NOTE: Well, that went over rather better than I'd anticipated! Here's a bit more for you. The part that needs work is coming up next, so it might be a day or two until I get to it. In the meantime, enjoy. And if you've figured out who the narrator is, or think you have, keep it under your hat. I want to see how long I can keep everybody else guessing. ;-)

Part 2

Voyager has been back for a little more than a year.

Like most Federation citizens, I followed the stories of the ship's return to the Alpha Quadrant on the newsfeeds. I cheered when she cleared the Golden Gate Bridge and settled on the grounds of the Presidio. I watched the crew disembark and embrace their families – those whose families were in attendance. But it was the middle of a weekday afternoon in Wellington and I had classes to attend. And frankly, my own losses made it hard for me to enjoy those happy reunions.

The press followed the Voyagers for a few more weeks. Captain Janeway's hearing was a topic of particular interest, as were the exoneration of the Maquis and the relationship between Chakotay and Seven of Nine. The Parises and their newborn daughter also endured more coverage than was probably appropriate. After a couple months and a public memorial ceremony for those who didn't make it home, the newshounds finally moved on to other topics and left the Voyagers to sort out their lives in peace.

The announcement of Chakotay and Seven's engagement started things up again last September, right about the time of the Shinzon Affair. Suddenly, after being left alone for almost a year, two of the most high-profile Voyagers were back in the spotlight. Admiral Janeway and Marcel Toussaint's relationship became public almost overnight, too, which didn't help matters. Janeway dealt with it gracefully enough. I think she might have even been relieved to have that to talk about instead of Shinzon and Data. Toussaint, one of Earth's four Federation Councilmen and the first from Haiti, has been the consummate politician, saying and doing all the right things to keep the press interested in him, but deflecting the most prying of questions with sly answers delivered in his lilting, Creole accent.

Chakotay, though… Chakotay doesn't like having his private life discussed publicly, and Seven is still very reticent around the press. Since news of their engagement broke, they've tried to stay out of the spotlight, but representatives of a few of the more…unsavory publications have been hot on their heels wherever they go.

In late December, when Chakotay had had enough and sent a particularly persistent paparazzo to the hospital with a broken jaw and stories of the "Maquis Mauler's" Academy days surfaced, he and Seven disappeared. Most people assumed that they'd just left the planet until things blew over, but instead, they've turned up here.

I'm not sure how long they and the Admiral and the Councilman have been here. I'd like to say I'm not usually such a nosy man, but my past association with both Starfleet personnel and ambitious politicians has me curious about them. I haven't been following them, but it's a small resort. It's been difficult to avoid them.

And frankly, they've given me something to think about other than The Story.

The Story mocks me sometimes. It hovers just on the edge of my consciousness, whispering beautiful phrases that I can't quite hear, taunting me with all the ideas I want to express but cannot find the words. I had thought – hoped – that getting away from Wellington and the relentless reviews and even my girlfriend might help me concentrate, but instead I've found myself skulking around the resort unable to write more than a few stilted phrases in my ever-present notebook.

Days and nights pass, but the pain stays with me. Friends come and go; some try to draw me out, pull me into the activities we once enjoyed together, but nothing seems to matter anymore. After a while, some stop trying. It takes me months to realize they haven't abandoned me, they're just waiting for my personal cloud of melancholy to dissipate. I think sometimes that they are the true friends, the ones who walk away with assurances that they will be there when I'm ready for them. They're giving me the time and space to recover on my own, to find myself again and –

"Daddy, Daddy, I don't want to!"

To recover on my own, to find myself again and –

"Come on, Esther, I won't let anything happen to you."

To find myself –

"No, Daddy! I need my floaties!"

Once again, I sigh and close my notebook.

After a cold lunch in my room and more than two hours of staring at blank pages, I've settled in a lounge chair by the resort's pool. I had hoped that most everyone would be spending the hot afternoon at the beach, as usual. Admiral Janeway and Councilman Toussaint were here when I got here, both absorbed in PADDs under a big umbrella. They haven't moved in an hour, leaving me to my musings. But a young family has now joined us poolside as well, two strapping human men with a baby and a sandy-haired young girl who looks to be about four years old. I recognize the man in the pool; he's a Parrises Squares star, no doubt here to enjoy one last vacation with his family before the professional season starts. He's standing waist deep in the water, trying to coax the little girl into the pool with him.

