This story took an unexpected turn. After reading it, my regulars may write, questioning my parentage, my sanity, or my current recreational drug intake.

I don't know what to tell you: This is what the characters said.

"Parthian Shots"

By Joseph Manno

You're all mine.

Kathryn Janeway, for the first time in almost eight years, took a moment—a moment to relax… a moment to savor… a moment to just be.

Voyager's ready room—her ready room—was expansive; and she reveled in it, especially now that the ship might not be hers much longer.

The debriefings Starfleet had scheduled for her now that the trial was over were going to take months, that much she knew… and while Voyager would spend that period in dry-dock, being refit, analyzed and otherwise tended lovingly, there was no guarantee when the ship emerged from the process that her commanding officer would still be Captain Kathryn Janeway.

Kathryn wondered just how many captains simply stayed with their ship during much of the repair and restoration process—hovering, fussing, and generally making the dockmaster's life miserable. Vessels, during these periods, were mostly deserted; the entire crew, with the notable exceptions of the chief engineer and a few other key personnel, were often on leave for months when a starship was given such a drastic refurbishment.

Captains, though, often stayed close. She'd seen evidence of it throughout her career, and had once thought it a silly affectation in some, and evidence of a slightly pathetic need in others—as if there were a spiritual umbilical between commander and ship that distance might diminish or sever. It gave them something they desperately needed, like a drug. She'd been somewhat dismissive, and even disdainful, of the quality. A ship, she'd known, was simply a collection of parts. It had no real spirit of its own; such came from the people aboard her.

Now, with her own attachment fully developed, and thriving, she felt a little sheepish at her previous condemnation of the habit. Kathryn had realized that she'd been infected, too, about ten minutes after her trial: Rather than her parents, her officers, or even herself, she'd thought first of Voyager in the moments after her freedom had been granted.

And here she was… getting her fix.

Soon enough, she'd be called back to Starfleet Headquarters… thus, these hours with her charge would have to suffice until the next time she could legitimately slip away.

Her ship was already looking better: A goodly portion of the work had been done during the trial, when Kathryn had been too busy for indulging her desire to be here as it was done. Now, her command was getting healthy again, regaining its strength—being readied for the next great adventure.

Alone at last.

The, the ready room's entrance chime disabused her of that notion—startlingly.

Damn.

"Come."

The man who entered might not have been the very last person she would have expected to see… but he was definitely near the bottom of the list.

She stood, as protocol demanded, suppressing what she knew was a childish impulse to simply close the door again.

"Captain Mantovanni."

"Captain Janeway."

He waited—either politely, unwillingly, or some combination of both—on the room's threshold for an invitation to enter. Again, Janeway had to push herself to do the correct thing.

"Come in, Captain," she finally offered.

He accepted the gesture, she noticed, with almost as much enthusiasm as she'd issued it. Mantovanni, Janeway noted, was still the same brooding presence she remembered from eight years ago: Dark and forbidding, but attractive in his duty uniform and Spartan glower. He'd hardly changed, while she'd aged… oh, how she'd aged.

She pushed herself to continue with the niceties.

"Would you care to sit down?"

He gestured vaguely.

"No, thank you. I'll be brief."

He was… and to the point, as well.

"I felt it necessary to tell you that I was subpoenaed as an ‘expert witness’—whatever the hell that means. I had no desire to testify against you. You made a thousand difficult decisions during that seven-year period, and it was dirty pool to come after you in the way they did."

She digested that momentarily… and found it didn't satisfy her in the least: His comments had been candid, but not quite apologetic; they had stated the essential facts, but avoided the fundamental issues.

He sounds like a… resentful diplomat, she thought. What is that old joke? "Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip."

I wonder why I thought of that just now?

Looking at Mantovanni again, she didn't wonder for very long.

"'Come after me in the way they did,'" she echoed, emphasizing the qualifier slightly. "That's a very interesting choice of words, Captain Mantovanni. How should they have come after me?"

He sighed, slightly. This was going as well for him as it was her, evidently.

"I did not come here to dispute with you, Captain."

Janeway's tone was hard.

"Didn't you?"

Suddenly, his forbearance seemed to be wearing thin.

"No… but you shouldn't ask questions you really don't want answered."

Ouch. Touché, she conceded… but found she couldn't just let it lie.

"Oh, I want to know, Captain," Janeway found herself saying. "Please, indulge yourself."

