Crossing the Line
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, the characters, etc. belong to Paramount.
The door to Chakotay's quarters chimed, and he sighed, heaving himself out of the bed where he hadn't really been sleeping anyway. He glanced at the chronometer on the bedside table. 02:00. The middle of the night, at least when you had the early shift. He sighed again, wondering who could possibly be at his door. Had one of the Equinox crew run into a problem already? Or was it someone from Voyager, troubled by recent events, and wrestling with the same sleeplessness that had been plaguing him?
In retrospect, he should have known.
He tugged at his night clothes and ran a hand uselessly through his hair, ruffling it even further. Then he pressed the door release, and there she stood. Kathryn Janeway. The first thing he noticed was how tiny she looked. It wasn't something that he was often cognizant of, the incredible petiteness of this woman. Her command of every room, of every situation, belied this impression on every level possible. Her personality was larger than life and rarely did anyone who knew her, even someone who knew her as he did, reflect on her small stature.
She was dressed simply in pale blue pajamas, a short-sleeved top with loose fitting bottoms that somehow seemed to swallow her up. Her hair was mussed and tucked carelessly behind her ears. She was barefoot. And yet, somehow, it wasn't her casual, slightly disheveled appearance that caused him to truly see her size. It was something in her face, in the way she stood, the slump of her shoulders, the nervous twisting of her hands. She had withdrawn into herself as far as it was possible to go while still standing up. As they stood there in the doorway, she simply stared at him, seemingly unable to even articulate what she was doing outside of his quarters at 02:00. Her eyes were very red, her cheeks very pale.
Part of Chakotay considered demanding to know flat out, the part of him that was still boiling with impatience and resentment. Yes, she had actually admitted to him on the bridge (at least as clearly as Kathryn Janeway ever admitted anything) that she had been wrong. And that he had been right, right enough even to justify mutiny. Not any easy thing for anybody to say, he knew. He had stayed by her side throughout the potluck dinner Neelix had organized, endeavoring to demonstrate to the crew that he retained his full confidence in their captain, and that the rift between them had been sealed. Although she would never mention it, he knew she had been grateful for his efforts. And the part of him that loved her unconditionally, that would follow her to the ends of the galaxy and back just to make her smile, was satisfied. That part of him knew that they would get past this, that their relationship would remain intact.
Unfortunately for her—or maybe for him—that wasn't the part of him that was in control at the moment. It wasn't the part of him that had just spent five hours tossing and turning in bed, struggling to quench an anger that hadn't welled in him for years, battling a deep-seated sense of hurt that his best friend had betrayed him—no, betrayed them all—because she was too blinded by her own vengeance to see reason.
You almost killed that man today.
It was a calculated risk, and I took it.
It was a bad call.
I'll note your objection in my log.
The irate words between them swam in his head, and he shook himself, wishing he had followed his resolve to engage in a vision quest. Instead, he had decided to indulge in his anger, and now here she was. Hoping for what? Comfort? Absolution? Another debate? Maybe she had changed her mind in the last few hours and decided she had been right after all.
"Chakotay." Her voice was small and tight, much how it had sounded as she had spoken to him on the bridge earlier. She was looking at him with something akin to fear in her eyes. He knew his own feelings must be playing out across his features and berated himself again for not having resolved this so he could deal with her in a gentle manner. Sure. Just like she dealt with him. He grimaced and pushed away the thought. This internal tug-of-war was getting him nowhere. Reluctantly, he stepped away and gestured for her to enter his quarters, wondering idly just how long they had actually been standing in that doorway, each trapped by their own fears and indecision.
Kathryn walked tentatively over to the couch in the living room area and sat down in one corner. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She watched him quietly as he moved across the room and settled on the other side of the couch. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him. The room was still for many long moments, and then finally he spoke.
"What is it, Kathryn?" His voice was low but not, he hoped, unkind.
"I couldn't sleep," she mumbled.
"You're not the only one," he responded. "It's been a rough few days." He kept his voice deliberately casual. She looked down for a moment, then raised her head to meet his gaze, tilting her chin in that familiar, almost defiant, way. She drew in a deep breath, as if trying to harness her strength for what came next.
"What have I done, Chakotay?" The ragged words burst unexpectedly from her throat, and their utter despair ripped through him as well.
