The BLTS Archive - Perfectly Imperfect
by LisaT (townsend_lisa@hotmail.com)

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Published: 12-21-05

Updated: 12-30-05

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I've always thought TPTB missed a wonderful opportunity in so many
ways with the seventh season episode 'Imperfection.' This story
attempts to remedy that. It's in two layers: the narrative framework,
which takes place back in the AQ, and the bulk of the story, which is
told from Kathryn Janeway's POV. Although I'd say this is primarily a
crew story, there's a very strong J/C element running throughout. I've
decided to follow M.C. Moose's wonderful example and take the
Janeway-Chakotay relationship as a matter of fact; therefore, I
wouldn't call this a romance story as such. PLEASE PLEASE review or
email me at with feedback. Constructive criticism or flattery only,
please.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

---
p e r f e c t l y I m p e r f e c t
p r o l o g u e
---

Phoebe Janeway stared at her elder sister with wide blue eyes. Her
gaze then flicked from Kathryn to the big man sitting beside her,
their hands entwined on the real wooden table that stood in the centre
of the traditional kitchen in the Janeway homestead, Bloomington,
Indiana.

"How did you do it, Chakotay?" Phoebe blurted out at last.

Her sister raised an auburn eyebrow at her. "What's that supposed to
mean?"

Phoebe moved her hands in an expansive gesture. "She's so- so relaxed!
It's like she's finally decided it's OK to be human."

"I've always known I'm human!" Kathryn retorted defensively as
Chakotay's hand tightened on hers.

Phoebe did not see the gesture, and shrugged of her sister's
disclaimer. . "Yeah, sure. You've always been a perfectionist, Kath,
and it only got worse once you entered Starfleet. I used to wonder how
Mark managed to put up with you, but figured he was so uptight himself
it likely didn't matter, but now-"

"Yes?" Kathryn prompted, glaring.

The glare had no effect.

Phoebe cocked her head to one side, and grinned. "Doesn't work, Kath.
I'm not one of those poor blighters on your crew. Anyway, as I was
saying, I expected you to be even more anally retentive after seven
years in the Delta Quadrant being Captain for twenty-four seven-"

"Phoebe!"

"-but instead you're actually someone I recognise. A woman. My sister,
Kathryn Marie. So, I want to know what you did to her, Chakotay?"
Phoebe flashed her sister's second in command an evil grin. "Beside
the obvious, of course."

Kathryn turned an interesting shade of crimson, and Chakotay tried not
to laugh.

"Why do you assume it's my doing?" he asked when he knew he could keep
a straight face.

"Oh, please. Kathryn's an old stick-in-the-mud. She'd never change her
ways unless she was made to."

"Hey! Nobody makes me do anything!"

Phoebe snorted.

Chakotay squeezed Kathryn's fingers, and gave her a very gentle smile.
"Actually, I had very little to do with it," he admitted. "Much as I
hate to say it, I'd have to agree that your assessment of Kathryn was
sound until- Ouch!"

"You deserved it!"

"And you've been taking lessons from B'Elanna!"

"What makes you think I needed them, Commander?"

Phoebe banged on the table. "Never mind that. Kathryn, leave the poor
guy alone. Chakotay, get on with it."

"Yes, ma'am," Chakotay said meekly, and found himself the recipient of
two alarmingly similar glares. He shook his head slightly, and
continued. "For most of our journey, Kathryn was as you described her.
In fact, difficult as it may be to believe, she became worse as the
years go on. That's not a criticism," he added quickly, "simply a
fact. I'm not sure you can understand what it was like for Kathryn out
there, Phoebe. Hell, I was her First Officer, and even I wouldn't
claim to fully understand. It's a testimony to your sister's strength
that was she was able to get through it at all."

"Albeit rather singed around the edges," Kathryn murmured.

"That's experience for you, Kathryn," Chakotay said, and Phoebe knew
his attention was now totally focused on her sister. "You made a lot
of excellent decisions- and some very bad ones. You reaped the
whirlwind on both, and learned from them. That shows you're capable of
growth and change, and at our ages, that's no bad thing." His eyes
twinkled as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Nice of you to say so, but we both know it wasn't until Seven nearly
died that I made any real attempt to change."

Kathryn's voice was soft and pained, Phoebe thought, and her fingers
played with her coffee cup in a nervous movement that Phoebe
remembered from their shared childhood. Suddenly, she felt awkward and
guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I've obviously stumbled on some
sensitive ground here. I didn't mean to intrude."

Kathryn looked up at her, and smiled- or tried to. "It's OK, Phoebs.
You're my sister- my baby sister! I guess it would be naïve of me to
expect you to accept any changes you see without question. You never
have before!"

Phoebe saw her sister's left eyelid flutter slightly in a tentative
wink, and realised that the older woman was trying to retain some of
the earlier lightness. She forced a grin.

"Yeah, nosy little sis, that's me."

Despite the attempt at levity, an uncomfortable silence descended.

"Are you going to tell Phoebe?" Chakotay prompted gently. "Try telling
it like you remember it, as you lived it. I think it would be good for
you, Kathryn. "

Kathryn raised her eyes to his face. "Yes." She took a deep breath and
faced her younger sister, blue eyes meeting blue.

"It's nearly a year ago, now, shortly after the Unimatrix Zero
episode. Tom and B'Elanna had just got married, and for once, things
were going well. We even succeeded in contacting the families of our
Borg twins- Azan and Rebi." Kathryn paused and sat in silence, her
gaze distant. "It started the day the children left. . . ."

---

We were in transporter room one, Seven, Icheb, the kids, the twins'
mother- a tall, slender woman with a kind face and nice eyes- and I.
They'd even offered to take Mezoti. I didn't know whether I was sad or
glad for that last. She and my Assistant have become very close,
almost like sisters. Naomi will miss Mezoti, and I'm sure her small
friend will do likewise.

Now young Mezoti, her large, wise eyes seeming incongruous in her thin
face, is standing before Icheb, and I feel my eyes mist over. They've
been through so much, all of them. Looking at them now, and not for
the first time, I thanked whatever deities exist that I had not, after
all, had to destroy them.

"It's not too late," Mezoti is saying to Icheb. In anyone else I'd
have called that tone wistful, but Mezoti admires Seven tremendously
and does her best to imitate our eldest drone's impassive voice. "You
could come with us," she urges.

Icheb looks down at her. His face is soft. "And you could stay on
Voyager," he reminds her.

Mezoti's face falls. For a moment, she looks like the eight year old
child she should always have been. "Adapting to your absence will be
difficult," she tells Icheb, doing her best to maintain her Borg
persona.

Icheb, always-ironically- the most human of our Borg quintette, smiles
down at her. Azan and Rebi have always been so close, leaving the
other two to draw inexorably together. Especially since the death of
the baby.

"I will miss you," Icheb admits to Mezoti. The little girl looks
stricken, and I feel my heart constrict.

As the children turn to Seven, who has been their mentor, guide, and
surrogate mother these last months, I have to struggle even harder to
maintain my composure. Seven would never admit it, but I know she
loves these children with all the understated passion of which she is
capable.

And they love her. That's plainly obvious in Mezoti's face as she
steps towards Seven and I.

I reach out and touch the child's shoulder, and caress her cheek. She
accepts the open affection with surprising ease, but perhaps that's
because her entire attention is focused on Seven.

I let my hand drop from Mezoti and move away, towards Icheb, to give
Seven, Mezoti, and the twins some privacy in these last moments
together. His eyes are grieved, but I manage to resist the temptation
to offer him facile, but ultimately meaningless, tactile comfort.

I turn my attention back to Seven. Mezoti is standing before her,
saying something about learning the manners of the twins' people. She
mentions customs of greeting and farewell. . . .and then my tears really do
nearly fall, as this child, who has been violated in a way that no
child should ever be violated, says "..but I prefer the human way,"
and throws her arms around Seven with a lack of self-consciousness I
thought I'd never see.

Seven- my proud, independent former drone-cum-friend-cum unofficial
science officer-cum surrogate daughter- is frozen. Then, for perhaps
the first time in her life, she returns an embrace, her arms folding
lightly around the child, and then tightening protectively,
possessively.

I blink. She's come so far. I remember the frightened, but ultimately
aloof, young woman I freed from the Borg nearly four years ago. If
someone had told me then, that morning when she paced the brig and
threatened to kill me, that four years later I would see her hold a
child with tenderness and love, I would never have believed them. I
find myself wishing for Chakotay's presence. My first officer, a man
of great tenderness himself, would appreciate Seven's gesture.
Appreciate it, and be overwhelmed by it. Just as I am. Furtively, I
wipe my eyes, but for once I don't care that others can see. This is,
above all, a family occasion.

I watch as Mezoti steps back, and the twins fling themselves on Seven
with a joint enthusiasm that startles her- and the rest of us. And
then the transporter beam catches them, and they're gone. . . 

A strange silence lingers in the air. Seven, probably without
realising it, has gravitated towards me, and it's my turn to feel
protective. In spite of her nearly twenty-eight years, at this moment
she's younger than the sixteen year old Icheb, who is clearly dealing
better with all this than she is.

Not that that's so surprising. Icheb was assimilated less than two
years ago; he'd already formed a distinct personality, a character,
and regaining his individuality has actually been less traumatic than
the discovery of his parents' betrayal.

Seven, on the other hand, was assimilated at the age of six. Her
decision to continue using the Borg designation of Seven of Nine
rather than her human name of 'Annika Hansen' speaks volumes about the
differences between her and the rest of our young refugees, who have
chosen-with her encouragement- to reclaim their own names.

I place my arm around Seven, and judge her vulnerability by the fact
that, for a split second, she leans against me. As soon as I feel her
stiffen again, I step away. Then, after looking from Icheb to Seven
and back again, I leave for the bridge.

In the turbolift, I find myself thinking that Seven's left eye, the
one with the optical implant, had seemed to shine. . .  with unshed tears?
Seven, crying? If so, that was another step in regaining her humanity.

Despite my own pain at the loss of the children, I'm smiling as I step
out of the 'lift and make my way to the Big Chair.

Perhaps all things really do work together for good. . . 

I exchange glances and smiles with my First Officer before settling
down to work. It looks like it's going to be a good day.

---

"I remember that," Chakotay interjected. "Despite the fact that I knew
you were unhappy about the kids, and for Seven, losing them, you came
to the bridge with a bounce in your step."

Kathryn grinned at him. "Yes, and you thanked the spirits for it,
didn't you, Commander? Think I don't know that my bad moods make your
job more difficult?" Her grin faded as less pleasant memories ran
through her mind.

"It's all right, Kathryn."

"I don't deserve you."

"Sure you do. Now get on with the story. You've got Phoebe on
tenterhooks here."

Kathryn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Yes,
she's barely hanging on to the edge of her seat. Oh, all right, I'll
get on with it.

---

"Everything changed in the early hours of the morning. I'd tried, as I
so often do, to get some sleep. When the exercise proved it's usual
futility, I slipped out of bed- quietly, so as to not wake Chakotay-
and settled down with my copy of the Inferno and a mug of coffee.
Decaf. Then my badge chirped. . . "

---

"Neelix to the Captain!"

Our morale officer's voice is panicky and I heave a sigh. I'm tired,
all the more so since this is rapidly becoming a white night. The last
thing I want to deal with right now is one of Neelix's minor crises
and major hyperbole.

I reach over for my jacket to tap the badge. "Janeway here," I say
softly, keeping my voice low.

"Captain, you've got to get down to sickbay!" Neelix says urgently.
"Seven of Nine, she- she fainted! In the mess hall!" Neelix's voice
rises as he finishes, and I wince.

I hear the rustling and the soft grunt that always attends Chakotay's
wakening, and shake my head. So much for not disturbing the poor man.

"I take it Seven's with the Doctor now," I say in my most soothing
tone, with just enough Captainly authority to halt Neelix's near
hysteria. At least, that's the idea.

Chakotay, eyes heavy with sleep, stumbles over to me. "Kathryn?"

"Captain?" Neelix's voice echoes, almost comically. He sounds startled
and I stifle a groan.

