Chakotay hesitates outside the front door of the spacious farmhouse. He is puzzled, and a little amused; he would never have imagined this as the preferred situation of a thrill-seeking ace pilot and a half-Klingon to whom sitting still represents some kind of cultural anathema. He's also not completely sure what he's doing here. There's seeing old friends, and then there's getting bogged down in the past, he thinks, because releasing it means letting go of everything that was ever really his. Keeping in some kind of unfaltering, sincere contact with more than three or four former crewmembers out of almost 150 might have given him something besides memories to dwell on, but he is still dismayed, still hurting over the speed at which those once all-important relationships dissolved once a whole Federation of possibilities re-introduced itself into their little society. He supposes that even real families have their outcasts. Why he ended up a Voyager black sheep is still unclear to him.
The deepest pangs are the ones he never lets himself feel anymore. Instead, he dwells on people who were part of his scenery rather more than his heart: Neelix, traveling all over the quadrant, a true wandering jack-of-all-trades, rarely, if ever, coming down to Earth. The Doctor, who corresponds occasionally, self-importantly, about his usefulness in opening Starfleet's eyes, as he puts it, to the holographic plight, never truly interested in hearing about the doings of others. Harry, who is so excited to be back in the cradle of hearth and home that he looks only ahead into a bright, golden future, his sporadic letters newsy but perfunctory. He hasn't seen Tuvok since the welcoming ceremonies, and he no longer expects to hear from him.
And there are two names he never allows his brain to rest on. He won't do it now. Instead, he knocks on this door, his newest sanctuary, and the fact that it contains Tom Paris is one of the most hilarious cosmic ironies he can imagine. A man he would cheerfully have kicked down a mountain twelve years ago opens the door with an instant grin and an affectionate handshake, and Chakotay can't feel lost anymore.
"How did you find this place?" he wants to know. And unwittingly feeds the clawed monster stalking his heart.
Tom hesitates slightly, as if about to speak a forbidden holy word. "Admiral Kathryn Janeway. Her family homestead is only about 200 kilometers from here. She knew we were looking around."
An awkward silence threatens, but B'Elanna comes to meet him, and the feeling files itself away once more. 200 km, after all, is not next door. Miral is a safe subject change, and the little girl furnishes the segue herself by abandoning her toys and climbing into his lap.
"She's getting so big," Chakotay murmurs, awed as he always is simply to watch her and catch a trace of B'Elanna's strength, a glimpse of Tom's mischievous curiosity. She is nothing less to him than the perfect amalgam of two beloved souls, and as she is the proof of their unlikely, undeniable love for each other, she is also a symbol of Voyager's journey, the living hope they all had that one day, they would find the end of the road and rest easy.
When he's sitting in their midst, he can almost believe he's found his Elysium.
The dinner Tom has prepared is delicious, mostly because, Tom needles her, B'Elanna had no input. Afterward, Miral is fading fast, and B'Elanna casts an apologetic look at Chakotay as she heads for the staircase, her daughter nodding in her arms. B'Elanna can read him scarily well, and she knows that tonight is one of those times when he should not be left any spare time in which to think.
However, either Tom knows him just as well, or he naturally picks up wherever B'Elanna leaves off. "Let's take these drinks out on the porch," he suggests with that natural ease of conversation and manner that Chakotay has always envied, even in the days before any sort of friendship managed to spring up between them.
Each settles into a lounge chair, and Chakotay can't help but gaze up at the starry sky, grateful beyond words to see it opened up before him like a glittering canvas, the way it always looked from Voyager, albeit painted with different stars. San Francisco shines selfishly, garishly, blotting out everything he really wants to see.
He reins himself in; Tom's expression, softly outlined in the moonlight, is sympathetic. "Why did you take that position at the Academy, Chakotay?" he asks gently. "I know you love teaching, but you could do that anywhere. Or anything else you had a mind to. I know you want to be out there again, even more than I do, and I'm still commissioned." He takes a deep breath, and Chakotay braces himself for what's coming next. "Why would you stay in San Francisco?"
Chakotay can't extend enough control over his voice to stamp all the pain out of it. "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?"
"Because I hate the answers," Tom expostulates, and Chakotay can't help grinning at the typically blunt expression of Tom's feelings. "I'm hoping that one of these days I'll get a different set."
"I hope so, too," Chakotay mutters, completely overwhelmed by the depth of Tom's concern for him, and equally overwhelmed by the prospect of acknowledging it. He decides he doesn't have the energy just now.
Tom obviously is not satisfied to let the matter rest there. "She misses you." He pauses at Chakotay's swiftly indrawn breath. "B'Elanna and I see her all the time. Not so much, socially; she's insanely busy. But in the hallways, and lunches here and there. And at all the official occasions Starfleet comes up with in order to pat itself on the back. For an Admiral, she's done a damn good job of shaking off bureaucratic tendencies. Some of those clowns shoot red tape out of their fingertips." He shakes his head slightly, and Chakotay sighs as he realizes that Tom won't let this conversation veer off course any more than he would the Flyer. "Sorry. My stuff. My point is that she doesn't talk about you. Ever. The same way you avoid mentioning her. She even winces at your name, like you're doing now." Tom turns toward him, leaning forward, locking him in place with the usually blue eyes that seem almost translucent in the moonlight. "Chakotay. For seven years, you two practically lived in each other's pockets. You ran that ship like two sides of the same coin."
