Disclaimer: Star Trek and all of its subsequent incarnations, (including Voyager ) are property of CBS Corporation and Paramount Pictures. No profit made. No harm intended.
Bibi nana's J/C ("Post "'Endgame'") Challenge The ship makes it home. Chakotay and Seven stay together. Janeway hooks up with "a rich and powerful man." Throw in a party, a few more undisclosed details, et le défi est relevé!
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Parallel Lines by kneipho
Beta: Dreamwriter5000
General/Character/Pairing Codes: MA, AU (Non-Canonical); J/C/7, J/m, f/m/m/f with sporadic appearances by -and with references to the usual (supporting) Voyager Suspects.
Spoiler Alert: Misc. episodes throughout both Voyager and Enterprise's runs, also TNG's "Violations" and Star Trek: Nemesis.
Dedicated to Leslie Fish, MrNiceGuy, CanonAntithesis, skadoo, Doc Yewll, Beawild, Dreamwriter5000 and to quantumsilver (who did something nice) —with special props and smooches to MyMan, Godfrey and Jett 1: Passed Ships
Summary: The Junior Parises throw a party.
January 13, 2379, Time: 19:03:06
Angel Island, (Tiburon/San Francisco Bay) Earth
He was thinner; his black hair cropped short, frosted over with strands of grey. Captain Kathryn Janeway studied his appearance from beneath a wide, unsophisticated wood arch that connected the Anteroom to the Main Hall. He looked good for a man who had spent eight months of his life locked up on New Zealand, she decided. Good, but overwhelmed. She almost smiled when she realized Lieutenants Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres marched escort, their bodies positioned on either side of him, like hired sentinels.
The one-time crew of the U.S.S. Voyager rushed forward; an excitable plenitude of red, blue, black, and gold, eager to welcome their quondam XO. Chakotay disappeared from view. Janeway slipped into the crowd, her delicate frame traveling effortlessly through the mortal crush.
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He stumbled as he plodded along, numbly shaking the nearest outstretched hand. The honeycombed bastion of faces which obstructed his path seemed to absorb all the oxygen from the room, leaving him sweaty; struggling for air.
"It is good to see you, again, Sir."
Chakotay bobbed his head abruptly, not quite sure who or what had addressed him: Miguel Ayala and the EMH, Commander Tuvok of Vulcan, a newly promoted Harry Kim. His comrades of the Delta were all at hand, yet blended somehow—their features presenting themselves to him as one entity: their voices, an auditory blur. Placing one, great, sorrel paw on his hip—a practiced stance of nonchalance, he tried to differentiate individuals within the Living Blob. "Thank you," he said, his tone rusty. "I'm glad to be free."
B'Elanna flashed him an odd look as he swiped covertly at his brow. Cupping her hands into a low-tech amplifier, the little Klingon boomed into the crowd, "Back up people! Let's allow our man room to breathe!"
Tom gave Chakotay's arm a fortifying squeeze, then punched it, playfully, his aegean gaze awash with rascality. "Relax, Big Guy. No one's gonna bite you," he said, then winked. "Okay, a few of the females might." B'Elanna whacked Paris lightly on the stomach, but the pilot blabbed on, unfazed, "You know, I hear nothing beats a private assimilation party. Maybe you'll get lucky."
"Shut up, Pig."
Tom grabbed B'Elanna by the arm and yanked her, flush, against his side. "Oink," he teased. She hit him again.
Chakotay pinched his lips together at the exchange, the familiar, antic banter of friends alleviating the sharpest edges of his agitation. Although he was beginning to feel a bit more grounded, he still felt as if his situation was not quite real. He could not help but wonder if his release and the party were, yet, another set of fabrications forged by his imagination. That everything: the building, the music, his crewmates, would all suddenly vanish with the scuttling of a rat across the stone floor. He needed time to gather his wits. "Would you mind if I went outside?" he asked, tugging at his earlobe. "I could use some fresh air."
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The night was cool, and the air was still. Chakotay took a deep, deep breath, enjoying the quiet, willing himself to relax. The garden was vacant as far as he could tell, the mellow radiance of several outdoor torches providing mood, rather than light. He spied a small bench beside a large animal topiary, seven or eight meters away and walked over to it. Hard chunks of gravel crunched under his feet as he lumbered along a provincial looking track. He hunkered down on the bench with a sigh.
A solitary cricket chirped in the darkness. Chakotay listened intently, his palms resting on slick marble, as he appreciated the sound.