"Yes, Neelix."

"Captain, there's something very wrong with Seven. She-she- her
implants, they regenerated!"'

That gives me an unpleasant jolt. Until now, I've been convinced that
Neelix is simply over-dramatizing, as usual. I swallow and put down my
mug, the coffee turning sour in my mouth.

"Regenerated?" I repeat.

There's a pause. I hear a murmured conversation through the open comm
link. I raise my eyebrows and look at Chakotay, who now appears
considerably more alert.

"Captain," Neelix's voice says again. "I gotta go. Sam's just come in.
Naomi's having nightmares."

"Tha- Oh." My brows fly up again and I shrug. "Janeway out," I murmur,
more out of habit than anything else since Neelix has already
deactivated the link.

"Kathryn?" Chakotay says again, rousing me from my reverie. He pushes
a mug of steaming coffee- the real thing, this time- into my hand.

"Is there something wrong with Seven?"

I take a sip, and feel slightly better as my favourite form of organic
suspension courses through me. I hadn't realised I was so cold. I
clutch the cup and look up at my First Officer and partner. "Neelix
says she collapsed in the mess hall," I explain softly. "There seems
to be something wrong with her implants."

Chakotay looks concerned and I know it's as much for me as for our
resident ex-Borg. "Are you going down there?"

I nod and take a final gulp of the coffee. Then I reach for my jacket
and shrug it on. My hands are shaking, very slightly. Chakotay puts a
hand out to brush my hair behind my ears, and he zips my jacket with a
tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.

"Go to sickbay," he whispers. "I'll see you later."

I nod again and try to swallow my fear and smile. As I leave our
quarters, I tap my badge and inform the Doctor that I'm on my way. He
sounds relieved to hear my voice, even though he grunts when I tell
him of my informant.

He meets me at the door of sickbay.

"I'm glad you're here," he says. He sounds uncharacteristically
subdued. "Seven still hasn't regained consciousness. I wanted to wait
until you got here before reviving her."

I glance at him and move towards my protégée, prone on the biobed. Her
face is pale, and with those piercing eyes shut, she looks very young
and very vulnerable. The Doctor jabs her neck with the hypospray and I
lean over as Seven's lids begin to flutter.

"You lost consciousness in the Mess hall," I tell her she looks up at
me questioningly. "Your body's begun to reject your implants."

Her eyes go wide, and she glances over at the Doctor.

He speaks gently. "I'm afraid it's a result of that glitch we found in
your cortical node."

I look up at him. Glitch? What glitch? He does not meet my eyes,
focusing instead on the young woman on the bed. His voice is still
soft. "Apparently, it's more serious than we thought."

I don't like the sound of this, but I'm still not unduly worried. I
look at Seven. The Doctor has become experienced in the ways of Borg
implants over the past couple of years, but Seven is still our
undisputed expert.

"The node is destabilising," our undisputed expert says, sounding
rather like she's submitting a particularly boring sensor report.

The Doctor is gentle but implacable. "It's no longer able to regulate
your implants. They're shutting down one by one."

Seven sits bolt upright at this, and for the first time, I see a
glimmer of some emotion in her eyes. She swallows, and does her best
to speak calmly.

"When you've disconnected implants in the past I've always adapted,"
she says, her tone daring the Doctor to disagree.

I see the Doctor shrug out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to look
directly at him. His dark gaze is compassionate.

"Minor implants," he reminds Seven. "An assimilation tubule here, a
few nanoprobes there- nothing crucial to your human physiology. These
implants control your vital functions." Your vital human functions
goes unsaid.

We could replace one, I think, or the other, but both? I turn my
attention back to Seven. As usual, she's speaking the truth plainly,
and I wince at her words and- even more- at her tone.

"Without my cortical node to regulate them, I'll die."

I see her swallow, and I know that my earlier impression of her
vulnerability was not mistaken. All the same, in some part of me I'm
relieved when she points out, with her customary arrogance, the
adaptability of Borg technology.

That's the Seven we know and love, I think wryly. Confident. Assured.

"My cortical node will repair itself in time," she announces with
finality. As far as she's concerned, the discussion is over.

She slides towards the edge of the bed, and the Doctor and I exchange
glances. We both know that Seven has settled the situation in her own
mind, and, if not stopped, will return blithely to Astrometrics and
her usual routine. We can't allow her to do that. I nod at the Doctor
and he takes the cue, but he sounds hesitant, unwilling, knowing what
he's destroying.

"I don't think so, Seven. If anything, the deterioration is
accelerating." He's as certain as she was a moment ago. Seven opens
her mouth to argue, and I know it's time for me to intervene.

"You'll have to stay here for observation," I tell her gently, but
with enough edge to force her to listen.

Seven remains her usual obstinate self. Her chin goes up a few
millimetres, in a gesture I recognise. It's odd to see one of your own
mannerisms in another, especially when that other is not a blood
relative.

"I think I've been sufficiently observed," Seven insists. Almost as if
she believes that if the problem is not spoken of, not addressed, then
it will cease to exist.

I bite my lip and glance at the Doctor. "Would you excuse us, please?"

He huffs, but obeys the request. I move closer to Seven, invading her
personal space deliberately and forcing her to maintain eye contact.

"I'm sorry for what's happening," I say forcefully. "You have every
right to be angry, but that isn't going to help us solve this
problem."

She's still adamant. "The node will correct itself," she repeats- but
I know her well enough to detect the subtle but creeping uncertainty.
I hate to push her into confronting that, but I don't think I've much
choice.

"Suppose it doesn't, for the sake of argument," I say. Her face looks
shuttered, and I cannot bear to destroy her optimism. She's so young-
in more ways than one. I speak more gently. "Is it possible to
replicate a new one?"

Something resembling despair and twisted pride flashes in her eyes for
a moment and then is gone. "The technology is too complex."

I take a deep breath. I won't accept this. I won't let her die. She's
come too far to give up on her now. A thought occurs to me.

"What if this had happened when you were part of the Collective?" I
ask. "How would the Borg have repaired the damage?"

Seven drops her head, refusing to meet my eyes. "They wouldn't have,"
she admits. "Trying to repair a node would be a futile exercise. The
Borg would simply replace it."

I stare at her for a long moment as an idea begins to form.


By the time I arrive at the Bridge, my idea is fully fledged, and I
make a beeline for my Ops officer.

"Harry, we passed a Borg debris field six or seven days ago just
outside the Yontasa Expanse." He looks at me, his open face showing
his thoughts. I ignore it for the moment, and give the order. "See if
you can find it on long range sensors."

"Yes, ma'am." It's not crunch time- yet- but I let it go.

Chakotay's voice sounds behind me. "It's not every day we go looking
for the Borg. What's up?"

I turn to face him, slowly. I see the concern in his eyes, and I know
he's remembering our earlier conversation. "Seven needs a new cortical
node," I say. We exchange a long silent look, and our communion is
broken by Tuvok's emotionless voice.

"Captain, need I remind you the Borg often return to salvage damaged
cubes."

I look at my old friend, my Chief of Security. "It's a risk I'm
willing to take."

Chakotay speaks again, and I know from his tone that he's speaking as
my First Officer. "I want to help Seven as much as anyone," he says,
"but if we're not careful we'll all end up with cortical nodes."

The glance he shoots at me, and then at Tuvok, tells me his thoughts.
It's only been a couple of months since Tuvok, B'Elanna, and I were
assimilated ourselves, during our efforts to free the drones of
Unimatrix Zero.

I meet his gaze, acknowledging his concern in all its many layers.
"That's why I'm taking the Flyer," I tell him flatly. "Alone."

My First Officer's jaw hardens, and I see a flicker of anger, quickly
controlled, in his dark eyes, but before he comments, or protests,
Harry tells us he's located the Borg debris field.

I give my orders without looking at him, keeping my body, my eyes,
focused on my lover. "Transmit the co-ordinates to the Flyer." I
pause, look away from Chakotay, and look back again. Deliberately, I
speak gently. "You have the Bridge, Commander."

Chakotay says nothing. It's Tom Paris, our irrepressible pilot, who
speaks up, his voice breaking the tension in the room.

"With all due respect, Captain, the last time you took the Delta Flyer
to confront the Borg it ended up in a couple of thousand pieces." The
words are cheeky, typical of what I've come to expect from him, but
the steady gaze he fixes on me tells me more than his words, and I
force a smile at him.

"I intend to bring it back in one piece this time," I assure him,
trying to keep my voice as light as his.

Tom's blue eyes never leave mine. "A good pilot might be able to help
you do that." It's not altogether a suggestion.

I see Tuvok nod approvingly out of the corner of my eye. "Particularly
if he's accompanied by an experienced Tactical Officer," he adds.

"You shouldn't do this by yourself, Captain," Chakotay tells me, and
as I look at him again I know that he's grateful to Tom and Tuvok for
saying what he could not.

Always, always we make this dance between friends, lovers, and
colleagues, and when our lives become dangerous, as they often do,
it's difficult to separate the personas, difficult to know what to
say, what to do.

I blink, and look, carefully, at each of the men in this room. They're
all so dear to me, in different ways. Tuvok is my anchor. Tom, a
younger brother who can make me smile when no-one else can. Harry's
almost like a son. And Chakotay- I cannot express in words alone what
Chakotay is to me.

I swallow, and make myself speak properly, with command, as a Captain
should. "Well, then, gentlemen, I guess you're with me."

Tom and Tuvok follow me into the 'lift. My eyes remain fixed on
Chakotay's until the doors close.

For a moment, I'm overwhelmed by sheer terror. I wonder if I'm mad, to
think of such a thing. I look at my two companions, and am filled with
desperate gratitude. In their own ways, they're both fond of Seven,
but I know it's me they're doing this for.

I reach out and clasp a hand from each. They respond as I've come to
expect- Tom, with a quirky grin, and Tuvok with a return squeeze so
slight I could believe I've imagined it. Only I know I haven't.

We've gone head to head with the Borg before, I remind myself. More
than once. We've won every time. Surely, surely, this time our luck
will continue to hold.

---

"Were you angry?" Kathryn asked Chakotay softly.

He shrugged slightly. "More surprised and annoyed, rather than angry.
I know you, Kathryn. You were feeling angry at the prospect of losing
Seven, and you wanted to do something that would help. I wasn't too
impressed that you hadn't informed me of what was happening, or that
you'd decided to risk yourself –yet again!- especially so soon after
our last encounter with the Borg."

"You never said anything," Kathryn whispered.

"What was the point? It was something I knew you needed to do, and
there was no point in fighting it. I knew you'd need me afterwards."

Phoebe looked at him. "You knew that?"

Chakotay shrugged again. "You forget, Phoebe, this wasn't long after
Kathryn's own assimilation." His voice was unwontedly harsh. "She was
still recovering from that- mentally, if not physically." He glanced
at the woman sitting motionless beside him, and gentled his tone. "I
think, too, that her desire to go the cube herself was part of that
recovery process. She wanted to take from the Borg, rather than losing
to them yet again."

"Yes. Yes, that's it, although I don't think I rationalised it to
myself in quite that way."

Phoebe watched her sister and Chakotay exchange a long look laden with
words unsaid and an emotion that was almost palpable. She shifted.

"Anyone for more coffee?" she suggested as brightly as she could.

Kathryn nodded and pushed her cup. "Please. I'll need it."

Silently Phoebe refilled their cups before sitting once more, allowing
Kathryn to continue with her tale.

---

I send Tuvok and Tom ahead. I know Tom will want to speak to B'Elanna,
and Tuvok will unquestionably want to check that the Flyer is as
prepared as it can possibly be for a potential confrontation with the
Borg.

The Borg. I shiver. In my dreams I still feel the sharp pain of
assimilation tubules piercing my neck, and the muted but
still-seductive whisper of the Collective and the Borg Queen's voice.
I've lost count of the number of times I've wakened, gasping and
shaking, only to turn thankfully into the safety of Chakotay's arms.

