Title: Cold Fire Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Author: Singing Violin
Rating: T
Summary: Post Endgame. Chakotay returns to Kathryn for one more try. A discussion of love and hate ensues.
Spoilers: Mosaic, Caretaker, Prime Factors, Unity, Scorpion, Equinox, Fair Haven, Workforce, Endgame
Disclaimer: TPTB own them, but they didn't do what I wanted with them, so I'm borrowing them for a bit. I'll give them back when I'm done.
Feedback: Yes please.
Archiving: Anywhere.
She is surprised to see him shivering on her doorstep on this cold winter night, but she instinctively reaches out an arm and pushes him into the house, then ushers him to an armchair in front of one of the only real fireplaces left on Earth.
As she stokes the fire, he speaks, but it is not what he came to say. "I didn't realize it was so cold in Indiana in February," he remarks. It occurs to him in the back of his mind that the term "icebreaker" is appropriate in more ways than one.
She does not smile. She is happy to see him, but she doubts his motives. Once, she would have considered him her best friend, but that was a long time ago, a time during which he grew distant from her and became engaged to someone else, someone she cherished like a daughter. She has buried her sense of betrayal deep within her, but it is still there, threatening to erupt like a dormant volcano.
She postulates that he requires a favor from someone high up in Starfleet. Someone like herself. She suspects he does not realize what little power she truly holds as a result of her rank of Admiral.
Then something more sinister occurs to her. Perhaps he has come to ask her to marry them. Once, she would have done so without hesitation; she knows that, in an alternate timeline, she did. But circumstances were different then; she would have still seen him every day on the bridge of her ship. She could have distracted herself with the daily crises that were the hallmark of their distant voyage. Protocol would have been an ironclad alibi, the alternative to his choice simply not an option.
Now, the request would just be a slap in the face. She shivers at the thought.
His voice penetrates the awkward silence once again. "It's gotten to you too," he observes.
"What?" she asks, barely registering his words, but knowing she has failed to parse them.
"The weather," he explains. "You shivered."
"I'm fine," she answers coldly. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?" Another time, her eyes might have sparkled when suggesting alternatives to coffee, her mock disapproval emanating playfully from her blue orbs. Today, however, her offering is perfunctory.
He decides to surprise her. "On a day like today, who can refuse a cup of cocoa? Thank you." Again, she does not smile, and now he begins to worry.
She returns with two steaming mugs; his is topped with a generous helping of whipped cream and a solitary marshmallow, perched precariously atop the mound. The care with which this beverage has been prepared belies her surly mien. However, the daggers in her eyes almost threaten poison. He finds amusement in the thought; after all these years, he still trusts her more than anyone else. He knows, no matter her mood, she would never hurt him.
He sips. The liquid is clearly not replicated. It is rich and bittersweet and just hot enough to warm him without scalding his tongue. He marvels at how this woman, who more than once managed to get a replicator to burn a roast, can prepare so expertly a drink he knows for certain she dislikes. He begins to wonder whether she has had practice preparing hot chocolate for someone else. He ponders whether she has a new romantic interest, someone young and sweet who enjoys such childish delicacies, but he rejects the thought, assuring himself that she would be far more jovial if that were the case, and, perhaps, her companion would be here.
"This is delicious," he compliments her.
His unspoken question is addressed. "It's Deanna's favorite," she tells him airily.
"Oh," he answers awkwardly, wondering silently how much counseling she's needed since their return.
"She's a friend," Kathryn rebuts, annoyed at the slight look of pity he has failed to hide. She has precious few friends these days, but she doesn't need him feeling sorry for her.
She breathes deeply, a technique the aforementioned counselor has taught her to prepare for something difficult. "What can I do for you, Chakotay?"
He places his mug on the coffee table beside him before he answers. "Seven and I...we're no longer together," he announces. He searches her eyes for any hint that this news has elated her, and, disappointingly, finds none.
