Janeway sat at her desk, but the reports in front of her blurred together, unread. The coffee beside her had gone cold. She should have been exhausted—most nights, she was—but something kept her from settling.

Something was wrong.

She couldn't explain it. There were no alerts, no calls from Sickbay. But the unease sat low in her stomach, familiar and insistent, the way it always did before something went wrong.

Her eyes flicked to the chronometer. 02:47 hours.

She ran a hand through her hair, rubbing at the tension between her brows. Something gnawed at the edges of her awareness, an instinct too sharp to ignore. She stood before she fully realized she had moved. She just needed to see Astrea. Just to—

Her combadge chirped.

"Sickbay to Janeway." The Doctor's voice was urgent, clipped. "You need to get down here. Now."

She was already out the door.

"On my way!"

Her fingers flew to her combadge as she strode into the corridor, pace quickening with every step.

"Janeway to Tuvok. Meet me in Sickbay."

"Understood." Tuvok responded with no hesitation.

The turbolift ride was agonizingly slow. Every second felt like hours, Janeway could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She tapped her fingers against the panel, barely resisting the urge to demand the computer to move faster. When the doors finally opened, she stepped out before they had even fully retracted.

Sickbay was too quiet.

Too bright.

Her stomach clenched.

Then she saw her.

Astrea lay in the crib, impossibly small, her tiny limbs trembling, her skin flushed with fever. The soft rise and fall of her chest was too fast, shallow and erratic. The infant let out a weak, breathless sound, more a whimper than a cry.

Janeway was moving before she could think, reaching the crib in seconds.

"What happened?" Her voice came sharp, barely controlled.

The Doctor was already working, scanning, adjusting settings, his movements sharp and precise. He didn't look up.

"Her neural pathways are destabilizing. Her immune system is shutting down." A pause. Then, grimmer, "She stopped breathing for a few seconds before you got here."

Janeway felt the world tilt beneath her. Stopped breathing echoed in her mind.
The words sank like lead in her chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

She had faced death more times than she could count. She had stood on the bridge as explosions ripped through the hull, faced down the Borg, made impossible choices that haunted her in the quiet moments between battles.

But this, watching this tiny, helpless child struggle for air, this was different.

The biobed monitors let out a sharp, erratic beep. The Doctor cursed under his breath.

"She's going into respiratory distress."
Astrea's little chest jerked with the effort to breathe. Her tiny fingers twitched against the blanket, seeking something, anything.

Janeway reached down, brushing the damp curls from her forehead with shaking fingers. The baby's skin was burning beneath her touch, fever radiating off her fragile body.

Astrea sucked in a sharp, desperate breath, then choked on it.

The beeping intensified.

Janeway's stomach dropped. "Doctor—"
"She's crashing." The Doctor's hands flew across the controls. "Her oxygen levels are dropping. I need to intubate—"

The Sickbay doors hissed open. A presence at her side.

Tuvok.

He didn't speak, but he was there—solid, unmoving. She didn't need to look to know his eyes were already assessing the situation, analyzing probabilities, anticipating outcomes.

Janeway's own grip on the crib's edge tightened. Her knuckles were white.
"Report," Tuvok said, voice level.

The Doctor barely spared him a glance. "Neural degradation is accelerating. Her immune system is failing. She's not responding to standard treatment."
Astrea's tiny body jerked with another feeble, gasping breath. The sound sent a bolt of pure fear through Janeway's chest.

No. No, no, no—

"Do something!" The words came out sharper than she intended, but the Doctor didn't flinch. He was already preparing another hypo.

"I'm trying, Captain."

Another warning alarm. The monitors blared, a shrill, unrelenting sound that made Janeway's pulse hammer.

Astrea's eyes fluttered, barely open, unfocused. Her lips were tinged with blue.
Janeway's breath hitched.

Not like this.

Tuvok moved beside her, his voice quieter now. "Kathryn."

It wasn't just her name. It was a lifeline.
Janeway inhaled sharply, as if waking from a nightmare.

Tuvok held her gaze, steady. In their many years of friendship, he had rarely seen this look on her face—but he understood it instantly.

"Do you intend to keep her?" 

Janeway swallowed hard. She had known this moment would come—the moment she had to say it aloud.

She didn't hesitate.

"Yes. I can't lose her, Tuvok."

The words felt heavier than anything she had ever said.

Tuvok inclined his head. "Then we will ensure that does not happen."

And with that, he tapped his combadge.

"Tuvok to Seven of Nine. Report to Sickbay immediately."