At that memory, guilt courses through me. He was frantic the last
time, but at least then we took all possible precautions and went in
prepared for assimilation. This time, we haven't even been able to use
the suppressant. If the Borg do return to the debris field as Tuvok
suggested. . . 

"Captain?" I turn at the sound of Icheb's voice. He's lost that Borg
certainty, and his confidence has been further undermined by that
incident with his parents. . .  I pause and smile encouragingly at him.

"Have you talked to Seven?" he asks.

I glance down at my padd. "Just a few minutes ago." Poor Icheb, I
think. He's devoted to Seven, he must be devastated.

The young man's next words make me stare at him in puzzlement, as he
expresses his belief in my disapproval of- something. His
disappointment is palpaple. I rub the bridge of my nose.

"Disapprove of what?"

He looks surprised. "My request."

I try not to frown. "Request?" This is the first I've heard of it.

Icheb's face falls. "I'm sure Seven will discuss it with you when she
has the chance," he says, sounding hurt and offended as only a
teenager can. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

I shake my head in an attempt to dispel the fogs of confusion and
fear. Finally, realisation seeps in, and it dawns on me that Icheb
still hasn't been told about Seven's illness. I say as much.

This time it's Icheb's turn to look puzzled. "Told me what?"

I explain Seven isn't well, that her cortical node is failing. I speak
as gently as I can, but the wave of panic and despair that crosses the
teenager's face is unmistakable. "She's going to die," he says with a
finality that echoes Seven's own, in sickbay.

I put my hand on his shoulder and put as much confidence as I can
muster into my voice. "Not if we find a new node," I tell him. "We're
on our way to search a Borg debris field."

A light returns to his eyes. "I have experience in Borg technology.
Let me come with you." It's a plea.

I shake my head. He's too young. It's too dangerous.

"I'm willing to take the risk," Icheb argues, just as Seven has. So
many times

This time, I'm not giving in. "I'm not willing to let you," I tell him
firmly, in the voice of command. He looks distraught, and I soften. I
squeeze his shoulder again.

"I'll let you know how we did as soon as we're back," I say. I hope I
sound reassuring. I force a smile. "Don't worry," I add.

It's a futile thing to say, and I know from the long look Icheb sends
me that he knows it too. All the same, Borg or not, he's still young
enough to be awed by authority and age, and he backs down. I watch him
disappear down the corridor. Seven, I know, would never have acceded
so meekly. At this point I'm glad she hasn't succeeded in influencing
her protégé to that degree. This mission will be difficult enough. I
don't want a teenager with us to complicate matters further.

By and large, our trip to the debris field is a quiet one. I'm torn
between memories of my assimilation, my fear that it could happen
again, and my determination to help Seven. I glance at Tuvok, and
wonder if somewhere beneath that Vulcan composure he shares my
feelings.

Tom, bless him, is concentrating on what he does best: piloting.
Despite the danger, I know he's probably enjoying himself on some
level. This shuttle- the Delta Flyer- was carefully and lovingly
designed by himself, B'Elanna, and Harry a year ago. It's been patched
up and rebuilt several times since then. I note with fleeting
amusement that they've even replaced Tom's beloved twentieth century
joystick.

"I have isolated a section that contains the bodies of approximately
thirty seven drones."

I look up at Tuvok's words, my heart pounding.

Tom chips in, irreverent as always. "Thirty seven doesn't sound
approximate to me, Tuvok." He does love to bait our Security chief,
just as he loves torturing the doctor.

Tuvok gives Tom the Vulcan equivalent of a glower and explains. "These
drones were killed in an explosion. There are only a few left intact."

I finish my own scans and interrupt. "Looks like there's still a
breathable atmosphere inside. Any sign of any active Borg ships in the
vicinity?"

Tom checks his own readings and whirls to face me. "Nothing on
sensors, Captain."

I bite my lip. "That could change in a hurry. Run continuous scans."

"Yes, ma'am."

I shake my head slightly. Tom's the only one of the senior staff who
regularly addresses me as "ma'am" but I don't mind it, despite my
usual dislike for that mode of address. From him, it's a term of
affection, rather than a response to authority. I wince at a memory in
my ready room, nearly eighteen months ago. Most of the time. . . 

I give Tom the usual instruction: if something happens, if the Borg
appear, or if he's threatened in any way, he's to try to beam us out.
If that doesn't work, he's to high-tail it back to Voyager with orders
to warp out of this sector. Especially if it's the Borg. I won't have
my entire crew threatened for my crusade.

Tom looks mutinous, but agrees. He knew, I think, that this order
would come. He's been with me long enough to know how I operate by
now. I squeeze his shoulder and join Tuvok on the Flyer's transporter
pad.

"All right, Tom. Energise."

He nods and the tingle begins, whisking us from the familiar confines
of the shuttle, and placing us in the equally familiar, but
immeasurably more sinister, environment of a Borg cube.

I take a moment to orientate myself, and then start scanning with my
tricorder. Tuvok, after checking, and confirming with me, that we're
the only life signs on the cube, does likewise. We've calibrated the
tricorders to detect the readings that emit from cortical nodes, and
it's not long before my tricorder beeps and blinks.

"Tuvok, here," I call as I note the pile of debris covering the
humanoid figure on the floor. I can see his feet.

For a split, ridiculous moment, I find myself reminded of the early
twentieth century film The Wizard of Oz. Tom insisted on showing it
whilst Tuvok, B'Elanna and I were recovering after our last encounter
with the Borg. . .  I snap myself out of it.

"Help me get this off him," I order, continuing to scan. "There's no
apparent damage to the cortical node."

Vulcans are stronger than humans- just as they have better eyesight
and hearing, and it's not long before I'm kneeling beside the fallen
drone. I need to steel myself to touch his waxen face, pale with more
than death, but I manage. I follow the Doctor's instructions
carefully. He warned me that the cortical node is a fragile piece of
technology. It would be ironic to come this far, to safely retrieve
the node, only to damage it in the process of returning. . . 

"Captain, you've got company," Tom's electronic sounding voice says
through my com badge. "There's a ship." He doesn't say what kind of
ship. My hands shake a little as I place the node carefully into the
provided box and rise, a little unsteadily, to my feet. I turn to meet
Tuvok's eyes, and he nods slightly as he taps his badge.

"Two to beam out."

Nothing. I tap my own badge.

"Delta Flyer, respond!"

Tuvok speaks with as much urgency as I've ever heard from him.
"Captain, three humanoids have just transported aboard this vessel."

I swallow and moisten suddenly dry lips. Not again. . .  "Drones?"

Tuvok does not get a chance to respond. The humanoids appear in front
of us, looking menacing- and surprisingly like our old enemies, the
Kazon. I relax. At least they're not the Borg.

One of the aliens advances on me. I'm the smallest member of the
party, and he's obviously decided I'm the most vulnerable, the easiest
to overcome. He sticks his face into mine, so close I can see the
flecks in his irises and smell his foul breath. "The only drones here
are dead, and they belong to us. Who are you?"

I hold my ground and refuse to flinch away. I meet his eyes, willing
myself to give him my most fearsome glare. "I'm Captain Kathryn
Janeway of the starship Voyager," I respond, my tone as hostile as
his. So much for First Contact protocols.

The Kazon- like alien wags his head in a fashion that's almost funny.
The look in his eyes, however, is not. "This is my debris field,
Captain!" he spits, making a mockery of my title. I step back. His
saliva has sprayed over my face.

I do my best to sound conciliatory: "We weren't aware of that."

It doesn't work. He steps forward again. "What have you taken?"

"A cortical node. We need it to save one of my crew." I won't back
down. They're not the Borg, these people. Resistance is unlikely to be
futile, and we need that node. . . 

The other alien speaks up at that point. "Everything here belongs to
us!"

This is ridiculous. We'll never get out of here at this rate. I
realise I'm still holding the laser scalpel I used to extract the node
from the dead drone. Moving quickly, I grab the alien in a neckhold-
one he'd find difficult to break, despite our differences in size- and
I hold the scalpel to his throat.

"Put down your weapons and I'll consider not activating this laser
scalpel," I snarl.

It's probably not the best idea I have ever had. With a movement as
quick as mine, the alien manages to break my hold. His eyes are wild
with rage and I think, I know, he's going to return the favour- and
then some. Tuvok is struggling with the other alien, but he's
distracted. He keeps looking at me, checking I'm safe. It's his
undoing.

A shot is fired. Tuvok drops to the ground. I try to move towards him,
breathing heavily. The aliens are standing together, advancing. They
look more like Kazon than ever, wide, unpleasant smiles sending
shivers of fear through me. . . . . . 

The tingle of a transporter beam has never been so welcome.

I exhale a long breath of relief as I rematerialise on the Flyer. Tom
turns to look at me as I help Tuvok to a seat.

"Sorry about the delay," my pilot apologises. "They knocked our
transporters offline."

I nod and continue checking Tuvok with my tricorder. Given the nature
of this mission, it's a medical one and not one of our standard
scientific appliances. My concentration is broken as the shuttle
suddenly swerves, and only an outstretched hand prevents me from
lurching onto Tuvok. I'm barely recovered when the Flyer drops again.
The aliens must have followed us. They're certainly determined- and
greedy, I think resentfully. There's any number of dead drones on that
cube, and we've only taken one node.

"Captain!" Tom's voice is peremptory. "I need you at tactical." I nod
at him and move towards the station. He's still talking, firing out
instructions. "When I bring us around, target their engine core. Got
it?"

I shoot him a look of mingled amusement and irony. "Aye, sir." He
grins at me, quickly, and turns his attention back to his flying, just
as the alien ship appears ready to target us. We're in position. I
fire, and check the sensors. My shot went home: their engines and
weapons are offline.

Tom evidently agrees. "Nice shot," he says, his tone admiring. He
checks his own readings, and flashes me one of his trademark smirks.
"They're breaking pursuit."

I relax and turn to look at Tuvok, who is his usual stoic self.
Somehow, he's even managed to repair the damage he suffered. Evidently
he was shaken rather than hurt, and I sink into a chair, suddenly
exhausted.

We sit in silence. A console beeps.

"We're being hailed."

I manage a grin. "Voyager?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Captain Paris? Answer it!"

Tom's own grin reaches nearly ear to ear as he activates the link.
"Captain Paris of the USS Delta Flyer reporting, Voyager."

There's a pause. I'm smiling. Tom looks abnormally innocent.

"Tom?" Chakotay's voice says. He sounds cautious, as if wondering
whether Tom's temporarily taken leave of his senses- or been
commandeered by an alien. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Relax, Commander," I call. "We're all here. It was just a joke."

"Ah. I see. Mission accomplished, Captain?"

"Which one?" I ask facetiously. Relief sometimes makes me silly.

"I don't mind, I just want a report," Chakotay responds. I can hear
the amusement in his voice.

I nod at Tom. "Mission accomplished successfully," he says.

"Thanks, Captain Paris." Chakotay's tone is dry. "When may we expect
you back?"

"Approaching co-ordinates now, sir," Tom says, serious again. "Shuttle
bay ready to receive us?"

We can hear Chakotay giving instructions to allow us access. "It is
now. Glad the mission went off well. See you soon. Chakotay out."

"Okay, people, let's go home!"

---

Phoebe laughed for the first time since Kathryn had started talking.

"I think I'm going to like this pilot of yours," she said
appreciatively.

Kathryn flashed a grin of her own. "I'm sure you will," she returned
drily. "And just for the record, he's not mine. He belongs to an
extremely hot-tempered half-Klingon."

"B'Elanna Torres?" Phoebe asked, recalling the name from the media
reports, and Chakotay's remark earlier.

"The one and only!" Chakotay responded with a grin. "I never thought
I'd say this," he began reflectively, "but Tom Paris is a good man.
He's saved us all more than once."

"How?" Phoebe asked.

"Take your pick," Kathryn answered. "He's superb pilot; he's also a
highly competent medic. Not to mention our resident joker." She began
to laugh, and her companions grinned in sympathy.

"Do you remember the Demon planet?" she said at last, her eyes still
bright with fun.

Chakotay leered at her. "You bet I do, Captain. I had high hopes for
our doubles, you know."

