A/N: This is technically a "relaunch fic" set in the K. Beyer universe immediately after the most recent "Pocket Full of Lies," but, there are minimal spoilers and you don't need to have read the books first. Just think of it as a 3-yrs-post Endgame-fic if you want.

And, I know a lot of people hated "Unforgettable," and I'm not saying it was great, but I thought there was potential. So, hang with me for just a bit and let's see if I can turn that situation into something worth reading.

A million thanks to MiaCooper. She listened to me whine about this for far too long, then caught all of my mistakes, then listened to me whine some more.


7.5 Years Ago

In time, she will remember everything.

But for now, her memories are a journey which begins very early one morning, well before the suns rise on the lush planet of Ramura - before the warblers make their call bringing around the day.

She awakes, flies to a seat and bursts into a cold sweat all in one swift move. The dream she has just had was so real, so palpable she feels for the side of the bed to be sure that he isn't actually there beside her. But, as she knew they would be, the sheets are empty.

Who? she wonders. Who was I expecting?

On unsteady legs she rises hoping that by becoming fully awake the dream will dissipate.

Names come next. Janeway, Neelix, the Doctor. She shakes her head - runs a clammy hand through her tousled blonde curls.

Voyager.

She pushes back the rising sense that this was more than a dream. Then she moves for a glass of water.

Images, like projectiles assail her mind's eye. She struggles to swallow the liquid without choking.

A silver arrow, surrounded by an oval of gold. She reaches out a finger to touch at the air but her hand finds no surface to stop on.

Lines, slanted downward and meeting in a curve at the bottom, fanning out to the edge. To the edge of what? she wonders. And then she instinctively touches her forehead.

Chakotay.

Almost immediately, another sensation. Movement. Startled, she drops the glass and it shatters on the floor.

Her hands are trembling as they slide to her abdomen.

And they feel the second kick.


In the distance an alarm is blaring but with every pulse it grows closer to his reality. Groggy, he tells the computer to stop. He's going to be late if he doesn't get moving, but he's having more trouble than normal shaking the stiffness from his bones and the fog from his mind. - bmories are lotreat, a whole lot) of people really hated "lp bring him aroudn om his mind.

o her abdomen. And they feel

A quick splash of water, a cup of tea and a fresh uniform goes a long way to help bring him into the morning. He heads to his living area where he left a stack of padds he had been reviewing the night before.

He retrieves them, then with a slanted eye, regards a few sheets of paper which he keeps safe on his bookshelf.

He has read them almost every day for the last three months. But the passage of time has made them feel no more real to him than they had the first morning he woke to find them on his desk.

My handwriting, he had noticed. How odd it seemed to him, since he had no recollection of penning them. Where did these come from? he had wondered, and he still does. A shiny, silver pencil had sat next to them but he couldn't recall having replicated one.

He sets down the padds, moves to the shelf and picks up the papers once again. The words have been all but committed to memory. But maybe, if he reads them one more time, he will remember why he wrote them.