"You're too big for your floaties, Esther," he says to the girl in a thick Australian accent. "Papi didn't even bring them."

The girl turns to the other man, aghast. "I need my floaties, Papi!" she wails.

Seated in a lounge chair, the other man shifts the baby in his lap and shakes his head. "It's time to learn to swim without them," he says in a soothing voice. "Go to Daddy. Daddy's a good swimmer. He'll teach you."

"But Papi!"

The other man holds up the baby, who giggles when he spots his sister standing on the deck. "You be a brave girl for Billy."

The girl nods at the baby. "So I can teach him to swim someday."

The seated man chuckles. "That's right, you can teach Billy in a few years." He kisses the baby on the cheek. "He'll be counting on you."

Esther sets her shoulders and turns back to her Daddy. Her face is set into resolved, even grim lines, and her little hands are balled into fists at her sides. "Okay," she says. "Okay, Daddy."

A movement under the big umbrella catches my eye. Janeway reaches over and touches Toussaint's arm, smiling at the scene unfolding in front of them. The Councilman looks up briefly, nods once without changing expression, then returns to his PADD. Something crosses the Admiral's face, then, a sad wistfulness that puzzles me.

"Sit down on the deck and I'll help you in." I look back to the man in the pool, who gives his daughter an encouraging smile. "It'll be all right. I promise."

Esther sits down and dangles her feet in the water. The man wades over and enfolds her in his muscled arms. He eases her into the water, wading further into the pool until he is chest-deep. The girl clings to his neck, teeth chattering. "It's cold, Daddy," she says.

"You'll get used to it." He bobs up and down, jumping lightly from foot to foot, dipping her a little further into the water with every hop. "Let's be a kangaroo."

The girl giggles against his neck. "Can kangaroos swim?"

The man pauses. "I don't know." He hops again and again. "We'll look it up when we go upstairs, kiddo."

Something in the way he talks to her is familiar to me.

It's a universal lesson for land-dwelling lifeforms, I realize, a parent teaching a child to swim. I can recall being held in my father's arms the same way. I knew that while he was there, surrounding me with his love, nothing could ever hurt me.

I open my notebook to a new page.

I was afraid I'd never feel that again, that bone-deep certainty that somewhere in the Universe, someone loved me without reservation. It seemed so unfair, and the long emptiness ahead made me weep at the oddest of times – alone in my room, over dinner with friends, whenever some stray memory would wander through my consciousness and remind me of happier times.

"Don't let me go, Daddy!"

I blink and look up. While I've been writing, the man has maneuvered Esther onto her belly, her hands gripped in his, her head bobbing above the water, her legs scissoring out behind her. The change hasn't come without a price; there are red scratches on the man's back, but he doesn't seem to notice them. "I won't let you go, kiddo," he says. "Just let the water hold you up, just like with your floaties."

"Don't let me go!"

Don't let me go.

It's almost too much.

I close my notebook and start to rise, but another voice, a now-familiar one, catches my attention.

"I do not understand the relevance of this activity."

Chakotay answers with a quiet sigh just as he and Seven round the corner of the resort and enter the pool area. "I thought we could try sea kayaking this evening," he says. The Admiral recognizes the voices, too, and looks up. "But I don't want to take you out on the open water until I know you can at least keep yourself afloat. I didn't know you'd skipped out on Tuvok's training, Seven."

The Captain is dressed in loose black swim trunks and a gray T-shirt; Seven of Nine is swathed in several layers of robes and cover-ups and, presumably, a swimming costume under it all. They both pause beside a lounge chair. "I asked the Doctor to exempt me from the lessons, citing unfamiliarity with how extended exposure to treated water would affect my implants."

Chakotay smirks at her. "You got the Doc to write you a note to get you out of gym class?"

