3

Right in Front of You

"Droit devant soi on ne peut pas aller bien loin."

-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

=/\=

As she stepped onto the promenade at Deep Space Nine, Kathryn Janeway felt an eerie sense of deja vu. The last time she had stood in this spot had been nine years earlier, right before Voyager's fateful first mission. As she surveyed the scene before her, Kathryn couldn't help but feel as though she had been transported back in time to a moment right before her life had changed forever. She often thought that if she had to name a single day that had affected her life more than any other, it would be the day that she set out from this station with orders to capture a Maquis criminal.

Images from the last time she had stood on the promenade flashed before her. She smiled as she remembered the story of a certain young ensign nearly hoodwinked into buying some worthless memento from the Ferengi bartender. As she looked down at Quark's Bar, she could almost see the figure of a very young, very green Harry Kim and a very young, very cocky Tom Paris coming to his rescue. She was lost in her reverie as she turned and collided head-on with a form clad in brown. "I'm sorry," she began to apologize, raising her eyes to see who she had so rudely bumped into, "I wasn't paying atten..."

She stopped short as she found herself looking up into the familiar deep brown eyes of her former first officer, and her breath caught in her throat with a small gasp. It seemed like an eternity that they stood staring at each other, dumbfounded. The only word she could find was, "Chakotay."

He stood there a moment longer before he regained the power of speech. Of all the people he could have run into on Deep Space Nine, it would have to be the woman he hadn't seen in a year, hadn't spoken to in six months and had tried so desperately to get out of his life and out of his mind. It would have to be the woman whose name he had refused to speak, but now he said it, and he was astonished by the ease with which it fell off his tongue. "Kathryn."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were teaching at the Academy."

"I am. I had a couple weeks leave so I went to visit Sekaya on Trebus. I'm headed back to Earth on the next transport. What about you? I thought you were in deep space."

"I was, until today. I'm traveling on the Lakota. We're picking up some delegates for a symposium, dropping them off at Starbase 621 and then heading back to Earth as well."

Chakotay glanced at his chronometer and then down at her. She looked good. She had gained a little weight since their days on Voyager, which probably meant she had been eating decent meals. She had kept her hair short, and although he had loved it long, he thought the bob suited her. Her grey-blue eyes looked up at him, so familiar and yet still such a mystery, even after all these years. There was something hidden in them, something neither he nor anyone else was allowed to see. While this had repelled some and caused others to call her an ice queen, it had drawn him in from the moment he met her. He wanted to discover that piece of Kathryn Janeway that was so personal and, he suspected, so passionate, that she kept it hidden from the world. Right now, she was looking up at him expectantly, and he realized that she was waiting for him to speak. "I have an hour or two before my transport. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "You know I'll never turn down a cup of coffee."

He returned her smile, unable to help himself, and although he had feared that an encounter between them would be incredibly awkward, it felt perfectly natural for her to take his arm as he escorted her from the promenade down to Quark's Bar. In fact, everything between them, save the first moment, had felt perfectly natural. He wondered why he had thought that it could ever be otherwise.

As they sat down at the bar, a Ferengi approached them. "What can I get for the two of you this afternoon? I have some excellent Romulan Ale hiding behind the bar here somewhere."

"Coffee, black," Janeway ordered.

"And I'll have an herbal tea," said Chakotay.

Quark scowled. "I'd think that after seven years in the Delta Quadrant you two would want something stronger."

Janeway and Chakotay exchanged a glance. "I guess our reputation precedes us," she said. Quark brought their drinks, and Chakotay paid the bill. Janeway took a sip of her coffee, evaluating its quality. She saw Chakotay looking at her, and she smiled. "It's good."

"I'm glad. I'd hate to think that I was responsible for Kathryn Janeway drinking bad coffee."

She held the mug between both hands, enjoying its warmth and looking down at its contents rather than up at her companion, whose eyes, she knew, hadn't left her since the moment they had so inelegantly collided. "How have you been, Chakotay?"

"I'm well, Kathryn." After all these months of not speaking her name, he suddenly savored the sensation of it on his tongue. "I'm teaching advanced tactics and a new course called Delta Quadrant studies. And in exchange for teaching a basic tactics course, I also get to teach anthropology and spend some time on my own research."

"That must be very fulfilling," she said, still not looking at him. She felt his large, strong hand on her shoulder and she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the contact before turning to look at him. "I'm happy for you."

His eyes bore into her and, as much as she wanted to, she was unable to tear her gaze away from his. She knew that he was doing what he had always done, trying to see past the front she presented to the person she really was. "And you, Kathryn?" he asked softly. "Are you happy?"