Kathryn's cheeks went slightly pink, and she shook her head at him. "I
wasn't talking about that. Remember Tom's suggestion for keeping
Voyager going?"

Chakotay had to think for a moment, but then he grinned on his own
account. "Something to do with bikes and pushing, wasn't it. And then
there was the prank he and Harry played on Tuvok the day he was
promoted to Lieutenant Commander."

"What did they do?" Phoebe asked, fascinated by the lighter side of
their trip across the Delta Quadrant.

"Oh, they rigged the computer to respond to any and all queries from
Tuvok with 'Live long and prosper,'" Kathryn explained, still smiling
at the thought of her helmsman's many pranks.

Phoebe did laugh at that episode; she had met Tuvok on more than one
occasion, and could imagine precisely how the Vulcan would respond to
such an incident. "Now I know I'd like him!" she exclaimed.

Kathryn raised a brow at her. "Tuvok?" she deadpanned.

"No! Tom Paris!"

"You have met him, actually," Kathryn said. "Dad used to work with
Owen Paris. Don't you remember going to their house? You played with
Moira and Kathleen, and I-"

"Talked boring Starfleet. Yes, I remember. You mean your Tom Paris was
that annoying kid with blue eyes and fair hair?"

"Sounds about right," Chakotay quipped. Kathryn thumped him.

Phoebe grinned at the refreshing sight of her staid elder sister
roughhousing, and produced a plate of Gretchen Janeway's famed caramel
brownies- and more coffee.

Kathryn eyed them eagerly. "Oh, good for you. I was thinking it was
time for more."

"It's a bribe," Phoebe told her frankly. "I want you to carry on with
your story."

"Wouldn't you rather hear about the pranks of the three musketeers?"
Kathryn protested.

"Also known as Tom, Harry, and B'Elanna," Chakotay supplemented for
the younger Janeway's benefit.

"No," Phoebe said firmly. "I want to hear about you, and Seven, and
how my sister was convinced that it's OK to be human. . . "

Kathryn nodded in reluctant acceptance of her sibling's demand, and
began once more.

---

I watch appreciatively as we approach my ship. It's always a treat to
see her smooth curves and graceful lines from this perspective. Given
everything we've been through, she's in remarkably good shape. Having
said that, I'm startled at the proliferation of Borg-green lights on
the hull. I know that B'Elanna and Seven have made a number of
Borg-inspired adaptations to the ship, but until now I'd never
realised how visible they are.

My reverie is broken by the slight bump as the Flyer lands in the
shuttle bay. A moment later and post-flight procedures are complete. I
send a grateful smile to my companions, and tap my badge. "Janeway to
the Doctor."

"Yes, Captain."

"We're back and we have the node!"

"We're glad to hear it," the Doctor says, his slightly acerbic tone
undiluted by the communicator channel. "Seven's with me now, Captain."

"Good. How are you doing, Seven?"

"I am as well as can be expected, Captain. When do you wish to begin?"
I know she's addressing the Doctor rather than me, so I wait for his
response.

"Not yet- not for real, at least. Captain, could you and Mr Paris meet
me in the holodeck? We need to run simulations."

"Of course. We'll be there. Janeway out."

I turn to Tom and Tuvok. "Tom, you heard him. Tuvok, if you're
recovered, go to the Bridge and see what's happening there. I'm sure
Commander Chakotay will be glad to see you." I try not to let regret
tinge my voice; I'd dearly love to see Chakotay before going to the
holodeck, but duty must come first.

"Yes, Captain." Tuvok vanishes, and Tom and I make our way to join the
Doctor.

"She's going into anaphylactic shock!"

My heart sinks at Tom's words. They've become horribly familiar over
the past hours. I know what's going to happen next..

"Her implants aren't adapting," the Doctor says for the thirteenth
time. "They're rejecting the new node."

"It's losing synaptic cohesion!" Tom barks, his tone urgent.

"Apply a twenty millijoule neurostatic pulse on my mark. Now."

I obey the Doctor's order. My answer is the same as before: "No
effect."

"Again!"

"Increase the pulse. Thirty millijoules." I hit the button and watch
in despair as Tom and the Doctor try to revive 'Seven.' Once again,
they fail. My throat closes over, and I need to look down to blink
away the tears of disappointment and exhaustion.

"Computer, end simulation," the Doctor says, sounding as tired as I
feel.

I grit my teeth. I'm not stopping now. "Why did you stop?" I demand. I
cringe; I sound slightly hysterical.

"It wasn't working," the Doctor tells me with dejected patience.

"Run it again!" I know, and do not care, that my desperation is plain
in my voice.

Tom and the Doctor exchange a look before Tom turns to me. "Captain,
this was our twelfth simulation. Something tells me thirteen won't be
our lucky number."

"The salvaged node has been inactive too long," the Doctor adds
gently.

I stare at them both, their faces as drawn as mine must be. Don't give
up. I swallow and glare at them.

"Then we'll find one that hasn't!"

---

Kathryn paused and exhaled. The next memories were difficult to
recall, in so many ways.

"Do you want to stop?" Phoebe asked gently.

"No. Just- Phoebe, what do you know about the Equinox incident?"

Phoebe looked surprised. "Nothing much beyond what everyone knows.
Why?"

Kathryn bit her lip. "I can't tell you much; it's classified. All I
can say is that I did something I'm deeply ashamed of." She took
another breath, a shuddering one this time. "You may have heard that
Captain Ransom abandoned his principles in his desire to get his crew
home as quickly as possible."

Phoebe nodded, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Yes, of course, everyone
knows that. Just like everyone knows you managed to get your crew home
with principles intact!" Her voice positively clanged.

Kathryn winced. "I tried. I didn't always succeed," she said, her
voice heavy with regret and guilt.

"Kathryn-" Chakotay began.

She shook her head at him. "No, Chakotay. Don't say it." She managed
to draw forth a smile from somewhere. "We both know I nearly became
what I derided in Ransom: inhuman." Her honesty was painful. "And then
I crippled myself over it, for so long. If it hadn't been for you. . . "
Her fingers tightened convulsively around Chakotay's.

"You've managed to move past that, Kathryn," he reminded her.
"Remember? That's the point of this story."

She smiled again, and this time the smile reached her eyes. "Yes." She
turned back to Phoebe, settled herself comfortably against Chakotay,
and continued...

---

I turn on my heel and leave the holodeck, anger and frustration alone
fuelling me.

The Doctor follows.

"No matter how many debris fields we sift through, a node from a dead
drone isn't going to work!"

I turn on him. "Who said anything about a dead drone?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I carry on, ignoring the shock in his voice. "We've infiltrated Borg
vessels before. If that's what it takes to save Seven we'll do it
again." My throat is closing over, and I struggle to hold my voice
steady.

"Are you suggesting ending one life to save another?" He sounds
horrified. He has, after all, been programmed to 'first, do no harm.'

But I haven't, and his words have barely registered. I'm tell him I'm
not giving up on Seven. He grabs my shoulder, and whirls me 'round to
face him at such speed that I'm certain he's wrenched one of my back
muscles. I try not to wince and, fortunately, my anger at his action
helps.

My words die on my lips as I face him, look at him properly. He's
'only' a hologram, but his eyes are filled with real anguish and fury,
and I suddenly remember that he's been as much a mentor to Seven as I
have. I listen.

"Neither am I! I'll do everything in my power to help her, but we both
have to face the possibility that it may not be enough." The words,
begun in anger, end softly, and his fierce grip on my arm eases.

I nod silently. The implications of our exchange are starting to sink
in. The Doctor looks at me carefully.

"I think we've done all we can for one day, don't you?"

Wearily, I agree.

He smiles, rather tentatively, and pats my shoulder. "You go back to
your quarters and rest, Captain. I'll tell Seven."

"No. No, I'm coming with you." I look him straight in the eye again.
"I need to be there when you tell her."

"Captain-"

"Doctor, I'm coming!"

He moves his head in resigned acknowledgement, and the rest of our
journey to sickbay is a silent one.

I hear the soft sounds of conversation as the sickbay doors whish
open, but a tense silence falls at once. Seven and Neelix turn to face
us. Hope is plainly obvious on Neelix's face; Seven's emotion are more
subtle.

I speak with all the gentleness I can summon. "According to the
simulations, the salvaged node isn't going to work. I'm sorry."

The hope, such as it was, dies out of Seven's eyes. I glance at the
Doctor, and, bless him, he tries to soften the news.

"I'm still researching alternative treatments, and Harry and B'Elanna
are going to try to repair the faulty node using components from your
alcove." He sounds optimistic. Too optimistic. I look at Seven and
know from the new bleakness in her eyes that she is aware of it too.

She turns away from us. "They'll fail!"

The Doctor follows her, still talking. "We're not giving up hope.
Neither should you."

Seven ignores him. She turns towards me once again. "With your
permission, I'd like to return to my duties." Her voice is steady, and
I find myself envying her control even while I deplore it. The Doctor
protests at the suggestion, and Seven looks straight at me.

"Captain?" It's a plea.

I find it difficult to meet her eyes. In matters of health, I'm not
the supreme authority, but for Seven, I've always been the ultimate
arbitrator. It's not so surprising that she'd turn to me now. It hurts
to deny her her request to return to the work she loves, but the hard
fact is that she must now be under the Doctor's jurisdiction rather
than mine.

I shake my head slightly, and speak softly. "I'm afraid I have to
defer to the Doctor." I'm aware of the glimmer of betrayal in her eyes
as she allows the Doctor to lead her to the biobed to continue their
conversation. Quietly, I slip away. There's now only one place I want
to be.

When I reach the haven of my quarters I move towards the sofa like an
automaton and sink down. I'm haunted by the memory of that exchange
with the Doctor. Who said anything about a dead drone? . . . .Are you
suggesting ending one life to save another?

For the past year, these rooms have been a sanctuary of warmth,
comfort, and security, thanks to the calming scent of incense and the
glowing tones of Chakotay's native-work blankets and artefacts. Even
our precious leather covered books contribute to the atmosphere;
before, I kept them tidily in my bedroom. Now they are proudly
displayed in the bookcase that Chakotay fashioned from wood taken from
the planet we called New Earth. He never worked on it until six months
ago, when we agreed to share our quarters and our lives publicly. . . 

At this moment these things give me small comfort. I am too exhausted,
too heartsick, too shamed, to find consolation in them. I place my
face in my hands and try to shut out the recollection of words spoken
a year ago: This is about right and wrong. . . I won't let you cross that
line again, Captain. . .  and shudder at the realisation that I have
crossed it again, in spirit if not in deed. I told Noah Lessing in
that cargo bay that we all make our own hell. I made mine that day,
and the flames still consume me.

Large, warm hands place themselves on my shoulders.

"Kathryn?"

I shiver. I want to draw away from the undeserved comfort of those
hands and the solid frame beside me, but to do so would hurt Chakotay
needlessly. I have already caused him too much pain.

"Kathryn?" he says again. I can hear the concern in his soft voice.

"I've done it again," I whisper. "I crossed the line."

The hands on my shoulder tighten, and I am aware that Chakotay's
breath has stilled.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

I keep my hands over my face. I cannot bear to look at him as I speak.
"The simulations failed. We-we lost her, every time. The Doctor says
that for the surgery to work we need a node from a live drone, not a
dead one." I pause to steady my voice. "I-I was angry. I said that if
that's what'd take to save Seven, then I'd get a node from a live
drone. He- he was furious, and rightly so." I am silent for an
endlessly long moment. I tell my conclusion in a near whisper:
"Basically, I suggested murder."

"You admit that? You're admitting that, yourself?"

I nod. B'Elanna once described his voice as 'damnably soft', when she
was talking about her role in programming the missile Dreadnought. She
said the tone of his voice alone made her feel so ashamed, so guilty.
I know what she meant.

"Yes," I say.

I expect the hands to drop away from my shoulders. I expect the
comforting presence next to me to move. I expect to look up and
confront the disappointed face of my First Officer.

I am surprised to realise that he has not moved, that his hands are
still on me, that they are, in fact, moving across my shoulders in the
preliminary stages of a massage. Those sinfully good massages. . . .