Seven quirks an eyebrow him. "I beg your pardon?"

Chakotay turns and shakes his head at the Admiral, who shrugs. He tosses their towels on lounge chair and peels off his shirt. The Admiral returns to her PADD, but I can see her furtive gaze dart up when he pulls the shirt over his head. "Nothing," he says to Seven. "It's just…funny, that's all."

Seven gives the water a wary glance. "Perhaps we should simply cancel the kayaking excursion."

"I already signed us up."

She nails him with a cold glare. "Without consulting me?"

"But that's why we're here, Seven. To try new things." He strolls over to the deep end of the pool, squats down at the edge and splashes water on his face. "Feels good. Nice and cool." In one quick, deft movement, he rises and dives into the pool. When he comes up, he shakes water from his hair and grins at Seven. "Come on in. Let's see what you can do."

She finally pulls off her robe, a knee-length cover up, and a sarong, to reveal a bathing suit that's modestly cut but nevertheless clings to her like a second skin. Chakotay, treading water in the deep end, grins even wider. Janeway hides behind her PADD.

Seven struts around to the shallow end of the pool, her bare feet slapping against the pavement, and descends the stairs into the water. Esther and her father move to the side; Chakotay swims over to Seven with efficient and powerful strokes. He stands and holds his arms out to her. Seven places her hands in his at once and he begins to walk backwards into deeper water, bobbing a little as he goes. "I do not wish to go into the deep end," she says.

"Come on, Seven. I won't let anything happen to you."

"It's cold," Seven says.

"You'll get used to it."

The similarity of his this exchange to the earlier one gives me pause. I'm not the only one struck by the oddity of the situation, either; across the deck, the Admiral has lowered her PADD, watching them with eyebrows knit together.

Chakotay continues to bob backwards until he is chest-deep. "Pick your feet up," he instructs. "Let yourself feel the water under you."

Cautiously, Seven does as he says, then stiffens and stands up again. "I do not enjoy this activity."

"That's because you've never really done it before, Seven. You have to trust the water."

"Placing one's trust in an inanimate object is irrational."

Chakotay purses his lips. "Fair enough. Trust me, then. You do trust me, don't you?"

Seven's hesitation, though infinitesimal, echoes off the deck and the water, and sounds, even in its silence, like a phaser shot at close range. "Of course I do," she finally says.

Chakotay has stopped walking backwards. He stares at her, his face unreadable. I look up in time to see the Admiral's fingers clench on the PADD in her hand until they are white.

Chakotay rolls his broad shoulders as if to shake off the tense moment. "Let's try something different," he says. He places his hands on her slim waist and rotates Seven to the side. "Lie down on your back." She starts to recline, but her hands flail out to grip his shoulders even as he lowers her into the water. "You have to let go of me, Seven."

"But-"

"Lean your head back, arch up and let go of me."

Her left hand slides away from him, leaving behind red welts. "Don't let me sink," she warns him.

"You won't sink if you arch your back." He moves his right hand from her waist and slips it under her lower back, pushing her into position and trying to counteract her stiffness in the water. "Just relax." Her head falls back and her round, firm breasts break the surface.

I squirm in my lounge chair.

Chakotay starts to remove his other hand from her waist. "You're floating, Seven," he proclaims. "Can you feel it?"

"I am sinking."

"No, you're not. You're fine. I'm going to take my hand away now."

She clutches at his shoulder with her right hand. "No."

"Yes. But you're going to have to let go. Just trust me and let go."

Her hand falls away from his shoulder and he steps back. For a suspended second, she floats while he beams at her. Then, predictably, the arch goes out of her back, her butt descends toward the bottom of the pool and she sinks, arms flailing, before he can stop her. She lets out a little shriek as the water closes over her mouth and nose.

As he reaches for her, she finally seems to remember that they're only in about a meter and a half of water and stands up, sputtering. "You let me sink."

"No, I was trying to teach you to float."

"I trusted you." She turns away from him, wades over to the staircase and leaves the pool, water falling off her body in waves.

"Seven," he calls. "Just wait, Seven."

