I do not own Star Trek, nor do I own the poem 'Celestial Flight' used here.

"All of our ships have been disabled, Captain. Do you have weapons?"

Captain Kathryn Janeway surveyed her mangled bridge. Automatic reports bleeped in onto all of the remaining monitors, but no-one was left to answer them; and she really didn't need to know what they said. Hull breaches were a certainty, perhaps some question over the structural integrity, to name but two that were undoubtedly pouring in. The voice of her old friend, though, on a separate ship, was all the finality that she needed.

"Negative, Torpedo Launchers are down; I'm setting a collision course." Clutching to the arms of her command chair, she felt Voyager shudder as though consciously opposing her decision. Her fingers tapped across the monitor to her left, plotting a new course, before pausing.

"Janeway to the Fleet: Take your temporal shields offline."

"Captain, we won't be protected."

"Exactly. If that ship is destroyed, all of history might be restored. And this is one year I'd like to forget."

"But Captain, what if it doesn't work?"

"Then try," her breath caught in her throat and her face began to crumple. She steadied her hands, and reclined uneasily back into her seat. All around her, the posts of her Voyager, her family, were empty. The force field that separated her from the space in front of her, shivered again. The voice that escaped her was small and afraid, and for once, she was not ashamed. "Try to remember me."

"Captain, that may be impossible." She smiled slightly at the bluntness of the Vulcan's statement. She confirmed the new flight plan, small fingers tapping at the screen. She glanced over at the chair that had been empty for more days than most, and grazed her fingers across its arm. He was safe now.

"Then remember instead of 'Celestial Flight'."

"Captain?" Kathryn sighed, the poem rushing to the front of her memory. The list of difficulties women had faced when it had come to fighting for the right to fly was endless, yet the risks were just the same. It had once angered her that a woman's sacrifice was felt more than a man's, yet war poetry had always found a way to comfort her, to encourage her that she was not alone. Perhaps it would help them too. She closed her eyes.

"'She is not dead -
But only flying higher,
Higher than she's flown before,
And earthly limitations
Will hinder her no more...'"

Commander Chakotay fought his way to the bridge of the Mawasi vessel, wading through the surge of bodies, his vision obscured by vapour that seeped from burst conduits. Chaos was the most apt name for it. He stumbled through a door, blinking as he took in the scene.

He could see Voyager on the screen. Mangled, the saucer section severely damaged. Tuvok stood to one side, gazing blindly into the distance, verbalising his commands to his station, listening intently. It took him only a moment to recognise her voice, choked and sombre in the poem being projected across the Comm link.

"Tuvok, get me to Voyager, get me to the Captain" He strode towards the Vulcan, a new determination flooding through him.

"Commander, that course of action would be unadvisable. You too would die."

"But at least she wouldn't be alone." Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Tuvok's forearm, silently asking him to trust him. The crew was scattered, Voyager would soon be gone. There was no longer a need for a Captain, or a First Officer. What was needed instead was a little bit of humanity, a last display of faith.

"That sentiment would provide little comfort." Chakotay sighed, angered slightly, not for the first time, by the lack of emotions within Tuvok's voice He removed his hand, calculating.

"Are the transporters still online?"

"Affirmative."

"Then do I need to make it an order?"

"'So all you loved ones, dry your eyes,
Yes, it is wrong that you should grieve,
For she would love your courage more,
And she would want you to believe
She is not dead.
You should have known
That she is only flying higher,
Higher than she's ever flown.'"

Her voice struggled over the words, intent on finishing despite the tears that stained her cheeks. Voyager rattled, she clung to the arms of her chair. But before her voice could start again, she felt a hand cover hers and drag it to her left. Soft, and comforting, but forceful enough to make her know that it wasn't an illusion conjured by her imagination. She opened her eyes, heart leaping at the sight before her.

"Chakotay?" He locked his fingers through hers, sat again in his familiar chair in order to withstand Voyager's pitching course. He was thankful for the silence of the transporters, if only to see the temporary joy flicker across her face. The gulf between them seemed to disappear in that moment.

"You're not alone Kathryn. You never have been."

Any protest she could have lodged was lost in an instance as Voyager's hull buckled against the Krenim ship, and they were surrounded by the inescapable crunch of a metallic collision.

The poem used is 'Celestial Flight' by Elizabeth MacKethan Magid, a former WASP of the US Air Force, and is beautiful in its full format. I recommend that you look it up.