She had planned, whenever she saw him, to tell him how happy she was, how fulfilling it was to be an admiral, how being home and working directly for Starfleet gave her everything she'd always wanted. But when he asked her the question, she forgot every answer she had planned, and instead said, "I try not to think about that question." She expected to see surprise on his face, but only saw attentiveness and support. It was the same way he had looked at her for nine years. It was the look that had engendered her trust at their first meeting, and it was the look that made her trust him now. "I was flattered by this promotion when it was offered to me, don't get me wrong. I didn't feel I could turn it down. Admiral Nechayev told me how much I deserved it and how Starfleet wanted to honor the captain who brought Voyager home. I wanted so badly to believe that was true that I didn't consider that Starfleet Command might have ulterior motives."

"I know about wanting to believe something is true," Chakotay said with a twinge of melancholy.

Kathryn placed one hand over his, squeezing gently. The touch of his skin on hers warmed her instantly, and she ran her fingers across his rougher, stronger hand. "The longer I hold this rank," she went on, "the more I think that what Starfleet really wanted was to get me out of their way."

Chakotay chuckled, and she removed her hand from his as he reached for his tea. "Surely the admiralty knows better than to try that with Kathryn Janeway."

"Apparently not. I just spent six months in deep space, serving as a diplomatic liaison to races that constantly fawn over me in hopes that it will gain them some standing with the Federation. That's what they think I'm worth?"

"I doubt it has anything to do with worth, Kathryn. It probably has more to do with politics."

"I know that, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. I think that after the other Admiral Janeway proved herself to be such a maverick, Starfleet doesn't want to take any chances with me."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm hoping that my success on my most recent mission will prove to them that I can be trusted."

"And if it doesn't?"

Janeway shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't thought about that yet."

"All right." He accepted this and paused to sip his tea. "What about your personal life? Anything to tell?"

"During a deep space mission?" She gave him a wry glance.

He shrugged. "You might have met someone before you left. I haven't seen you for over a year." He immediately regretted saying this; he hadn't meant to cast blame on her, but he realized afterwards that was how it had sounded, and he saw sadness in her eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to... I should have contacted you. I shouldn't have..."

She held up a hand, stopping him. "Chakotay, it's all right. Our lack of communication is as much my fault as it is yours. We both probably should have done certain things differently, but we didn't, and we can't go back and change the past now."

"Not again, anyway," he said with a grin. "That certainly wouldn't be the way to ingratiate yourself to Starfleet."

"Right," she replied with a small smile as the awkwardness of the moment vanished.

Chakotay glanced at his chronometer and looked at her apologetically. "I have to run. My transport is leaving soon."

"That's all right. I need to get back to the Lakota anyway." She gestured to her empty cup. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime. I mean that, Kathryn. I don't know why I let myself go for so long without seeing you."

"We've both been busy." She brushed the comment aside, pretending it held no importance to her, and she slid off her bar stool. For an awkward moment, they stood there, inches from each other, but not touching, until she reached out and placed her hand on his chest. "It was good to see you, Chakotay. I'm glad that you're well."

"Kathryn..." he began, but she removed her hand.

"You'd better get going. You don't want to miss your transport."

"Kathryn, I was wondering if I could call you when we both get back to Earth. I'd like to... I mean, I don't want a whole other year to go by before I see you again."

"I'd enjoy that, Chakotay," she said. "And I agree. A year is far too long."

He felt as though his feet were frozen to the floor. He wanted to embrace her, but he remained at arm's length. "Safe journey."

She cocked her head to the side a little in that way she did when she was feeling emotional but wasn't willing to show it. "You, too." They parted, each going their separate ways. She knew that Chakotay glanced back at her several times, and she refused to allow herself the same luxury. But when she reached the promenade and was fairly certain that he was no longer gazing in her direction, Kathryn looked down just in time to see his brown clad figure disappear into the crowd.

...

Plain grey walls. That was all she was going to see before she fell asleep at night for the rest of her life. At least, that was how it felt some days. Svetlana Korepanova closed her eyes, imagining that she was in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by trees, hearing the sound of a babbling brook just outside her door. She imagined every detail of her bedroom: the rustic furniture, the colorful quilt that her grandmother had made, the fire burning in the fireplace. For a moment, she lost herself in the illusion and smiled, but then she opened her eyes and was faced with plain grey walls.