Without warning, B'Elanna's lithe form set down on the bench alongside him with a thump. He jumped. He couldn't help it. His heart hammered noisily inside his chest. "You all right?" she inquired, concerned.
"Of course I'm all right. You surprised me; that's all. Where's Tom?"
"Convincing Harry to spike the punch. Ready to come back inside?"
Chakotay's heart continued to bang away against his ribs. "Give me a minute, okay?"
She stared at him. "This party is a bad idea," she said. "You aren't ready for a crowd."
"Oh, C'mon— "
"I knew we should have planned something smaller."
"No. This is good. Believe me. I've lived more than enough of the segregated lifestyle. Give me my minute to adapt. I'll be fine."
The cricket trilled again, singing into the night.
"Was it bad, Chakotay?"
"What?"
"Administrative Isolation."
He considered lying to her for a hot second, carefully studying her tanned features in the open air. Her mouth set into a determined line, her capable fingers already reaching out to offer support. "I've never been more lonely in my life," he admitted. "There were times I thought I was losing my mind." B'Elanna patted and his knee. He decided to change the subject, knowing she would understand. "How's the baby?"
"Fine. Big. Angry. Beautiful. We brought her with us. She's asleep at the hotel with the nanny."(1)
"Nanny?"
"My father hired her."
"Your father?"
"You seem shocked. I was too, at first. Get this; she's from the Homeworld. A gifted buttressing of Kronos-culture from my deadbeat, human father—for his predominantly human grandchild." She laughed splenetically. "A peace offering, Tom thinks. "Of course, my husband also worships the ground the Old Fury tramples across."
"Of course. And you wish she'd drop dead."
"No. I am grateful for her presence in my child's life, and even like her... Miraculously, she manages to bake an edible blood pie." Chakotay lifted B'Elanna's palm from his knee and kissed it. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes until he twisted around to gaze in the direction of the party. "What is it?" She shifted position and tried to see past his thewy frame.
"Nothing. I was looking for Seven. And Kathryn."
"We haven't been here, all that long. They may not even know you arrived." She kicked the ground with a regulation boot. Sharp-edged pebbles shelled the base of an unsuspecting agave plant. "You should have let them come with us to pick you up."
"No."
"Seven is your wife. She's had a miserable time adjusting to Federation society. The Borg aren't exactly popular in the Alpha Quadrant, and Starfleet has offered her zero support."
"Hardly a surprise, now, is it?" he countered, purposely ignoring the point she was trying to make.
She tossed him an angry glare. "You do know they still have Icheb?"
Chakotay stared, unhappily, out at nothing in particular. "Any word on his status?"
"Headquarters won't lift the veil regarding his whereabouts and refuses to confirm or deny acceptance of his DQ expatriation. Tom tried asking his father, but the admiral won't say anything. Janeway is officially out of the loop."
"The Brass still has her flying a desk?"
"She hasn't been forgiven for taking your story to the Media."
"I never asked her to speak out, on my behalf."
"You'd still be incarcerated if she hadn't."
Chakotay curdled. "My mother is dead, B'Elanna. I'm not looking for another."
"Don't be an asshole. Captain Janeway earned the right to see you materialize outside the Gate."
"I didn't want either one of those women to see me anywhere near that place. All right?"
B'Elanna's dark brows dipped in disgust, eyes all but disappearing beneath the aggravated ridges protruding from her forehead. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You're a stupid ex-con, Chakotay."
"Yeah," he said, giving her a subdued grin, "But you love me anyway."
She did. They both knew it. "Pet aQ!" she spat. (2)
He pulled her close and hugged her tight. Sweet Skies Above. He had missed her. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd champion Seven of Nine."
She growled and pinched at his skin, squeezing the tender flesh above his belt buckle until he yelped. "What can I say? She married my old boss."
"Now Chak!" Tom shouted, poking his sandy head out from beneath the door frame, tone oozing with fraudulent severity, as it zoomed across several flower beds. "Something is definitely wrong with this picture!"
"You think so, Paris?!" Chakotay hollered back. He veered about and hauled B'Elanna into his lap. "Let's see," I have a beautiful woman in my arms and I am a free man once more! Nothing wrong here, everything seems fine to me!"
"You may have a beautiful woman in your arms, Big Guy, but I'm afraid she's the wrong one! As to the free part, well, you might want to discuss that with somebody else!"
"Commander."
