2:00 in the morning, we wouldn't have been awake to hear it," she reminded through her laughter, which made B'Elanna whoop louder and the Bajoran bite her lip to hold back another onslaught of mirth. Her eyes were wet when she finally looked over at her lover who had collapsed back against her seat.

"I don't know what I expected when I met the captain's mother, but it certainly wasn't this."

"I bet the captain didn't either," Ro said dryly. "In fact, when I asked Seven yesterday, she told me the Captain didn't know about Gretchen and Patterson. Obviously she found out."

"How could she not after last night?"

That almost started Ro laughing again, but she swallowed it, concentrating on turning into the gate for the Portage Creek Transport Station, located just outside the city. Overhead, shuttles cut silvery trails through the azure sky, and she had to search for a place to park the hovercraft, finally finding a small lot next to the terminal. She shut down the engines, and the hovercraft eased down onto its landing struts in the small amount of shade offered by the building. The roof automatically slid shut over them, protecting the cockpit while the vehicle was dormant.

"Should we find a way to secure this, somehow?" the Bajoran asked as she and her lover climbed out of the hovercraft.

"This is Earth," B'Elanna reminded her, regarding her across the roof. "No crime. It's unlikely anyone will try to steal it. Besides, you're taking the activation card with you, right?"

Ro held up the small, colored square containing the navigational array controls which she had removed from the slot on the dash. "Right here."

The women walked across the tarmac, already uncomfortably warm from the morning sun, and entered the cool dimness of the terminal building. They paused just inside the doors, looking around the busy lobby in an attempt to regain their bearings. A large board offered three different options for reaching various destinations: a bullet train, which, according to the times displayed next to the San Francisco listing would take four hours, an air tram that would take an hour, or the public transporters which were practically instantaneous ... once a person had their turn on the pad. Of course, as officers, the couple always had the prerogative of using Starfleet transporters rather than the civilian ones, and the sign gave them directions to that area of the terminal as well.

B'Elanna nudged her partner. "You know, I think we should be in uniform. It might save us some unnecessary explanations."

Ro nodded. The uniforms they had worn yesterday were dirty, and there had been no replicators at the farm, other than one in the study that was too small to replace their clothing. The shorts and t-shirts they had on were perfect for being on leave, but not necessarily appropriate for attempting to secure living quarters as Starfleet officers. B'Elanna gestured at a nearby kiosk that provided a variety of items for travelers, and the two women moved over to it. Utilizing their Starfleet identity chips, they programmed the large replicator to create new uniforms, and changed into them in the nearby lavatory, tucking their other clothes in a locker that their Starfleet clearance also accorded them free of charge.

Feeling suitably attired once more, the couple began their search for the Starfleet transporter area, finally discovering it tucked away in an obscure corner of the terminal building. Ro blinked as she read the sign.

"Service temporarily canceled? What the hell does that mean?"

Frowning, she and B'Elanna peered through the glass partition, cupping their eyes with their hands, and then glanced at each other, stymied. The room beyond was the standard transporter station, and though the console was shut down, there didn't seem to be any damage nor were any repairs being undertaken. They spotted a passerby dressed in the outfit favored by terminal personnel and hailed him.

"It's because of the war," the young man explained, surprise edging his tone at their ignorance. "Starfleet can't afford the staff to keep these smaller transporter stations manned. They withdrew their personnel a couple of years ago." He paused. "We really don't get enough Starfleet traffic through here to make it worth their while, anyway."

"But it still works?" B'Elanna said. Obviously, she was not anxious to wait with the large crowds in the lounge for the civilian transporter, or avail herself of the equally crowded tram service.

He hesitated. "I guess. But you'd need at least a level one operator, and I don't think there are any free at the moment."

Ro held up her hand. "We both have level two transporter experience. We've served on starships."

"Okay, but you might want to run a diagnostic first," he warned as he moved over to the door. " I can't remember anyone coming by for maintenance since it was shut down."

"Not a problem," B'Elanna told him. "I'm a chief engineer."

Reassured, he shrugged and used some kind of pass card to unseal the glass door. Ro wondered why it was secured, and then as several children chased each other through the lobby, she had her answer. The last thing Starfleet wanted or needed was inexperienced people trying to transport from one of their unmonitored transporter stations. She noticed the door sealed automatically once it closed behind them.

B'Elanna didn't waste any time in activating the console and initiating a level three diagnostic, her dark eyes intent as she studied the readouts. Ro took a seat on the dais, waiting for her partner to finish the scan.

"You know, he was right," she offered suddenly, after observing B'Elanna for a moment or so.

B'Elanna glanced up. "About what?"

"The lack of Starfleet officers through here. You're the only other uniform I've seen since we entered the terminal. It used to be that you couldn't travel anywhere on Earth without seeing all sorts of Starfleet personnel. Now, they're few and far between."

"We knew that the war took its toll," the Klingon reminded her.

"I know, but knowing it and actually seeing it are two different things. Everyone that can accept duty, is off planet, either on a starship or a space station." She paused. "Makes you wonder why they would want Janeway in an administrative position, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," B'Elanna said, in an odd sort of tone.

The engineer shot her a particularly intense look, obviously a warning of some kind, and Ro took a breath, abruptly remembering where she was ... a Starfleet facility that undoubtedly recorded all usage of the equipment. That log might even extend to a visual recording of the entire room, and she realized what her lover was trying to say with her eyes. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, grateful for the reminder. It might not be necessary in such a small transporter station, particularly one that had been shut down from lack of service for a couple of years, but one couldn't be too careful, not even on Earth.

"I do wonder how long it'll take before Starfleet's in good enough health to start assigning personnel to these type of posts again," B'Elanna added casually, keeping the conversation going, but not on the track that Ro had so imprudently started down.

"Someday." Ro lifted her head. "Anything?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "Seems fine. The purser was right, however. The last maintenance check on this was dated two years ago."

Ro frowned. There was something in the Klingon's voice, something that only a person who knew her as intimately as the Bajoran might pick up on. B'Elanna didn't say anything further, however, and before long, she had the controls set to the main transport terminal in California.

Stepping onto the transporter dais that only contained four places, Ro stood within the circle of light, waiting for her lover to join her. B'Elanna programmed in a delay, and moved quickly to the platform. Ro felt the dissolution of her molecules, and an instant later, she was standing on a pad in the very busy San Francisco Transport Center. The small alcove they were standing in had no one waiting by the console, of course, but other, much larger alcoves in the area, keyed to larger cities like Toronto, Chicago and Indianapolis, had a steady flow of commuters moving off them to make way for the next transport.

Ro felt B'Elanna take her arm, and sensing that her lover had something specific in mind, she didn't protest as the Klingon guided her away from the transporter section and toward the direction of the interplanetary shuttle gates maintained by Starfleet. If there had been no officers in the commuter crowd at the Portage Creek station, the exact opposite was the case here. Civilians were few and far between, while uniforms covered all sorts of species, from a Horta humping its way along a specially designed walkway ... silicon-based to protect against the acid the alien leaked from beneath its underside ... to the wispy, blue-skinned, snowy-maned Andorians, who usually traveled in groups of four.

Once the couple had made their way to the outbound spaceport, they checked in for the Mars shuttle, and found a place to sit down in the thronged waiting area.

"What's up?" Ro asked, studying the Klingon intently.

B'Elanna took a deep breath and glanced around. Apparently assured that the lounge was far too crowded to be monitored closely, she leaned forward.

"The last official maintenance on the Portage Creek station was two years ago, just like the guy said, but there was an unofficial alteration of the console only a week ago, when a program was installed to monitor the transporter buffer."

Ro frowned. "For what purpose?"

"I didn't want to linger in case the diagnostic was being monitored, but it looked to me like it was keyed to activate on a Borg signature."

Ro felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, knowing there was only one person with a Borg signature who would have cause to use that particular transporter. "What would happen in that event?"

"I don't know for sure." B'Elanna paused and met Ro's eyes, her gaze dark and troubled. "It's possible that such a program could alter the transporter coordinates set in the buffer. A person could end up in an entirely different location than the initial coordinates intended, without leaving any kind of trace signature."

Ro stood up abruptly. "We have to get back to Indiana before Seven uses that transporter."

B'Elanna tugged her back down. "First of all, Seven is spending the day on the farm. Besides, we'll only look suspicious if we go rushing back there."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Ro demanded, staring at her.

"I'm not sure," B'Elanna explained, looking unhappy. "Hope we can finish up our business on Mars as quickly as possible?"

Ro exhaled audibly. "I shouldn't have left them, Lanna." She thought about it. "I need a way to warn them."

"Without letting on you're warning them," B'Elanna agreed uncertainly. "That could be tough." She paused, her eyes searching the lounge, and then she brightened. "I know, let's tell transport operations that we noticed the Portage Creek transporter wasn't working well when we used it, that we experienced dizziness or something. That might focus attention on a place that Section 31 doesn't want it focused on."

"That's a fantastic idea," Ro said, staring at her lover with admiration. "It's vague enough that it probably wouldn't be considered out of the ordinary, and there's no way to prove we didn't experience a few minor symptoms that could be attributed to practically anything. In the meantime, the transporter console will be torn apart and Section 31 will stay well away from it, suspecting but never knowing for sure if their tampering was spotted. After all, they had no way of knowing Gretchen would invite us to stay at her home, or that we would utilize the transporter first."

"There's a terminal officer over there," the Klingon said, pointing at the desk near the gate.

Ro nodded, and the women went over to register their complaint with the officer who looked appropriately concerned and promptly requested a medic. Ro and B'Elanna were scanned by a terminal health officer who, of course, found nothing wrong, but he did recommend that they not utilize any transporters again that day, and to report immediately to a medical center if the symptoms persisted. More importantly, the operations officer immediately dispatched a maintenance team to Portage Creek, just to be on the safe side. By the time this was completed, the next Starfleet transport had landed and was ready to be boarded.

"While we're on Mars," Ro muttered quietly, as she found a seat in the shuttle's cabin, "We can call Janeway and tell her that the Portage Creek transporter is offline.  Until then, we should just try to act natural."

"Yes?" B'Elanna said, raising an eyebrow. Before Ro could object, the Klingon leaned over, grasped her by the front of the tunic and kissed her passionately. "Like that, you mean?"

"Very funny." Flushing hotly and unable to prevent it, Ro growled and crossed her arms over her chest as B'Elanna snickered beside her.

Once they had launched, Ro unbent enough to reach over and take the engineer's hand. "I know it was difficult last night to ... uh, restrain yourself, particularly after..."

