The Space Between

Cutthroat Fiction 2017

The image catches her by surprise.

It's not as striking or dramatic as the other images in the Doc's latest interminable multimedia show, Seven Years of Delta Quadrant Sights and Sounds, staged for the gathered families and friends on this, the crew's final night aboard the ship. The image is not as foreboding as the Nintari's continent-wide game grid with its labyrinthine city looming in the distance, not as spare and haunting as the Reynod canine in the snow, not as fearsome as Seleph's fire forest or as fascinating as the colorful, catastrophic death of a low-mass star.

It's nothing special at all. Just two people in silhouette, standing side-by-side beneath the unfamiliar stars of some far distant but never forgotten planet. She suspects it's not even supposed to be part of this slideshow at all, packed as the hour has been with vibrant landscapes and breathtaking cosmological phenomena.

It's just a picture. Nothing special.

Kathryn gasps just the same.

For a heartbreaking instant, she is back there again, standing beneath that tree. She feels the breeze caress her cheeks and tousle the ends of her hair, she sees the sparkling wonder of the meteor shower overhead, she hears the music and laughter from the dignitaries' reception over the hill. Across the years, she senses him staring down at her with a question in his eyes. Involuntarily, she gives her head a small, sad shake, just as she'd done that night before she said her farewell and returned to her never-ending duties, leaving him behind to dance with someone else instead — B'Elanna, maybe, or Megan or Jenny. Anyone but her, anyone but the Captain.

But oh, how she'd wanted to stay.

Kathryn glances across the room to where he sits now at a table for four, surrounded by three incredibly striking women: The matriarchal and protective one he's just met, the tall and fierce one he's missed for seven years, and the statuesque and reserved one he will someday marry.

Kathryn sighs and turns back to the screen and the two people depicted there, one tall and broad, one small and sleek, together in so many ways, apart in the only one that seems to matter anymore.

Beside her, Gretchen Janeway leans close. "Is that you, Katie?"

Kathryn nods.

"And…him?"

Gretchen arches an eyebrow towards Chakotay's table. Kathryn looks over just in time to catch him gazing at her before his head whips around to the screen again.

"It's nothing, Mother," Kathryn whispers. She wonders how, after just a few days of knowing the man, Gretchen has already managed to surmise the strength of the connection between the two of them. Especially since they've all been working hard to ready the ship and themselves for final debarkation, and especially, especially, since their connection has been so strained for the last few months. Gretchen is nothing if not observant, of course. And the connection, while frayed at best since the Equinox incident, is not something Kathryn will ever be able to deny, even as it fades from her grasp.

The image changes again and again: a seascape, a desert, a binary star. She fears how many more images are in this presentation of the Doc's. She begins to regret allowing the holographic medic to keep the portable emitter of Henry Starling's design. If she had forbidden the Doc to ever leave the ship, maybe she wouldn't be subjected to this evening's endless demonstration of his mobility.

She sips her wine. The Doc drones on.

Hiepra IV.

That was the name of the planet.

Hiepra IV, where they'd stopped over for almost a week to barter and rest and recharge. Hiepra IV, where the local government had staged a lavish reception on the last night of their stay, complete with a sumptuous banquet of local delicacies, a reading of sacred and secular texts, and, at the end of the night, music and dancing under one of the most stunning meteor showers Kathryn had ever witnessed.

They'd slipped away for a moment, just the two of them, for a private chat about … about nothing at all, she remembers now. They'd talked quietly about the happiness of the crew and the endless wonder of alien stars. They'd laughed about the music that, while foreign to her ears, had made her want to dance.

"It's not exactly Tchaikovsky, though," he'd said with a grin, recalling her turn as the Dying Swan a few months before.

She had smiled up at him. "Paris calls it 'swing' music. I don't know what that means, but it's definitely catchy."

They'd stood in silence for a long moment, until he'd leaned toward her just a little, just enough to make his presence known. "Kathryn …"

With a sad smile and a shake of her head, she had stepped away from him. "I need to get back to the ship," she'd said. "Please give my regards to Prefect Ularie and have fun at the dance. I'll see you in the morning, Commander."

Watching him watch the endless slideshow with Seven at his side, Kathryn wonders how different her life might be now if, just once, she had set her duties aside and given in to the perfection of that moment under the stars.

Kathryn frowns at this line of thinking. She's allowed her mind wander from the duties at hand. They've been home for almost a week now, and they're all about to scatter to the four winds for a much-needed month of leave. But there is still work to be done. The debriefings will begin soon; Kathryn knows her leave will not be restful at all, given that she has seven years of logs and mission reports to go over before she faces the Admiralty.