She grabs her towel and her many cover ups and heads toward the resort. "Please cancel the kayaking activity," she calls over her shoulder, and disappears around the corner while all of us – Chakotay, Admiral Janeway, Daddy and Papi and Esther and Billy, even Toussaint – watch her go.

When she's gone, every eye turns back to Chakotay. Esther, now happily dog paddling under her father's watchful eye, looks up at the Captain. "Why doesn't she know how to swim?"

The Captain forces a smile. "There was no one to teach her."

The blinks up at him. "She can use my floaties," she offers.

He reaches out and strokes his fingertips across her soft, freckled cheek. Under her umbrella, the Admiral presses her fingertips to her lips. "That's okay, sweetie," he says. "But thanks for the offer."

The girl's father gives him a sympathetic look. "You just have to be patient with them." He nods toward the little girl paddling in circles around them. "Sometimes new experiences have to be their idea. You know?"

Chakotay rocks back on his heels. "Seven's not… I mean she's my…" He runs a hand through his hair. "Thanks for the advice," he says, turns on his heel and dives under the water.

The two men exchange a puzzled glance and shrug. The Admiral shifts in her lounge chair and goes back to her PADD.

I return to my notebook.

I can recall them all, those moments of trust, those memories in the making. I can hold them up and regard them in all their sparkling brilliance and remember what it was like to be held in loving arms. When I realize that I will never feel that from them again, the sadness is almost overwhelming.

My thoughts are interrupted by a splash at the deep end of the pool.

Both chairs under the umbrella are empty. The Captain is still swimming laps, carefully avoiding the ongoing lesson in the shallow end, but now the Admiral has joined him. They swim beside each other, length after length, matching each other stroke for stroke. I suspect that he has slowed down to stay even with her until she puts on a burst of speed and powers to the wall. He raises his head in surprise, grins and speeds after her. They reach the far wall together and come up laughing.

"I could take you in open water, Kathryn," he says.

"Maybe. But I'd have you in a sprint."

He smirks. "In your dreams, Admiral."

In an instant, her smile vanishes. As if realizing what they've both just said, Chakotay looks away and leans against the pool wall, his back turned to me. "Where did Marcel go?"

She pulls herself up to sit on the deck. "Back to the room. There's something brewing in the negotiations with the Thintath. He wanted to make some calls."

He looks up at her, squinting against the bright sunlight. "Does he ever stop working?"

"Not really. I guess we're a matched set that way."

"I guess so."

They are both silent for a long moment, their faces turned away from me. "Dinner later?" she asks.

He lifts himself up to sit beside her on the deck. "I don't know. We were supposed to kayak over to the point and have a picnic. But now…" His shoulders slump. "I should probably find something else for us to do."

"You just have to be patient with her, Chakotay," she says.

"I know. And I'm trying. But she's so…resistant to everything I suggest." He leans back on his hands, his face turned to the clear, blue sky. "I'm finding out how different we are."

"Vive la difference," she quips.

"Maybe. But there's something to be said for common interests, too." He shakes his head. "We have very few of those."

She stares at him, then reaches over and touches his hand. From her angle she probably can't see the way every muscle in his back tenses at the gesture, but I can. "She's still trying to find her way."

"I suppose." He climbs to his feet and I quickly lower my gaze to the notebook in my lap. "I should go talk to her."

"Are you sure you won't join us for dinner?"

He towels himself off and reaches for his T-shirt. "I'll ask, but I doubt it. She's angry at me. We wouldn't be good company anyway."

The Admiral rises. "Chakotay…"

He twists his shirt in his fists. "Don't, Kathryn," he says softly. I can see the tension in his neck, as if he wants to turn to her but won't allow himself. "Just let me work this out."

"All right."

"Thanks."

As he stalks away, I grab my notebook and flip to the page in the back. Conflicted was the wrong word for him. Agonized is probably closer to the mark. I quickly jot it down and glance back at the Admiral.

She is sitting on the end of the lounge chair he just left, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. As she stares off into the middle distance, I can see her lips tremble. Regretful is the word I add to her list, and after it, tormented.

-End Part 2-