Janeway looked up, blinking. He hadn't asked. He hadn't even warned her.
He had simply acted.

Tuvok met her stare. "We may need her."
The doors hissed open, and Seven stepped inside, her sharp focus locking onto the crib immediately.

She didn't ask what had happened. She didn't waste time. She only scanned, assessed, and processed.

Janeway forced herself to speak. "Her systems are failing. We can't stabilize her."
Seven didn't even look at her. "Then you require another solution."

The Doctor hesitated. "Seven, this isn't—"
"Nanoprobes." Tuvok's voice cut through the hesitation like a blade. "They regulate neural pathways. They enhance immune response. They are the only viable course of action."

Janeway stiffened. She didn't like it. She hated the idea of putting anything Borg into Astrea.

The Doctor looked just as uneasy. But Seven—Seven was unmoved.

"She will not survive without intervention." Her voice was sharp, certain. "We must act now."

Janeway turned to look at her. Seven met her gaze, unwavering. This wasn't just medicine. This wasn't just a procedure. This was saving one of their own.

Janeway exhaled. "Do it."

Seven moved immediately. The Doctor prepared the injection. The tension was suffocating.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened.

Then, Astrea's breathing steadied. Her fever began to drop. Her tiny hand twitched, curling weakly into the blanket.

The Doctor checked the readings, his face unreadable. Then, finally—he nodded.

She was stable, still fragile. But stable.
Janeway's grip on the crib loosened. Just slightly.

Tuvok stepped back, silent as ever. Seven watched, observed, and assessed. Then, without a word, she moved behind Janeway and placed her right hand on Janeway's left shoulder.

Janeway reached down, smoothing a hand over Astrea's soft, sweat-damp hair. The warmth of Seven's touch was unexpected—not firm, not commanding, just steady. Present.

"Captain," Tuvok spoke quietly. "As humans say, it takes a village. And I believe this one will ensure her safety."

Janeway exhaled slowly. She looked down at Astrea, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. They had saved her. But this was only the beginning.
-----
Personal Log – Encrypted

"It's been three weeks."

Janeway paused, her fingers hovering over the console. The room was dim, the only light coming from the glow of the screen in front of her and the soft blue illumination from the security upgrades around her quarters.

"She's stable. She's strong."

She turned, her gaze drifting to the far side of the room where a newly constructed crib stood against the wall. It was more than just a crib—Seven had made sure of that. It was reinforced with structural shielding, integrated with medical monitors, designed to adapt as Astrea's unique physiology continued to evolve. It was, in essence, a regeneration pod in the form of a cradle.

"Her name is Astrea. I know as a crew we have kept Naomi safe. But this is different. This isn't just another child on Voyager—this is a child the Borg once claimed. What if they realize she's missing? What if they come looking for her? And what if I'm wrong? What if she does have family out there, searching, hoping? What right do I have to decide her fate? To keep her hidden? But how could I ever let her go?"
Janeway exhaled.

She tapped the console, encrypting the log with a level of security that only she, Tuvok, and Seven could access. Then, with a final press of her fingers, she closed the entry.
It was time to bring Astrea home to Janeway's quarters.

Everything had been modified.

Tuvok had overseen security upgrades—Voyager's standard access system was no longer sufficient. Entry now required an encrypted code, randomized at intervals only Janeway controlled. Internal sensors had been calibrated to mask any biological readings within the space. No one outside their circle would ever know Astrea was here. At least for now.

B'Elanna, with Tom's help, had handled another essential task. A chair—sturdy, comfortable, built to last—had been brought in, positioned near the viewport. A rocking chair, modeled after a classic 1980s design Tom had found in the historical archives. Carved into the front top of the chair was the Starfleet insignia, subtle yet unmistakable. Janeway hadn't asked for it, but when B'Elanna had set it down with a simple, "You'll need this," she had only nodded.

She stood from her desk and walked over to the rocking chair. Her fingers tracing the insignia, feeling the weight of what it symbolized. Home. Safety. A promise.
Then, her combadge chirped.

"Sickbay to Janeway," the Doctor's voice came through, crisp and professional. "The star is ready to be moved."

Janeway exhaled, steadying herself. "Understood. I'm on my way."

---
B'Elanna entered the command codes into the console. The screen flickered once, confirming her work.

"That's it. Internal sensors are down for the next ten minutes."

Across the room, the Doctor deactivated Sickbay's security logs with a final tap.

"Records erased. No trace of her ever being here."

Tuvok stood near the door, scanning the corridor beyond. He gave a single nod.