He looked irritated, despite his control, and for a moment she felt silly. Her comments had clearly added antimatter to an already imbalanced warp core.

Now she waited for the breach.

"Maybe you should have just been awarded a medal, quietly promoted into the Admiralty, and given a job with lots of profile… and no power. You could have been Starfleet's golden girl, and simultaneously been prevented from making the kinds of decisions that might affect the Federation's future."

Boom.

Well, you asked, Kathryn.

"Shall we cut to the chase, Captain?" she asked.

He inclined his head slightly. "I thought we already had, but… by all means."

She took his response as not only license, but an endorsement.

"I don't like you," Janeway told him. "You're judgmental, inflexible… and I think your veneer of Vulcan control hides emotional problems you're not willing to acknowledge."

As far as poker faces went, she had to admit, Mantovanni had her outclassed. His expression wavered not at all during her minute litany, and he was ready with his response even before her mouth closed.

"And I'm not particularly fond of you, either. You're intellectually smug, occasionally hypocritical, and your decision-making process is often based on personal relationships rather than genuine morality."

She knew her glare when she was this angry was something of a sneer… and found she didn't care. Mantovanni's customary expression was a dark one; now it momentarily slipped from dusk to midnight.

"That said," he continued suddenly, "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, with no one to consult or rely upon. Congratulations on completing an extraordinary journey."

For a moment, Janeway was flabbergasted. A compliment… even, in some subtle way, a concession… from Luciano Mantovanni?

"Thank you," she answered carefully. "Actually, considering what happened to Liberty last year, I imagine you're one of the few officers who could know how I felt."

"And that's precisely why I didn't want to testify."

She sipped at her coffee, and pondered.

Perhaps knowing where you stand is the most important part of any relationship.

"So you don't like me," she summarized, "and think I should have been put in a gilded cage."

He inclined his head minutely.

"And you don't like me, because… well, because I'm not very likeable."

The candid nature of the admission caught her by surprise, and she laughed.

He arched a brow, and despite herself, she laughed even harder.

Suddenly, she found herself at ease with a man she didn't much like. It was the oddest feeling… and she sensed he was experiencing it as well.

"Perhaps we should quit while we're ahead," she suggested. Her smile was still in evidence; lopsided, perhaps, but definitely present.

"Agreed. Try to stay out of trouble, Captain Janeway. I know how difficult it is."

"You, too, Captain Mantovanni."

Voyager's commander caught something in his expression then, just before he turned away, in reaction to what he himself had said… something minute and fleeting, granted… but from such a closed-off person, it was all too noticeable.

Rather than dismissing it, she chose to inquire.

"What is it, Captain?"

For a moment, she thought he'd simply deny it and depart… but his scrupulous honesty caused him to admit, "I've got a meeting with Admiral Necheyev tomorrow. No doubt it has to do with my decision concerning Jonozia Lex." Dryly, he added, "To put me 'at ease,' she stressed that it was 'neither official, nor a hearing of any sort.'"

Janeway suddenly found herself empathizing.

"That can't be good," she agreed. "I don't suppose Commodore Louvois is going to be there?"

"Good guess… and Admiral Pierce, as well."

Kathryn Janeway realized that she was now, officially, of two minds. A portion of her was thinking, It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy; but another, surprisingly stronger part was now concluding what Mantovanni, no doubt, already had: They couldn't get one, so now they're going to go after the other.

Those bastards.

Then, her mind flashed back to the Liberty's captain on the stand during her trial, and…

"I have an idea," whispered Janeway. She had a conspiratorial, almost mischievous look in her eye.

"Indeed? Let's hear it." He arched a brow, and leaned towards her slightly.

When she told him, Luciano Mantovanni considered it for a moment, and then nodded.

"That's not bad."

***

"She started it!"

Luciano Mantovanni and Kathryn Janeway exchanged knowing glances, and each turned back to the quartet of officers before them.

Of the four, only Lieutenant T'Vaar seemed unruffled and unscathed. The others—Lieutenants Parihn, Paris and Torres—were sporting a collection of bruises and contusions that reminded Liberty's captain of nothing so much as a particularly rambunctious day at the playground.

The Orion and Klingon had each just accused the other of instigating the altercation that had landed them as a group in their current location: A holding cell.

The moment in which they'd learned of the incident had been a somewhat inglorious one—for Janeway no less than him, he silently conceded: They had just begun the first discussion between them not laced with either contempt or anger when his comm badge had beeped.

"Liberty to Mantovanni."