"After we were serenaded by the captain's mother and her boy-toy?" B'Elanna finished for her. "It occurred to me that if we could hear them, they most certainly could hear us." She flashed her a grin that revealed slightly pointed teeth. "I'll survive, but I will admit, the sooner we have our own place, the happier I'll be."

"We could get a hotel room."

"I know, but if we did, I think Janeway's mother would be hurt. If we have our own place, however, then we'll have a legitimate excuse to leave."

Ro considered that for a moment. "If you say so," she allowed uncertainly. "You're the one who's half-Human so you'd know better how they'd react than I would."

"Trust me; she'd have her feelings hurt," B'Elanna said with assurance. She leaned back in her seat and looked out the viewport that revealed a starfield and the rapidly dwindling blue and green planet behind them. "I think I'll take a nap. Wake me when we get to Marsport."

Ro nodded and settled back in her seat as B'Elanna dozed. The Bajoran occupied herself with observing the other passengers on the shuttle. They were all Starfleet officers ... mostly young ... a couple of cadets from the Academy, and a single Lt. Commander who looked as if he had retired several years earlier.

Another sign of the war, the Bajoran thought somberly. The officers of her age and experience had been on the front lines, and had been the first to fall. Starfleet had been left with the very young or very old to hold most of the administrative positions. It was to be expected that starship captains would want to snap up personnel from Voyager once the Intrepid-class vessel had docked at DS9. Ro was merely surprised they had been left with enough crewmembers to ferry the ship back to Earth Station McKinley.

She spared a moment to wonder about those crewmates who were gone, people like Tom Paris, Kes and Neelix who had accepted postings with the USS Enterprise, commanded by Ro's previous captain. Others like Ensign Wildman and family, who had remained on DS9, while Ensign ... now Lieutenant ... Vorik had become chief engineer on the USS Venture, and Lt. Commander Nicoletti had taken over operations on DS3. The Bajoran hoped they were all doing well. In a way, she envied them. At least they knew what was expected of them and what they would be doing in the immediate future. Until certain decisions were made, Ro's future was left completely up in the air. As Janeway's adjunct, she would be going wherever the captain did, but that had yet to be determined.

The shuttle began the descent through the atmosphere of the ancient red planet, vectoring toward Mars Colony One ... or Marsport as it was known colloquially ... and Ro nudged her lover awake. B'Elanna jerked and grumbled a bit, but she stretched, throwing off the last dregs of her drowsiness. Stepping easily in the lighter gravity of the red planet, the couple filed out behind the rest of the passengers and headed for the terminal exit.

They had a lot to do before they returned to Earth.

The Borg discovered she admired that in some odd way.

"Annika!"

Blinking, Seven looked up, shading her eyes with her hand as she observed the house. Phoebe Janeway leaned over the railing of an upper-story redwood deck, waving at the Borg. At the same time, from around the corner of the structure, two dogs came streaking across the lawn to greet Jake. They were both Irish Setters, one so similar to her dog that Seven suspected he was actually the same animal ... not entirely impossible since Jake had come from an alternative reality, given to the couple by the Kathryn of that universe, Commodore Johnson.

"Up here," Phoebe instructed, motioning to the side of the house. "Go around and take the stairs."

Seven raised her hand in acknowledgment and did as instructed, moving around the large structure to where wide stairs led up to the deck. As the Borg scaled them, she studied her surroundings, finding the mixture of wood and glass aesthetically pleasing. This section sported large windows, allowing large amounts of light to pass through to the studio contained within this side of the house. French doors separated the studio from the large deck where Phoebe was standing next to an easel, wearing a white tunic and dark trousers, both of which were splattered liberally with varied blotches of paint, colors that corresponded to the dabs on the palette she held in her left hand. The unfinished image on the easel was of the stream that flowed in the hollow next to the house, and Seven studied the canvas curiously.

"You have never painted that particular view before?"

"Many times," Phoebe admitted with a laugh. "I use it as my foundation." At Seven's blank expression, she waved her hand at the stream as she explained. "Sometimes, I get a little blocked, and by painting that particular scene, it gets me back into seeing color and light properly. Of course, it helps that the stream is never the same on any given day ... it's always changing the particular channels it cuts through the rocks, and altering the way the sun reflects off the water. The trees shade it differently depending on the time of day, and there is always new growth coming up on the banks every year."

Seven contemplated that, amazed that the young woman found evidence of such constant, ongoing change in the pleasant brook burbling its way next to the house. "Intriguing." She glanced through the doors of the studio where several other easels stood and paintings were stacked everywhere. "Do you usually paint outside rather than in your studio?"

"In the summer," Phoebe said, dabbing a bit of color on the canvas, standing back to judge the effect before adding more. "The light is much better. In the winter, of course, it's too cold, but even then, I come out on the more pleasant days."

The young woman glanced at her curiously, as if suddenly realizing something was missing.

"Where's Kathryn?"

Seven tried to remain impassive. "She and her mother are discussing our living arrangements," she explained grimly, and filled Phoebe in on the events of the morning, as well as those of the previous evening. By the time she was done, the young woman was bent over, weak with laughter, although Seven was completely unable to comprehend what her sister-in-law found so amusing.

"God, poor Kathryn," the painter wheezed finally, wiping the tears from her eyes and picking up her brush again, filling in a good portion of the background with large strokes of green. "You know, half the problems she has are of her own manufacture."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed as she took a seat on the wooden bench which ran along one end of the elevated deck. From this vantage point, she could easily see the main house on the rise, as well as Jake, who had remained downstairs on the lawns, romping exuberantly with the other dogs. He was certainly achieving a proper amount of exercise on Earth, she decided with a certain satisfaction. Petunia, on the other hand, had accompanied Seven up the stairs, and was now lying under the bench by the Borg's feet.

After determining that her pet was all right, Seven turned her attention back to Phoebe and for the next several moments, watched the young woman quietly, fascinated by the creative process she was undertaking. Seven had observed Kathryn painting many times in the da Vinci holoprogram back on Voyager, but Phoebe's technique was different. She attacked the canvas with enthusiasm, effusing every motion with a certain joy and elation that the captain had lacked. Indeed, Kathryn had always seemed a little detached from her artistic endeavor, almost as if she did not have the same love for it. Seven supposed that was an accurate assessment, since Kathryn only painted for the purpose of pursuing a hobby, whereas to Phoebe, it was her life's work. Her dedication to her painting was more in keeping with the intensity Kathryn brought to the bridge of her starship.

The slender woman was different from the captain in other ways, standing a few centimeters taller than Kathryn, with long, dark red hair that curled thickly down her back, and level grey eyes that did not change color as the captain's did. She was more slender across the shoulders, lighter-boned, favoring the maternal genetics of her Taylor heritage rather than the compactness of the Janeway paternal genes. She was also more vibrant, less apt to conceal what she was feeling and more forward in saying whatever was on her mind. In some ways, Seven was astounded that the two women, Phoebe and Kathryn, had been born of the same set of parents. She wondered if, when she and Kathryn had children, they would be distinctly different in personality, or very similar, as Azan and Rebi, the Borg twins, had been.

"Can I get you something, Annika?" Phoebe asked, finally noticing the intent scrutiny of her audience. A sheepish expression ghosted across her face. "I'm such a horrid host. You come to visit and I spend my time painting. I'm sorry."

Seven tilted her head. "Painting is a creative endeavor that completely consumes one's attention."

"Something like that," Phoebe smiled, wiping her hands on a rag and putting her brush into a container. "But that's no excuse for bad manners." She motioned toward the studio. "C'mon, I'll show you around."

Seven was escorted into the airy room that smelled of paint and turpentine and the warm scent of polished wood. She scanned the various works in progress with interest, noting several that were half finished.

"Why do you not complete one painting before you begin another?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Seven blinked, unsure how to respond to the comment as she followed her sister-in-law into the main part of the house. Like Gretchen's home, it was decorated in a Traditionalist style, but Phoebe was obviously more inclined to a higher technology. Her replicator was much larger, located in the kitchen, though it was concealed in a pantry behind a large wooden door. The rest of her appliances sported touch-pad controls and remotes rather than the more antique style present in Gretchen's house. Seven examined one of the devices, realizing belatedly that it was a coffee maker.

"Where is the technological line drawn for this Agricultural Park?" she asked as Phoebe busied herself with replicating some drinks and snacks ... for which the Borg was suitably grateful considering she had been unable to finish her breakfast.

"In this park, it's the 20^th century," Phoebe explained. "Some concessions have to be made, however. In that century, they utilized a great deal of machinery that ran on internal combustion engines. Those aren't ecologically sound, thus more current technology is used in machinery, such as with the hovercrafts and the tractors. We all have replicators and communication arrays, of course, but how they're displayed, and how much they're used depends on an individual's tastes. I remember that we also had a sonic shower when we were growing up, but Mom had it removed after Kathryn and I moved out. Now, all Mom's plumbing is hydro-based, which she considers more ... well, traditional."

Seven frowned as she sat down at the artist's kitchen table and acquired two of the muffins from the plate Phoebe placed in front of her. "What is the purpose of pursuing such an existence, particularly on this planet that is so advanced."

"It's because Earth is so advanced, Annika," Phoebe said, munching on a melon slice. "Traditionalism stems from the concept that Terrans rely far too much on technology to perform tasks, instead of keeping alive the skills that might be needed when the technology fails. It's a way to prevent Humans from becoming helpless."

Seven eyed the younger Janeway. "It has been my experience that Humans are rarely helpless, regardless of their level of technology."

"Because we're so bloody nasty when we're crossed." Phoebe surprised the Borg with the admission, who had not expected such candor from someone about her own species. "As the Dominion discovered." She sipped her juice and directed the conversation back to more pleasant areas. "Keeping in touch with our past is another reason for living this way. It's a way of accepting the challenge of doing things the old fashioned way, from cooking to cleaning to ... well, painting." She shrugged. "A lot of art is computer-generated, holographic ... few people on Earth still work in the paint medium."

"This, then, is a way of retaining your history?"

"The best parts of history, of course, not the self-destructive aspects like bigotry or intolerance." Phoebe raised her glass. "After all, Annika, the past makes us who we are, and it's important that we learn from it, not forget it in the assumption that it has nothing to offer our lives in the present."

"I believe I understand," Seven allowed, taking another muffin from the plate. "However, I am still not clear on why one would wish to actively live in such a fashion. Surely one can appreciate the past without needing to reproduce it?"

"Why do you enjoy cooking from scratch?" Phoebe countered.

Seven paused. "It is more satisfying to create meals than replicating them." She thought about it. "I believe I comprehend now."

Phoebe offered her a bright smile. "I know Kathryn isn't really into her heritage, but it's fairly important to Mother, and I suppose, to me, as well."