Maybe that's why her thoughts keep straying back to that night on Hiepra IV. She's at an inflection point in her existence, suspended between the end of her long, impossible mission and the rest of her life. That night on Hiepra IV had been a kind of suspension, too, a moment of repose between the closeness of their early relationship and the slow dissolution of late.

She glances at Chakotay's profile, illuminated in the captured light of some unimaginably distant sunset. Seven, seated to his right, leans close to murmur in his ear.

Commander Handsome and the Ice Maiden.

She's instantly ashamed of the uncharitable thought … but the truth of it haunts her. Seven has come a long way in a short time, and Chakotay deserves whatever happiness he can grasp. But they are so different, the two of them: Warm, kind, and quietly spiritual; reticent, blunt, and implacably rational. Kathryn loves them both enough to want things to work out for them … but this is not how it was supposed to end, old Admiral Janeway's warnings notwithstanding. Kathryn knows this deep in her bones, as surely as she knows the Kepler-Bouwkamp constant.

She drains her wineglass and stares at the screen without seeing a single subsequent image. She has so much work to do but this night, this moment … this is another inflection point.

Duty be damned, she thinks. This is not how it was supposed to end. This is not how we were supposed to end.

By the time the Doc finishes his longwinded summary speech, she has a plan.

=/\=

After she's said her obligatory final words to the crew and sent her mother and sister off to the transporter room, Kathryn seeks out The Three Musketeers and leads them into a secluded corner of the cargo bay. She strokes six-day-old Miral's soft cheek. "Your daughter is beautiful," she murmurs. "You both must be very proud."

Tom nods and smiles, shifting the baby in his arms. B'Elanna hugs her soon-to-be-former Captain — the latest of many such embraces they've shared. "We couldn't have done it without you, Captain."

"And I couldn't have done it without you," Kathryn responds, shifting her gaze to take in Harry, too. "All three of you."

The young man smiles and nods, finally, after seven years, accepting of his commanding officer's praise. "What did you want to see us about, Captain?"

"I have a favor to ask. It'll take maybe an hour of your time, and it has to be done tonight, before you leave the ship. I know you're about to go back to your families for your vacation, so if it's too much to ask, simply say so and I'll let it go." Just over Tom's shoulder she sees Owen and Lucinda Paris hovering, surely waiting to whisk their son and his family home. "But it's important to me," she continues. "And hopefully not just to me."

Quickly, she explains what she wants and why. The three of them stare at her, wide-eyed and silent. Their shock amuses her; she's bared her soul more in the last five minutes than she has in seven long years.

"I know this must be quite a surprise, but setting that aside: Can you do it?" she asks.

Tom nods slowly. "It won't even take an hour if we work together. Maybe half that."

"We'll have to pull some files that have already been off-loaded," Harry adds. "But if you give the clearance, Captain…"

"Absolutely," she assures him.

"We'll pull the Doc's original file, too, so we get the exact image," B'Elanna says. She takes the baby from Tom's arms. "I'm sure Owen and Lucinda can take Miral for half an hour."

"I need to make it clear that this isn't an order," Kathryn says. "If there's any reason you don't want to —"

"Begging the Captain's pardon," Harry cuts in, "but I think I speak for the entire crew when I say that not only is this not the surprise you think it is, but honestly, it's about damn time."

For a split second, Kathryn stares at him in amazement … then she laughs out loud. "You know, you're right, Mister Kim. It is about damn time. So please let me know as soon as you've got it up and running before I waste any more time. And I thank you, all three of you, from the bottom of my heart."

They nod and smile, and hurry off to do her bidding.

For the next half hour, Kathryn meanders from table to table in the cargo bay, where she's chosen to say her personal goodbyes to the crew rather than holding up the line in the transporter room. She accepts the gratitude of her crew and their families and bids fond farewells to each and every one of them. She keeps Chakotay in her sights all the while.

She's talking to Sam, Naomi, and Gres, Sam's Ktarian husband, when the call finally comes.

"Kim to Janeway."

She excuses herself and taps her comm badge. "Janeway here. Is it ready?"

"It's all set, Captain, just the way you asked for it."

"Perfect. Thanks again for your help."

"It was our pleasure, Captain," Tom replies. "We just hope it works."

"If it doesn't," B'Elanna offers, "call me and I'll shake my bat'leth at him for you."

Kathryn smiles. "I hope that won't be necessary, but I'll let you know. Janeway out."