"Excuse me, Captain," he'd said, and responded, "Go ahead."

"T'Laris, sir. I've just been informed that Lieutenants Parihn and T'Vaar have been detained at Utopia Planitia—for brawling. Would you like me to handle it?" The Romulan's tone was rife with the amused disdain that came so easily to her people.

Out of the corner of his eye, he'd watched Kathryn Janeway manage to disguise what he assumed was a smile behind her hand.

It was a good thing she had, too, for her sake… because her comm panel had sounded not five seconds later.

"Excuse me, Captain Janeway. I'm Nicholas Cole, with UPSEC. I'm holding your chief engineer and conn officer down here in detention. They were fighting, and…"

"Say no more," she'd interrupted, her expression first disbelieving, and then a touch resigned. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Do you have any idea what this might be about?" The Sicilian asked, knowing full well the answer.

She shot him a chagrined look.

"I can take a good guess."

And so the two commanders had beamed over to the shipyards, there to hear everybody's story.

It had been Janeway's authoritative, "All right… what happened?" when they'd arrived that had triggered the mutual accusation festival.

Mantovanni now took up the cause.

"Well… since you four have managed to embarrass your respective captains in front of Utopia Planitia at large, perhaps at least one of you would like to regale us with an explanation of—or, better yet, a justification for—your pre-adolescent behavior."

A moment later—a moment during which absolutely nothing had been forthcoming—Janeway added a clipped, "We're waiting."

Finally, B'Elanna Torres took the initiative. She shot a vicious glare at Parihn, and began with, "I'm sorry, Captain, but this… p'hthk…"

"Call me that again, and you'll be able to tell everybody a 'p'hthk' kicked your ass, you ruska sh–…"

Mantovanni cut the Orion short with, "Well, that's just about enough…"

"…from both of you," Janeway finished, just in time to prevent the Klingon from launching another verbal volley of her own. Each woman subsided… but only at her own captain's command.

Janeway scanned the group, and acquired another target.

"Mr. Paris." Her withering regard brought the helmsman to a sharp attention.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Perhaps you can tell me why you didn't try to stop this before it got started."

He looked at her as if she'd just grown horns.

"With all due respect… I joined the Maquis, spent seven years lost on the other side of the galaxy, and have been in some desperate situations… but get between those two? Forget it. I've got a daughter; I plan on being around long enough to raise her… and, remember, once this is all over, I have to live with one of them."

Good point, thought Mantovanni.

"Besides," he appended lamely, "I didn't have much of a chance to do anything before..." Paris' then voice trailed off; he looked more than a little embarrassed.

Janeway flashed a surprised look to Mantovanni—who took it as invitation to ask the next question.

"T'Vaar?" he inquired. "You were present, as well. Why didn't you intervene?"

The Vulcan arched a brow.

"I believe you greatly overestimate my diplomatic skills, Captain. When I attempted to speak, they both yelled, 'Stay out of this!' with sufficient… enthusiasm… that I thought it wise to heed them. I then decided to concentrate on minimizing collateral damage, and went to Mr. Paris' aid."

Voyager's helmsman added an emphatic, "What she said.

"Unfortunately, I was a little dazed."

Janeway's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"'Dazed'?" she echoed.

"And why, T'Vaar," Mantovanni asked an instant later, "did he need your 'aid'?"

She answered with a simple, "He was attempting to recover from the blow he'd received."

Oh, no.

Mantovanni rolled his eyes, and turned his slowly growing glare on Parihn.

"You hit him, too?"

The Orion managed to look guileless—an impressive feat, considering the situation—and answered, "Not me." She then suppressed a smile, and with a sing-song lilt that would have done a born tattletale proud, jerked her thumb at B'Elanna and announced, "She did it."

"It was an accident!" her opponent protested hotly. "I was… pulling back my arm…"

"…and she back-fisted him—unintentionally… or so I would assume," T'Vaar added that last when Torres growled at her.

Mantovanni noted, Very subtle, T'Vaar… but not precisely helpful.

It also didn't help when Parihn saucily added, "Yeah… it was her best shot of the whole fight."

"Why, you little…!" Torres snarled, and half-turned, but managed to restrain herself with what looked like a substantial effort.

"Yeah… that's exactly what happened," Paris confirmed… then mumbled, "Uhh… at least I think that's what happened. I was a little groggy."

T'Vaar again took up the account.

