Kathryn looked at the chronometer on her desk: 04:47. She closed her eyes. She had stewed in her own mental juices long enough. She needed to talk to someone. Who did she need to talk to? Back home, the decision would have been easy. She would have talked with Mark. She could talk about anything with him. She had talked about everything with him. That was one of the most wonderful things about him. She could admit to being scared, uncertain, confused. Sometimes she would speak to him about her feelings, directly from her soul. Other times she would carefully objectify the issue, and the two of them would be awake until the early morning hours holding endless philosophical discussions about whether the ends justified the means, how to weigh the needs of the few against the many, if absolute standards of morality and behavior could be defined. In retrospect, she knew that many of these arguments must have seemed sophomoric and pedantic to a world-class philosopher like Mark. But Mark was a wise man, an infinitely patient man, and he understood that what they were really talking about were issues that were troubling Kathryn deeply, so deeply that she needed to mask them with an intellectual facade. God, she missed talking with Mark. Maybe as much as she missed the sex. Maybe more. Maybe not.

Mark and Phoebe. The two people back home who she could talk to completely without censor. Mark was a bit kinder than Phoebe. When Kathryn tried to use her objectifying masks with her, Phoebe would tell her to cut the crap and say what was really bothering her. But it was okay; she was still safe with Phoebe. She had to be more careful with her mother, especially after her father's death. Any sign that her daughter was in pain, hell, any indication that Kathryn's life was less than perfectly wonderful, clearly disturbed Gretchen Janeway. Kathryn had erred in this regard only once. It was a month after her return from Wolf 359. She was certain she had talked out all of her demons with Mark. She was so sure that she insisted that he leave to attend a major conference in Europe. She'd be fine. She'd visit her mother.

Things were okay her first few days back in Indiana. Then the nightmares started, then the wandering, haunting thoughts. One morning at the breakfast table Kathryn came out of her distracted trance to see the concerned face of her mother. Kathryn recognized that face; it was the one she had seen after the shuttlecraft accident, the face her mother wore when she was afraid that she was destined to lose her daughter as well as her husband. Kathryn never wanted to see that face again. She arranged to be called back to Starfleet Headquarters on "urgent business" the next day. In truth, the urgent business was to join the rather lengthy queue for an appointment with a counselor.

Starfleet Counselors. Very popular after Wolf 359. Not a single one to be found here in the Delta quadrant. No counselors, at least no official ones. Just friends. Friends and advisers. She considered her options. Who did she want to talk to? Who did she need to talk to?

Did she need to talk with Tom? No. There was nothing to be said. Nothing to be gained but pain. No point in sidling up to him at the bar and saying, "You know, Tom? You were right. Your father is a stone-cold bastard." Better he keep his current thoughts. His dad loves him; his dad's proud of him. That's what B'Elanna had told him to assume the letter from Owen had said. What had that letter said? What actually happened to that letter? Kathryn never broached the subject, but she found it rather unlikely that Owen's message had gotten lost as B'Elanna claimed. They had recovered messages both before it and after it in the data stream; and there hadn't been any interruption in the stream at that time, at least none that Kathryn could recall. She suspected that B'Elanna had "lost" the letter, that she had censored it to protect Tom. If so, Kathryn would respect that. B'Elanna had been a wonderful addition to Tom's life. Probably better than getting to pilot Voyager, probably better than regaining his commission. Tom had already known he could fly again. He had already known he could function as a Starfleet officer again. But what he hadn't known is that he could be loved again, truly, deeply, and simply.

She thought about talking to Tuvok, but quickly dismissed the idea. There really wasn't much to tell him about Starfleet's betrayal, not as it impacted him. He was already aboard the Maquis ship when Starfleet launched Voyager's covert mission. Their only betrayal to Tuvok was that they used him, used Kathryn's love and loyalty to him, to ensure her enthusiastic participation. And if Kathryn's decision process had been swayed by her emotions, well, logically that would be Kathryn's failure, not Starfleet's. In fact, he would probably chastise her for her failure to recognize the unlikelihood of Starfleet jeopardizing a newly commissioned starship and its entire crew to mount a rescue of a single officer, especially given the limited probability of success.