Confused, I drop my hands and force myself to look up at him.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Nothing to say," he responds simply. "You know where you went wrong.
You realised- with a little help- that you were beginning to obsess,
and that that obsession was bringing you dangerously close to crossing
the invisible line once again-"

"I did cross it!"

He smiles at me. "No, Kathryn, you didn't. You can't punish yourself
for spiritual as well as actual transgressions. We're not on that
planet where B'Elanna was almost brain-wiped for thinking angry
thoughts. The fact is, you were angry, exhausted- and grieving. We've
only recently begun thinking that Borg drones are worth any
consideration. Your response was understandable."

"Really?" I am desperate to believe him, and emotionally undone by his
understanding.

He draws me onto his lap. He's big enough for me to sit there
comfortably. I feel his arms encircle me, and after a moment, I let my
head drop to his shoulder. I am so tired. . . 

"Can anything else be done for Seven?" he asks practically.

I swallow and shake my head. Against my will, several tears leak out.
I can feel their dampness against my cheek.

"The Doctor loves her too. He won't give up so easily."

I force agreement from a throat stiff from more tears, the ones I
refuse to cry.

"The rest of the crew will help," Chakotay assures me.

"Will they?" I murmur.

I've got ears. I've heard the rumours, the complaints that I've
showered Seven with favouritism. Some even believe I'm in love with
her, of all things. They can't see past her arrogance or her
formidable appearance to the child beneath.

"I promise, Kathryn. If anything can be done to save her, we'll find
it. Hell, I don't want to lose her either." I feel his cheeks curl in
a smile. "These past couple of years have transformed her. She's now
pretty much a human with Borg implants instead of a Borg in human
form."

I look up at him. "Mean that?"

He kisses my forehead. "Sure do. You did a good job there, Kathryn."

"It wasn't all me," I murmur. "Lately she's been spending more time
with the Doctor." I shut my eyes and remember his words- I'll do
everything in my power to help her, but we both have to face the
possibility that it may not be enough.

"It may not be enough," I mumble.

"Kathryn?"

"The Doctor says he'll do what he can, but without a new node, it may
not be enough."

Chakotay's arms tighten around me again, and I feel his lips brush my
forehead a second time. "We'll face that bridge if we come to it, but
for what it's worth, I don't believe we'll be losing Seven of Nine
just yet."

"Hmmm."

"Come on, Kathryn. Bed!"


Two days later and life on the Federation starship Voyager is
unwontedly quiet. We're in a relatively empty part of space at the
moment, and news of Seven's prognosis has spread throughout the crew.
It's a small ship, after all, and whilst Seven's proven loyalty and
dedication to this ship and her crew has earned her their respect, if
not their affection.

Even Crewman Tal, who has suffered from the rough side of Seven's
tongue more than once, seems to be truly sorry. Then again, Tal Celes
is a sweet natured girl, and all she needed was a little
self-confidence.

The senior staff is obviously more deeply affected. Tom and the
Doctor, as medics, are grave. Harry looks desolate. The poor boy has
never completely gotten over his crush on Seven. Neelix's exuberance
is muted. Chakotay is watchful. Tuvok- I'm not certain how Tuvok
perceives what's happening, but he probably believes that it would be
illogical to deny the probable inevitability of Seven's fate.

Personally, I'm glad of the quiet. I have not been sleeping well. I've
had deeply unpleasant dreams where the memory of the Doctor's words
two nights ago mingle with Chakotay's from the time of the Equinox
crisis.

I dream of that scene with Noah Lessing, only it's not Noah I see, but
Seven, B'Elanna, Tuvok- even, once, myself- and they're drones. I'm
the Borg Queen in a Starfleet captain's uniform, killing them in order
to find a working cortical node. . . . I wake up trembling and covered in
sweat, too afraid to seek sleep again.

It's taking its toll, and I know that before long, my makeup will no
longer disguise the weariness in my eyes. I'm fortunate Tom and the
Doctor are otherwise engaged with Seven at the moment, and Chakotay
knows better than to force the issue right now. I do not respond well
to inactivity.

In the meantime I'm plodding on with reviewing data on Borg technology
and my usual reports. It's barely ten in the morning and I'm already
on my fifth cup of coffee. The intense aroma helps me to stay awake
and motivated.

My door chimes, and I put the report down, glad of a distraction.

"Enter."

My chief engineer appears. She glances sharply at me and hands me her
report. I am mildly startled. B'Elanna usually submits her reports
directly to Chakotay, and on the rare occasions they're handed
straight to me, it's invariably by one of her gophers. I accept it
with murmured thanks.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, reminding me
suddenly of the raw, volatile, heartbreakingly insecure girl she was
six years ago. It's only at moments like this that I appreciate how
much my 'eldest daughter' has grown since coming aboard. I raise an
eyebrow at her.

"Was there something else, Lieutenant?"

She shifts again and shoots me an intensely appraising glance from
dark eyes. "Do you have a moment, Captain?"

I sigh and stretch a little. "Right now? Unquestionably." I look at
the half-empty cup next to me and grimace slightly. "Coffee?"

B'Elanna nods and follows me to the sofa. I hand her the freshly
replicated cup of her favourite blend, and inhale the refreshed scent
of my own. "What can I do for you, B'Elanna?"

"Seven came to talk to me yesterday afternoon," she says abruptly.

I pause mid-sip and stare at her. From the beginning, the relationship
between my 'daughters' has been rocky. They're both brilliant, both
very vulnerable, and more alike than either would care to admit.
Temperamentally, they're like fire and ice, and we've had more than
one altercation. Since Unimatrix Zero, though, I've noticed a thawing.

"What did she have to say?"

B'Elanna cradles the mug in her hands, as if glad of the warmth. "She
wanted to talk about the Klingon afterlife."

I realise I'm still staring. B'Elanna looks up at me and smiles that
rueful grin I've come to love.

"I-I think she wanted to be reassured that she won't be forgotten."
She shrugs a little. "I don't know why she came to me, Captain. We're
not exactly the best of friends."

I smile rather sadly. "You may not think so, B'Elanna, but the truth
is you're probably the closest thing Seven has to a female friend her
own age. She has enormous respect for your abilities, even though it
may not always seem that way. On second thoughts, I'm not surprised
she went to you."

B'Elanna blinks at me, her eyes wide with astonishment. "I never
thought of it that way," she admits.

"What did you tell her?"

That shrug again. "The truth. That she's made an impact on every
member of this crew, and that'll be her legacy. Then the Doctor came
in and we had to stop. She wanted to be useful, so I persuaded the Doc
to let her stay in Engineering." She glances at me and continues,
rather defensively. "I wasn't just saying that, Captain. I really did
want her help."

I smile softly and pat her arm. "I'm sure you did, 'Lanna. Thank you.
I know that Seven hates the thought of being idle. I'm afraid she
still sees relaxation as being 'irrelevant'."

B'Elanna nods in emphatic agreement and I cannot help being secretly
amused. Like Seven, B'Elanna and I are also notorious for preferring
work to leisure. It's a bond we share. . .  My smile fades as I remember an
image from my dream.

"Captain?"

I give myself a mental shake. "It's nothing, B'Elanna. I was just
thinking. How do you feel about the conversation?"

Her eyes drop from mine. "I don't know. If it had to happen, I'm glad
it happened now, and not a year ago. I don't think I could have been
particularly reassuring before my experience on the Barge of the
Dead."

There's a flash of brown, and I squeeze her arm again. B'Elanna and I
became close in the early years of our journey, but that rather went
by the wayside when she became involved with Tom. By then, of course,
Seven had come aboard and I was engaged in helping her regain her
humanity.

More recently we've been able to regain that old closeness, and I'm
glad of it. I told B'Elanna that she's probably the closest thing to a
female friend that Seven has, and I realise that the same is true for
me, regardless of the differences in rank and age. Seven is still too
socially and emotionally immature to be a true friend.

I find myself wondering if B'Elanna resented our apparent
estrangement, and if that resentment coloured her initial reactions to
Seven. I'd never thought of it before, but the Barge of the Dead
episode made me realise that B'Elanna sees me as a mother figure,
despite the fact that- or possibly because- her relationship with her
own mother was so conflicted. Perhaps she's trying to right old
wrongs, and as for me. . . . I suppose I'm trying to be the 'good mother' I
will probably never be in reality.

"Does Seven believe in an afterlife?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Somehow the topic had never occurred to me, in all the myriad
discussions I've had with Seven of Nine. If asked, I'd have assumed
that she would categorise life after death as irrelevant. I'm humbled
to realise that I was wrong.

B'Elanna chews her lip. "I don't know if she believes in an afterlife
as a human."

I wrinkle my brow at her in confusion, and she explains.

"She says that all her memories and life experiences until her
liberation from the Borg will remain within the Collective's memory,
even after her death."

I stare at my young chief engineer. I'm starting to understand. "But
not her experiences since becoming human again."

B'Elanna gives another of her emphatic gestures. "Exactly. That really
bothers her, Captain. She's afraid that when she dies, the part of her
life that's most meaningful will die with her."

I set my jaw. "Well, if I have anything to do with it, that's not
something Seven will have to worry about for some time."

"Captain-"

"I'll have to make time to talk with her about this," I say,
deliberating ignoring the looks B'Elanna is shooting in my direction.
"She didn't mention any of this to me last night- she just wanted me
to promise that I'd make sure Icheb gets the opportunity to complete
the Academy entrance papers."

B'Elanna nods.

I finish my drink and smile as brightly as I can manage. "Anything
more I can do for you?"

B'Elanna takes the hint. "No, Captain."

I follow her to the lower level and call her just before the sensors
detect her presence and open the ready room doors. She turns-
reluctantly, I think.

"'Lanna? Thanks for telling me this. Good work."

She nods in silent acceptance of the compliment and leaves.

I try to concentrate on my reports.

---

"I'd never have thought of you as the maternal type," Phoebe commented
with some amusement. "Mark wanted you to settle down and do the whole
marriage and kids thing, and you never seemed particularly interested.
He complained you wouldn't even finalise a date for the wedding!"

Kathryn grinned ruefully. "I know. I loved Mark, really I did, but. . 
I wanted a career too. I hadn't bargained on getting flung into the
Delta Quadrant, remember, and I thought I had plenty of time." She
shrugged. "As it turned out, I was Captain of a young crew, some of
whom were particularly vulnerable, and we were far from home. It was
inevitable that Chakotay and I would take on a more parental role. We
both had protégées. B'Elanna was one of them."

"You did more for her than I ever could," Chakotay remarked. "As you
know, I'm not much of a scientist or engineer- I know only what
Starfleet expects all command track officers to know. She needed what
you could give, Kathryn- the support and advice of an older woman, and
the understanding and inspiration of a fellow scientist. I know we've
credited Tom for a lot of the changes we've seen in B'Elanna over the
years, but don't discount your own contribution."

"I didn't fully realise that until the Barge of the Dead incident,"
Kathryn admitted. "I always thought of B'Elanna as your 'personal
reclamation project' – Tom, and later Seven, were mine."

Chakotay grinned. "And Harry worshipped the ground you walked on. Oh
admit it, Kathryn- you know it's true. Much as I hate to say it, Q was
absolutely right. You were a mummy to the crew." He turned to Phoebe.
"Did she tell you that the crew called her 'Mama Kate' behind her
back?"

Phoebe's eyes turned into blue saucers. "She did not." She began to
laugh. "Really? I can't imagine that!"

Kathryn shot Chakotay a murderous look, getting only a calm, if rather
smug, smile in return. "And now you'll never let me forget it," she
muttered sotte voce.

"Don't forget all the babysitting either," her former First Officer
teased. "Let's see- there was Naomi, of course, and then the Borg
children, not to mention your illustrious godson-"

"He was more trouble than the rest of them put together!" Kathryn
snorted.

"Ah, but he won you over in the end. What woman could resist a room
full of red roses?"

"Red roses? What's this?"

"It was a thankyou gift," Kathryn said dismissively. "I'll tell you
about it another time. Now, do you want to hear the rest of this or
not?"