She does not allow herself to hope as a result of this revelation. Her heart has been broken too many times, and she is wary of good news. However, she is ready to slip into her old role as sounding board for her former crew. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, alighting onto the couch that, along with the chair and coffee table, forms a semicircle around the fireplace. She sits stiffly, crossing her legs.
"Not really," he replies, and is rewarded by the surprised arch of her eyebrow. "It's over; I don't really want to think about it anymore."
However, Kathryn is not ready to let it go so easily. "Is she okay?" she asks. "Are you?"
He smiles at her as he raises his beverage once again. "We're fine," he says before gulping more of the tasty liquid. Then, licking his lips slightly, "it was a mutual agreement."
She snorts softly, which startles him. "What?" he asks curiously.
"It's just that, I've never known you two to have a mutual agreement on anything," she points out, finally relaxing into reminiscence, as if the couch has some sort of soothing effect. "When she first came on board, you wanted to throw her out an airlock."
He snickers too, remembering, but his reply is serious. "She was the enemy then. When I had to link with her...remember scorpion?...I saw her human side for the first time."
He realizes that he has led the conversation in an inadvisable direction when Kathryn stiffens once more.
"Well," she responds, "I didn't realize. I always thought you two hated each other, until..." Her voice trails off as she neglects to continue, lest her pain be evident.
He tries desperately to engage her again. "At times, we did," he admits. "But Tom and B'Elanna hated each other at first too. You didn't see them when they first met on the Liberty. They were like oil and water. I would never have pegged them for...well, they're happy now, and that's what matters."
She laughs slightly. "I can't imagine them more at odds than they were those first few years on Voyager, but I suppose I understand."
It is his turn to be surprised. "You do?" he squeaks.
She nods and uncrosses her legs, then draws them up onto the couch in an imitation of a pose she exhibited during many sleepless nights on Voyager. To complete the picture, she rests her elbow on the arm of the couch and leans forward slightly so that she may scratch her chin.
"Sure," she finally replies. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever loved a man I didn't hate first."
"I guess that explains Kashyk," Chakotay remarks, and regrets it immediately, but she is not angry.
"He was sexy," she admits. "All the passion with which I hated him...well, it had somewhat of a physical effect on me. I wouldn't have chosen a long-term relationship with him; I didn't trust him any further than I could throw him, but I've never met someone who made me so horny."
Her blunt admission engenders shock and jealousy. "What about the others?" he asks, not wanting to hear any more about the vile enemy who affected her so. "Burleigh? Sullivan?"
Her hand goes to her mouth, and she blushes slightly. "Well, first of all, they weren't real, but Burleigh was detestable...he locked his first wife in the attic and neglected his children. And I was never in love with him."
She pauses before continuing. "As for Michael, well, he annoyed me at first, so I reprogrammed him. And that act, though I didn't know it at the time, ruined any hope of a real romance between us." She sighs. "I learned my lesson; luckily, I couldn't reprogram the real thing even if I wanted to."
Can't you? he wonders idly. I'm not the same person I was when I met you.
He presses on. "What about Gath?"
Her eyes widen. "Gath..." she repeats, rolling the name around on her tongue as if to assess its familiarity. "I'd forgotten about him. I honestly don't remember what I saw in him, but suffice it to say, I was disillusioned quickly."
She decides it's his turn. "What about you?" she questions. "Did you hate Seska at first?"
He gasps, the pain of the Cardassian's deception still raw within his heart. "I think I did," he admits softly, only now realizing that it is the truth. "She threw herself at me, and I wasn't accustomed to that; it angered me at first. But I had lost so much; I was hungry for that sort of attention, and so I took it willingly. I should have trusted my instincts."
Kathryn waves an arm dismissively. "It's in the past," she says, not wanting him to relive any more of that awful time. "What about the Borg woman? Riley?"
"There was nothing between us," he asserts, and the admiral is silent, attempting to think of other examples.