Seven nodded. "Do not be so sure Kathryn is completely impervious to her Traditionalist background. In some ways, I think she is more traditional than even she is aware."

"If you say so." Phoebe was obviously skeptical. She nodded at the crumbs littering the plate. "Can I get you some more?"

Surprised, Seven realized she had consumed all the muffins and fruit that the other woman had replicated ... and that she was still hungry.

"Please," she said, somewhat bashfully. "When Kathryn and Gretchen began their discussion, I though it prudent to ... leave. I did not have a chance to finish my breakfast."

Phoebe laughed as she got up and replicated some more muffins. "Mom must have loved that. She hates when people waste food. She'll probably give Kathryn a lecture about it."

"I suspect you are correct."

"By the way, I retained the services of a civilian lawyer for you," Phoebe offered casually as she returned to the table. "Her name is Samantha Cogley and she works out of a colony in the Aris sector. I decided to go with an independent rather than one attached to the larger firms who tend to have close ties with the Federation Council and Starfleet."

Seven blinked, surprised. "Indeed. Do you truly believe I require such counsel?"

Phoebe stared at her soberly. "I don't know, Annika. You might not, but I'd rather you have one and not require her services, than need one and not have her available. Consider it a preventive measure. She's arriving on Earth tomorrow and you'll be able to meet her."

Seven frowned faintly. "I do not believe Kathryn will be pleased to hear this," she said, testing her newfound awareness of her partner's responses to things outside Starfleet since returning to the Federation.

"Probably not," Phoebe allowed, shrugging lightly. "But take my advice and don't be so concerned about what Kathryn will and will not be pleased to hear about. Sometimes, my beloved sister doesn't always know what's best in some situations, though she'd probably be the last to acknowledge that."

The Borg was uncomfortable to hear such an assessment, and Phoebe must have picked up on that, reaching over to touch Seven on her hand.

"Don't worry about it. This is just a meeting. If you don't like each other, I'll pay off the retainer and life will go on."

"No harm done."

"I loved Edward very much," Gretchen began calmly, resting her linked fingers on the tabletop as she gave Janeway her full attention. "He and I shared something very precious and loving." She regarded her daughter intently, as if expecting some sort of response.

"But you resented him for leaving," Janeway noted with what she hoped was a perfectly neutral tone. "You resented Starfleet for taking him away."

Gretchen shook her head. "Not at all." She surprised the captain, who decided from the other woman's expression that her mother was being perfectly honest. "I knew he was dedicated to Starfleet long before I married him, and it didn't matter to me. I accepted that he would sometimes have to put his duties before anything else, even our relationship. I loved him enough to be content with whatever part of himself he could give me, and he did his best to give me as much as he could. When we were together, nothing else mattered but how we felt about each other."

Janeway frowned. "Then why ..." she started to ask, then paused, firming her jaw. She didn't know the right questions to ask in this situation and it frustrated her.

"Your father and I made the classic mistake that all young people make."

"Which was?"

"We thought we had all the time in the universe." Sorrow suddenly edged Gretchen's gaze. "In the beginning, it didn't matter that he had to be away so much, because we knew in our hearts that one day we'd be together. Then you came along, and Phoebe, and we didn't notice the years slipping away, didn't realize how much we were losing in the process of always working for that intangible future when we could be a real family. It was a mistake that cost us dearly in the end. Your father gave his entire life to the Cardassian situation ... a situation that never ended."

Janeway felt the sharp, familiar pain strike her chest, as if her father's death had happened only yesterday. It was something that, in many ways, she had not fully come to terms with, though she had never really examined why, beyond a few minor discussions with Seven late at night. As it were, those discussions were far more than she had ever shared with anyone else, including this woman sitting across from her.

"Until now, perhaps," Janeway managed in a dispassionate tone. "My understanding is that the war practically destroyed the Cardassian empire. They're just not the same threat they used to be."

"Not before they introduced us to a much larger one." There was a bitterness in her voice, a type of anger and resentment that was completely unlike anything Janeway had ever heard from her kind, generous mother. "They provided the Dominion with the toehold into the Alpha Quadrant that the Founders were looking for." Janeway blinked as her mother stared at her with an unusual intensity. "Kathryn, I missed you dearly while you were in the Delta Quadrant, but I have to admit that there were several times when I was very glad you were well away from all that was happening."

Janeway quirked her eyebrow. "It wasn't exactly a stroll in the park out in the Delta Quadrant either, Mother."

Gretchen nodded. "I know," she said, reaching over to put her hand apologetically on the captain's forearm. "But the threats you faced were ones I could only imagine. The Dominion and the Jem'Hadar were very real to us in the Federation, and the casualty reports were something that had to be seen to be believed. A great many were officers our family knew personally; associates and subordinates of your father, officers who had gone through the Academy with you, had served with you later in your career. Kathryn, once you see the memorial standing outside Starfleet Headquarters, I think you'll be horrified at just how many names you'll recognize etched in the stone."

Janeway dipped her head and loosened her defensive posture a bit. Her mother was correct in saying how hard it was to understand what it had been like. In the time she and Voyager had been lost, Earth had twice been on the verge of being conquered, first by the Borg and then by the Dominion. Sometimes Janeway felt a small sense of responsibility for that, as if by being lost, she had denied herself the chance make a difference in the Alpha Quadrant ... if only she had made other choices, things would not have become so dire for her friends and family.

Seven, of course, would point out that such thoughts were arrogant in the extreme and that Janeway was being completely irrational.

"I guess it's something I'll never truly appreciate," the captain admitted finally. "Just as I don't believe anyone other than myself and my crew will truly understand what being stranded in the Delta Quadrant was like."

Gretchen nodded soberly. "In any event," she said, dragging the discussion back to the initial topic, "you need to understand how time slips away if one isn't careful, Kathryn. I was so happy to hear that you and Seven were taking time off to have children, but it can't stop there. You have to be there for your family. Don't make the same mistakes your father and I did. It wasn't just a matter of Edward and I suffering because we were apart; you and Phoebe suffered greatly from your father's absence. We did our best, but there's no question that there were lasting repercussions with you girls that our choices were responsible for."

Janeway nodded, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm trying very hard to be there for Annika, and I'm prepared to do the same for any children we have. I'm not going to let any child of mine feel the way that..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"That you felt growing up," Gretchen finished for her unhappily.

Janeway felt her heart twinge at the sorrow in her mother's eyes, and she reached over, taking the older woman's hands in her own. "Momma, it's not like we had such a bad life. You were always here for Phoebe and me, and we grew up in a wonderful community. It gave us a firm foundation."

Gretchen sighed. "At least, we got that much righ. We didn't want to drag you all over the Federation, living in one station or planet after another, following your father around from post to post. It wouldn't have given him any more time with us, because of the sensitivity of his work, and it would have left the rest of us unsettled. I hope that you'll take that into account when you consider your next command."

"I'm not going to leave my family behind, Mother," Janeway objected mildly. "Besides, it's not like it was back then. Ships have been designed to allow for families, and I learned on Voyager that it can be done no matter what the circumstances ... you can have a family and still thrive both professionally and personally."

Gretchen smiled. "I'm glad, Kathryn. If any couple can make it work, it will be you and Annika." She paused. "Your father truly regretted all the times he had lost with you."

Janeway felt her throat close up. "We spoke of it before ... just a month before he died."

Gretchen abruptly withdrew her hand and got up, stalking about the kitchen like a tiger in a cage. Janeway was startled, staring at her mother, amazed by the sudden display of fury, and not understanding where it originated.

"I know about the conversation you had with him," Gretchen snapped, and gradually the captain became aware that it was herself who her mother was so angry with. "It should never have come to that. For you to have gone through your life believing that we weren't proud of you, that you weren't good enough..." Her voice cracked as she turned to look directly at the captain. "That will always be our greatest shame, Kathryn. Your father never forgave himself for that. I know I'll never forgive myself for it."

Janeway was embarrassed by the admission, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Mother, it wasn't that bad. I mean, you know how kids are... I developed an idea in my head, and it got blown all out of proportion. I let it control my life. That wasn't your fault."

"Yes, Kathryn, it was. You were our responsibility and we failed you. We never realized how your drive to be the best and your desire for perfection were actually a cry for attention from us. You needed us, and we never saw it. I hope you can forgive us..."

"Momma," Janeway said, a little more forcefully than perhaps she needed to. "It's all right. There's nothing to forgive. It just ... it happened. It's in the past."

Gretchen shook her head, her shoulders slumping as some of her animation drained away. "Just another case of letting time get away from us." She looked very weary as she resumed her seat. "We thought we could have it all, but there was never enough time. Then your father took you up in that cursed fighter and all our chances were gone. He had no business being in that ship."

The pain that struck Janeway then was much stronger, and for a few seconds, she actually had trouble breathing. "Momma, it was his job to test the Terra Nova. It had been through many flights, and what happened was just a fluke, solar wind shear..."

"It was an experimental prototype," Gretchen responded hotly. "It wasn't an admiral's place to be flying it, and it certainly wasn't your place to be there with him."

Janeway couldn't believe it. Her mother had never before indicated any hint of such anger in front of her children. Did that mean Gretchen finally felt comfortable enough to share such thoughts and emotion with her, that she felt her eldest daughter was now mature enough to handle them? Was this a result of all those deeply personal and vulnerably open letters which Janeway had written to her mother, never believing they would be sent, only to have them transmitted during an unexpected contact with Starfleet before she could edit them? Was that why Gretchen was now treating Janeway as someone who was not just her daughter ... but as as someone she now considered an adult and possibly even a friend?

If so, Janeway would rather she didn't. The events that happened on that ice floe on Tau Ceti were still too painful for her, too ... shameful. She hadn't even spoken to Seven about what had really occurred so many years ago, burying the incident away from her conscious mind, keeping it locked tightly away until an alien encounter in the Delta Quadrant unsealed the door it was hidden behind. The recovered memory forced her to recognize the incident itself, but she hadn't achieved any kind of resolution with it despite her best efforts.

She found it hard to look at Gretchen and she turned her head, staring through the screen of the back door. "Mother, it was a long time ago. It's in the past."

Gretchen looked at her, surprise ghosting over her face. Obviously she had detected a note of something unusual in her daughter's voice and her eyes narrowed, but when she spoke, her voice was very gentle.

"Kathryn, it's all right to be angry with the situation that took away your father. It's perfectly natural, in fact. I realize that there's nothing that could have been done about it, nothing could have saved him or Justin, but I can still profoundly regret the circumstances that surrounded the incident." She paused and offered a wan smile, obviously making an attempt to ease the stark tension suddenly reverberating through the kitchen. "I can still curse Edward's bullheadedness that finally got him into a situation he couldn't get out of. You knew him as your father, Kathryn, but I knew him as the man I loved, and I'll be the first to admit that he had a certain arrogance that believed he was the best person for the job, even when, perhaps, it would have been better to let someone else handle it."