She gathers her courage and approaches Chakotay, who is deep in conversation with his sister on the other side of the cargo bay. Seven and her aunt are still seated at their original table, but now the Doc has joined them.

Kathryn barely spares them a glance. Her eyes are locked on Chakotay's expression, reading tension there, and irritation, and under it all, maybe even a little sadness. As she draws near to them, she hears Sekaya's voice snap out in frustration. "It's your choice, Chakotay, but I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," he counters. "And for the first time in years, it is my choice."

Kathryn winces and hesitates, but Chakotay has seen her coming. "Captain," he calls. "You remember my sister Sekaya."

"Of course." She glances up at the taller woman. "It's good to see you again."

Sekaya turns and smiles. The expression is completely at odds with her annoyance of just a moment ago. "It's good to see you, too. Do you have plans for your leave?"

Kathryn nods. "I'm going home to Indiana with my mother and sister for two weeks, and then …" She shrugs. "Then I'm not sure. I'll probably come back to Voyager to get some work done before the debrief, if they'll let me."

"Why wouldn't they let you?"

"I've been assigned office space at Headquarters. But somehow I think I'd rather be here."

Chakotay nods in sympathy. "Not quite ready to give up your view of the stars, Captain?"

"Not quite." She places a hand on Sekaya's arm. "I know you've just gotten him back after seven long years, but I need to borrow your brother for a few minutes, if you don't mind."

Sekaya gives her a look that is kind and understanding, and oh so familiar. "Not quite ready to give him up yet, either?"

It's not the response she expected; far from it, in fact. Kathryn feels Chakotay's gaze on her. She meets Sekaya's eyes and a moment of understanding passes between them. "No," she says. "Not ever."

Sekaya grins. "You have more faith in him than he'll ever deserve, Captain." She turns to her brother. "You'll call me later?"

He nods. "And don't think this discussion is over, Sekaya."

The tall woman gives Kathryn a sidelong glance. "Oh, I think it might be." She kisses her brother on the cheek. "Don't do anything stupid," she murmurs, and Kathryn suppresses a gasp of laughter.

Chakotay bristles. "Not for you to say, Sekaya. Now get out of here."

"He's all yours, Captain," Sekaya says. She takes Kathryn's hand and tugs it into the crook of Chakotay's elbow. "May you have better luck with him than I have." With a wink and a nod in Kathryn's direction, Sekaya saunters away, leaving both of them dumbstruck.

"I like her a lot," Kathryn finally says.

"She's a pain in the ass," he grumbles.

"Don't all older siblings think that?"

"Probably." He pats her hand. "I'm sure you think that about Phoebe."

"Of course. Monumental pain in the ass. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

He smiles down at her. "Absolutely not."

She tugs his arm and they stroll together toward the cargo bay exit. "Is she unhappy with you?"

Chakotay sighs. "A little. She thinks I'm being an idiot about … about something I'm not quite ready to talk about yet, actually. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." They step out into the corridor together. A steady stream of crew and families are headed for the transporter room; Kathryn pulls Chakotay in the opposite direction and into the lift. "Deck six."

Chakotay gives her a curious look. "Where are we going?"

"The Holodeck. I wanted to give you a proper sendoff. It won't take long, I promise."

He turns to face her fully, and her hand falls away from the crook of his arm. "But this isn't good-bye," he says. "We'll see each other for the debriefings."

"Yes, of course we will. But this is…" For an instant, Kathryn struggles for the right words. "It's the end of an era, isn't it? We'll never be together again in this way, and I wanted to … commemorate the occasion. Put a bow on everything we've been through, I suppose." She gives him a crooked smile. "I just wanted to share a moment with you before we go our separate ways."

He frowns. "Kathryn, is something wrong?"

"No, but something is changing. And I think it's high time we both acknowledged it. Both what was, and what could have been." Thankfully, the lift slows to a stop before he can utter the question she sees forming on his lips. "We're here."

She heads out into the corridor. After a moment's hesitation, he falls in step beside her and it's so familiar and so right that her heart, recognizing that this could be the last time she walks in step with this man, thuds against her ribcage. When they reach the hatch, she pauses to confirm that the program The Three Musketeers quickly wrote for her is running, and turns to face him. "This is a gift," she says.

"For me?"

"For both of us, in a way. I hope you'll accept it in the spirit intended."

He gives a small chuckle. "Kathryn, I'm not sure whether to be delighted or afraid for my life."

"Maybe both, my friend," she says, and palms open the hatch.