He speaks first. "What about your first fiance?" he asks hesitantly, knowing only that the relationship ended in a terrible tragedy. She has never spoken openly about it; all he knows is from reading her file.
She purses her lips. "Justin and I did not get along at first," she remembers. "I thought him arrogant and aloof. Somewhere along the line, one of our magnets must have reversed polarity. I think it was when he rescued me from the Cardassians."
He marvels at this revelation, realizing how little he must know about her past, and resolves to ask her more about it later. For now, he changes the subject quickly, so as not to upset her; he doesn't know that very little upsets her these days. "And Mark?" he asks.
She smiles at that, and her eyes are distant, remembering. "Mark was a thorn in my side throughout my childhood. He was Hobbes then. Vulky Hobbes Johnson. But we were thrown together so many times; my revulsion somehow morphed into attraction. But honestly, I'm not sure how long it would have lasted. The attraction between us...it wasn't charged. It was...comfortable. He..." She stops, deciding that she's revealed too much detail already. "I'm glad he found someone else."
Again, Chakotay muses about the untold story behind her vague admission. Then something occurs to him. "Jaffen!" he remarks. "I'm sure you never hated him."
She smiles sadly, resting her chin once more on her arm. "You're right," she concedes. "But I also didn't remember most of my life; I was, for all intents and purposes, a different woman."
"A woman who could love someone she actually likes?" he asks quietly, not sure whether he is overstepping his bounds. He thinks he sees her eyes shimmer with the beginnings of tears, and instantly wishes he could take the words back.
She rises abruptly from the couch and faces him, her hands on her hips. "I think that's enough of that," she says sharply.
He is emboldened now, realizing this might be his last chance. "Did you hate me at first?" he asks quietly. "I know you were sent to capture me; I was the enemy, but..."
She glares at him, knowing exactly where this is leading, and not knowing whether she is ready for it, but decides to start with an honest answer to his question. "No," she says. "I never hated you. I've always respected you, and I can assure you, if I'd hated you, you would never have been my first officer."
He sighs disappointedly, and decides to make a similar admission. "I never hated you either," he confirms, rising to stand with her. "Not even when I thought you'd haul me back to the authorities in your brig."
Her eyes widen once more as she struggles not to show weakness by stepping back to create distance between them. "What about when I made a deal with the Borg? When I relieved you of duty after you opposed me about the Equinox?"
He shakes his head. "I was disappointed in you, and worried about you. Heck, I was pretty angry too. But I could never...I've always loved you," he admits simply.
She raises an eyebrow, shaking her head slightly in disbelief, her doubts returning full-force. What favor could he possibly be currying with an overture like that?
"And almost marrying Seven? That's how you show your love? Or were you hoping to use her to make me hate you, so that the hatred would turn to love?" she blurts out.
He raises his eyebrows. He honestly hadn't thought of that. "It was a physical attraction," he argues, "just like you with Kashyk. And it's over now." He faces her solidly, challenging her with his eyes as his speaks. "I'm ready to love someone I've never hated. Are you?"
She is angered by his remark, but her stubborn streak won't allow her either to surrender or to kick him out. "Maybe," she admits, "but what makes you think I'd choose you?"
"Will you at least give me a chance?" he begs.
She turns away from him, and he barely hears her words. "I'm not sure I should."
He realizes that it is now or never. He will have her, or he will lose her. He grabs her shoulders and turns her around. She looks up at him apprehensively. Roughly, he throws his arms around her shoulders and pulls her towards him, holding her tightly as he lowers his lips to hers. She returns the kiss, and it is more passionate than he could have imagined.
Breathlessly, she pulls away. "I hate you," she says.
He is speechless while she continues. "For making me wait this long. For making me watch you and Seven happily get engaged. And most of all," she adds, her voice lowering to barely a whisper, "for still having this damned effect on me."
He notices her eyes are moist. "So, you'll give me a chance?" he repeats.
She nods silently, and this time she pulls him towards her.