Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

people I'd rather be with.”
    His words hung in the air a moment, then drifted into the coffee cup Tom Paris held up in front of him.
    “To the journey,” Paris declared.
    One by one their raised their glasses or cups, and to the last echoed the sentiment of solidarity, admiral or no admiral, Borg or no Borg.
    * * *
    Off watch, at red alert. The two were contradictory. Nobody was off watch at red alert, yet Captain Janeway stood in the mess hall alone, near the window, reviewing a padd and sipping another cup of coffee. It was her tenth in the past couple of hours. She'd either float away or just use up all they had left. Maybe that was why she eventually “gave it up.” Wasn't any left.
    “Coffee, black.”
    She turned at the sound of her own voice. The admiral was here. When had she come in?
    A cup of coffee was dispensed from the replicator. The admiral took it and approached her.
    “I thought you gave it up,” Janeway commented.
    The admiral offered a very familiar shrug with just a tip of her head. “I've decided to revive a few of my old habits.”
    “Oh? What else, besides the coffee?”
    Admiral Janeway's eyes twinkled at the irony. “Well . . . I used to be much more idealistic. I took a lot of risks.”
    What was she driving at? Janeway deliberately didn't say anything, letting her silence propel the moment.
    “I've been so determined to get my crew home,” the admiral regretfully went on, “for so many years . . . I forgot how much they loved being together. And I forgot how loyal they were to . . . you.” She paced a few steps, then went on. “It's taken me a few days to realize it, but this is your ship, your crew. Not mine. I was wrong to lie to you, to think I could talk you out of something you'd set your mind to—”
    “You were only doing what you thought was right for all of us.” Janeway cut her off with a platitude. She really didn't want to hear any more.
    “Well, you've changed my mind about that,” the admiral said anyway. “And I'd like to help you carry out your mission. Maybe together we can increase our odds.”
    Janeway stared at her, unblinking, until her eyes hurt. Could it be this easy? Flip, flop, I'm with you now?
    Or had the actions and devotions of the crew really had this much of an effect on a person whom she knew—damned well
knew
—was hardheaded and inflexible on items of conviction?
    She couldn't read the admiral's eyes, despite the mirror effect. There was still a factor of possible manipulation going on. And she wanted to be cautious, to hold back her trust. She owed it to everyone to be circumspect and not plunge forward just because the admiral decided to play nice.
    Why were they at odds? Why were they playing mental games and challenges of authority and will? There was something wrong about this, and there had to be some better way. A captain with a ship of this power, a crew of this diverse talent . . . there had to be something she hadn't imagined.
    For the first time she opened her brain to the crazy wedge of chance that she had until now been pushing away for the safety of her crew.
    “Maybe we can do more than that. There's got to be a way to have our cake and eat it too.”
    The admiral scowled a bit. “We can't destroy the hub
and
get
Voyager
home.”
    “Are you absolutely sure about that?”
    Clearly the admiral had never thought this way. She had been too single-minded, and now reconsidered.
    “There might be a way,” she offered quietly. “I considered it once . . . but it seemed too risky.”
    For the first time they genuinely understood each other, and genuinely agreed.
    Janeway actually smiled. “That was before you decided to revive your old habits.”
    The admiral smiled back and took a sip from her coffee cup. “I don't know why I ever gave this up.”
    * * *
    The admiral checked the readings at the helm of her shuttle when the captain entered, carrying a hypospray. Risky? This was beyond the definition. They had, however, committed themselves and neither was looking back.
    “It's about time.” She looked up at the younger version of herself and saw the beginnings of lines around the eyes that had by now become familiar and in a way reassuring. “I'm not getting any younger, you know.”
    Janeway adjusted the hypo, then injected the admiral while casually chiding, “You're sure you want to do this?”
    “No, but
Voyager
isn't big enough for the both of us.”
    Somehow it was easy to joke, now that the critical,