Gretchen caught her breath, the lines on her face deepening slightly, and for a moment, Janeway had a sense of how much of a stranger her mother really was to her, how much this person had experienced in her life that the captain was simply unaware of. Shocked, Kathryn abruptly understood how very little she knew about Gretchen as an individual, how little effort she had made to know her as a person with her own hopes and dreams, rather than always placing her in a nice, comfortable niche as being just her mother.

It shamed Janeway profoundly.

"I can even forgive him for it, because that arrogance and stubbornness were part of the reason I loved him so," Gretchen continued softly. "But for taking you along, for almost getting you killed ... that was something that took a lot longer for me to forgive. In some ways, it's possible that I never will. It was one thing to risk his own life ... it was quite another to risk yours or that of  your fiancé. Justin was a good man who deserved better than to die so young."

Janeway wanted to weep ... or laugh hysterically. Her mother didn't know who was really responsible for what happened. She took a deep breath, and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.

"Momma, I know that you and Daddy loved each other," she said, striving for a calmness in her voice that she was far from feeling. "I guess that's why I was a little upset about you and Commander Patterson. It came as such a surprise. It's not that I have anything against the man personally; in fact, I rather like ... uh, Michael."

By directing the discussion to an area where her thoughts would not be so dangerous, Janeway hoped it would divert her away from the dark feelings surrounding the incident on Tau Ceti. Compared to those devastating emotions, discovering that her mother was involved in a romantic relationship with a younger man now seemed to be quite inconsequential. She could barely remember why it had upset her in the first place.

Gretchen looked vaguely puzzled. "I'm glad, Kathryn. He really likes you and Annika a great deal, as well. In fact, he admires you in particular for your accomplishments in the Delta Quadrant. I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to know him better on your trip from DS9."

The captain bent her head. "That's my fault. I should have read your last letter, but I was so intent on making sure Seven was ready for life on Earth, that I didn't really understand I'd also have some adjustments to make. I guess there was a part of me that just believed everything would be exactly the same as before I left ... at least when it came to you. Now I see how selfish that was of me..."

Gretchen made a small sound of dismay. "Kathryn, don't," she said, reaching over and grasping her daughter's hand tightly. "It's perfectly natural to assume such a thing. Certainly, if I hadn't met Michael, I would probably be living exactly the same sort of life that I had prior to your being lost. Don't blame yourself for being ... Human." Her gaze grew more intent. "Kathryn, I want you to know that just because I have feelings for Michael, it doesn't mean I loved your father any less ... any more than your loving Annika now means your feelings for Justin were any less than what they were."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "I know, Momma." She forced a smile. "I just want you to be happy. I want to know that Patterson is a good enough man to accomplish that for you."

"He is," Gretchen allowed, and her bright blue eyes seemed to glow with that particular sheen of happiness and new love. "Oh, Kathryn, it's so amazing when love appears out of the blue like this. No one could have predicted it, and I suppose, that's part of its miracle. Michael is such a wonderful person ... he's kind and caring and treats me just like a queen. I'm his whole world." Her smile grew a bit roughish. "He's also a very good lover."

"Mother!" the captain squeaked, outraged.

Gretchen laughed. "Honestly, Kathryn, I raised you as a Traditionalist ... not a prude."

Janeway eyed her mother with exasperation. "I doubt that you want to know how skilled Grammy Taylor finds her lovers to be."

Gretchen immediately sobered, wincing slightly. "Touché, Kathryn. You're right." She paused. "I'm sorry if we ... disturbed you last night. It was so late ... I suppose we thought everyone else would be completely asleep and perhaps we forgot ourselves a bit in our ... ah, enthusiasm." Janeway felt herself blush, not knowing what to say to that, and Gretchen offered a rueful smile. "I certainly don't want my personal relationship to drive you and Annika out of the house."

Janeway shook her head. "It's not that, Mother. The truth is, Annika and I would be more comfortable in our own space."

Gretchen nodded, a wry smile touching her lips. "I suppose I can relate to that. Heaven knows, I'm quite self-conscious about you being just down the hall now, though it never crossed my mind last night. Maybe using the house in San Francisco until you build your own home here is exactly the right thing to do. That parcel of land near the pond you've always had your eye on has been cleared by the Park Commission for construction whenever you're ready."

"Someday, Momma," the captain responded quietly. "There's never been any doubt in my mind about the fact that I would make my home here." Despite everything else she might be feeling, a tender warmth spread through her as her mother reached over and hugged her tightly, the captain returning the embrace readily.

"Go find Annika," Gretchen suggested huskily, when she finally released her daughter. "I want to go down to the market later in the morning, and you two should come with me."

"Seven will love the market." Janeway offered a smile to her mother as she rose from her seat and slipped out the screen door, but it faded as she paused on the back porch, staring at Phoebe's house across the way. Jake and her sister's dogs were romping exuberantly on the lawn, and the two figures on the deck were visible, though partially obscured by trees. Chances were that Phoebe and Seven were having a grand time, and they certainly didn't need the captain to show up in this mood to ruin their visit with each other.

Janeway suddenly found the thought of facing her sister unbearable, knowing what she had taken from her, and she bent her head as she descended the stairs. Walking quickly away from the houses, she began a desperate search for someplace isolated to regain the balance she had lost during her conversation with her mother .

Before someone looked in her face and discovered what she was trying to hide.

"A little early in the day for this," she noted, eyeing the ale, "but perhaps to be expected after that last apartment. Now, can we try my idea?"

"You were right, I was wrong," B'Elanna granted, after taking a long, soothing pull off her bottle. "We should have tried the Utopia Planitia base housing from the start rather than try to find an apartment in Marsport. I just thought with what's usually issued to lieutenants, we could arrange a much better deal with something off the base. Plus, you know that despite all the tolerance the Federation claims to have, on a Human base like Utopia Planitia, a Klingon and a Bajoran aren't going get first choice at anything decent."

"Unlike that last place we saw? What were those things moving in the bathtub, anyway?"

"I don't want to think about it." The Klingon barely restrained a shudder. "I thought Earth was so civilized."

"This isn't Earth," Ro reminded her. "Even after a century of terraforming, Mars is still very much a colony, not an independent planet. They still have to import too many necessities. Besides, the war affected everyone, and there are a lot of refugees remaining from worlds the Dominion conquered. They haven't gone back, either because they're scared it'll happen again or because they can't afford it. Right now, Marsport is bulging at the seams."

"Do you want to try looking for a place back on Earth?"

"Let's try the base first. Even if we're lieutenants and not from this part of the quadrant, we might luck out and come up with something livable."

"If you say so," the engineer responded, not feeling particularly enthusiastic. She had vaguely hoped to return to the Janeway farmhouse where, after spending a lazy afternoon on the front porch, Gretchen would undoubtedly feed her another huge spread for supper. There was something to be said for a Traditional way of life ... despite the lack of technological amenities.

She raised an eyebrow, astounded and pleased, as she saw a stocky, older man enter the bar, his light hair curly and thick. She stood up and motioned at him, trying to attract his attention. "O'Brien. Miles O'Brien. Come over here, we'll buy you a beer."

She had met the chief on DS9 years earlier when she, Chakotay and Seven had been mysteriously transported to the station by a Bajoran orb they had discovered in the Delta Quadrant. She grew to know the operations officer fairly well, recognizing a kindred spirit when it came to engineering. She still had the tools he had given her before the trio had been transported back to Voyager.

The man looked over, his face brightening into a smile, and it wasn't until he was near the table that the smile disappeared. He stopped, staring at Ro who offered him a guarded nod, and B'Elanna frowned, not knowing what was going on.

"O'Brien and I served together on the Enterprise," Ro explained in a low tone as the man hesitantly resumed his approach, taking the seat B'Elanna shoved out for him.

"I heard Voyager was back," he said to the Klingon, slapping her on the arm. "I'm glad to see you again." He dipped his head at the Bajoran. "I admit, I'm sort of surprised to see you ... uh, Lieutenant."

"Long story," Ro responded quietly. "But yes, I am back in Starfleet."

O'Brien looked puzzled, and then seemed to shrug. "Well, all right then." He signaled for a drink. "So what are you doing here? Story has it that Voyager was picked clean of officers at DS9."

"That's an exaggeration," B'Elanna said, reaching for a new bottle of ale as the waiter deposited another round, as well as the padd to credit the tab. "But not by much. I'm posted at Utopia Planitia. Ro and I are up here trying to find some quarters before I report for duty on Tuesday."

The rangy features of the chief creased in a smile. "That's great. I'm posted at Utopia Planitia as well." He paused. "After the war, we came home to Earth and I taught at the Academy last year, but to be honest, it got a little boring ... just not enough hands-on. When an opening was made available on the team building the new Frontier-class, I jumped at it. Keiko's still working on Earth of course, so I commute."

"We may have to do that as well."

He studied her curiously. "Are you working at the shipyards, too?" B'Elanna wasn't sure if Miles liked that idea or not. There certainly seemed to be a history there, and she made a note to dig it out of her lover when she had the opportunity.

"I've accepted an assignment under Captain Janeway's personal command. I'll be performing the roll of her adjunct wherever she's posted."

He raised his eyebrow. "Then you'll definitely be at Utopia Planitia," he informed them casually. "Rumor has it that she's next in line to be the base liason when Commander Krause leaves."

The two women stared at him in astonishment, and he looked vaguely defensive. "It's just what I heard. I'm not saying it's true."

B'Elanna shook her head. "That can't be right. Janeway hasn't made up her mind where she's going yet. Besides, becoming commander of the shipyards, after having been a starship captain, is a hell of a demotion, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "It's the buzz around the water cooler."

"Why would Starfleet even offer her such a position?" Ro asked thoughtfully, almost to herself. "Are they punishing her in some way?"

O'Brien snorted. "Hardly. Word's out that Necheyev has her tagged for command of the USS Millennium." Again, both women stared at him, and he sighed. "That's the new type of vessel they're developing. It's been on the drawing boards for years, and they just started to build it before the war. Construction was delayed for the duration of the conflict with the Dominion, but now they're going full steam ahead with it again. It's a new design, meant for lengthy deep space missions. I guess with Janeway's background, the admiral figures she's the best choice for the command."

"What if Janeway doesn't want to go back out on a deep space mission?" Ro asked grimly.

He looked back and forth between them. "I don't see what the problem is," he said, obviously baffled by their decided lack of enthusiasm. "There are captains who would give up certain body parts to be awarded that ship. It's absolutely state-of-the-art, and there's talk of it having two drives; the traditional warp and some new type that is completely experimental."

