[7. Won't You Try to Come]
September 2375
San Francisco, CA
'You should com him, Chakotay,' Kathryn chides. She does this every day now.
For the first couple of weeks after Harry stormed out of his apartment, she actually let him be. Most likely, this is because he was either sleeping or staring blankly at the wall across from where he lay on the couch.
But now, she won't leave him the fuck alone about it. And he wants to be livid with her, but the fact of the matter is that she's right.
She is always right, even now that she's gone.
Somehow, he has to fix what he has broken with Harry. He hasn't got the slightest idea how, but for the first time in weeks he finally has the emotional energy to consider giving it a shot.
A shot.
Yes, this will definitely require a drink. Chakotay finds his feet and shuffles into his kitchen to pour himself a few fingers of—Hmm, whiskey? Scotch? Bourbon? Mm, yes. Definitely bourbon. The sweet vanilla-maple-oak scent curls up to tickle his nose as it flows from the mouth of the bottle into the low ball glass. He swirls the burnt-umber liquid and breathes deeply from its rich bouquet. Touching the glass to his lips and tipping it back, he revels in the smooth burn of smoky caramel courage that rolls over his tongue. This liquor is one hundred percent real.
He carries the bottle with him to his desk.
When he calls up his list of contacts, he means to search for Harry so he can try to make things right with his former crew mate, but that isn't what happens. Somehow, he skims right past Harry and finds himself instead looking at a different contact entirely.
Tessa Omond.
She had programmed this entry herself, and told him to com her if he ever got lonely, but shame of how he treated her on their one night together has convinced him to avoid her more times than he would like to admit.
God, he thinks, running his hands over his face. I've been hurting everyone. Were you really the only thing holding me together, Kathryn?
If he could ever use an understanding friend, it's right now.
Tessa is all too happy to hear from him, and forgoes a night of bar-hopping alone in order to spend the evening with him instead.
"It might not be as exciting as last time," he admits as a way to hint at his current mood.
"I don't know about you," she says, "but I'm getting pretty tired of constantly chasing excitement."
When Chakotay opens the door to her thirty minutes later, he nearly drops his drink at the sight. Tessa's hair has grown out several inches, and it's still the same auburn color that it was when they first met.
But it's her outfit that almost stops his heart.
It isn't anything special—just a thin, fitted, light grey sweater and simple black slacks—yet his mind takes him immediately back to Kathryn.
Or is it how she smells? A perfectly balanced sweet vanilla and chai spice mixture that steals away whatever last sliver of rationality he had left.
Obviously recognizing the look in his eyes, Tessa steps through the threshold and into Chakotay's space, allowing the doors to close behind her. Then, she slips the glass from his fingers, downs the remaining bourbon in one swallow, and sets it on a small accent table next to the door.
All it takes is the upward curl of her lips to sink him completely, and his mouth meets hers with bruising force.
She matches the intensity of his kiss, more than holding her own against his vigorous embrace in spite of how much smaller she is than he. His tongue curls around her upper lip and slides insistently against her teeth, but she does not permit him access. Her hands make quick work of his grey Starfleet t-shirt, deftly untucking it from his sweatpants—it's a mindless habit to always tuck his shirt in no matter what he's wearing—and peeling it over his head.
Out of necessity, this action breaks the kiss. When he dips his head to retake her mouth after she has tossed the shirt aside, she stops him with a single digit pressed against his lips. The action shocks him; he blinks as his bloodless brain attempts to make sense of what she has done.
After a beat, she smiles at him again and drops her hand from his lips to take his hand, which has fallen limply at his side. Her fingers curl around his.
"Come," she whispers.
Come away with me, his mind echoes back.
And with a gentle touch, she leads him towards the bedroom.
February 2375
USS Voyager
"Tell me about Taos," Kathryn murmurs as she traces lazy patterns onto his sweat-beaded skin.
"What about Taos?"
"I know you, Chakotay. You haven't just thought about Taos for yourself. You picture us there together, don't you?"
He smiles and kisses her hair. "You're right."
"So tell me about us. What do we do in Taos?"
"Other than sex?"
She huffs a laugh. "Yes, other than that."