"It was when I had just reached the lieutenant that shipyard security arrived on the scene. I believe they thought I had administered the blow that had stunned him—considering that they leveled their weapons at me and told me to, 'Freeze my cute little Vulcan ass' or they would send me to a place called, colorfully enough, 'La La Land.'"

Paris grimaced eloquently. "Civilians. Go figure."

For a long moment, the two captains considered what they'd heard.

Then, Janeway spoke.

"Very well. Mr. Paris, it's clear that you and Lieutenant T'Vaar are relatively blameless in all this. You're both free to go."

Tom protested, "Ma'am I'd like to s–…"

Janeway's already displeased expression darkened slightly.

"…see how my daughter's doing. Excuse me." He made genuine haste to depart.

T'Vaar, more wisely, left with nary a word.

"And as for you two," Mantovanni declared coldly, "you've just become roommates. You'll stay here until you apologize—sincerely—to each other. Neither Captain Janeway nor I have the time to baby-sit officers who resort to this kind of display in settling their differences. I suggest you two find something about each other you like, because until we have an inkling that you've moved beyond this stage of your burgeoning relationship…" he pointed first to Parihn, "…you'll be flying this bunk…" and then Torres, "…and you'll be refitting the toilet."

To say the two looked aghast would have been putting it mildly.

"Got me?"

Parihn nodded.

"Yes, sir."

At first, Torres looked to Janeway… but found no sympathy.

It was only then that she conceded, "Aye, Captain."

Even before he and Janeway had rounded the corner of the detention block on their way out, they could hear Torres saying, "That's your side, this is mine… and don't even think of entering Klingon space."

"Fine," Parihn replied. "I'll just pee on the floor… well, on your floor, anyway..."

As their voices faded with distance, Janeway was restraining her laughter only with difficulty.

"That was cruel, Captain."

Mantovanni nodded, and observed, "Perhaps so. Fortunately, we've already established that I'm not a nice guy."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," she told him. "I like it. It has a poetic symmetry to it… and, after all, the punishment should fit the crime."

They continued their surprisingly amiable stroll for a moment; then Liberty's captain smiled slightly.

"Care to venture a guess as to who gives in first?"

Kathryn Janeway thought on it for a moment.

"They're both brilliant and bull-headed. I'd say it's even money."

Mantovanni grunted in response, and dryly noted, "I'm just wondering if they'll be out before I'm sentenced to join them."

And to that sudden, depressing thought, Voyager's captain had no reply.

***

It had taken a few hours of thought, but Tom Paris had a plan.

He usually needed one when dealing with his wife; she wasn't amenable, pliable, malleable, or very much "-able" to engage in anything resembling compromise—unless, of course, ordered to do so.

And, like most husbands, he didn't have that kind of authority.

While he knew nothing about the Orion woman, Vaerth Parihn, she didn't look like the type that would easily concede either. He had no doubts that she would eventually give in before B'Elanna's superior obduracy… but he had no intention of waiting around on the chance their struggle could become a test of wills and endurance taking days, weeks, or even months.

He had to act.

Fortunately, Tom had realized he possessed a weapon at his disposal far more potent and irresistible than even a determined Klingon.

And he was more than willing to use it.

***

Admittedly, Alynna Necheyev's office complex at Starfleet Headquarters wasn't what anyone other than a monarch might consider "cozy"… but as far as Luciano Mantovanni was concerned, it was entirely too crowded for his taste.

The "unofficial get together" she'd implied would be almost cursory had evidently started some time before his scheduled arrival: Not only were the C-in-C, Admiral Pierce, Vice Admiral Jellico, and Commodore Louvois in attendance, but Rear Admiral March Patterson was present as well. Mantovanni didn't know what sorcery the man had woven in order to finagle an invitation, but the Sicilian was certain it was magic of the darker sort.

He entered warily, angling for Necheyev, and noted with interest and surprise that both she and Pierce stood to greet him—which forced the other three onto their feet as well. Jellico looked almost amused at having to perform the gesture, but Louvois' annoyance was clear.

Patterson looked momentarily furious, but recovered with admirable haste.

"Admiral Necheyev… Admirals… Commodore," Mantovanni acknowledged.

The five replies of "Captain" ranged from Pierce's hearty greeting down to an almost resentful mutter from March Patterson.

"Captain, please… have a seat," Necheyev instructed, even as she reclaimed her own chair.

"We just have a few questions, Captain Mantovanni," Louvois offered. Her tone seemed almost… apologetic.