---

It's nearly the end of alpha shift and I'm on the Bridge. If I'd hoped
for a distraction, I was mistaken. Despite the presence of Tuvok, Tom
and Harry, the shift has been quiet. When Tom's badge chirps, we all
look at him.

"Sickbay to Paris."

"Yes, Doc?"

"Can you get down here? I need your help with some simulations."

Tom raises his eyebrows at me, and I nod.

"On my way, Doc!" He's on the turbolift as he finishes the
conversation.

A deep sigh wafts its way to me from Harry's direction, and I turn to
him.

"Ensign?"

"I was just thinking about Seven," he says wistfully.

"Have you spoken to her?"

Harry shifts uncomfortably. Despite six years in the Delta Quadrant,
he retains an air of innocence. He's lost friends before, to sudden
death, but I know he's never had to watch a lingering demise.

"Harry?" I prompt.

"Not really." He looks at his console, and his hands move over the
board, but I know he's not focused on it. "I don't know what to say to
her, Captain." He looks at me, his eyes wide and anxious. "I don't
want to say anything to make it harder for her."

"That is unlikely, Ensign," Tuvok puts in from his customary spot. "If
I may say so, Seven of Nine, unlike other members of this crew, has
accepted her fate. I do not believe that you could say anything to
'make it harder.'"

I glance at him sharply. I know that was aimed at me as much as Harry.
"That may be so, Commander, but it doesn't invalidate Harry's
concerns." My voice softens as I turn back to my young Ops officer.
"Harry, talk to her. No matter what happens, it can only help both of
you. I know she considers you a friend. Don't draw away from her now."

Harry's cheeks flush a little, but he nods. "Yes, ma'am."

I flash a smile at him. It fades quickly as I think of Tuvok's words,
and B'Elanna's. Has Seven really accepted her death as inevitable? I
decide to go and find out. I rise, and turn to my Chief of Security.

"I'm going to Astrometrics. You have the Bridge."

The sound of his murmured acquiescence follows me into the 'lift.

I hesitate for a moment before I permit the sensors to register my
presence and trip the door's opening mechanism. Seven is standing at
her customary position, as immaculate and trim as always, and despite
everything, I feel a pang of envy. I needed more makeup than usual
this morning.

I look at the viewscreen and am surprised to be confronted with a
familiar image: the awe-inspiring panorama of the Grand Canyon. I lean
against the bulkhead and eye my protégé. It is unlike her to show such
interest in Earth, and the Alpha Quadrant. Until now, she has in fact
avoided it. I stiffen my spine as the logical explanation for her
new-found curiosity occurs to me. I say something to distract myself
from that train of thought.

"Earth's biggest ditch. That's what my father used to call it. We
hiked the north rim when I was nine."

Seven glances at me, the first time she's acknowledged my presence.
"It's an impressive geological formation."

I smile, wistfulness and amusement combined. "Too dusty," I qualify.
"I've always preferred farm country, myself."

Seven's fingers move with lightning speed across her console, and
another image, more familiar than the last, appears. I blink at the
sight of my hometown, and only distantly register than Seven has
identified it, and it's connection to me, accurately. I find I'm
touched by that.

"What do you think?" I ask her.

"It appears to be a pleasant environment," she says, sounding almost
surprised. I smile at her once more.

"When we get to Earth I'll take you there," I promise. It's a vow I
have every intention of keeping.

Seven's eyes drop from mine and her posture stiffens again. "It's more
likely this crew will reach Earth without me," she points out. I'm
chilled by the impassivity of her tone.

"You don't know that," I insist.

Seven's eyebrow goes up in a manner reminiscent of Tuvok's. "You
refuse to acknowledge the severity of my condition, just as I did at
first."

I wince. Like Tuvok, she is being painfully logical. Too logical. "Are
you giving up?" I demand, my tone harder than I intended.

Her shoulders move in her version of a shrug. "I'm merely accepting
reality."

I sink down on the lower step and look up at my protégée. "If I'd
accepted reality six years ago I'd have settled on the first M class
planet we came across," I tell her firmly.

She opens her mouth to respond and I forestall her by turning and
indicating the corn field on the viewscreen. "Instead, I'm thirty
thousand light years closer to Bloomington, Indiana."

She looks at me in silence, her expression tighter than usual. I force
myself to remain still, to not betray my discomfort. It's a been a
while since Seven looked at me in precisely that manner.

I don't have long to wait to discover the reason. She pushes a button
on her console, and begins to talk. Relentlessly.

"Minus several members of your crew. Ensign Marie Kaplan. Ensign
Lindsay Ballard. Crewman Timothy Lang."

An image appears on the screen as she cites each name. The images keep
coming; she does not even need to say the names. I know them all by
heart.

I swallow the lump in my throat and speak with some difficulty. "Is
there a point to this?"

"Every person on this list died under your command. You accepted their
deaths, but I don't believe you'll accept mine."

I feel anger. I know I've devoted a lot of time, attention, and yes,
love, to Seven, but she's implying that the deaths of other crew
members mean little to me.

I pull myself up from my awkward position on the step with a muffled
grunt. "That's presumptuous," I tell her, glaring.

Seven's eyes meet mine, as they always have, with the frankness of a
child.

"I'm not being egotistical," she says, a statement that I'm certain
would have B'Elanna snorting with disbelief.

Judged on her own terms, however, the assessment is accurate. Seven
takes pride in her abilities, but she knows that they're the result of
the experiences and deaths of millions. As a Borg, she had no sense of
self. The result now is an odd mixture of arrogance and humility.

I raise a brow at her again, prompting her to continue.

She takes a deep breath. "On the contrary, I'm trying to make a
point."

I lean on her console and look up at her, deliberately moving slowly.
Chakotay would say I'm behaving like a cat preparing to pounce, and
right now he'd be correct.

"Which is?" I demand, still rankled by Seven's earlier statement.

"All of these crew members came to Voyager with unique personalities."
She pauses and looks directly at me once again. "I've required your
constant assistance to develop my individuality."

I wonder if there's a trace of resentment there. I nod at her. "And
you've come a long way." I smile at her; a genuinely proud smile.

Her shoulders are tense. "But not far enough." She drops her eyes
again, and speaks very softly. "I've disappointed you. You feel your
task is incomplete. That's why my death will be difficult for you to
accept."

My smile fades and I blink at sudden tears. "Is that what you think?"
I ask, in a voice as soft as hers. "That you haven't lived up to my
expectations?"

Seven looks almost surprised, and my heart aches for her. She always
seems so self-sufficient; even I sometimes forget her desperate
insecurity.

"Clearly I haven't," she says, as though it's self evident. Then she
hesitates before going on. "I want you to know that the failure has
been mine, not yours."

I'm astonished. Only once before has Seven spoken to me in such a
deeply personal fashion, and that was two years ago- the morning in
the mess hall when she thanked me for the first time. I'm even more
touched now than I was then. I want to cry. I want to hold her close
and tell her how wonderful she really is.

"You haven't failed, Seven." I know my emotion shows in my voice, but
as I look straight into my protegee's blue eyes, I know that for once
she welcomes that emotion, and I make an effort to put my pride into
words.

"You've exceeded my expectations. You've become an individual, an
extraordinary individual." I need to pause to steady my voice. "If I'm
having trouble accepting your condition it's only because I don't want
to lose a friend."

Seven's eyes are fixed on me. She blinks, rapidly. In anyone else, I'd
have suspected she was trying not to cry, but I know that a side
effect of her cortical node's breakdown is tears. Even so, it does
appear that emotion does play a role in these episodes; after all, the
first such occurrence happened immediately after the children's
departure from Voyager. That's too much of a coincidence. . . .

My musings are interrupted by the sound of the Doctor's voice.

"Doctor to the Captain. I need to see you and Seven right away."

Seven and I exchange a glance.

"Very well, Doctor. We're on our way to sickbay now."

"Make that the briefing room, Captain."

Now we're puzzled. This is certainly unorthodox.

"The briefing room, Doctor?"

"Yes. Like I say, I have news. Sickbay out."

My eyebrows rise, but I indicate to Seven that we should follow the
directive. I have to confess I'm intrigued by what the Doctor might
have to say.


By the time Seven and I reach the briefing room, hope is beginning to
burgeon within me. I glance at Seven, and wonder if she shares my
feelings, but it's hard to tell.

We're greeted by the Doctor and- to my surprise, and Seven's- Icheb.
They are both extremely excited, and talk so quickly that it takes
some time before I understand precisely what they're proposing.
Needless to add, Seven's rate of comprehension is faster than mine,
and my heart sinks as my protégée's jaw sets and takes an angle I know
well.

In a nutshell, Icheb and the Doctor have been able to determine a way
of getting Seven what she needs to survive: namely, a functioning
cortical node from a live drone. Their solution is beautifully simple-
use Icheb's. Apparently, the idea came from our young Brunali, who
believes that his body can be forced to adapt to the node's absence
with the aid of the genetic resequencing technique Icheb learnt during
his short stay on the Brunali homeworld.

The idea leaves me breathless. "It would be a complicated procedure,"
I point out unnecessarily.

"No doubt," the Doctor agrees, but his enthusiasm remains undimmed.

I'm encouraged. "But you believe it'll work?"

The Doctor's eyes flick to Seven, and then back to me. Icheb, too, is
eyeing Seven in a manner that's best described as wary, and I feel my
stomach twist with tension.

The Doctor sighs. "There are significant risks involved to Seven and
Icheb," he begins reluctantly. "But if you're asking me if it's
possible- I'd have to say yes." He ends on a very firm note.

I bite my lip and glance at Seven and Icheb. Seven's eyes are
glittering dangerously, but Icheb's are also bright- with
determination. I rub the bridge of my nose. I'm a starship captain,
not a mother. I don't think I'm naturally equipped to deal with these
situations. I take a deep breath.

"What sort of precautions-"

Seven interrupts me ruthlessly. "No matter how many precautions you
take, it's not worth the risk to Icheb!"

I glance at her sympathetically. I understand where she's coming from.
Icheb, however, does not.

"Seven, this could work," Icheb implores. His eyes are fixed on her
face, begging, pleading.

As he pointed out, he's considerably younger than Seven, and was
assimilated much more recently. In addition, like the rest of our
younger Borg refugees, his assimilation was interrupted by the failure
of the maturation chambers in their cube, and, as a result, his
physiognomy is significantly less reliant on his implants than is the
case with Seven. If the situation were reversed, it would be hopeless,
but as things are. . . 

"I'm not willing to extend my life at the cost of yours!" Seven snaps.

Icheb glowers back at her. "You haven't reviewed all the data!" He
sounds aggrieved, frustrated, and hurt.

Seven seems to divine his emotions, and she softens. "As long as
there's any chance you won't survive, the data is irrelevant." She
pauses for a moment, and I see her swallow.

She turns to the Doctor, and speaks quietly. "I'd like to return to
sickbay now."

The Doctor looks startled, as well he might. Seven has been a most
unwilling patient, but he accepts her decision follows her from the
room.

I'm left alone with Icheb. Now those pleading eyes are fixed on me.

"You're the Captain. You could order her to do it."

I bite my lip again, so hard I'm surprised I haven't broken the skin.
I understand Seven's perspective perfectly, but I also empathise with
Icheb's. It's not so very long since the young man was betrayed by his
own parents in the most terrible way. He's had to accept their loss,
and now he's being confronted with the possible loss of Seven, who has
been consistently protective and supportive of him from the time he
came on board.

And then there's my own feelings. The experience of helping Seven
reclaim her humanity has resembled that of a parent watching her child
grow and mature. Despite my response to Seven's 'presumption' earlier,
her loss- to me, personally, as well as the ship- would be
incalculable.

Furthermore, there's the fact that, initially, I was the one to force
that humanity on Seven by severing her connection to the Collective. I
know that she doesn't regret it- now- but it was a long, hard road for
her. It's only since my own assimilation and recovery that I've been
able to truly appreciate what she's gone through. I forced her to live
once before on my terms. I won't do it a second time, thereby implying
that she's correct in believing that I'm disappointed in her and what
she's achieved. . . 

