Replicated Love


Chakotay stood outside the ready room and hesitated.

It had been another day of purgatory in this year of hell. The ship was falling apart, and sometimes he thought that he and Kathryn- as people, as friends- would fall apart with it.

Three hours ago, after he'd stalked off the smoking, burnt bridge with a rejected watch in hand, he'd thought the final straw had fallen. No more. His anger had sustained him as he attempted to restore some order to his devastated quarters, as he bickered with Paris and argued ineffectually with Seven of Nine.

And then he'd returned to his quarters once again, hungry, tired, worn and heartsick beyond belief- and he'd been confronted with the almost offensively shiny new watch sitting on what was left of his desk. He'd nearly been sick.

Suddenly, he understood Kathryn's response earlier in the day. Even though he had replicated the watch many months before, treasured it and the story in represented in his heart until this day- still, it was almost obscene to retain such a luxury when Voyager and her crew were slowly dying.

He remembered how Kathryn's dirty fingers had caressed the face of the watch as he told his story. He remembered he bleak look in her eyes as she told him 'no'. And, with clarity, he remembered her saying, "This represents a meal…"

And he knew what to give Kathryn Janeway for her birthday.

So now he stood outside the ready room, nerving himself for entry- and treasuring between his big brown hands a steaming cup of hot black coffee.

-fin.