Sveta slipped between the sheets of her Starfleet issue standard twin bed and tried not to look at the plain grey ceiling. She told the computer to turn off the lights, and her small cell became pitch black. At least the hard labor she performed at the Federation Penal Colony made it easy to sleep at night. The labor wasn't abusive, but it was challenging. She knew she should be grateful that she had ended up in a Federation prison rather than a Cardassian one. If the Cardassians had captured her, she would be long dead by now. Although, as it was, she might as well be. She faced another twenty years in prison for crimes she had committed as a member of the Maquis. By the time she got out, she would be an old woman.

Voyager's return had given her and the other Maquis in prison some measure of hope, especially after the Maquis members of its crew had been pardoned, but it seemed that the Federation was only willing to pardon those few who had served aboard the Starfleet ship. Chakotay had come to visit her, once, after his return, but only to tell her he would not be able to speak with her or see her again. It was part of the bargain his captain had negotiated, he had explained, and Sveta hadn't liked it one bit. To pardon them officially but continue to relegate and watch their movements was just the kind of political bullshit the Federation would engage in. Sveta sighed, trying to calm her nerves and slow her breathing. She needed to sleep; she had another long day ahead of her, and her day of rest wasn't for several more days.

Suddenly, she heard a sound that made her sit up in bed. Someone had entered her cell. When she reached up to press the emergency signal to alert the prison guards, she felt a cold hand on her wrist and heard a male voice hiss, "You don't want to do that."

"Oh?" Sveta retorted. "And why is that?"

"I'm here to help you." The voice softened.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a friend." She could barely make out the shape of his face in the dark. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, trying to learn more about his appearance, but his cold hands restrained her wrists and stopped her.

"If you're a friend then let me go."

"Not until I know you won't press that button."

She forced her body to relax, letting the tension go out of her arms. "All right. I won't press the button." He seemed to study her carefully for a moment and then dropped her wrists. Her hands fell limply to the bed, and she untangled herself from the covers and sat on the cot next to him. He took out a small device, a low light which illuminated his face. She saw the ridges on his nose and the earring dangling from one ear. "You're Bajoran. What's your name?"

"I can't tell you my name right now, Sveta." She narrowed her eyes at his use of her own name. "All you need to know is that I am your friend, a friend to the Maquis."

She regarded him with suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to help you."

"How?"

He paused, cocking his head to one side, listening for any sign that his presence had been detected. The prison was silent. "I have some connections in high places - people who want to see the Maquis released from prison."

"Is that how you got in here tonight?"

He didn't answer her question, and continued, "For obvious reasons, I can't tell you who those people are, but they are allowing me to help you and the other Maquis who are being held here. You and your friends will serve as laborers on the next supply ship to Paris. When you arrive there, before you've finished unloading your cargo, you'll be beamed to a ship in orbit. The pilot will transport you to a location outside of Federation space. Then, you will be free to go wherever you would like as long as you remain outside the Federation."

Prisoners routinely went on supply missions to load and unload the cargo, and it seemed a viable method of escape, but there were some gaping holes in the Bajoran's plan. "What about the planetary shield? There's massive security in Paris. How are you going to beam us out without anyone detecting you?"

"My friends have very advanced technology. They have a way to penetrate the planetary shield."

"Just who are these friends of yours?"

The Bajoran's eyes darted around the room nervously, and he shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

"Don't you think that Starfleet will come looking for us?"

"My friends will ensure that Starfleet thinks you are dead."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I've taken a big risk by coming here, Sveta. Why would I do that if I didn't genuinely want to help? The Cardassians killed my entire family during the Occupation. I was a member of the Resistance and I did everything I could to support the Maquis during the war." He paused, hazel eyes looking into her green ones, the colors barely visible in the darkened cell. "You don't have to tell me your decision tonight. Talk to the other Maquis. You can decide together. But I have to warn you, this opportunity will only come once."

"All right. I'll talk to them. How can I get in touch with you, once we've reached a decision?"

"When you've reached a decision, I will come to you," he replied, and with that, he reached his hand into his pocket, activated some sort of transporter, and disappeared.

Sveta lay back in bed, her thoughts racing. If she wanted to be a good little prisoner, she should contact the penal colony's guards right now and tell them she had an intruder. It might even increase her chances of early parole. On the other hand, if the Bajoran's offer was genuine, she wasn't prepared to throw away a chance at freedom in order to placate her Federation captors. In her mind, she began to review what the Bajoran had told her, cataloguing each and every detail in order to relate them to the other Maquis when she saw them the next day. She had a feeling she wasn't going to get much sleep.