And then she started to cry, burying her face in her hands and her words of regret in her tears. She only cried for a moment, but they were earth-shattering sobs that hurt to listen to. He felt his defenses crumble and the blaze of his resentment turn to ashes. He found himself sitting next to her, unsure of how, or if, he should try to comfort her. But before he could even make up his mind, she was sitting up straight and wiping her eyes with trembling fingers.
"Kathryn," he said softly, reaching out to lightly caress her cheek. She shook her head slightly, moving away from his ministrations. And he understood that she needed to say all that she had come there to say before she would allow him to offer her anything else.
"Chakotay," she said, "have you ever felt such hot, intense anger that it just boiled over into your soul and all you could think about was making those who caused it pay for their mistakes? At any price?"
He looked at her, realizing what she had just said to him, and almost smiling. "You're asking me that, Kathryn? You do remember how we all ended up here together in the Delta Quadrant, don't you? It wasn't to try out every leola root recipe known to the galaxy. I was in a so-called terrorist organization bent on destroying the Cardassians."
To his surprise, Kathryn seemed to be choking back tears again. "Yes, I do remember, Chakotay. I remember the very first time I met you. Yes, there was anger in you, yes, you wanted revenge for what they did to your home, but above that, there was always honor, goodness, a strict interpretation of right and wrong. You never were what I have been the past few days." She reached up to wipe her eyes. "You are a better person than I will ever be, Chakotay." He ducked his head, feeling suddenly shy.
As always, he marveled at her ability to forget entirely where people had come from and focus on what they had become. He knew with no doubts that eventually the same phenomenon would happen with the Equinox crew. And he felt a lump grow in his throat as he realized that, in the end, she had even done the same with Ransom. She had surely lost her way for a time, but she had come back. He needed to remember that.
"Yes," he admitted, "I have always tried to honor what I was taught by my family and my people. But you know anger isn't that easy to get rid of. It wasn't until…you…" He stopped, struggling with his emotions. She looked at him with an unfathomable expression and then reached out to hold his hand.
"Ransom reminded me of everything I could become out here. He reminded me just how easy it is to take that first step down the road to destroying everything that makes us human. Most times we don't even notice that first footfall onto the wrong path. But in the end it's what defines us, that moment of choosing that doesn't always even feel like we're making a conscious choice." Chakotay nodded, absorbing her words. Her hand in his had stopped shaking, but her grip had tightened.
"You were scared," he said. And in a moment of perfect clarity he knew that was the real reason she had reacted the way she had to Ransom's betrayal. She had seen that future, that destiny, and she was terrified to know that one day, if she allowed it to be, it could become hers.
Kathryn's expression held first surprise, then a slow realization. "Yes," she said, a determined look crossing her face. "I was scared."
"I understand," Chakotay murmured.
"You do?" she asked, hopefulness infusing her voice.
"Yes. Back when I was in the Maquis, I feared that one day my anger towards the Cardassians would make me cross that line and become just like them," he said thoughtfully.
"How did you overcome it?"
"I didn't," he admitted. "I held on to that fear and used it. I used those glimpses into the darkest recesses of individuality to guide me and to steady me. As long as I kept that fear in sight, I knew I would never step over that boundary. It would define me, as you said, and help me to stay on the right path in a situation that constantly threatened to undermine my convictions of who I was."
Kathryn got up from the couch and went over to stand by the windows. He followed her and together they gazed out at the stars streaming past them in their warp trail.
"Chakotay." Her voice was hesitant.
"Yes," he answered softly.
"Do you think you could ever forgive me? For what I did? And for what I did…to you?" Her voice cracked on the last words. He smiled, the first genuine smile that had crossed his lips in days, as he suddenly realized that he could answer the way he should--the way he wanted to—and truly mean it.
"I already have, Kathryn," he said simply. She ducked her head and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then Chakotay reached out to her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders.
"So tell me, is it crossing the line to hug your captain?" The faintest hint of a smile quirked the corners of his lips, and he was relieved to see Kathryn half-grin.
"Well, I guess that would depend on who your captain is," she replied.
Chakotay suddenly felt his throat tightening. "What if she's the best friend you've ever had?" he murmured softly.
Kathryn made a choked noise and then her arms were wrapped tightly around him, her face buried in his neck. He felt the wetness of her hot tears against his skin, heard her muffled words against his ear.
"Then it's definitely not crossing the line."