He gives her one last curious glance, steps through the door … and stops in his tracks.

Kathryn follows close behind, marveling at the scene before and around them. In a few short minutes, Tom and B'Elanna and Harry have recreated the scene perfectly. The tree is there, silhouetted against a sky full of bright stars. There's the breeze she remembers, and the shimmering meteors, and even the music, unfamiliar but infectious just the same.

"Hiepra IV," Chakotay gasps. "This is Hiepra IV."

"I wasn't sure you'd remember."

"Of course I remember. I could never …" He tears his eyes away from the beauty around them. "This is for me?"

She nods and takes his arm again, tugging him across the grass and toward the tree. "My final gift to you."

"But … why?"

"Because I have unfinished business from that night."

He chuckles. "Only from that night?"

She elbows him in the side. "Of course not. And I'm sure we'll talk all of that out eventually. It's all bound to come up in the debriefings. Seska, Riley, the Kradin."

"Kashyk," he counters. "Ransom. The Void."

She nods. "There's a lot to hash out, and we will hash it all out. But tonight, just for tonight, I wanted to go back to this moment and ask you the question I wouldn't let you ask me then."

He stops beneath the tree and gazes her with a soft smile. "What question is that, Kathryn?"

But he never allows her to ask it. Instead, he takes her hand in his and winds his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer than they've ever been. She places her left hand on his shoulder and tucks herself up under his chin, pleased to find that she fits there in exactly the way she'd always suspected she would. The music and the darkness and the memories wrap around them.

For the first time in seven years of a close and complicated relationship, Kathryn and Chakotay dance.

They fumble together, laughing, until they find their footing. There's a tense moment when she tries to lead, but he puts a stop to it immediately and moves her to his bidding. She arches an eloquent eyebrow at him but acquiesces, and soon they're moving in tandem, an almost instinctive balance between them that she thought they'd lost somewhere along the way. Once, boldly, he twirls her beneath his raised arm. She giggles and he pulls her close again and laughs. "We're good at this."

"Did you think we wouldn't be?"

He gives her a sad smile. "I never dared to hope that we'd ever have the chance."

The mood between them shifts, and Kathryn closes her eyes. "I'm so sorry for that."

He strokes his hand up and down her back. "It's all right. I understood."

"I hoped you did."

"It took me a while, but I figured it out. And even if I didn't entirely agree with it, I understood why it had to be that way. So I tried to show you everything I couldn't tell you."

Suddenly there are a thousand memories in Kathryn's mind, a thousand words she wants to say about mating behaviors and loneliness and birthday presents and burned dinners and a bathtub and a boat that never came to be. But they all seem inadequate now. "You did. Every day. I knew all along."

"I hope it helped. At least sometimes." She hears the frown in his voice. "I hope it helped more than it hurt, anyway."

"It did," she whispers. "You have no idea how much."

The music changes and slows a little. She revels in the feel of his strong, solid body against hers. She memorizes the sensation even as she prepares to let it go.

"That night on Hiepra IV," he says softly, "I wished … I wished I had a rose to give you. I wished we'd been out of uniform. I wished we were two totally other people, in some totally other time and space." He swallows hard. "I'll never forget that night."

"Neither will I." She snuggles close to him, her face pressed against his chest.

"Kathryn," he murmurs after a moment. "Are you crying?"

"No," she replies, and then … "Yes. Aren't you?"

He rests his cheek against her forehead. "No. It's raining."

"I didn't ask for rain."

"Must be a glitch in the matrix."

"Must be."

On and on they dance. They sway together under the shooting stars for a long time, not speaking, barely breathing. The music plays and plays; Kathryn suspects her trio of troublemakers has programmed it to continue without pauses, so that this moment, this perfect, suspended moment, can go on forever if she wants it to.

This inflection point. This moment out of time, in this space reserved for just the two of them.

But it can't go on forever. Someone young and beautiful is waiting for him, and Kathryn has no claim on him. No right to anything but this ephemeral moment between what might have been and what will be.

With a sigh, she steps back and extricates herself from his arms. "You should go to her," she whispers. "She's probably wondering where you are."

He nods and looks away for a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why now, Kathryn? Why not a week ago … or a month from now?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest." She wanders over and places her palm against the holographic tree. "I suppose I saw this image tonight and realized that just like that night on Hiepra IV, tonight is a … a space between. An instant between past and possibility, between what's always been hidden and what's about to be out in the open for all to see. I thought that this might be the moment to tell you."

He turns to her on an indrawn breath. "Tell me what?"