He fights the urge to run away, not to stop running until he can go no farther. "Tom," he pleads. "Don't do this."
"Tell me." Tom's voice is equally supplicating. "Tell me everything that went wrong. I'm begging you, Chakotay. Let's find a way to fix this."
He turns away before Tom can catch any sign of the tears beginning to burn, so badly that his sinuses ache. Eventually, he manages to speak again in an even tone. "It started before we made it home," he begins, and the telling is not too difficult if he detaches it from his memory and relates it as the story of some other broken trust between two unfortunate unknowns. "Many things happened that solidified what we had, smashed it to pieces, built it back up again. On the planet we called New Earth, she asked me for barriers and I gave her…truth. We came to a sort of understanding to wait and see what might happen between us. When we were rescued, all of that fell away into the realm of impossible things, but we salvaged something. Something we called a friendship that more closely resembled a cross between a two-person government and a kind of chaste love affair. We even fought over Voyager's well-being as if she'd been our child. If we hadn't felt that way, if we had been just the captain and her first officer, perhaps we could have butted heads with less acrimony. Perhaps those fights wouldn't have fractured us so badly. Still, whatever crumbled, we always rebuilt. Until I started seeing Seven." Another involuntary wince. This is getting more and more uncomfortable, like a mass of flames slowly licking its way along his skin, threatening to devour all of him. He feels Tom's hand grasp his shoulder.
"I always wondered how much she had to do with this."
"As a person, very little. She didn't come between us. My choice of her did. I liked her openness, her strange brand of innocence. She'd been a cog in a giant killing machine for most of her life, and there she was floundering around, just trying to make a friend. Unsure how to connect. It was attractive. Try loving a woman for seven years who has perfected the art of acting omniscient, and see how well you can resist a naïve one when she comes along." Tom interjects with a snort. "She was ready to walk down any path we might find together. So I thought, 'well, what am I waiting for?' It really was that simple. I just didn't feel tethered to Kathryn anymore, so I jumped in with both feet. And then, suddenly, we were sitting in the Alpha Quadrant. We had made it back. The drive to get us home that had practically blown an already rocky friendship to kingdom come, repeatedly, was suddenly absent, and so was the excitement of building something new with Seven. She and I both felt it. Voyager was no longer the center of anything. The horizon was a thousand times wider, for both of us, and her boundless curiosity and my…prior attachment…were suddenly unleashed. We broke up with very few words, none of them bitter in the least. It was all very civilized, like rerouting a shuttle that's gone off on the wrong flight plan. It was just too damn late." He throws back half of the glass in his hand; the synthehol burns, and he welcomes it.
"And then the trials started," Tom whispers.
"Yes. Kathryn was furious, and so was your father. You remember as well as I do how hard they fought every day to have all the Maquis crewmembers pardoned and given formal commissions at the ranks they'd earned on Voyager. None of us wanted any favors from Starfleet, but after the pardons were finally granted, we all still felt our loyalty to our captain keeping us from just walking away. And some of us, after being Starfleet for seven years, were used to it, and liked it. I don't have to tell you how much a fresh start is worth." He winks, and Tom gives him a sheepish smile in return. "I don't think Starfleet was really all that interested in punishing us. The Rebellion was over, the Cardassians were no longer allies in any sense of the word, and Kathryn was a folk hero whom they wanted to keep happy for the sake of Starfleet's public image. And the more scientific minds were thrilled with all the data we'd collected. I really think Starfleet was just puzzled. They didn't know what to do with us. They just wanted to check all the boxes, and to wag their fingers at us for being bad little boys and girls. It took a toll on Kathryn, though," he continues painfully. "Her faith in Starfleet was shaken for a little while, and her self-confidence along with it. Of course, she had never questioned her determination to get us home, but suddenly it was a mixed bag. And her doubts found a way in. She doesn't let it happen often, but when she doubts herself, when she second-guesses her decisions…instant meltdown. And taking that step toward Seven, that step away from her, had weakened my credibility as her own personal port in a storm. We had fought so many battles together, but this time, she just felt alone. Abandoned, even. There wasn't anything I could say or do, and making some kind of declaration with her in that frame of mind would have been monumentally stupid. Everything just…eroded from then on. I haven't seen or heard from her in almost three years. But…I couldn't leave."
"I get it," Tom says quietly. "But waiting and hoping to run into her by accident is not going to cut it, Chakotay. Someone's got to approach her about this. We'll save the undying love for later," he adds hurriedly, and Chakotay swats him playfully upside the head. Tom will never change, thank goodness. "Right now, you two just need to get on speaking terms again. Let us help you. I have more tact than you might think."
"So I've noticed," Chakotay answers gratefully. It is the only acknowledgment he can bring himself to make of the generosity with which Tom has handled his feelings tonight; he is completely exhausted. Fortunately, this evening's surreal link between his sensibilities and Tom's intuition continues with an offer to make use of the spare bedroom for the night. It seems that Tom knows that even in slumber, loneliness hunts relentlessly. Chakotay will need them all close by tonight, if he is to find any rest.