"All clear."

Janeway exhaled, the weight of the past days settling over her like a slow-moving tide. Relief warred with exhaustion, but neither could fully take hold. Not yet.

She looked down at Astrea, bundled securely in the blankets Seven had replicated specifically for her—a blend of materials designed to regulate her temperature and provide a comforting sense of stability.

The baby barely stirred as Janeway lifted her, holding her close.

Her grip was firm, protective, as if sheer will alone could keep Astrea safe from the unseen forces of the universe, the ones that had taken so much from both of them already.

No one was taking her.

Tuvok stepped into the corridor first, his presence a silent barrier between them and any unwanted eyes. Janeway followed, her movements deliberate, steady.

Seven walked beside her, her focus shifting between Astrea and the path ahead.

B'Elanna took the rear, her focus sharp as she ensured the systems remained offline as they moved.

The ship was quiet. Only the familiar hum of the warp core filled the silence, steady and constant beneath their careful footsteps.

Each turn in the corridor felt impossibly long, stretching the moments between danger and sanctuary. Every step forward was a silent vow—Astrea would never be alone again.

Each shadow, each doorway, a reminder of what was at stake.

Janeway held Astrea closer.

Finally, they reached her quarters.

Tuvok stepped inside first, scanning one last time before nodding.

"Secure."

Janeway crossed the threshold.

The doors sealed behind them.

She moved to the crib—Astrea's crib and carefully laid her down. The baby stirred but didn't wake.

B'Elanna was the first to leave, nodding once before slipping back into the corridor.

Tuvok followed, but not before speaking quietly to Janeway. "Your quarters are secure."

Seven lingered at the door. For a long moment, she simply watched. Then, softly, "Remember what I said, Captain."

Janeway turned, locking eyes with her.

Seven's voice carried weight. "You protected me. I will protect her. Call, and I will comply."

Janeway's throat tightened. She held Seven's gaze and, with quiet certainty, answered. "Thank you Seven."

Seven inclined her head, then turned, disappearing into the corridor.

The doors sealed behind her.

Janeway stood in the dim light, allowing the silence to wrap around her like a long-awaited exhale, the weight of responsibility finally settling in its rightful place—beside something much deeper.

Astrea slept soundly in her crib.

She let out a slow, careful breath.

Her hand rested lightly on the crib rail, tracing the smooth edge, grounding herself in the tangible proof that Astrea was here. Safe. Hers.

She watched the child she had chosen, the child she had claimed.

Then, just for them, she whispered, "Welcome home, Astrea."

Janeway lingered for a moment, watching Astrea's peaceful face, then turned away. She needed a moment—just a moment—to collect herself. She stepped into the adjoining room, stripping off her uniform with slow, deliberate movements before stepping into the sonic shower. The low hum filled the space, washing away the tension that clung to her muscles, but nothing could erase the weight in her chest.

When she returned, her hair still slightly damp, she moved straight to the crib. She reached down, brushing a fingertip along Astrea's impossibly soft cheek. The baby stirred slightly, her tiny hand flexing against the blanket.
Janeway hesitated.

She had done this a hundred times before—lifted a child, carried them to safety. But this time was different. This time, it was a choice. A commitment.

Finally, she exhaled and gathered Astrea into her chest, holding her close.

Janway moved toward the recliner near the viewport, shifting Astrea carefully in her arms as she sat, cradling the child against her as if by holding her close, she could shield her from every danger the universe might bring.

The chair adjusted to her weight, sighing softly as she settled in.

With one hand, she reached for the book resting on the small table beside her.

It was worn at the edges, the pages thinned by time and touch. Tennyson's collected works.

She had read from it countless times over the years, searching for wisdom, for solace, for a connection to something greater than herself.

Seeking something she had never quite been able to name.

She opened to a familiar passage, her voice quiet as she began to read.

"Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven—"

Her voice faltered for a moment.

She looked down at the child in her arms, so impossibly small, yet already a survivor.

She exhaled, smoothing a hand over Astrea's fine hair. The baby sighed in her sleep, shifting slightly, but did not wake.

Janeway closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of everything settle—what had been lost, what had been found, and the quiet, terrifying certainty that she would not let this child go.

"That which we are, we are," she continued in a whisper, voice steady now.

Astrea's tiny fingers curled into the fabric of Janeway's robe.

Janeway smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

She let the words linger, as if they could weave themselves into the fabric of this moment, an unspoken promise between mother and child.

Then, with a careful movement, she leaned back, holding Astrea close.