Even so, saying what I must is one of the hardest things I've ever
done, and I'm amazed that I manage to remain so calm, so captain-like.

"I have to respect her wishes," I tell Icheb, knowing he's too young
to read the emotion behind my flat tones.

"Even if it kills her?" he fires back with the brutal honesty of the
young.

I close my eyes, and then shoot him my best Captain's glare. "I want
to help her just as much as you do!"

His young face looks drawn with disappointment. "If that were true you
wouldn't let her die!"

I've commented before that in some ways, Icheb's emotional maturity is
greater than Seven's, but right now, he's simply a child who believes
he has been betrayed by an authority/parental figure- yet again. His
eyes are dark and bleak as he rushes from the room and leaves me
standing alone.

I sink into a chair and cover my face with my hands.

"Captain?"

Wearily, I look up. Chakotay stands before me, hands behind his back.
His look is penetrating.

"What did the Doctor say?" he prompts.

I shrug, feeling suddenly helpless and powerless. Those emotions sit
uneasily on me. "There's a chance for Seven, but it involves using
Icheb's cortical node to replace hers."

Chakotay's brows shoot up. "Won't that cause problems for him?"

I shake my head and explain what the Doctor and Icheb told Seven and
I. "But there's no point in discussing it. Seven refuses to
countenance the idea." I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache
threaten.

Chakotay leans against the briefing table and looks down on me. "You
could order her to have the treatment," he suggests evenly.

It catches me on the raw. "Like I did with B'Elanna, you mean! It's
not the same, Chakotay!"

"No?"

"No! She was attacked by an alien life-form. Besides, she's a member
of the crew. Strictly speaking, Seven's a civilian. I haven't got that
power over her."

"Strictly speaking, B'Elanna's a civilian too," Chakotay points out
with maddening accuracy.

I throw my hands into the air and rise, standing nose to nose with
him. "I'm not going to argue about this with you now, Chakotay!" I
turn away, looking out at the eternal blackness beyond.

"I'm not trying to argue," Chakotay says very softly. "You were right
to choose as you did for B'Elanna." He hesitates, then: "I thought it
was very brave of you. You must have known how she would feel, and did
feel, and – well, for what it's worth, you did the right thing. It was
one way of ensuring that those people did not die in vain."

His words are comforting, and I feel some of the tension drain. "It
was a long time before B'Elanna forgave me, though," I remind him
softly. "She resented my forcing that decision on her, and it nearly
destroyed our relationship.

"I've already forced one momentous decision on Seven. I don't want to
force a second. And-and if it goes wrong, we could lose Seven and
Icheb. I can't have that on my conscience along with everything else."
I know my voice is bitter as I finish.

"Kathryn-"

"What?"

"You can't carry this burden forever. Let it go."

"No choice. I'm the captain. Out here, the buck stops with me. I'm it.
The final authority." I laugh shortly. "Some authority. First, I get
you all landed out here. Then I contravene people's basic human rights
and self-determination- just ask B'Elanna and Seven! I try to murder
crewmen who are only following orders, however wrong those orders
might be. And on top of all that, I'm a bitch who's impossible to
please!"

I wrap my arms tightly around my waist and lean, a little, against the
bulkhead. There's a silence behind me, and I'm tempted to turn and
find out whether Chakotay's still there, or whether he's left me
ranting to myself. Part of me wants to laugh at the picture that
creates. The other part wants to scream- or shatter.

"Kathryn." This time his voice is very near- so near, in fact, that
his breath brushes the tip of my left ear. His arms snake around my
waist, his hands covering mine. I stiffen. We're on duty.

"Tell me."

His voice, so soft, so caressing, relaxes something inside me,
something wound so tight that it's close to breaking irreparably. I
relax, a little.

"She thinks I'm disappointed in her," I whisper, harshly. "She thinks
that she's failed in meeting my expectations- and she says it's her
fault. How could she think that? And- even it were true, it would be
my fault, and not hers." I blink. "I swore I'd never be like my
father, or Tom's. . . "

"What do you mean?"

"If I ever had children, I swore I'd take them on their own terms,
that I wouldn't judge them by unrealistically high standards. That
doesn't work, I know. And I guess Seven's the nearest I'll ever have
to a child of my own, one I've watched grow and develop." I take a
breath, steadying myself.

"I thought it was the one redeeming thing I've achieved- rescuing
Seven from the Borg, and now she's probably going to die, believing
that she's failed me. . . "

Despite my best intentions my voice breaks, and Chakotay's arms
tighten, holding me even closer. I close my eyes.

"She's not dead yet, Kathryn," he murmurs into my ear. "Even if it
comes to the worst, you still have time to tell her- but I don't
believe it will. We've overcome the impossible before." I feel him
nuzzle my neck a little, and sink back into his embrace, lulled by the
gentle warmth of his voice.

"As for the rest of it: you drive your crew hard, Kathryn, but you
drive yourself the hardest of all. We know that, and it inspires the
rest of us- from me right down to little Naomi Wildman- to give our
all. And you never, ever, fail to commend a job well done, even if
it's only with a touch. This crew loves you, Kathryn. It respects you.
Perhaps it time you accepted that, and forgave yourself. If you can't
do that, you can't expect anyone else to do it for you."

He turns me to face him, and smiles down at me, the dimples deepening.
"As for kids, don't rule it out yet. We've still got time." He winks
at me and I stare at him in disbelief. "Just think of it as an
incentive to get home sooner rather than later."

He drops a quick kiss on my forehead and then steps away from me,
visibly becoming the First Officer again, and implicitly restoring me
to my own rank. "Speaking of which, I'd better get back to the bridge.
Harry's minding the store."

Dumbly I nod.

My badge chirps, and I tap it. "Janeway."

"Captain, come to cargo bay two." It's Icheb's voice. It sounds-
different, somehow.

I look up at my First Officer and frown. His eyes twinkle.

"You'd better get down there, hadn't you?"

For the first time in what seems like an age, I feel a smile cross my
face. "Without a doubt, Commander. It never does to keep a drone
waiting."

I sweep past him, the smile lingering on my lips. His laughter follows
me onto the bridge and into the turbolift. I'm still grinning slightly
when I step out of the lift. It's amazing how Chakotay can transform
my mood with so little.

---

Phoebe looked at her sister with appalled eyes. "I'm glad I decided 
not to join Starfleet," she whispered. "Kathryn- is that what it's 
been like all these years?"

"What do you mean?" Kathryn asked cautiously.

"The guilt, the responsibility- have you always felt like that because
of Daddy, or is it something that developed during the years in the
Delta Quadrant?"

"I've always felt under pressure to be a good officer because of Dad,"
Kathryn returned honestly. "It was easier, though, when I was in
science- I'm under no illusions, I know I'm an exceptional scientist,
and the chances of me failing to do my job well in that capacity were
remote. Command- that's something else altogether."

She paused for a moment, deep in thought. "There's more pressure in
Command. More responsibility. In science it's very rare that the fate
of the entire crew will hang on a decision you make- in Command,
that's routine. Even more so in the Delta Quadrant, and, at the end of
the day, it was my fault we were there in the first place."

"Did the crew blame you?" her sister shot back, going straight to the
heart of the matter.

"I'll answer this," Chakotay interjected firmly. "The truth, Phoebe?
Yes, at first they did. Particularly amongst the Maquis, but that
changed as the years went on and we became a family. Here's an
example. When Kathryn decided to destroy the Caretaker's array,
B'Elanna was on the bridge with us. She turned on Kathryn. I remember
her saying, in that intense way she has, 'Who is she to make decisions
for all of us?'-"

"You stopped her as I recall," Kathryn murmured. "You said, 'She's the
captain.' It was at that moment that I realised I could trust you."

Chakotay nodded at her in acknowledgment before continuing. "Six years
later, and Kathryn was depressed after discovering that your ancestor,
Shannon O'Donnell, wasn't the great innovator you were brought up to
believe-"

"She wasn't?" Phoebe questioned, surprised. The inherited version of
Shannon O'Donnell's life story was part of Janeway family legendry.

"No, but we'll tell you about that another time, too."

"I suppose," Phoebe sighed. "Go on."

"Anyway, we'd discovered this, and it was quite shocking for Kathryn.
O'Donnell had always been such an inspiration, and to find out the
truth behind the legend- she was really quite devastated. Neelix,
being Neelix, realised this, and planned a party. He invited all the
senior staff- in fact, he insisted we come- and then informed us that
when the Captain arrived, we were going to cheer her up by celebrating
'Ancestor's Eve.'"

"Is that a Talaxian celebration?"

"No. Neelix made it up," Kathryn answered. "He got me down to the mess
hall by implying that there was an emergency requiring my personal
attention. When I got there, he shoved a glass of –something- in my
hand, and made it impossible for me to turn around and leave."

"Why would you want to leave a party?" Phoebe murmured.

"Kathryn has a firmly held belief that her presence at parties dampens
the proceedings," Chakotay said drily. "That might have been true at
first, but it was total nonsense by the end. So, we're all there for
this fictitious event that Neelix has dreamed up, and we talked about
the importance of Shannon O'Donnell for all of us. Regardless of
whether her story was true or not, the results- in terms of Kathryn-
were real enough, and we wouldn't give up our Captain for anything.
Kathryn, being Kathryn-"

"That sounds vaguely insulting," Kathryn noted from across the room
where she was brewing up another jorum of coffee. "What he means,
Phoebe, is that I pointed out- quite accurately- that without me,
chances are they wouldn't have ended up in the Delta Quadrant in the
first place-"

"Without you we might not have survived the first two weeks!" Chakotay
fired back.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. Phoebe had the feeling that this was an old
argument. She decided to bring them back on track.

"Ancestor's Eve?" she reminded Chakotay.

He looked sheepish. Kathryn smirked.

"Ah. Well, Kathryn did her usual blame routine, and B'Elanna brushed
her off, saying that if it hadn't been for getting stranded we
wouldn't have gotten to know each other or become a family. I felt
like cheering and clapping her on the back," he mused. "I'd tried
telling Kathryn the same thing myself, but it didn't have the same
impact."

"Perhaps familiarity bred contempt," Kathryn suggested sweetly.

"Hey!"

"Truth hurts."

"Do you mind? I'm trying to tell a story here."

"Just don't make it up as you go along!"

Chakotay widened his eyes. "Would I do that?"

"Two words, Commander. Angry- Warrior."

"Ouch."

"I wish I knew what you two are talking about," Phoebe complained.
"Chak? Get on with it, or Kathryn can take up where she left off!"

"Not until I've had another cup of coffee," Kathryn told her firmly.

"OK. OK. I can take a hint. Not that there's much more to tell.
Everyone agreed, surprising Kathryn, I think- and then the Doctor took
a photograph of us, all gathered around the Captain. In fact," he
added, jabbing his spoon in the direction of a faded photograph on the
wall that had gone unnoticed for many years, "the composition was
identical to that one you have of O'Donnell and her family."

"How do you know who it is? I don't even know, and that picture's been
there all my life!"

"Kathryn has the same photo," Chakotay explained simply. "We- or
rather, Seven- found it in the database."

"Oh. What happened to your version? I'd like to see it." Phoebe
flashed a wicked grin at Kathryn and Chakotay. "Mama Kate and Papa
Chakotay and all the kids-"

"I have it upstairs," Kathryn told her quickly. "In the meantime, I
think I'd better get back to my story."

"Finally!"

---

"Captain!"

I turn to find the Doctor tagging behind me in the corridor. I look
questioningly at him.

"You were summoned, too?"

I glance at him. "Icheb doesn't seem to have grasped the chain of
command yet," I comment ironically, thinking that this seems to be a
characteristic of all our various waifs, strays, and refugees.

The Doctor smirks. "Remind you of anyone we know?"

My answering smile fades when we enter the cargo bay. Icheb, panting
and sweating profusely, is half-in and half-out of his regeneration
alcove. I bite back an exclamation while the Doctor crosses swiftly to
the Borg console that controls the technology.

