Disclaimer: Own them? No. I don't. I don't own Kathryn Janeway, I don't own Chakotay, I don't own the coffee pot.

Author's Note: This was written for VAMB's Secret Santa Exchange 2013. Lauawill requested a post-Endgame J/C romantic winter tale, and this is the fluffy outcome.

I'm afraid I've never been able to get my head around the Stardate converter, so I have used the traditional Terran calendar months.

Thank yous: To Ria and Sira for organising the whole shebang. You are both wonderful people. Also, thanks to my beta.

Dedications: to lauawill- this is her gift. Because she wanted Kathryn to barge in and poke Chakotay in the nose.

Enjoy.

Prologue- 2378

She stood there silently, trying to muster up the courage to press the chime that would alert him to her presence. But she couldn't. She had been debating this issue for the past seven years, but never more ferociously than she had over the past several hours. Her crew had been locked down and Starfleet was requesting every professional and personal log made on board, every scrap of information that their computer's databanks had stored over the past seven years. The future for everyone on board was suddenly far murkier and less clear than it ever was in the Delta Quadrant, but Captain Kathryn Janeway couldn't find it in herself to think of anything but her first officer.

Ever since Admiral Janeway had told her that Seven and Chakotay were to marry, she had been distracted, weighing all the pros and cons of finally admitting her feelings for the man who had been by her side, the person she had come to rely on in most aspects of her life. She couldn't keep it bottled up any longer- she had to tell him now before it was too late. But was it already too late? He had a new love interest now, and that love interest happened to also be her dear friend: was it fair for her to complicate an existing relationship? Maybe she'd had her chance, and she'd blown it. On the other hand, she couldn't bring herself to believe that Chakotay and Seven would be truly happy together; perhaps, by complicating things, she'd be doing them a favor...and, she supposed, the worst that could happen was that she'd alienate them both. She wondered briefly whether she could live without either of them in her life, knowing she had selfishly driven them away.

But this dance had gone on long enough. She needed to be honest, both with herself, and with him.

Her mind was made up. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders slightly, she leaned forward and reached for the chime-

Kathryn stopped as a growing noise presented itself from the other side of the door. She could hear voices from inside Chakotay's quarters. They must have been too quiet for her to hear a few moments before, but now she could distinctly hear two people talking. Unable to make out the words, she tried instead to focus on the tone and pitch to identify their owners. One was Chakotay, which was hardly surprising as these were his quarters. Kathryn would be able to recognize his deep, rich tones anywhere. But she froze as the other voice spoke again. It was higher, more feminine. However, the tone was repetitive, even, dry. Seven. Chakotay spoke once more and Kathryn could tell that this wasn't your usual debriefing session or philosophical discussion. Chakotay's voice was a low purr that she had only heard him use once before: when he had told her the legend of an angry warrior, who could not find peace.

She took a step back from the door, chiding herself silently for not going to see him earlier. She could tell that Seven's voice was light, flirtatious, or as flirtatious as she could ever have imagined the ex-drone's voice to be.

I'm too late. He's moved on already.

The thought settled heavily on Kathryn's thoughts, suffocating any hope she may have had of a future with the man she had denied herself for so long. She couldn't have expected him to wait for her, not this long. She had been stupid, blind even, to think that Chakotay would still want her after all this time.

And, clenching her jaw shut as she heard a very feminine giggle come from inside her first officer's quarters, Kathryn Janeway walked back to her quarters, fighting the tears that came with a broken heart.

January 2379

It was a cold winter in Indiana. Kathryn looked out of the window, watching the snowflakes lazily float to the ground and settle quietly on those that had already gathered there. December had been tough for her. She had battled through their momentous homecoming, still unable to tear her mind away from the empty feeling she had inside.

The pain had not subsided any further. Kathryn had tried to put on a brave face during all the official events and celebrations that the brass put on: she had remained composed at the hearings at which the future of her crew was decided, and she had even forced a smile when Seven had told her of her relationship with Chakotay. The two of them were to go to Trebus to help restore what the Cardassians had destroyed. Not once did Kathryn talk to Chakotay about it.

Part of her wanted to demand an explanation, to confront him, to lash out at him for moving on. But she couldn't. Kathryn knew that a small part of her was happy that he had done it, that he had managed to find what she couldn't. She wanted to believe that seeing him happy with another woman would be enough, that without the confrontation, without the clarification, the spoken proof that such a conversation would give her, she would still be able to move on. Surely simply seeing him happy with Seven was easier than hearing him say that he didn't love her anymore, that he might never even have loved her to begin with, wasn't it? This way she could still believe that he might have loved her at some point.

She felt guilty for not being able to let this go. Christmas had been filled with family events, too much food, and even more alcohol. Kathryn knew she should have been happy to be home, happy to finally have brought them back. That all this was dwarfed by what she had heard in Chakotay's quarters barely a month beforehand made her angry at herself for dwelling on something that, by all rights, should be inconsequential compared with the impossible feat she had just accomplished: the undeniable odds that said they'd never make it home, and yet here they were.

Kathryn sighed. This wasn't the way to continue through this. Her heart had been broken before, and on each occasion she had found her way back through her work. Starfleet had given her a clear purpose when she lacked direction.

This time will be no different.