Disclaimer: I own neither Star Trek: Voyager nor the characters used here. I've taken them out for a little fun but I promise to return them when I'm finished.

Author's Note: I know this is long overdue but thanks to some very unfortunate happenings, it took me a while to get it posted. I got a lot of pressure to have my stories beta'd, so I went against my better judgement and handed it off to be read over. It's been several weeks and I swear the beta fell off the face of the Earth, so I decided to post it raw. Unfortunately I've got some sort of cosmic 'kick me' sign on my back because my laptop hadn't saved the latest copy of it so I had to rewrite it from the beginning. That's why it took so long, and that's why I'm not really trusting of beta-reading. Sorry for the delay!

She can't blame him for not coming. She knows their friendship is a thing of the past, beaten down by the Borg and her own stupidity. There's no justification for what she said, how she took a professional disagreement and made it personal. She knew his weaknesses, knew that she was hitting below the belt by throwing in his face that she was alone because they didn't agree, and she lives with the regret of what she did every day. Sitting on the Bridge is hard when he's so quiet; there's no easy banter, no inside jokes, no interaction unless he's speaking to her as her first officer. She misses the dinners in their quarters; the playful and light joking between them is a thing of the past too. And she knows that it all sits squarely on her shoulders.

Their fight over the Borg sits heavily on her mind, even now. He had plausible doubts about the deal she brokered with the mechanical demons but she was so caught up in trying to find a way to ease her guilt that she blew him off until she was in too deep. Looking back at how she spoke to him and belittled his feelings she feels that same sick feeling of guilt forming in her stomach. It was so terribly cruel of her to be so callous but she's unsure of how to make things right.

To add to her already high level of stress, she's been getting reports that B'Elanna's not handling things well after her horrible encounter with the Mari. Joe Carey told her today that there've been a few times where he thought B'Elanna would break his nose again. No one can blame the young woman for her anger, since she's certainly got every right to be upset over the invasive and cruel techniques that Examiner Nimira threatened to use as punishment for the marketplace beating, and she knows it'll take a while for her Chief Engineer to regain her equilibrium. She certainly knows her own equilibrium is rather shaky.

She's sitting in her quarters with the lights at fifty percent, a glass of wine sitting on the low table in front of the couch. Her attention is divided between the red liquid and the streaking stars outside the viewport but for the first time in a long while she's not thinking of the enormous responsibility she has to the crew; her thoughts are squarely on the man she can hear moving around his quarters. She's been listening to the muted thumps and thuds, knowing that she's responsible for the anger she can hear behind each noise. The guilt, her constant companion, worms its way into her mind again and she feels it settle low in her stomach.

The chiming of her door catches her by surprise and she stands quickly, running her fingers through her hair and straightening her uniform; it wouldn't do to have an unsuspecting crewman find her morose and sullen. Calling for the person to enter, she's floored when Chakotay walks in.

"Commander," she says quickly, surprise coloring her voice. "What can I do for you?"

She watches him shuffle for a moment, seemingly as hesitant as he was that first year, before he smiles and waves at his chair, the one he's sat in every time they're in her quarters. She returns the smile and nods, aware of the fact that as he sits in his spot, they've had a silent conversation. Apparently the ability to do so isn't lost, just the willingness.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your evening," he replies, his eyes focused solely on her. "But I have something for the Birthday Girl."

Her heart leaps at this; he's remembered her birthday, even after how horrid she's been. She shakes her head slowly, fighting a smile as she tilts her head.

"I can't believe you remembered, Chakotay." Her voice is soft and lacks any accusation. She's amazed at how relaxed he is, sitting here like no time's passed and there's not a rift between them. Leaning forward slightly, she raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to give me this something or am I going to have to plead for it?"

He laughs and shakes his head, pulling a small box out of his pocket. It's a little bigger than the present he gave her their second year in the Delta Quadrant but it's much heavier and she frowns, fighting the urge to shake it. Undoing the ribbon quickly, she pulls the lid off and stops, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she looks up at him.

"A watch?"

He takes it from her, carefully turning the silver pocket watch over so she can see the intricately detailed image on the back.

"It's a nineteenth century mechanical movement, actually. It's a replica of the chronometer worn by Captain Cray of the British navy," he explains, his eyes on hers. "Captain Cray's ship was hit by a typhoon in the Pacific and everyone back in England thought they were killed. Eight months later Cray sailed his ship into London harbor; there wasn't much left of it - a few planks, half a sail - but he got his crew home."

She's blinking back tears by the end of his explanation and all she can do is stare at the watch in her hand. It's so like him to put so much thought into her present; this one has her so choked up that it takes her a few moments to collect herself before she can speak.

"I don't . . . I don't know what to say except thank you," she finally manages, then looks up at him. She struggles for a moment and then sighs heavily, reaching over to touch his hand. "Thank you, Chakotay. I know that I've messed up again, and it seems like every birthday I'm apologizing to you, but I truly am sorry."

He shakes his head and covers her hand on his as he looks at her. "I know, Kathryn. I knew when I agreed to serve as your first officer that we'd have rough spots. You're stubborn and bull-headed," he says and she opens her mouth to retort but he holds his hand up. "And you're incredibly independent. We didn't agree about the Borg and our professional disagreement became personal, but that's to be expected in a situation like ours. There's no one else to mediate conflict or difference of opinion and as much as I know you like to think otherwise sometimes, you're just human and you make mistakes just like I do."

She's overwhelmed by this man and the obvious out he's given her for her behavior but she feels that she owes him some sort of honest explanation.

"I appreciate that you're willing to overlook how horrid I treated you but I can't ignore it," she says. "I had no right to use your feelings against you. It was shallow and unfair, and I really am sorry."

"I can't say it wasn't hard to keep myself from throttling you, because the thought honestly crossed my mind," he replies. "But like I said, we're human and humans are prone to shortcomings. It happens and we just have to accept that, though I appreciate your apology."

She feels the rush of emotions building and tries her best to keep them contained, but the best she can do is offer him a wobbly smile. He leans over and squeezes her hand before standing, and she does the same so she can walk him to the door. He stops right before he trips the sensor and turns to look at her, a smile forming as he leans down to kiss her cheek.

"I know you'll get our crew home, just as brilliantly as Captain Cray did. Happy birthday, Kathryn."

She spends the rest of the night watching the pocket watch's second hand tick away her melancholy.