Oh, he might be somewhat disapproving of the fact that lies had been told. Tuvok had a clear disdain for untruths; most Vulcans did. In fact, it had fascinated (and amused) Kathryn to watch Tuvok handle situations where he was forced to lie. On the few occasions she had witnessed, he had been under orders to do so. Tuvok had two techniques he chose to employ. His first, preferred method was to omit critical information so that the party he was attempting to mislead would draw the desired erroneous conclusion. If this failed, Tuvok would revert to his second strategy; he would create a logically ambiguous statement whose more probable interpretation would result in the misinformation. Kathryn long ago realized that she had never actually heard Tuvok state a blatant lie. It would be interesting to see if she ever would. She had, after all, more than fifty years to catch him in one.

If Tuvok was a bad person to ask to lie, he was an abysmal person with whom to discuss matters of the heart. In fact, in all the time she had known him, Kathryn had attempted to discuss emotionally laden issues with Tuvok exactly twice. Each of the times had been excruciating--for both of them. The fact that there had even been a second time was, she decided, the clearest possible evidence that Kathryn Janeway did not take failure gracefully.

She knew who she could talk to about matters of the heart. It was the person she wanted to talk to now. Another wise and patient man, very much like Mark. Very unlike Mark. Little of what she had learned this night concerned him directly. Oh, she supposed she should mention Starfleet's falsification of his file. She wondered if anyone in Starfleet had shown the courtesy to correct it. If not, she would have to see to that when they returned. Otherwise, her advocacy for the Maquis crew would prove unfairly difficult. Or maybe they had only altered the copy they sent her; she was the only one who had needed convincing. She imagined she might apologize for the influence the misinformation had played on their early interactions. That would prove an interesting conversation: "I'm sorry I kept giving you my 'laser glare', but I was under the mistaken impression that you were most likely plotting the best way to slit my throat while I slept."

How unfair those lies were. How absurd. Oh, Chakotay had his dark side; she was sure he could do dreadful things in the heat of battle. But then again, so had she. Chakotay had a moral center. He had one of the strongest souls she had ever encountered. Blood-thirsty Maquis. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead she decided to walk. Her path was taken without thought; it was automatic. Of course, she walked this path several times a day. But usually the path stopped at her cabin door, not the one beyond. She could have stopped at her quarters to change, but she didn't want to. She wasn't even sure she could. She was drawn to his door. To seek a conversation partner, to seek a soulmate, to seek a balance, a redemption.

She was amazed how light she felt. In her mind, in her soul. The irony didn't escape her. Phoebe had worried that the information in the files would overly burden her. If fact, it had served as the catalyst to free her. It had lightened her load, opened her to new possibilities. New starts.

Chakotay finally responded on her third hail. When he saw her uniform, her clearly energized state, he was immediately concerned. "Captain? What's wrong?" He was obviously trying to shake off his deep-sleep state. "Is something wrong with the ship?"

"The ship? Oh. No. Everything's fine. I've just been reading the 'mystery file.' It turns out it's from my sister, Phoebe. I really wanted to talk with you about it."

"Phoebe. Talk." This was definitely not getting any less confusing for him. His captain was waking him up at, hell, what time was it? He glanced over his shoulder at the chronometer: 05:02?!? Because she wanted to talk? This was the first opportunity either of them had for a night of uninterrupted sleep in over a week, and she's been up in her Ready Room reading a letter from her sister? And now she wants to talk about it? Now?!? He leaned against the door jam and washed his hand over his face. He looked at her with a smile somewhere between exasperation and bemusement. "Well, Captain, I certainly hope you intend to make this worth my while."

"Oh, I think so, Commander." Kathryn placed her hand on his chest as she crossed the threshold. "I most definitely think so."