The voice was less mechanical, suppler than in Chakotay's memory. "Seven," he croaked in surprise, as she descended into the night. He could see her long curves outlined in the shadows, floating toward him. An alabaster sway of Valkyrie perfection swathed in the clinging fabric of a simple evening dress.
B'Elanna moved to rise, a expression of bemusement plastering her face. Her friend, however, distracted by the newest arrival in the garden, failed to relinquish one of her legs. She wobbled precariously, a dying willow in the breeze; half-boot twisting off her foot and parking itself in the dirt under the bench. "Let go!" she hissed.
Chakotay abandoned the limb. Shifting to protect his genitalia from her rising ire, he crossed his legs. The movement did not escape Tom's notice. The younger man promptly doubled over, held captive by a fit of his own laughter. B'Elanna snorted, snatched her dusty boot from the ground, and began stomping a heavy path toward the Hall.
"A swift blow to the jaw, aimed upwards, would render Mister Paris unconscious for several hours." Seven advised.
Leather and nails squashed down in an angry fist to a horizontal nothing. "I imagine it would. Thanks."
Tom's eyes doubled in size. Mutely, he followed his mate back to the party.
Seven watched the dyad leave then drifted over to Chakotay, hands clasped behind her back, her cheeks undeniably pink. "Do you think Mister Paris' injuries will be severe?"
Chakotay smiled tautly, without dimples. "Yes, but I think he'll survive." He waited for her to say more, to sit beside him, but she did not. He decided to stand. "How are you?"
"I am functioning within normal parameters."
"Good."
"You are thin."
"Reformatory rations hardly compare with your Mock Chicken and Risotto."
"That is unfortunate." Her face was serious. "Your hair has lost much of its former pigmentation."
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "Does it make me look old?"
"Yes, but I do not find it unattractive."
He smiled again. Facial concavities appeared."... Seven?"
"What is it?" she asked, moving closer.
He had forgotten how much like sapphires her eyes were. How clear they were, how exceptionally blue. He sucked in his breath. She smelled clean and fresh, like Castile soap and spring. "I wanted to be with you during the interrogation—"
She interrupted. "You could not."
"I'm sorry."
"There was nothing you could do."
"You should not have gone through that process by yourself."
"I was not 'by myself' the entire time," she corrected, shaking her blond head, her voice matter- of- fact. "Starfleet allowed both your sister and Captain Janeway to be present during sections of my interrogation. Our own Emergency Medical Hologram was programmed to carry out a number of the required tests and procedures." She glanced over at the flower beds, away from him. "It was not nearly as invasive an experience as I anticipated."
"Don't lie to me, Seven."
Her posture wilted slightly with his words. Redirecting her gaze to his shirt collar, she reached out for him: a gentle effort that caught his wrist in a fracturable hold. He shivered and pulled away. He felt skittish, unmanned, his mind seized by the impulse to flee. He stood his ground. He took her implant embedded hand into his own and looked directly into her face. "Forgive me. I'm nervous. It's been such a long time."
Seven placed her free hand behind his head, at the base of his neck, and drew him to her slowly: centimeter by centimeter until their lips were all but touching. Her breath was moist and sweet in his nose and on his cheeks. Her eyes, uncommonly bright. Chakotay," she said. "We have been apart for many months." Chakotay couldn't breathe. He was drowning. "I think," she whispered, "It would be appropriate for you to kiss me now."
He did.
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Kathryn Janeway observed, unnoticed, concealed by a coyote bush resembling a moribund lamb, as two people she venerated, rejoined beneath the stars. They looked complete, together. She wanted to weep. So much had happened since Voyager first burst through the Queen's Trans-warp Conduit into the Alpha Quadrant.
Her ship's re-emergence had been a fantastical event. Everything had come to pass with such speed. One moment she was fighting off the Borg, lost in space, light years away home; the next, facing an armada of Starfleet vessels, Earth looming the tangible distance. Then, just as precipitately, Voyager was in Quarantine. and she found herself hatching a plan to marry her most intimate partisan —to her own protégé, before Starfleet separated everyone, and hauled them away. It was better now, but life had changed.
She peered through the bushes at the couple embracing in the moonlight. Seven murmured softly. Chakotay moaned. Kathryn closed her eyes, realizing, for the first time, she truly was alone.
Notes: 1. From a P/T fanfic -I can't remember which one. If any of you out there do, please contact me. I would like to give the author proper credit.
2. Pet aQ -Klingon epitaph