"Slipstream," B'Elanna said.

He frowned. "Huh? Never heard of it." He paused. "But then, we haven't really started on the internal systems yet."

"You'll probably hear of it before too long." She exhaled. "It seems that Starfleet has everything planned out nicely."

"You've been out of the loop awhile, Lt. Torres. You'll get back in it quickly enough when you start work at the shipyards. We find out everything before anyone else does." He drained his beer and granted the two officers a smile. "Take it easy. I'll see you on Tuesday, B'Elanna. Thanks for the drink, ladies."

He got up and left the bar, leaving the women staring after him.

"Is it just me, or did that seem sort of weird to you, too?" B'Elanna asked quietly, after a few moments of silence.

"Maybe," Ro said slowly. "I hate to sound paranoid, but I'm wondering if there's some reason for us to be receiving all that information."

B'Elanna looked at her lover. "What do you mean?"

"I don't doubt that O'Brien is working at Utopia Planitia right now..." the Bajoran allowed slowly, almost as if she were figuring something out. Then, she suddenly offered B'Elanna a bright ... and rather false ... smile. "It doesn't really matter. Let's go check out some more apartments."

The Klingon was surprised by the abrupt change in her lover, but obediently got up from the table and followed Ro out into the street, the sun a little hard on her eyes after the dimness of the bar. As the Bajoran led them to a crowded walkway, B'Elanna finally figured out that she was looking for someplace where they could talk freely. The Klingon remained quiet as they moved along the strip until they came to an outdoor coffee shop. With the lunch rush yet to begin, they easily found an isolated table near the railing.

"What's going on?" B'Elanna asked, once the waitress had delivered their order: a few pastries to take the edge off their hunger, along with some iced raktajino. Both Ro and B'Elanna were fond of the freshly brewed version of the Klingon coffee which had become very popular in the Federation in recent decades ... but couldn't stand the replicated version. "I know you made us leave the bar because you thought it was monitored."

"It's just that O'Brien isn't someone who just works in starship operations," Ro explained, "He's also been known to do certain missions for Starfleet Intelligence."

B'Elanna felt weak. "You think he's with Section 31?"

Ro shook her head. "He was one of the officer who helped bring it to Picard's attention. The question is, why do we have this information all of a sudden? Are we supposed to warn Janeway off so that she refuses to accept such a position, or is Utopia Planitia where she should be, and we should do all we can to encourage that."

"Kahless, that's some choice," the Klingon said, chewing on her Danish. "Make the wrong one, and we could be doing Section 31's work for them."

Ro considered the situation carefully as she sipped her cool drink. "I think we should try to encourage the captain to take it. Remember what Miles said about this new vessel being a desirable command to a lot of captains? Maybe the trick is to get Janeway in there and prevent some other captain from getting it." She paused. "It might be interesting to find out who those other command choices are, and which admirals are pushing them."

B'Elanna exhaled. "This is becoming really complicated."

"Or maybe it's starting to simplify," Ro allowed. "Look at it this way, Janeway, you, and I will all be at Utopia Planitia, working on that new ship. Chances are, if that new drive he mentioned is some form of slipstream, who else would be working on it?"

"The Theoretical Propulsion Group," B'Elanna said slowly. "Dr. Brahms ... who offered Seven a position on her team almost before we knew if the slipstream drive would work or not." She finished the sentence in a rush, triumph lighting her eyes.

Ro raised an eyebrow. "I think that Janeway and Seven are being manipulated into a position where they can be the most useful. I'm just not sure who's doing most of the manipulating ... our side, or theirs?"

B'Elanna seemed to think about it, then shrugged. "One thing at a time. Let's find a place to live, then we'll worry about who's manipulating whom."

Ro glanced at her, then smiled. "That's probably the best idea of all." She dropped her thumbprint on the padd presented by the waitress, and followed B'Elanna to the nearby transport station where they caught a tube to the outskirts of Marsport.

The Utopia Planitia base was located near the crater of the same name. Of course, the deep depression was now a lake filled with crystal clear water, bordered by luxurious houses and providing the inhabitants with the opportunity for boating, swimming and a variety of water sports. Junior officers like lieutenants were, of course, traditionally housed in the apartment complexes near the central command, making it difficult to avail themselves of the amenities that the highest ranks enjoyed, but it still provided a picturesque landscape in which to work and live. Ro was aware that many higher ranked officers in Starfleet Command were known to maintain vacation homes on the lakeside area of the base, even when they weren't officially posted there.

After checking in with the duty officer at the gate, they found their way to the Housing Authority where a rugged veteran of Starfleet's Supply and Services Department had them fill out an application. He took a few minutes to read it over, and then pointed them at a hovercraft ... obviously being a man of few words ... which he used to transport them to the lakefront. When they entered the comfortable three-bedroom house, B'Elanna thought some sort of mistake had been made. Both women looked at him with growing suspicion. After seven years on a starship, this was practically a mansion, and the large deck which overlooked the wide lawn sloping down to the red sand beach did little to dispel that impression. In the back yard, there was even a small flower garden situated next to a tennis court.

"You do know we're both lieutenants," Ro said, taking another glance around the spacious living room with its polished oak floor. It was already furnished with a sofa and chairs, covered in neutral-colored fabric to facilitate further decorating.

"I know what two pips stand for," he responded laconically.

B'Elanna was more straightforward. "What the hell's wrong with it?" she demanded, arms crossed over her chest, her chin stuck out pugnaciously.

That's when he cracked a smile and started to laugh. "Not a thing. Furthermore, I'm old enough to know why that's so funny. I remember the base housing I had when I was a lieutenant. I mean, it was clean, but so small that if I belched, the guy two doors down said 'excuse me'. Being on a starship was like winning a fortune at the dabo table ... the quarters were so big."

"Maybe I'm not understanding something here," Ro said with rising annoyance in her eyes. "We're just in from Voyager..."

He held up a hand, grinning at her. "I read the application, which is why I played it this way. Not much opportunity for amusement in my line of work. I'll admit, before the war, this was considered family quarters for a command level officer ... no question about that. The thing to remember is that we just don't have the same amount of administrative personnel housed on Mars that we once did, nor do we get the steady influx of pre-graduation cadets for training. Not long after the war started, new security measures were instituted that prevent personnel from accessing any Starfleet facilities unless they or their family members are actually posted to those facilities. In other words, no more honorary administrative positions awarded to senior officers in order to have a vacation home on Lake Utopia. We don't even need to use the apartment complexes anymore."

Ro and B'Elanna exchanged a glance. It was another sharp reminder of how the war had altered Starfleet in recent years, but at least this time, the repercussions seemed somewhat beneficial. "You're serious?" B'Elanna asked, almost afraid to believe it. "We can have this house all to ourselves?"

He shrugged. "If it suits you. I have several more with lake frontage I can show you, but personally, I think this one has the best view, and because it's on the end of the access lane, it's quieter than most."

"This one is fine," Ro said quickly. B'Elanna nodded dumbly in agreement.

He grinned again and held out a padd for the Klingon's thumbprint since B'Elanna was the officer signing for it. "You can requisition any necessary household goods, like additional furniture, from the auxillary supply depot just down the road, next to the community's Officer's Club," he said, jerking his thumb in a general westward direction. "An air tram makes regular stops throughout the day to transport officers to the central complex and if there are any problems, you can just call the Housing Authority. The office is open until 1700 hours, but you can leave a message with the computer. If it's an emergency, we can usually get a maintenance crew out here within the hour. The groundskeeper comes by on Wednesdays to mow the lawn and maintain the garden. If you want to do that yourself, you have to make arrangements with him so he can skip your place. The difference in expense will be credited to your account at the Officer's Club." He pointed out the glass doors where a dock jutted out into the shimmering lake. "You can even requisition a private sailboat if you'd like, but there's a deduction in your monthly credit allowance for private berth fees and maintenance, which can add up quickly. It isn't worth it unless you're really into boating. You can rent one from the civilian Marina at a far more reasonable rate, and return it when you're done."

"Thanks," B'Elanna managed, still in a state of disbelief. He waved a casual good-bye and strode down the walk, where he hopped into the hovercraft, and disappeared down the road. She turned and looked at her lover who appeared greatly bemused.

"I've never lived in a house before," the Bajoran offered quietly, looking at the view out the back doors.

The Klingon shook her head. "I have, but not like this," she responded, a slight catch in her voice. She straightened her shoulders, embarrassed to be so emotional over a house of all things. "Maybe this won't be such a bad posting for us after all."

Ro flashed her a grin. "Why don't we slip down to that supply depot and pick up what we need? I think I'd like to sleep here tonight." Her eyes traced over the compact form of her lover with intimate provocation, the Klingon feeling her pulse rate jump perceptibly.

"Sounds like a good idea," B'Elanna replied.

"A really good idea."

"Phoebe," Seven said, promptly standing up. "I need to leave now."

Surprised, Phoebe looked at her. "Okay," she said, somewhat doubtfully. She offered a rueful grin. "I know I'm not the best hostess..."

"It is not you," Seven assured her abruptly as she turned and rapidly descended the wooden stairs. Janeway had disappeared from view by the time she reached the bottom, but Seven suspected she knew where her partner had headed, and set a brisk pace that Petunia didn't even bother to follow. Crossing the lawn, Seven plunged into the large expanse of corn that spread in a sea of green over the landscape.

Moving through the cool, green plants, Seven could not see much of anything, the leafy stalks rising much higher than her head. It was like moving through an extremely regimented jungle, and frequently she had to stop and regain her bearings by utilizing her ocular implant ... just as she had the night before when her partner had dashed from the house so heedlessly, upset by the sounds of her mother's romantic activities with Commander Patterson.

After several moments, she abruptly exited the field, the dividing line between the corn and the grassy meadow sharply defined by a drainage ditch. She stepped lightly across it and looked toward the end of the meadow where it sloped down into a small hollow. Located there was a pond, cool and peaceful, surrounded by the grand forms of weeping willows. Their long branches trailed gracefully on the ground and into the still water itself, obscuring what might be sheltered beneath any one of them. Green circles of lily pads dotted the water, while at the far end, a few ducks glided passively in the reeds. Seven raised her head, her eyes keenly sweeping the area. A command to her cranial implant altered the view in her left eye, allowing her to see in the infrared spectrum, and she immediately spotted a Human-sized blob glowing red-orange beneath the largest tree.

She took a breath and resumed her normal vision, crossing the meadow and pushing through the willow branches to discover her partner sitting on the hard ground, her back against the tree's rough trunk. Janeway's knees were drawn up, her arms wrapped tightly around them, almost as if she were cold. Her eyes were a disturbingly blank grey, and her face seemed devoid of any expression that Seven could readily identify.