Mantovanni arched a brow.

"By all means, Commodore… I daresay you've assembled enough of the magisterium for a real Inquisition, if you so desired… but, of course, that's not your stated purpose."

Necheyev, of course, remained expressionless at Mantovanni's acerbic comment. Pierce and—to the Sicilian's surprise—Jellico, exchanged glances and shook their heads in what seemed to be a blend of amusement and exasperation.

Louvois and Patterson looked less delighted, and the latter made clear his feelings.

"You've got a smart mouth, and a real flair for insulting people without quite making it overt, don't you, Captain?" The rear admiral's tone was pointed, and provocative.

Mantovanni's response was almost contemptuous.

"Some people just invite insults with their very demeanor, Admiral.

"Take that for what it's worth."

"Gentlemen."

Necheyev's voice was like a dose of cold water on what had threatened to become a heated exchange.

"You've now firmly reestablished the fact that you don't like each other," she stated. "May we move on?"

If a man could manage the paradox of looking both apologetic and unrepentant, both of them accomplished it.

"Very good. I happen to know that both of you are capable of restraint when the situation warrants it. Now that you've been permitted to cross swords briefly, I suggest you restrain the impulse—for the duration."

The finality in that statement was clear and absolute: In the midst of so many strong personalities, it was a testament to Alynna Necheyev's presence that no one doubted who was truly in command.

"Now, let's get down to our purpose here." She gestured to Phillipa Louvois.

"Commodore, you have the floor."

As she stood, Starfleet's Assistant Judge Advocate general again flashed Luciano Mantovanni a look redolent with regret and sympathy…

…and then put on an expression that might as well have been war paint.

It was in that moment Liberty's captain fully realized the gravity of the situation.

***

Vaerth Parihn watched as B'Elanna Torres' facial cast suddenly changed from the naked hostility she'd begun to think was a permanent fixture, to one she at first had trouble placing in context.

She looks… happy. Almost radiant. What could…?

When the security guard lowered the force field, the Orion got her answer. Tom Paris stepped into Parihn's line of sight…

…carrying a wiggling bundle that the Klingon woman immediately seized with a ferocious gentleness.

She then started to coo.

Parihn, despite herself, shook her head and smiled.

It's a baby… her baby… and she's a good, loving Mommy. Who'd have guessed?

The Orion herself had been forgotten, as the Torres clan huddled together and basked in their reunion: It had, after all, been almost 16 hours… and for a mother and child, that was an absence guaranteed to make even a Klingon heart grow fonder.

After a moment, Tom took the baby back into his arms; then, to B'Elanna's shock and gradual consternation, he strolled over into "Orion territory" and proudly presented his child.

"This," he announced, beaming, "is our daughter."

He then held her out for Parihn.

Wonderingly, the Orion cradled the little bundle, and whispered, "Hello."

The baby gurgled happily, grabbed the finger she was offered, and proceeded to enthusiastically gum it.

"She likes you," Tom chuckled, then turned to his wife.

"Wouldja look at that."

B'Elanna looked aghast, but then…

"She's so beautiful!"

…her expression again melted, returning to its beatific state upon hearing her beloved daughter complimented.

Forgetting all about territories and tempers, B'Elanna Torres moved towards the others, even as Vaerth Parihn murmured endearments and laughed.

As the two women proceeded to lavish love on the child, Tom Paris simply stepped back, and grinned.

Looks like the Klingons and Orions, he thought, have signed a peace treaty.

***

Instead of laying into Mantovanni, though, Phillipa Louvois had surprised everyone by directing her first questions at Alexander Pierce—who was obviously unused to being interrogated, however respectfully.

It was apparent to all present, though, that her inquiries were already becoming a bit wearisome to him.

The Sicilian watched the exchange with morbid interest.

"I'm an admiral, Commodore Louvois, and was a vice admiral at the time," Pierce was saying. "I believe I have a little latitude in evaluating a situation before making a decision on how to proceed."

"Granted, sir, and I'm sorry if I seemed to imply you didn't… such was not my intent." Pierce seemed mollified by her apology. Necheyev was carefully expressionless; perhaps her previous experiences with Louvois had left her wary.

"So," she continued, "your decision was to do nothing."

"I didn't say that," Pierce insisted.

"No, you didn't… but your actions prove it. You were informed by Captain Mantovanni of the events occurring on Stardates 52113.4-52128.3 even before Liberty was lost, were you not?"

