A spacial anomaly has fractured the ship into many different time frames. Chakotay of the present meets Janeway of the past. Before their final parting, she asks him a very special question:

Janeway: Mind if I ask you one last question?

Chakotay: Will I have to break the Temporal Prime Directive to answer it?

Janeway: Maybe. Just a little. For two people who started off as enemies, it seems we get to know each other pretty well. I've been wondering – just how close do we get?

Flashback:

Should I tell her of New Earth? Should I throw caution to the winds and tell her what we will someday be to one another? Should I take her into my arms and show her? No, this is Kathryn Janeway of the past. She wouldn't understand nor would she accept that we will one day be as man and wife…if only for a few weeks. For, from the moment she let go of her quest to cure us and began living the life we were given, the gap between us closed and we were one. Life became unbearably sweet. And, as it turned out, unbearably short. If Tuvok had only obeyed her last command…if only.

It still aches inside to remember, but it can't be helped. Those days are carved in my heart; they will be with me always. Perhaps, deep down, the Kathryn of the future still thinks of that time, but I'm sure it's not with the same longing, the same regrets. We were building the kind of life I've always dreamed of; free from uncertainty; free from war; free from fear. Given time, we could have built a whole new world. According to myth, the Earth was populated from only two people. We could have been the parents of a new nation.

I remember. The first time she came into my arms, my heart swelled with a joy that was hard to contain. I remember so clearly; so clearly:

It was a clear, moonlit night, much like the one when she first met that ridiculous creature. This night, it was nowhere to be found, for which I was grateful. The leaves flickered shadows on the ground; it was almost bright enough to read. She had been upset that night, probably because her research materials had been blown to hell and she had to accept that we were there to stay – at least as far as either of us knew. She had left the shelter against my better judgment; it would have been safer to remain indoors. I gave her a few minutes because I knew she needed to be alone, but after a time, I thought it best to check on her. I found her kneeling in the moonlight, leaning against the bathtub I built her, crying. I never thought Kathryn Janeway capable of tears. She saw my shadow on the ground and stood up. I spoke her name softly and came to stand behind her. She leaned back against me, taking me by surprise. I put my arms around her for the first time… no, it wasn't the first time; I had held her beneath the table during the last storm. We were being shaken to death; our sense of preservation; even fear if you will, blotted out the fact that we were spooning quite intimately. We didn't remark it at the time. This night, we were all too aware of the closeness of our bodies.

I held her for a long time; we stood together in the moonlight, just listening to the crickets and the owl and the wind through the trees. Perhaps those night sounds stirred something primeval in her as it did me. She turned her face up to me and I kissed her. Lightly; I wanted her to make the first move. It goes without saying that I wanted this to happen more than anything, and it was hell waiting, but I was determined to let her guide the moment. She turned in my arms and reached up to touch my face. I leaned down; she was so delicately small without those Starfleet-issue boots; and the next thing I knew she was cradled in my arms. We kissed again. And again, deeper. She was so beautiful with the leaf-shadows flickering over her; moonlight reflecting in her eyes, and her hair cascading over my arm. I set her back on her feet and kept my eyes on hers, watching for any change at all, as I took my vest off and let it drop. She opened the buttons of my red shirt, one by one sliding her hand inside it. I dared to open her robe. We were of one mind, but we proceeded slowly, both aware of the extraordinary thing that was taking place. We were nervous; each afraid the other would suddenly call a halt to it all, but it progressed as it should; we found ourselves lying on a bed of discarded clothes on the ground, in the moonlight, the local wildlife our only witnesses. We shared everything we had, from start to finish, then began again. We made love through most of the night, for when I carried her to her narrow bed in the shelter, the star which served as our sun was peeking over the horizon.

Later that morning, when I brought her coffee in bed, she smiled at me in such a warm and loving way, I knew I had been right to come after her. For I needed her and she needed me. And now we had more than just a plain gray box; more than shattered equipment; more than forest pets and Talaxian tomatoes. We had each other. And we had it for all of three weeks, before the comm badges chirped and we were thrust back to a place we felt obligated to be. But it wasn't where we wanted to be. Not really. Neither of us. That much I know.

Part of me was torn away then. I've never really recovered from its loss. I think she might have felt the same; I was never sure, but I know we each lost much more than we gained.

End Flashback

No, he could not tell her of New Earth. Not now. Better to wait until the time repeated itself. For it would, and they could relive it. Then they could go back to the way they had been, once again, embracing the barriers that once again separated. He looked into her eyes, her lovely eyes, and steeled himself, tightening his belly, drawing breath for the only reply he could make, and the only one she wanted to hear:

Chakotay: Let's just say… there are some barriers we never cross.

The End