"Kathryn?" Seven offered, surprised when her partner did not acknowledge her arrival.

Her eyes widened when Janeway continued to stare straight ahead.

"Kathryn," she tried again. "What's wrong?"

Again, no response, and the young woman felt uncertain, unsure of what to do next. She knelt down beside her spouse and touched her on the shoulder. "Kathryn? Do you wish to be alone?"

Janeway leaned away from her, not a rejection necessarily, but almost a flinch, as if Seven's touch hurt her in some way. Seven was becoming a little frightened. "Kathryn, please, speak to me."

Janeway shook her head minutely, barely moving it, and Seven took a deep breath, trying to control her fears. Her partner obviously needed her, and she could not let her uncertainty overwhelm her. She especially could not allow it to prevent her from doing what was needed to reach through this sudden withdrawal by her partner. In some ways, it reminded Seven of the way the captain deliberately put distance between herself and everyone else during certain, emotionally stressful times on Voyager, isolating herself in her quarters or her ready room, away from those who might try to help her. This seemed a far more acute and powerful withdrawal, a mental distancing that was more disturbing than a physical one. In the past, Seven had learned to bridge such self-imposed isolations, and she was determined that she would bridge this one. It would simply require patience and the reassurance to Kathryn that she was not alone, that she had someone who cared for her and whom she could trust absolutely.

Carefully, as if dealing with an easily startled animal, Seven eased onto the ground next to the captain, pulling her onto her lap as she leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Kathryn, I am here," she told her softly. "I am not going anywhere, and you cannot push me away. I will remain here until we have dealt with this."

Silence stretched between them, but Seven did not move, nor did she say anything else. She just waited patiently, holding her spouse close and keeping her warm, making sure Kathryn had a physical awareness of her even if she didn't want to acknowledge her consciously.

"I..." Janeway whispered finally, her voice cracked. "You don't know..."

"I do not know what?" Seven asked gently. "Tell me, Kathryn."

"I ... I can't."

"You can tell me anything," the young Borg said positively, with complete confidence.

"Not this."

Seven hesitated. Janeway had, in the past, occasionally refused to tell her things, though Seven inevitably discovered them, either by being firm or teasing them out of her partner, but she sensed that this particular instance was different in some way. This was not a case where the captain was hiding something for Seven's sake ... instead, it was almost as if Kathryn was afraid to tell her, as if the consequences would be so dire, it would damage them both far more than how Janeway was feeling now. Could this withdrawal spring from the discussion Kathryn had shared with her mother? Seven drew her fingers lightly up and down Kathryn's back through the thin shirt, suddenly aware of how small her partner felt in her arms.

"Kathryn, I am Borg," she said finally, not knowing if what she was saying was correct or not, but sensing that she had to find some way to reach Janeway, to show her that it was all right to confide in her. "During my time in the Collective, I assisted in the assimilation of many beings, including children, bringing an end to their existence as they knew it." She faltered, this reality still somewhat hard for her to acknowledge at times, particularly here, on such a lush, green world that was the antithesis of the sterile coldness that was the Borg. "I comprehend that I was not entirely responsible, that I was unable to make any other choices at the time, but that does not ease the sense of accountability I sometimes feel for my actions."

She brushed her cheek against the cool skin of the captain's cheek. "Despite that, however, you loved and accepted me completely," she concluded carefully. "I do not know what it is that so troubles you now, but you must know that I offer you the same unconditional acceptance and love you give me. Nothing will ever change that."

"You can't say that," Janeway responded huskily. "You don't know..."

"I do know that," Seven responded with absolute assurance. "You can tell me anything, Kathryn."

"I killed my father."

The words were stark, wrung from some deep, dark part of Janeway's soul, flung out of her in a paroxysm of an agony so deep, it seemed impossible that she had survived it.

Seven was careful not to reply too quickly.

"Explain," she asked finally, in a perfectly even tone. It was not colored by surprise or judgment, simply a request for information. For several minutes, she didn't think that her partner would reply at all, and then finally, Janeway began to speak in a painful, halting voice.

"Daddy, Justin and I were testing the Terra Nova. It was a prototype craft that Daddy had designed for the conflict with the Cardassians. It was just a routine flight, one which had been done several times before. I don't know exactly what went wrong ... there was no warning, no hint of danger. I think Justin said something about wind shear, but it happened so quickly. We crashed, and when I regained consciousness, I could see this ... this black iceberg in the water." She paused, breathing harshly, her eyes not staring at the green cocoon of the willow branches surrounding them, but at the white bitterness on that ice floe so long ago. "The ship had come apart, and it was the front part of the fuselage I was looking at. Through the viewport of the cockpit, I could see Daddy and Justin. They were hurt, but they were still alive. In the part of the cabin I had ridden down, there was a computer station that still had power in it. I cobbled together some circuits until I had a makeshift transporter that could make a site-to-site transport. While I was altering the console, the cockpit was sinking into the water."

She stopped and Seven tightened her embrace, completely supportive. "Go on," she prompted softly.

The silence lasted so long, Seven had thought she had lost her chance to reach her, but finally Janeway continued, speaking in a flat intonation, almost as if the technical assessment of the situation was the only way she could approach it. "Two emergency microfusion generators were still online," she recited. "I routed them to the primary energizing coils and brought the targeting scanners online. They refused to lock on. The annular confinement beam was too unstable to hold two bodies in the spatial matrix. I had enough power and time to transport only one person. Not two. Only one."

Seven felt the blood drain from her face, abruptly comprehending the terrible choice her partner had been forced to face on that ice floe. She had never told Kathryn that once she had made an effort to discover what official logs pertaining to that event were contained in Voyager's databanks, wanting to understand her partner's obvious reluctance to discuss her father's death. But all the Borg found was a Starfleet medical report that had listed, in dry detail, all the injuries Janeway had suffered in the crash: the fractured leg, the cracked ribs, the concussion, numerous cuts and contusions, the ruptured spleen. During the actions Kathryn now related, she would have been sliding into shock, operating purely on training and sheer will as the wickedly icy atmosphere drained the heat from her body with every passing second.

"I had to chose which one would live and which one would die," Janeway whispered, each word a shard of pure agony, just as every breath must have been on that terrible day. "How could I do that? How could I save the man I loved and let my father die? How could I go on knowing that I had sacrificed Justin to let my father live?"

Seven closed her eyes, hurting profoundly for her partner.

"What happened next?"

"I refused to accept either option," Janeway whispered. "I tapped into the capacitors, rerouting the power through the phaser couplings that would have boosted the annular confinement beam up to eight hundred megawatts, allowing me to transport both of them out. I only needed enough power to make one transport. By the time it was ready, the fuselage had sunk beneath the ocean and  I ... I couldn't get a lock. No matter what I did ... no matter how hard I tried ... they just wouldn't transport."

She shuddered abruptly in her partner's arms, reliving the horror.

"Because I couldn't choose which one to save, I lost them both," she said, her voice lost and whip-thin. "I failed. I failed Justin, I failed Daddy ... I failed in my duty as a Starfleet officer."

Seven flinched. How many times had she flung the words 'you will fail' in the captain's face, unaware of how deeply and cruelly the phrase must have cut, not realizing that she could not have chosen any harsher assessment of her partner had she deliberately set out to do so.

"You did all you could."

"No," Janeway said, and now her tone was as cold as the air must have been on that day, keen with self-loathing. "I should have saved Daddy. He was the superior officer who held a more vital role in the Federation. He also had a wife and another daughter who needed him. I loved Justin, but he had no family. I was the only one who would have mourned his loss, but I wasn't courageous enough to accept that future. I failed to make the correct choice."

"There was no correct choice," Seven told her firmly. "Making such a decision now is something you have managed only after time has granted you a distance from the event, and after command experience has given you the conceit that you could weigh one life against another ... ultimately, you are deluding yourself, Kathryn. You do not give up on life. If the same event happened today, you would still do exactly the same thing, and try to save them both. It is certainly not a decision you could have made under those circumstances and at that time in your existence. You are being too demanding of yourself."

"I was arrogant, Annika," Janeway whispered. "I thought I could face any challenge, defeat any obstacle..."

"You were young, and in pain and doing exactly what your mind and heart told you," Seven told her. "You did not kill your father, Kathryn. It was an accident. You did everything you could to save him."

Janeway closed her eyes, an expression of pain slashing across her face. "How can I tell mother? I cost her the man she loved. I cost Phoebe her father."

"No," Seven insisted, seeking the right words to reach the captain, wanting to make her see that this secret she had been carrying for so long was a burden she did not have to accept. Suddenly, all of Kathryn's descents into despair, all those bouts with paralyzing guilt, made sense to the Borg. It was not her command or her ship that ate away at Janeway's sense of self ... it was this, a secret hell she had hidden away for so long that perhaps even she did not realize where all the lingering feelings of shame originated. Every incident that caused the slightest doubt in her abilities inevitably drew it to the surface, making difficult professional incidents personally devastating to the starship captain.

"I never told anyone," the captain whispered. "I never explained that I could have saved one of them if only I had the courage to make a choice."

Seven brushed her lips over Kathryn's forehead. "It was not a choice you could make, Kathryn," she repeated, hoping that if she said it enough times, it would somehow filter through the pain. "Any more than it is a decision you could make now, if you had to choose between me and your mother."

"You must hate me," Janeway said in a very small voice. "They will all hate me."

"You are my Kathryn," Seven said, holding her close. "I would never hate you. Indeed, I would take this hurt from you and suffer it myself if I could. No one else will hate you, either, least of all your mother or Phoebe. They love you just as I love you ... completely, with all our hearts."

That's when Janeway began to cry, and she cried until she couldn't breathe, and then she cried some more until Seven became concerned that she would have to slap her or do something equally as drastic and unpleasant to get her to stop. It seemed to take forever before the tears and the sobbing finally ceased, and Seven maintained her embrace throughout, murmuring words of comfort until her voice grew raspy and she had to stop. Then, she just held the captain as tightly and as lovingly as she knew how to hold her. For a long time afterward, they huddled beneath the tree, the Borg listening to Kathryn breathe, stroking her hair, and rocking her gently in her arms. This was such a huge thing that Janeway had finally been able to relate to her, and Seven hoped that, with the confiding, her partner would be able to find some measure of peace. She had a sense, vague though it was, of how far Janeway had to come to reach a place where she could acctually speak of this incident with her ... something that perhaps the young Borg wouldn't have understood earlier in their relationship. Seven was grateful that she had grown enough to appreciate the depth of this incredibly difficult and delicate sharing.