Pierce glowered, and responded, "I was."

"Certainly it doesn't take ten months… excuse me, 17 now… to make a decision. Now I'll grant you might have been looking to carefully weigh all the facts, Admiral, but let's be realistic, here. Surely you could have come to a decision during that time?

"Admiral?" she prodded.

Pierce's glare was impressive.

"I didn't see where impugning, or even calling into question, the memory of a dead man served any purpose. I didn't feel it was the time or the place to act on what I knew."

"Why not?" pressed Louvois. "There was, despite Liberty's disappearance, a clone of Jonozia Lex commanding USS Argus, one of the most powerful ships in the Federation Fleet—who, for that matter, remains in command thereof.

"And Captain Mantovanni still holds Liberty's center seat—despite, before this moment, not having been debriefed for the record or questioned by the JAG office concerning his role."

Louvois' glare, too, was not to be underestimated.

"I require an explanation, sir."

Now Alexander Pierce looked genuinely angry.

"And I've provided the only one you're going to get, Commodore. It was my call… and I decided that it didn't need to go any further than it had. Captain Mantovanni came to me and told me what happened. I interpreted the regulations, considered the matter, consulted with Vice Admiral Jellico, and finally decided that the status quo was acceptable."

"Say, rather, that you put yourself above the law… or rather, you decided, like Captain Mantovanni, that you were a law unto yourself."

Now Necheyev finally intervened.

"Commodore… Admiral Pierce, as chief of Starfleet Command, and Seventh Fleet Commander before that, has tremendous latitude in the interpretation of regulations. I do not find his handling of the situation either unethical or unreasonable."

Louvois seemed to consider challenging that… and then, abruptly, relented.

"Very well, Admiral. The JAG office will consider Admiral Pierce's involvement in this matter closed, if the C-in-C so desires and indicates."

"I do so desire and indicate," Necheyev answered wryly.

"Then, respectfully, Admiral Pierce… you're dismissed. You may go, too, Admiral Jellico."

Despite his own situation, Mantovanni nearly smiled to see both men's perfect "Os" of surprise at being summarily expelled from the "unofficial" proceedings.

They exchanged indignant glances, rose, nodded respectfully to Necheyev, and silently departed.

Louvois promptly refocused her attentions on Luciano Mantovanni.

"Now, Captain… we can deal with your actions…

"…and the consequences thereof."

***

"The captain's informed me that he's taking some leave."

USS Liberty's senior staff reacted almost as one—with surprise.

The impromptu meeting had been called by Sub-commander T'Laris a few hours previously; and the "invitation" had included everyone who could return from their own furloughs for a few hours and attend promptly: Sera MacLeod; Cassandra Rhodes; Tertius Galenius; Irriantia; and, of course, the recently liberated Vaerth Parihn.

"Uh, I don't mean to sound confused or angry, but… why is that important enough to justify calling us in? I mean, taking leave is one of the reasons we're back at Earth, isn't it?"

"There must be something more to the situation if the Sub-commander assembled us, Lieutenant Rhodes," noted Tertius drolly. One or two of his fellows hid a grin: He'd begun adopting Mantovanni's cadence, tone, and certain of his mannerisms… yet only he seemed unaware of it.

In a way, though, it suited him.

Irriantia, too, seemed perplexed.

"The entire idea of the captain taking leave seems—to borrow a human metaphor—'a little fishy.'" The fact of a dolphin using that particular phrase inspired only the briefest of smiles from those at the conference table.

Parihn nodded her agreement, adding, "Other than that trip to Terra Roma, and a weekend once or twice when we've been near Earth or Vulcan, he hasn't taken any…" The Orion's voice trailed off as she tried to recall.

Sera MacLeod finished for her.

"…since before I met him—over nine years ago."

"Well, I think he's earned it," Rhodes noted emphatically.

T'Laris had waited patiently for the opportunity to speak again, and seized upon the momentary silence as her chance.

"Well, now that you've all made at least one observation, in that cathartic but chattering way, please allow me to continue."

The assembled officers nodded. T'Laris, in actuality, wasn't truly contemptuous of them; her attitude was more amused tolerance, punctuated by an occasional bout of candid disdain. Considering her heritage, that meant they'd won her respect… and perhaps, in some small way, her affection.

Now the Romulan's tone took on a different timbre: Quieter, yet more forceful and concerned then it had been. It easily captured their undivided attention.