I place my hand on Icheb's chin and lift his red, gleaming face so
that his eyes meet mine. "Icheb?"

The Doctor answers for him. "He's disengaged his cortical node!" He
sounds incredulous.

"How?" I bark, dropping my hand from the young Brunali.

Icheb's voice, although faint, clangs with triumph and vindication.
"My alcove. I programmed it to disconnect my neural relays."

I touch his wet face again. I look towards the Doctor, still working
frantically with the console. "Can you reconnect them?"

The Doctor makes a movement that in a human would be redolent of
frustration. "He's locked me out of the controls!"

I stare at him and then at Icheb. I put both my hands on the boy's
face, holding it rigidly. "How could you do this!"

His eyes meet mine. They are steady and cold with determination- and
yes, even a touch of that Borg arrogance that has become so familiar
to me in Seven.

His voice is equally implacable. "It was the only way I could prove to
you that it would work."

I shake my head in unwilling admiration of his tenacity- and
simplicity. Suddenly, he doubles over, groaning. I give vent to an
exclamation, and the Doctor crosses to help me support him, for
Icheb's a well grown sixteen-year old and no light weight when barely
conscious.

"Doctor to transporter room! Three to beam directly to sickbay!"

The green-lit cargo bay disappears in a shimmer of molecules and
light.

We rematerialise in sickbay, Icheb collapsed between us. Seven stares.

"What's wrong with him?" she demands, crossing to us.

I let her take my place at Icheb's side. "Icheb decided to perform a
little operation on himself," I tell her as they move him towards the
diagnostic biobed.

Her brows meet. "You have to reconnect his node immediately," she
insists to the Doctor, to his obvious annoyance.

"I intend to!"

Icheb stirs weakly between them, and manages to raise his head. "No!"
He leans forward and clutches the medical console. It's clear it's the
only thing holding him up. "If Seven can refuse treatment, so can I!"

The Doctor tuts impatiently. "We don't have time for this!"

Icheb turns towards him with painful slowness. The triumphant light is
still in his eyes. "Check your scans. I'm already adapting."

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Some of your implants have adapted, but
not all!"

"Then apply the resequencing technique I researched!"

Seven glares at both of them. "This debate is pointless. I won't
accept the node!"

Icheb matches her, glare for glare. "And I won't keep it!"

I find myself admiring his ability to stand up to her. In this mood,
she is formidable.

The Doctor is muttering something about someone 'using the damn thing'
before it becomes defunct, but none of us are paying him any
attention. Seven and Icheb are locked in their battle, and I am
transfixed by them. Is this how Seven and I argue, I wonder.

"You're acting like a child!" Seven accuses- almost the worst insult
she could have thought to throw at the young man.

"I'm trying to save your life!" Icheb snarls back at her.

Seven stands straight, in her 'dogmatic drone' posture. "Only because
you've grown too dependent on me," she tells him, a touch of
condescension in her tone.

Icheb is still hanging from the console, but his eyes spark fire at
her. "You think I need to learn to rely on other people?"

"Yes." It's emphatic.

"What about you?" he hisses. "You've refused to rely on a single
member of this crew." I flinch. That's true of Seven, but it's also
largely been true of me.

"You hid your condition from the rest of us, you deactivated the
Doctor, and now you're rejecting my help. You're the one who needs to
rely on others." He turns to me. "Isn't that what people on this ship
do? They help each other?"

"Whenever we can," I assure him, feeling like a hypocrite. I'm always
willing to help. Accepting it, however. . . I wonder how much of Seven's
intransigence is due to herself, and how much she's inadvertently
picked up from me.

Icheb is still talking.

"If the Captain were dying you'd risk your life to save her, wouldn't
you?" Seven's eyes flick to mine, and back to him. He turns on me a
second time. "And when you respond to a distress call you're risking
the life of everyone on this ship to respond to the aid of strangers!"

I look at Seven again, holding her gaze with mine. "He's right," I
tell her softly. She doesn't realise I'm talking to myself as well as
her. Her chin goes up.

"Captain, he's just a child!" she protests.

I smile at her, rather sadly. "I don't think he is, not anymore."

"Doctor!"

He shrugs. "Don't look at me."

"Please, just let us help you," Icheb whispers. He's dangerously close
to total collapse, and Seven's eyes move, almost desperately, to meet
mine, and then to the Doctor's, and back to Icheb. Slowly, very
slowly, she nods.

The Doctor heaves a sigh composed equally of exasperation and relief.
"Then let's begin."

---

"Did it work?" Phoebe asked with interest.

Kathryn smiled. "Yes. It was a complete success. Seven spent a week
regenerating, and then was as good as new. Icheb took a little longer,
but soon he too was back on his feet."

"That's good," her sister responded absently.

Kathryn shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and when she spoke, her
voice was like a whisper of crushed velvet. "I can't emphasise how-
shattering!- that was for me. Seven had to accept that she's no longer
a Borg, that she's prone to human fallibilities- and therefore, by
Borg standards, 'imperfect.' That was very hard for her."

Kathryn dropped her eyes and studied her coffee cup intently. "It
wasn't until that confrontation in the sickbay that I realised I'd
been judging myself by very similar standards." She tried to smile.
"Maybe not a Borg yardstick, but- close."

"Perhaps you were more affected by your own assimilation than you
realised?" Phoebe suggested.

Chakotay grinned, wryly. "Possibly- but I doubt it. She was that way
from- oh, I think it was from our time in the Void. She'd always been
anxious to be seen as an exemplary Captain, but from then on, that
need became-" he paused and met Kathryn's eyes with his own, almost
apologetically- "an obsession."

Phoebe looked at him with curiously. "Couldn't you do anything?"

"I wouldn't let him," Kathryn admitted softly. "He tried, but- I kept
pushing him away. I was like Seven, refusing to depend on anyone,
refusing to accept help- but quite happy to risk myself for the crew."

"There were times when we thought she had a suicide wish," Chakotay
added, his face dark with remembered anxiety.

"It was getting too much. The Void- that utter blackness, with nothing
to do but think. And then that year it was one crisis after another,
frequently involving other members of the senior staff." Kathryn
swallowed.

"We nearly lost Seven to the Borg. B'Elanna nearly died- would,
almost, have preferred to die than be saved by Cardassian doctor,
albeit a holographic one. Tom went off on a crusade, and I nearly had
to order the destruction of the shuttle, and him. Harry fell
hopelessly in love with an alien woman, and disobeyed orders. The
Doctor's program nearly self-destructed- and then, on top of that,
there was the Equinox crisis! That was the final straw," she finished
in a near-whisper.

Chakotay reached for her hand again. "It was very bad. We'd argued
before, Kathryn and I, but never so- catastrophically. That incident
could quite easily have spelled the end of our friendship. Luckily,
Kathryn's no Ransom. She realised, pretty quickly, what she'd done,
and she admitted she was wrong." He squeezed Kathryn's hand. "Almost
unprecedented for a captain!" he teased gently.

"I crossed the line. He didn't, and he did his best to hold me back."
Kathryn shuddered at the memories. "The guilt nearly overwhelmed me-
but this time, I managed to keep my struggles from the crew." She
grimaced. "I saw how my emotional state affected their morale during
our soujourn in the Void, and I wasn't prepared to put them through
that again. I kept it hidden, but Chakotay knew."

Chakotay grinned at her. "I managed to infiltrate her defences." He
waggled his eyebrows at both sisters, making them laugh and relaxing
the tension that had accumulated over the course of the story-telling.

"How?"

"It was rather strange," Chakotay mused. "It was after B'Elanna's
experience on the Barge of the Dead- we told you about that.
Afterwards, from what I've heard, B'Elanna virtually flung herself at
Kathryn, and then held on. As soon as Kathryn left sickbay, Tom commed
me and told me what happened. I- had an intuition and left the bridge
to Tuvok."

"I was in my quarters having a bit of a meltdown," Kathryn admitted.
Chakotay nodded approvingly; a year before, and Kathryn would not have
confessed this weakness.

"It sounds so odd, but- I think it was the simple sensation of being
touched, and hugged. I hadn't realised how much I was starved for
human warmth. Oh, I know I was always touching other people- but I was
the Captain. No-one voluntarily touched me, until that day."

"I rang her chime. She didn't answer and I got worried. Don't ask me
why. I used the override, and she was standing by the window, with her
arms wrapped around her so tightly that I'm sure her shoulders ached.
I simply replaced her arms with mine- and we went from there."

"Aww," Phoebe sighed sentimentally, her eyes damp. Her sister grinned
reluctantly. Phoebe was many things, but she was not usually inclined
towards tears- of sentiment or grief.

"Here," Kathryn said, handing the younger woman a handkerchief.

"I don't need it!" Phoebe sniffed, ignoring the proffered
Starfleet-embroidered fabric square. "Was it easier for you after
that, Kath?"

Kathryn twisted the fabric in her hands. "Yes and no. Personally, it
was-nice- to have someone who cared, someone to come back to at night.
Professionally, it took us a while to find a balance, I think. I was
so worried about a relationship- any relationship, let alone one with
my first officer- interfering with the chain of command and the
welfare of the crew-"

"Kathryn, I don't think you ever did," Chakotay put in gravely.
"Sometimes, you talked about the start of our personal relationship as
you 'giving in' to me- as if it was a weakness. Even- especially-
after we got home. It's as if you think you should have finished the
journey alone."

"I felt guilty for being happy when there were people like Sam Wildman
and Joe Carey who were missing their own personal lives," Kathryn
admitted. "Strangely enough, I was able to control it when it looked
like we were going to be in the Delta Quadrant indefinitely, but when
it became clear we were going to get home significantly sooner- it was
hard not to feel that I- that we- should have waited a little longer."

"Talk about locking the stable door after the horse had bolted!"
Phoebe commented.

Chakotay gave her a deeply dimpled smile that made his eyes sparkle.
"My thoughts exactly, Phoebe!"

Phoebe's eyes widened. "Kathryn, if you don't want him, can I have
him?"

"No! He's mine. You've got your own!"

Phoebe smiled as she thought of her own husband and family. "True."
She sighed dramatically. "Doesn't hurt to try, though."

Chakotay gave her another of those dimpled grins. "I'm flattered,
Phoebe, really, but as the lady says, I'm taken." He glanced at
Kathryn. "Apart from that, though, the last year of our trip was
easier for you, I think. You were less obsessive about things, and
more willing to relax."

"Yes, that was partly due to you. You're such a nag, Chakotay! But it
was also because of the thing with Seven's cortical node. Seven's
comments about expectations- mine, and her own Borg-inspired
standards- and then what Icheb had to say about depending on people
and letting them help. It all made me stop and think, and really look
at myself and the way I interact with others, both personally and
professionally.

"I was also helping Seven with her feelings of guilt and repentance
for the deeds she had to perform as a Borg- and it's very hard to
preach self-forgiveness to others when you know it applies equally to
you. If I wasn't to be a hypocrite, I had to learn to forgive myself
for so many things, regardless of how seriously other people took
those 'errors.' I had to accept that, in the words of the Borg, I'm
'damaged', 'imperfect'- but most importantly, I had to learn that
that's OK."

Kathryn stopped to take a breath, and then looked from Chakotay, to
her sister, and back to Chakotay again. Her blue eyes were clear.
"It's all part of being human, isn't it?"

Chakotay drew her close for a kiss. "To the people who love you,
you're perfect- warts and all!"

"Perfectly imperfect!" Phoebe agreed with a smirk.

Kathryn smiled.

"Perfectly imperfect," she repeated softly.

---

The End

---

This is the last part, obviously. I'd like to know what people think:
I'm not certain I've achieved the emotional resonance OR the sense of
closure I was aiming for. How well does the story hang together,
especially given the contrasting narrative styles? Do I write better
in conventional third person-past tense or first person-present tense?
Are the touches of humour/ sentimentality appropriate? I have a horror
of writing 'sap' although I have no qualms with reading it. What about
the title? Does it work with the themes of the story?

Many thanks for reading this story and I appreciate the reviews that
people have taken the time to submit.