"I have to tell Mother," Janeway said finally.

Seven kissed her temple. "Yes," she agreed, hurting for her partner, but incredibly proud of her courage at the same time. "It is a burden you have carried for too long, Kathryn. Trust in her as you trust in me."

Janeway shivered and dropped her head to Seven's shoulder, clinging to her partner within the cool shadows of the tree. Seven hugged her tightly, conscious suddenly of the foliage that surrounded and hid them from outside eyes. The fragrance in this private place was of dusky herbs and the fresh, earthy scent of loam, granting her a sense of peace. She thought she understood why Kathryn continued to choose this place in which to find sanctuary, even against her own internal thoughts and fears. There was a certain amount of irony in this situation. Since returning to Earth, it had been the captain who had experienced the more difficult time, had been faced with the more emotional challenges. Despite that, however, there was a sense of home here that she knew was very important to Janeway, and if Seven were to be completely honest with herself, it was something she desired as well.

"Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven responded.

"I'm so frightened. What if ... Mother can't understand?"

"She will." The Borg placed her forefinger under her partner's chin and raised her face so that she could look into the stormy grey eyes. "You are not alone, Kathryn. I will remain with you when you speak with Gretchen."

She brushed her lips over the captain's, a promise and a reassurance.

"It will be all right, Kathryn. I am here for you. I will always be here for you."

The silence that had fallen as Janeway finished speaking was finally broken by Gretchen leaning forward and covering her daughter's hands with her own. "Kathryn," she said in an extremely gentle voice. "Why did you have the idea that Phoebe and I knew nothing about this?'

Shocked, Janeway raised her head, wide eyes searching her mother's. "I didn't ... I never told anyone..." she stuttered.

"Darling," Gretchen said firmly, yet compassionately, "Starfleet did a complete investigation into the crash, up to and including the transporter logs found in the wreckage. Everyone knew of your valiant effort."

"But, those were classified..." Janeway began dazedly.

"Not to me," Gretchen said, squeezing her daughter's hands. "Kathryn, I know you did everything you could to save them. When you stayed in your bed for months, we had Starfleet counselors advising us constantly. Of course, Phoebe eventually came up with her own plan to rouse you by dumping cold water over you. As it turned out, it was exactly the right thing to do, but we always knew what was causing your initial distress beyond just losing your father. We thought that once she had lured you out of bed, and after you found Petunia, you had come to terms with it. Obviously we were wrong."

"I couldn't choose, Momma," the captain said, her chest tight with agony. "I couldn't save them."

"No one could, not in those circumstances," Gretchen said, reaching up to cup Janeway's face in her palm. "Tell me, if the circumstances were the same, could you choose today between me and Annika?"

Janeway took a deep breath. She supposed it was telling that Seven had posed the same scenario earlier under the willow tree.

"No," she whispered helplessly. "I couldn't."

"Never be ashamed of following your heart, Kathryn. You're not to blame. Heaven knows, I never blamed you."

"I blamed myself," Janeway responded.

"I can see that," Gretchen said regretfully. "It's time to stop. Let it go, Kathryn. Forgive yourself ... for everything."

Janeway had wept all her tears in Seven's arms beneath the willow tree. Now, all she could feel was completely exhausted and light-headed as her mother hugged her. After she was released from the embrace, she remained on the sofa, her head bent, hands resting limply on her knees She became aware of Seven kneeling beside her, looking up into her face with concern.

"I think it would be prudent for Kathryn to lie down for a time," the Borg suggested, her voice sounding as if it was coming from a great distance.

"I think so, as well," Gretchen said, also sounding as if she were very far away. "Stay with her, Annika. I'm off to the market to pick up some things for supper. I'll be back in a few hours."

Janeway weakly lifted her head, vaguely remembering that her mother had mentioned earlier that Gretchen had wanted them to accompany her. "Annika, you should go with Mother. You'll enjoy the market."

"I am staying with you," Seven said, in that tone that indicated she couldn't be moved with a tractor beam, even if Janeway had one handy. "I will see the market another time."

Janeway was surprised to discover she was on her feet and being led firmly up the stairs.

"You shouldn't put off things," she told her spouse in an odd sort of tone as the couple ascended to the second floor. "You might not get another chance." She didn't understand why she felt so disoriented and apart from what was happening.

"Being with you is relevant, Kathryn," Seven informed her, ignoring her advice. "I am 'putting off' nothing."

Janeway managed a wan smile as she was lowered to the bed, her partner unfastening her hiking boots and pulling them off before covering her with a light blanket. "I don't seem to be thinking very well," she admitted foggily. "It's like my head is full of cotton."

"You have had a very emotional morning," Seven told her, bending down to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Things will be clearer when you wake. Sleep now."

The touch of her partner's lips was like a balm, a healing warmth that spread through the captain's body, chasing away the lingering shadows. The last thing she remembered was Seven's concerned features watching over her as she closed her eyes and plunged into unconsciousness.

When she woke, there was a slight breeze flowing in through the open window, and the light had that particular refraction that heralded sunset. She blinked and swallowed, making a face at the sour taste in her mouth, and then glanced around the room, still slightly muddled. She discovered Seven sitting in the low chair next to the window, head bent as she studied the padd in her hand.

The dying sun granted the young woman's skin a luminous glow, her blonde hair almost reddish in the final rays. There was a tiny furrow between her brows, next to the metallic grey implant that framed her left eye. She had her right hand curled under her chin, elbow supported by the arm of the chair, while her knees were drawn up, her stocking feet tucked beneath her thighs.

Janeway thought she was the most beautiful sight she could ever remember witnessing.

"Annika?"

Seven's pale eyes glanced up, the ice blueness warming as she regarded her partner.

"Kathryn," she said calmly and uncoiled from the chair, leaving the padd on the table beside her. Gracefully, she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to place her fingertips on the captain's chin. "How do you feel?"

Janeway considered it. "Better," she said slowly. "Lighter ... as if a great weight has been lifted from me."

"It has," Seven noted accurately.

Janeway felt tears well in her eyes, not of sadness, but simply from the emotion of being here with her spouse. "I couldn't have done this without you." The words came hard because of the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

Seven dipped her head, her eyes intent. "You are most welcome, my Kathryn."

Janeway wasn't sure then if she sat up or her partner had leaned down to gather her into a warm embrace, but the next thing she knew, she was in Seven's arms, clinging to her tightly.

"Oh god, Annika, I love you so much," she whispered raggedly into her partner's ear.

"I love you," Seven assured her, rocking her gently. "I always will."

Finally they drew apart, and Janeway rested her head on her partner's chest, her eyes closed. She felt stronger as her partner's devotion surrounded her, offering her a safe place to reclaim herself. She knew they would have to speak of this further, but understood that, for now, it was all right to put it aside, to concentrate on other things as she became used to not having the secret burden weighing her down. Seven's embrace was strong and tender, lending her all the courage she could ever need or want for as long as it was required, and for the first time in far too long, Kathryn felt completely whole.

"What time is it?" she asked finally, her voice still shaky.

"1732 hours," Seven told her promptly, and then paused as if acknowledging that they were no longer on a starship. "I mean, it is half past five in the afternoon."

Janeway made a small sound of dismay. "Time for dinner. I must have slept most of the day."

""Since you missed lunch, it is important that you eat tonight."

Janeway inhaled. "I need to wash up," she said, but she didn't move.

"In a moment," Seven said and dipped her head, using her fingertips to raise Janeway's chin so that she could kiss her. The captain hesitated for a split second, conscious of how her mouth must taste after sleeping for several hours, and then kissed her back, increasing the intensity as the kiss was prolonged, a connection of love and faith, of complete and total support for her.

"Did you mention dinner?" she asked, once they had finally parted. She was surprised to find how strong her appetite suddenly was.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I am releasing you only because you must eat and I must assist Gretchen in preparing it. Otherwise, I would spend the rest of the evening with you in my arms."

Janeway smiled, pleased to discover she hadn't forgotten how, after all. "I think that, if I weren't so hungry, I'd be more than glad to insist upon staying in your arms, my darling," she responded quietly.  She kissed her partner once more, and then slipped out of Seven's embrace, off the bed where she stretched out a few of her kinks. "Are B'Elanna and Ro back yet?" she asked, glancing back at Seven who had drawn her legs up underneath her as she leaned back against the pillows. The young woman looked absolutely delectable and Janeway was immediately torn about passing up the opportunity to be 'held all evening'. It was as if she was suddenly alive once more, her thinking crystalline in its clarity, every sense suddenly sharp and acute.

The Borg nodded briefly as the captain went over to the dresser to retrieve fresh clothes. "They returned Gretchen's hovercraft at approximately 'three o'clock'. Gretchen invited them for dinner, but they had secured quarters on the base at Utopia Planitia and decided to spend the night in their new home. They left an hour ago in a shuttle. B'Elanna mentioned that we should not use the transporter at the Portage Creek Transport Station. Apparently, there was a maintenance problem which caused them to become slightly ill during the beaming process, and now it is down for a complete inspection."

"I see," Janeway said, choosing a white, embroidered shirt and some fresh jeans. She was honestly pleased that the couple had found a place to live, but regretted that she hadn't had a chance to say good-bye to them. She supposed, with a touch of sorrow, that she would not be seeing much of the Klingon now, though Ro would still be around because of her attachment to Janeway's command.

"They have invited us for a 'house warming' tomorrow night. They are hosting a 'barbeque'."

"We certainly can't miss that." Janeway was surprised, wondering where B'Elanna and Ro would possibly find room for a barbeque in base quarters. They must have lucked out and been assigned living space that included a small balcony. She glanced back at her spouse. "Go on ahead, love," she instructed. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

She left the bedroom and went into the bathroom down the hall where she pulled off her wrinkled clothes and showered quickly. She studied her reflection in the mirror, aware that something had changed in her features, some indefinable relaxation around the eyes perhaps. Of course, she knew it was probably her imagination, and there were no visible signs of what she had been through this day, but it did seem as if she looked a little more at ease with herself.

God knew, she certainly felt that way.

She sighed and pulled on her fresh garments before leaving the bathroom and descending the graceful staircase to the main floor. She could hear Seven and Gretchen talking in the kitchen as she paused at the foot of the steps in the foyer, listening for a long moment before she slipped through the nearby door leading to the cool dark of her father's study. She moved behind the desk and sat down in the big leather chair, feeling small yet surprisingly secure in this familiar seat. It had been twenty years, but it was almost as if Edward Janeway had just stepped out for the moment, his presence still lingering in this room he had called his own. Kathryn leaned back, closing her eyes and stilling her breath, while she listened to the sounds of the house, sensing the worn threads of the past which were finally weaving themselves into the fabric of her present. Her memories of being a child were particularly strong, remembering how much that younger version of herself had wanted her father's approval so desperately, never realizing until just before his death that he had been so very proud of her throughout her entire life.

