Author's Note: Endgame sucked, so I changed it! :D This story was three months in the making. I had some writer's block and kept bopping around from story to story, not finishing anything. So I finally sat my ass down and finished this one! This one is mushier than my others, but there is also humor, I promise :) It's also my first multi-chapter story!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just use them to make the story better.

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Chapter 1

"We did it."

Kathryn Janeway stared at the viewscreen, the armada of Federation ships hovering before her like angels welcoming her to heaven.

Chakotay gripped the railing behind their command chairs. He couldn't believe that they'd actually done it.

That she'd actually done it.

His heart swelled at the thought: Kathryn Janeway had finally completed her mission, achieved her goal. She had gotten her crew and her ship home.

She was exhausted, despondent, and broken in so many ways after this seven-year-long journey. But as Chakotay watched her as he stood next to Seven of Nine, he could still see the strong, courageous, beautiful woman he fell in love with all those years ago.

Fell in love. The words struck him hard, like a Borg cube had crashed right into his face. He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of Seven. Seven was smart, and beautiful, and he did care for her...but deep down, he knew his heart could never belong to anyone other than Kathryn Janeway. Seeing Kathryn standing there in front of her command chair, speaking to Admiral Owen Paris over the viewscreen, Chakotay suddenly felt like a dense fog had lifted from his mind. It was all so clear now.

"It'll all be in my report, sir," he heard her say to Admiral Paris before cutting the transmission.

Noticing that his knuckles had turned white from gripping the railing so hard, Chakotay leaned in towards Seven. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Seven turned her head and quirked a curious eyebrow, but said nothing. Chakotay swallowed hard before moving away. He jogged down the stairs and strode over purposefully to Kathryn. His movement caught her attention in the corner of her eye, and she turned to face him.

"Commander?" she asked, her voice tinted with confusion.

He stopped directly in front of her and, in one swift movement, cupped her face in his hands and brought her lips to his.

A sharp inhale from Harry Kim, who had a good view from his position at the ops station, forced Tom Paris to swivel around in his chair. His eyes widened when he saw the command team in their embrace. He glanced over at Harry, whose smile was broader than Tom had ever seen it. Samantha Wildman held back a squeal, covering her mouth with her hand. Mike Ayala leaned back against his console and crossed his arms, smirking at his commander and friend. Took the bastard long enough, he thought. Tuvok merely raised an eyebrow; Seven copied his expression with precision.

Tom stood up and started clapping slowly. The others joined in, and soon the bridge erupted in wolf whistles and cheers. "It's about damn time," Tom muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Sickbay to the bridge," came the Doctor's voice, interrupting the reverie. A baby cried in the background. Chakotay and Kathryn pulled apart, her expression full of bewilderment and shock, but Chakotay swore he could also see a hint of love and joy in her steely blue eyes.

"Doctor to Lieutenant Paris. There's someone here who'd like to say hello."

Kathryn turned and beamed at Tom. "You'd better get down there, Tom."

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied, hopping up from his chair. He winked at Chakotay on his way to the turbolift.

"Mister Chakotay, the helm," Kathryn said, trying to regain some control over the situation. She was attempting to process what had just happened between them, and now was certainly not the time for informalities. Instead, she focused on her final mission: seeing her ship to Earth.

"Aye, Captain," he replied, smiling as he took a seat at the conn.

"Set a course for home."

xXx

Later that evening, Kathryn sat on the couch in her quarters, staring idly at the blue and white planet below her. Starfleet had sent their instructions: they were to disembark tomorrow.

As she tried to reflect on the past seven years, her mind kept straying to the moment on the bridge with Chakotay.

She had waited so long for that very moment. She still wasn't sure it had happened, but every so often she could recall the sensation of his soft lips on her own and she knew it had been real.

This was real. They were home. They were no longer bound by the chain of command or by her principles. And now she was sure—he still loved her. Their relationship, both personal and professional, had been rocky for awhile, and the rumors she had heard about him and Seven of Nine hadn't helped the situation.

No, not rumors. Truth. B'Elanna had told her outright. The half-Klingon had been enraged that her best friend would "act like such a petaQ," as she had put it, and pursue such a childish endeavor, and it was no secret that B'Elanna wasn't Seven's biggest fan. Kathryn had been grateful for B'Elanna's candid admission, although it had seared her heart more than she cared to admit.

Kathryn had loved him. She still loved him. But she had resigned herself to the fact that he had moved on to someone else, to someone who could give him what she could not. She had doubted that he still had feelings for her and had quickly extinguished all glimmers of hope that had been living deep within her conscience.

But apparently, that was not the case. Whatever Chakotay had with Seven was over. He still loved Kathryn, and she loved him, and they were home.

Home.

The door chime broke her from her thoughts.

"Come in, Chakotay," she called, already aware of who it would be on the other side of the door.

Chakotay stepped into her quarters and held out a bottle of champagne.

"I brought something to celebrate with," he said, placing it on the table. She smiled at him as she stood up and walked over to the credenza and took out two champagne flutes. He popped the cork and poured two glasses, which they then clinked together.

"Welcome home, Kathryn," he said.

She took a sip of her champagne and gently placed the flute on the table. They had so much to talk about, but there would be time for that later. They didn't need words; there was no question about what either of them wanted now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he placed his flute next to hers.

"I thought we could do some celebrating in the bedroom, if you're up for it," she purred, kissing him lightly on his jawline.

"I've waited seven damn years for you to say that," he replied. She laughed as he grabbed her by the waist, hoisted her over his shoulder, and carried her to bed.