A/N: This is my entry for round 3 of the JC Cutthroat Fanfic Competition, Gamma group. My prompt was "Temporal Prime Directive."

This is a collaborative piece, telling one side of a story that MiaCooper and I worked on together. It can be read as a stand-alone, but I highly recommend that you read "All the Devils are Here" alongside mine (because it is awesome).

Personal Log: Stardate 49488.5

I realized on the day we met that life as I knew it was over.

I was ready to fly off the handle at some dumbass thing Paris said— no, I don't think he even said anything. Just that smug look on his face set me off. The kid didn't deserve to be anywhere except a Federation penal colony. But there he was, standing on the bridge of Starfleet's most innovative ship to date, helping you track us down.

He said, "Hello Chakotay," and I lost it.

And there you were— Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager— so small compared to me. Yet, when you got into my space and gave me a look that could freeze water, I was done. What could I do? I might as well have been a half-meter tall. So, I accepted your scolding and did my best to give Paris the respect you thought he deserved.

I didn't do it for him. You have to know that, Captain. All that I did, it was always for you. You struck me, captivated me in a way that no one and nothing else has— not since I was fifteen years old and staring up at the stars, imagining all of the people and the worlds and the adventures to be had beyond the limits of Trebus.

That day on your bridge, you have no idea what you did to me. I can't decide— have you ruined my life? Ended it? Or, are you saving it? It drives me mad asking myself this question over and over again in my mind. I don't know. I don't know what the answer is.

My crew seems to think it's the former. They respect me. And when they fall out of line, I put them back into it. I do it for you, and for all of us. We'll never survive this trip if we can't learn to work together. It's going to take a lot of work, setting aside these hostilities that have separated us for so long.

Do you understand our anger, Captain? Or, are you wholeheartedly sold out to Starfleet's opinion on us? I'm afraid to ask, because the answer to that question could make or break me. If you give me the answer I hope for, the last holdout in my heart will be yours. If you answer in a way I don't like, it could shatter me. So, I never ask.

I've always considered myself a brave man. It's not that I am never afraid, but I have learned how to control my fears. I guess I have Starfleet to thank for that. But I'm terrified of your answer to that question. No matter what, it's dangerous. I don't know if I could handle it.

There's a part of me that knows, someday, I'll have to learn the answer and deal with the fallout. If I don't, I'll never know; I'll stay stuck in this limbo between trusting you fully and keeping you at a distance. I hate this in-between.

Can I trust you, Captain?

Do you see me as the enemy? Do you pity me? Admire me? Do you even respect me? I think you do. If you don't, you sure make a hell of a show of it. I feel like you do, yet there's this niggling doubt in my mind that says I can't trust you. I would have thought that after over a year together, it would fade away. It hasn't.

Recent events have made me realize that perhaps I was lying to myself about how much you trust in me. You and Tuvok schemed to flush out a spy on Voyager, and intentionally left me out of it. You let Tom-fucking-Paris into your plans, but not me, because I am a Maquis. No matter how long we are together, no matter how much I try to prove myself to you, you will never see me as an equal. I'm still the Maquis traitor circumstances forced you to integrate. I can only be trusted to a certain point.

I'm not gonna lie, it hurt. It hurt more than just my pride. The truth, Captain— the truth is that you— you enchant me. No, it's more than that. Come on, Chakotay, spit it out. I— I love you.

I've fallen in love with you.

So, what really hurts about this secrecy business is that I don't know how to think about you anymore, but I can't stop loving you, either. I don't presume to hope that you feel the same way. Still, I thought we were more than just colleagues. I thought we were friends. And sure, it was foolish of me, but I thought that maybe, someday, we could be more.

I know that I'm your first officer before all else, but no one on your crew knows what it's like to be a captain— to be responsible for so many lives and such difficult decisions. Only you and I know the weight of that burden, and I've tried so hard to make it lighter for you.

What thanks do I get for my efforts? You turned to Tuvok when it should have been me.

Be honest, Captain. My being your first officer is only for show, isn't it?

I don't want to believe that. I want to believe that it was genuine— that you have been genuine with me all this time. Even so, I can't help thinking that you haven't. Am I nothing more than your token Maquis officer? Technically, I have authority. Technically, I can command this crew in your absence. Yet when it really matters, you don't rely on me. You don't trust me to be a professional, to separate personal feelings from my duty to this crew.

Haven't I proven myself to be better than that, Captain? Haven't I proven myself worthy of your faith?

Apparently not.