But he had never told her, so she had never known.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. Her mother was right. It was time to let go.

"I'm married now, Daddy," she said quietly into the darkness. "Annika's just the sort of smart, sensible and tough person who can handle me ... but mostly, she loves me completely, in a way no one else ever has." She paused, then smiled faintly. "I think you'd like her a lot. "

She slowly uncoiled from the chair, and before she left the room, she stopped to look back once, before dipping her head and moving on, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Her mother and spouse looked up and beamed at her as she entered the kitchen. She returned the smile when she saw the stool positioned next to the counter, warmth flooding her at her partner's attempt to provide some form of familiarity for her.

She shot a look at Seven as she perched on the high seat. "If I won't participate, then at least, I can be an appreciative audience for you," the captain guessed, her eyebrow rising in amusement. "Just as I was on Voyager?"

"Precisely," Seven allowed, with what seemed to be a touch of relief shading her eyes. Obviously, she had been concerned at Janeway's continuing state of mind. "Of course, you always participate, Kathryn."

"Yes," Gretchen agreed, her tone light and affectionate as she filled a large pot with water and placed it on the heating unit to boil. "You eat."

"The most important part," Janeway said, retrieving some mushrooms from the pile Seven was slicing. The captain felt almost giddy, exhilarated, as if the gravity of Earth had lessened significantly since the morning. She found it surprisingly easy to put aside the emotional turmoil of earlier in the day, and concentrate fully on the joy of being with these people that she loved. "What are we having?"

"Stuffed peppers, salad and corn on the cob, with strawberry shortcake for desert." Seven regarded Gretchen from the corner of her eye. "I am surprised that your mother was able to restrain herself from serving corn for this long."

Gretchen turned, looking at Seven in surprised delight. "Are you teasing me?"

"Annika's come quite a long way in her grasp of what is amusing," Janeway informed her mother, glad that her spouse was comfortable enough with the older woman to try out her still-forming sense of humor with her. "Unfortunately, she's using Phoebe as her template."

"Did I just hear my name used in vain?" Phoebe appeared at the screen door, and as she let herself in, she shot an admonishing look at her sister. "Supervising, are we, Kathryn?"

Janeway regarded her blandly. "I am Seven's gallery. Like all artists, she works better for an audience."

"Ah, is that a peanut gallery by any chance?"

Janeway offered an exaggerated sigh. "Make her stop, Annika," she appealed to her spouse, who was looking slightly bemused by the sibling interaction. "She's picking on me."

"Hey, I had to fight back with words, Annika," Phoebe protested. "She was always holding me down until I cried uncle."

Janeway looked at her. "You were the one who tickled me until I wet my pants."

Gretchen laughed and Seven raised her eyebrow.

"Once!" Phoebe exclaimed, outraged. "I managed to do that once, and after that incident, Mom would always take your side. She said it was unfair because you were smaller than I was." She looked at Seven in an appeal for sympathy. "I have no idea why our parents thought that just because she was smaller, she couldn't look after herself. You know, as well as I do, that she's all elbows and knees."

Seven glanced at Janeway and the captain smirked at her. "Phoebe fights like a Ferengi," she said, in tones designed to scandalize her sister who had found another stool and was carrying it over to the counter, no doubt to add her presence to the 'gallery'. "Is that my fault?"

Seven frowned uncertainly. "You made a habit of physically assaulting her, Kathryn?"

"Not real fighting, Annika," Gretchen assured the Borg, patting her on the shoulder as the young woman stuffed the peppers with the rice mixture the older woman had prepared. "When they were younger, they would wrestle until one of them ... usually Phoebe ... was in a losing position, and that's when she would scream for help ... loudly and intrusively. That's why I didn't like it when they fought in the house. It was very noisy." She pinned Phoebe with a stern look. "But I never took anyone's side."

Janeway's jaw dropped. "You always took Phoebe's side."

Gretchen rolled her eyes and shook her head at the Borg who was taking this all in. "See what you'll have to put up with when you have children?"

Seven nodded, her eyes lightening in comprehension. "Kathryn and I still wrestle," she informed her mother-in-law. "However, in our case, she is always in the 'losing position'."

"Not always," Janeway protested.

Seven regarded her blankly. "Always," she insisted, and the captain grinned.

"God, I'd pay to see that," Phoebe sighed, obviously remembering all those incidents when she ended up on the short end of childhood scuffles.

"So would Tom Paris," Seven said brightly, making Janeway choke on her mushroom as Phoebe and Gretchen looked at her oddly. The Borg noticed their scrutiny and elaborated before Janeway could get rid of the obstruction in her throat. "We are usually naked when we wrestle."

Gretchen regarded her daughter with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, not such a prude after all, I see. Is that what you were doing earlier this morning? Wrestling?"

Janeway blushed a fiery red as Phoebe chortled. The captain hadn't realized her mother heard the intimate encounter she and Seven had shared in the predawn, believing they had managed to be perfectly quiet. It never occurred to her that her mother might just be guessing in her attempt to tease her.

"Did your crew make a habit of paying to see you and Seven wrestle in the nude?"

"It's not like that," the captain said, making a face at her spouse for getting her into this. She supposed she really didn't mind the teasing however. It meant things were returning to some semblance of normalcy for her and her family. "Early in our relationship, after finishing a Velocity match, Seven and I were playing around with each other when we went over our allotted holodeck time. Mr. Paris came in and found us on the floor, whereupon he made some comment about how we should wrestle on a mat rather than the deck. Seven promptly informed him that we didn't require a mat because we normally wrestle in the nude on the bed in our quarters, and ... after he finally resumed breathing ... he muttered something to the effect that he would actually pay to see that."

Seven looked vaguely embarrassed as Gretchen and Phoebe laughed. "That was before I understood I was not to share all the details of our personal life with others," the young woman explained, placing the mushrooms in a large salad and tossing it with wooden spoons. "It was difficult for me to know at that time what was considered intimate and what was considered play. I assumed wrestling was play."

"When you're nude, it's foreplay" Phoebe said dryly.

"I realize that now," Seven remarked, and offered the captain a look that promised more than a little foreplay in her immediate future.

"You know," B'Elanna said, her voice a lazy trill of satisfaction in the aftermath of a sensual swallow from her beer, "a body could get used to this."

Ro laughed, a low, quiet chuckle. "I hate to admit it, but so could I. I rather hope Janeway does take over Utopia Planitia, because I'll be assigned here, too."

"Two accounts at the officer's club." B'Elanna paused. "Do you think I should do my own gardening?"

"Just to increase your entertainment allowance?" Ro glanced at her, eyebrow raised in amusement. "It's far more viable to requisition beer from the supply depot ... or program synthehol into the replicator."

The Klingon made a face at the thought of the Ferengi-created alcohol substitute.

"I like going out to dinner once in awhile. I was talking to a commander while we were at the depot, and he explained that the club has a chef brought in on the weekends."

Ro lifted an eyebrow sardonically. "Nothing's too good for our people in uniform, and nothing like a war to make people start appreciating the common soldier. However, I somehow suspect that the regulations that allowed us this house will probably be changed as the memories fade and the admirals want their lake back."

"Probably," B'Elanna allowed easily, no stranger to the inherent rule that 'rank hath its privilege'. "In the meantime, let's enjoy it for all it's worth." She raised her bottle in an informal salute, and smirked at the Bajoran.

Ro shook her head, but she was smiling as she took a long pull from her own ale. She supposed that for however long they had it, it was far more than a great many people had. She crossed her feet at the ankles and stared contemplatively over the water, so still in the night, it was like glass.

"So, we're having a party tomorrow night?"

B'Elanna looked slightly abashed. "That just sort of slipped out when I was talking to Seven. I've always wanted to have a house warming. I only mentioned it to her, however. If you'd like, we could keep it to just a small type of dinner."

Ro shrugged. "No, let's see if we can invite all our friends. It's short notice, but it'll be Saturday night, and with any luck, they won't have any plans this soon after returning home. It would be nice to see everyone a final time before we report for duty on Tuesday."

"My thinking exactly," B'Elanna agreed, enthusiastic now that she had Ro's willingness to participate. "It's not too late in the evening. We can call Harry and Chakotay ... and the Doctor..."

She trailed off as she ran out of people to invite, and again, both women were conscious of how many of their friends had remained in space with only a few returning to Earth with Voyager. B'Elanna looked particularly frustrated. Obviously, she had wanted to show off her new home to everyone.

"They'll all be bringing people," Ro reminded her. "The Doctor will probably bring Barclay and Zimmerman. The captain and Seven will bring Gretchen, Phoebe and Commander Patterson. Chakotay will be bringing Icheb and maybe his cousin. So we'll be sure to have a full house. Then, there's Tuvok and the twins who are still at the Vulcan Embassy in Paris ... they might agree to come. We might have to leave a message for them, however. It's quite late in France right now."

"We'll have to go to the depot tomorrow morning," B'Elanna said thoughtfully, counting up the supplies they would require. "Too bad Neelix isn't here. He's always been much better at planning this sort of thing."

"We just have to make sure we have enough food and liquor," Ro assured her. "The rest will take care of itself." She paused. "This will hit our credit allowance pretty hard, Lanna. Ordering that much at one time will definitely slide the invoices into those of a luxury requisition, and they'll deduct that from our balance, rather than consider it necessary living expenses. As your designated other, I can access the depot, but only in a limited amount, and I can't requisition liquor."

"Let's do it this way, then. You take care of the food and I'll take care of the liquor. Besides, you forget that we have all that back credit in our accounts after being in the Delta Quadrant."

The Bajoran blinked in slight chagrin and glanced over at her lover. "You're right, I had forgotten. I'm not used to thinking in terms of regular pay again after seven years. Still counting ration slips for the replicator, I guess."

"We'll all be doing that for awhile, I think."

"We'll have to do the cleanup afterward," Ro reminded her. "We won't be able to call on the base staff or find some crewmembers willing to clean quarters in exchange for holodeck time."

B'Elanna sighed. "Part of throwing a party."

"You make the calls to Chakotay and Harry. I'll use the upstairs comm to contact Tuvok at the embassy and the Doctor."

The comm in the upstairs study was blinking when the Bajoran reached it. She touched the controls, downloading the messages from the base cybernet into the buffer, surprised to discover one was from Captain Picard. It was an official document, informing her that a reprimand would be placed in her permanent record for her actions on the Enterprise while it had been docked at DS9 unless she issued an immediate apology to him and his first officer. Ro was momentarily astonished and outraged, and then it occurred