"The captain spoke only briefly with me when he returned from Starfleet Command this morning. Something in his demeanor caused me to check the upcoming duty roster.

"It had been… altered."

There was no other way to say it.

"The leave is 'open-ended'…" T'Laris told them.

Then, she grimly added, "…and we're getting another captain."

***

"Yeah."

This time it was Luciano Mantovanni's turn to be surprised by a visitor's identity: The door of his quarters slid open to reveal none other than Kathryn Janeway.

"Turnabout is fair play, Captain," she announced. "May I come in?"

"Certainly." He gestured first for Voyager's commander to make herself comfortable, and then to the replicator.

"No, thank you," she responded, a little too emphatically, and then added for clarity, "I've already had four cups this morning."

Mantovanni arched a brow.

"So I can at least expect sobriety from our exchange," the Sicilian observed, even as he strolled to the window and availed himself of the view.

And there he stood, hands resting lightly on the sill; Janeway belatedly realized he wasn't going to sit down and join her, and broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable.

"Captain," she offered, "I know we're not the best of friends, and probably never will be… but considering what you told me yesterday, I had to know.

"What did they say to you?"

He glanced back, then partly turned to address her.

"You know," he commented, not quite conversationally, "if you, in particular, had asked me that yesterday, I might have assumed you were metaphorically soaring over my body, waiting eagerly for me to stop moving."

Janeway looked, for a moment, startled; then she shook her head.

"You do take some getting used to, don't you, Captain? At any rate," she continued, "I'm pleased that your opinion of me has improved—albeit slightly."

Mantovanni turned back to his starlight vigil, smiling minutely as he did.

Janeway, for the moment, wondered if she'd have to ask again, or even whether she should. His next words answered those questions… though not quite in the way either would have preferred.

"I'm not being prosecuted, but Starfleet's restraint is… contingent."

She waited a moment, then nudged him with a gentle, "On?"

Rather than responding, the Sicilian pointed towards a darkened corner of his quarters…

…where sat two suitcases, each open and half-packed.

They didn't just contain clothes, either. There were curios, personal items, and various other objects that led her to an inevitable conclusion.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, dismayed. "They relieved you?"

"They're calling it 'extended furlough,'" he told her; clearly neither of them believed it, though. "Necheyev told me that it was either that, or a trial…" his voice grew a little harder, "…and that Starfleet's new Judge Advocate General had instructed Phillipa Louvois to pursue the matter 'to the limit of the department's authority.'

"Having seen her in action, I'm sure you'll agree that she doesn't think her department has any limits to its authority." The previous rancor in his intonation, she noted, didn't seem directed at Louvois, per se.

"I even considered your suggestion about finding Hardesty Grover and having him accompany me… and was told he's off sequestered somewhere with Diane Dell writing his memoirs—if you can believe it."

The subsequent silence was almost a commentary in itself.

"You know," Janeway said dryly, "if you'd told me all that yesterday, I might have considered it poetic justice."

He nodded at that.

"It still is, Captain. A pity we can't revel in each other's misfortunes as once we might have. This would have been pretty damned satisfying, you have to admit."

She'd never met a man around whom such dark clouds seemed to cluster. There was no doubt in her mind he often unconsciously cultivated that very image… but in this case, she admitted, his brooding demeanor was more than appropriate.

Janeway stood, and moved to stand near him, not quite touching; it was a personal gesture of sympathy, taken as far as she dared. She felt him stiffen a bit, but wasn't offended—knowing that if the situation was reversed, she wouldn't have been accepting consolation from very many people, either. The fact that he could acknowledge even a little of what she'd offered was a testament to their unspoken change of perspective.

She began, "If there's anything I can do…"

"…that wouldn't make it worse?" he finished.

Janeway frowned in realization.

"I see your point. It'd be like having a fox testify on a wolf's behalf, wouldn't it?"

That actually provoked a smile that would probably be described as… well, wolfish.

"I should get back to my packing, Captain. Thank you for coming. I appreciate it."

Kathryn Janeway knew the comment was heartfelt when she saw him offer her his hand.

She took, and shook, it.

"Good luck in the Admiralty," he murmured dryly.

She cocked an eye at him, smiled in exasperation, and replied, "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a real pessimist, Captain Mantovanni?"

With a last, sympathetic smile, she left him alone with his thoughts.

Luciano Mantovanni watched Kathryn Janeway leave, and then answered her through the closed door.

"I think, in this case, Captain… it's justified."