She reaches up and places her palm against his cheek. "That I wish you every happiness, Chakotay. Every happiness you've ever dreamed of. Love, family, a bright future. A wife. Children. A place to call home and peace at last. That's what I want for you, more than anything."

A look of profound sadness crosses his face and is gone in an instant. "That's what you wanted to tell me?"

She nods and smiles through her tears. "And also that I hope Seven loves you as much as I've loved you for the past seven years. At least as much. More. Because you deserve so much."

He takes a lurching step toward her. "Kathryn, I—"

She backs away from him. "It's yours," she says, waving her hand to take in the tree and the hill and the sky full of stars. "Pull the data chip when you go. Relive the memory whenever you like. It's yours to keep. Good-bye, Chakotay."

Mustering all the courage she has left, she turns and heads across the grass and toward the hatch. As she leaves the Holodeck, she glances back in time to see him lean heavily against the trunk of the holographic tree, his eyes raised to the stars above.

=/\=

Two weeks later, she materializes in the transporter room of an empty ship.

She's spent fourteen days getting to know her mother and sister all over again, and meeting her brother-in-law and niece and nephew for the very first time. She's visited with the families of her crew that didn't make it home, she's checked in on Tuvok's treatment and fought for the Doc's right to reclaim his portable emitter. She's eaten more caramel brownies than any human being ought to ingest and reacquainted herself with every coffee shop in Bloomington, Indiana.

She is rested, relaxed, and more than ready to get back to work.

Thankfully, the Admirals have allowed her access to her ship. Even though she'd intended to head right for her Ready Room to start pulling files, she finds herself wandering through the empty corridors, trailing her fingertips along the walls and smiling at all the memories embedded in them. She strolls through Sickbay, which seems eerie and quiet without the Doc, and visits the cargo bay. She pokes her head into her empty quarters and the Mess Hall. She meanders from room to room and deck to deck, until she finally reaches the Bridge. She activates the screen and marvels once again at the sight of Earth suspended on Voyager's main viewscreen — a sight she dreamed of for seven long years and will never, ever tire of seeing.

For a long moment, she sits in her command chair, just staring at the lovely, longed-for sight.

She doesn't look at the empty chair beside her. She doesn't know what Chakotay's been up to for the last two weeks and has tried, not altogether successfully, to wonder about him. There's been no contact between them, and she supposes that's the way it should be. If nothing else, it's given her enough time to pull back and put her feelings for him firmly in the past … or at least in limbo, in that space between past and future where memories live.

With a sigh, she rises and enters her Ready Room … and stops short.

The room is full of roses.

Hundreds of them.

Roses on the coffee table, on the windowsill, on every shelf and in every nook and cranny. Everywhere … except her desk, where she spies a single rose in a glass vase, and, propped against it, an old-fashioned paper envelope.

Heart in her throat, Kathryn darts across the room and snatches up the envelope. She barely notices her name written in his neat, blocky handwriting before she tears the envelope open and unfolds the letter inside. A data chip falls out, too, and she clutches it in her palm as she begins to read the letter.

Kathryn,

It's been two weeks. I've done a lot of thinking and I've decided that unfortunately, I can't accept this gift, as wonderful as it is. I'm very appreciative and I know how much trouble you went to in order to make it happen. It can't have been easy to tell our three problem children what you wanted, since you'd kept it under wraps for so long. But I can't accept it. It wouldn't be right for me to accept it.

You spoke of a 'space between' that night. What you were describing is called a 'liminal space,' a threshold where you've left behind what is tried and true and haven't yet replaced it with something new. It's a sacred place in many cultures. It's a time and place of transition, of potential revelation, if we know what to watch for. It's a place of not knowing what comes next.

So I can't accept your generous gift, Kathryn. Because I know what comes next. And I know that 'space between' on Hiepra IV … that space is meant to be shared.

I'm waiting in Holodeck 2.

Dance with me, Kathryn?

Chakotay

Clutching the letter in one hand and the data chip in the other, she leaves the Ready Room at a dead run.

Interminable moments later, with shaking fingers and tears in her eyes, she inserts the data chip into the console outside Holodeck 2. The hatch opens on a familiar scene: The hill, the tree, the sky full of stars. And in the middle of it, Chakotay, his expression full of hope and wonder. He holds his hands out to her and, laughing with joy, they finally cross the space between.

###

Note: This story was inspired by both the Beta prompt and by the Dave Matthews Band song "The Space Between." I've been trying to wrap a J/C story around those lyrics since the first time I heard them.