"Sometimes, we go into town and visit the shops. Of course, we stop in at your favorite coffeehouse at least three times during the day."
Kathryn snorts and shakes her head against his chest.
"In the summer, we hike the range. You insist on carrying all of your own gear, even though I offer to take it for you—"
She lifts her head and shifts so that she can shoot him a witheringly indignant look. "What are you insinuating? I'll carry all of my own gear, and I'll still beat you to the summit!"
He chuckles, flashing her his dimples because he knows how quickly that disarms her. "—and you still beat me to the summit."
Kathryn raises a suspicious eyebrow, likely trying to decide if he's being genuine or if he is merely patronizing her. Finally she orders, "Go on."
Rolling onto his side so he can face her, he slides a leg in between hers and hooks it behind her knee. At the same time, his arms slip around her, and he draws her into himself. "But my favorite days," he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, "are the ones where we stay inside because it's cold and rainy and the only place we can stand to be is tangled up in each other underneath the warm blankets."
Accepting his answer, she sighs contentedly so that he knows he is forgiven. Her fingers reach up to trace the tattoo over his left brow. "Is that really what you think about, Chakotay? That's what you want?"
"I realize it isn't exactly the sort of excitement you like to seek out, but yes. It's what I want."
For a brief moment, Chakotay worries that this might be it—the moment when she remembers why it can't work between them because they are so very different, and she'll pull away just like she did the first few weeks on New Earth. But she nuzzles her head beneath his chin and whispers, "tell me more."
"We'll wake up to the sound of rain falling on the tin roof—"
"A tin roof?"
"Mhmm."
"Who on Earth still uses tin roofing?"
"We do. We'll spend the whole morning listening to it, never once leaving our bed, and I'll show you again"—he shifts his head and hers so he can kiss her once—"and again"—twice—"how much you mean to me. We won't get up until we absolutely have to eat."
"Or pee."
Chakotay chuckles lightly. "Or pee. And when the rain stops, and we finally get dressed, I'll show you everything on the land that's ours alone to explore."
"Like what?"
"Rolling foothills. Wildflowers in fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high. We won't even see half of it by the time the sun starts to set, and you'll be wrapped in both your sweater and mine, but I won't care. We'll watch the sunlight push through the clouds to paint the mountains red."
"That sounds amazing."
"You've never seen anything like it, Kathryn."
"Alright," she says, her smoky timbre both diplomatic and suggestive. Her lips crown his chest with kisses as she rolls him onto his back and slides her body on top of his, teasing his reawakening groin with the hot press of her body. Her mussed hair slips disobediently out from behind one ear as she looks down at him. "You have yourself a deal."
September 2375
San Francisco, CA
This time, Tessa takes control of their union, and it's more tender than he knows how to handle. She rides him slowly, building his arousal in gradients until he bursts with the most intense climax he's had since—
Well, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that she's here, that she understands his need for catharsis, and that she wants to help him through it. She doesn't judge him in the slightest when he comes while clinging to her tightly and crying out Kathryn's name, two fat tears rolling down from the corners of his eyes, like the raindrops he used to imagine rolling down the window panes of a tiny cabin in Taos.
Before he even returns to his senses, she has wiped them both away.
"Tessa," he finally whispers.
Her fingers dance along the lines of his tattoo. "Hey there, stranger. Feel better now?"
Chakotay nods, then regards her with concern. "What about you?"
She bends down to kiss his lips before responding, "I'm not the one who needed to grieve tonight."
For a moment, he is tempted to accept this and give into the chemical pull on his brain towards sleep. But in another part of his mind, he formulates a promise—to Kathryn, to Harry, to Tessa, and to himself. "No," he says, shaking his head. "I won't do that anymore. I won't keep taking from good people without giving anything back."
"It's okay, Chakotay. We all need to be a little selfish sometimes."
"No. Not anymore. Let me thank you for how much you've helped me."
"You really don't have to—"
Hooking his leg around hers, Chakotay swiftly rolls Tessa beneath himself, making her gasp with surprise. He drops his face to hers and closes his eyes. "I want to, Tessa," he whispers against her lips just before he takes them with his own. He will not project Kathryn onto this wonderful woman anymore.
And for a blissfully immeasurable stretch of time, he loves her for who she is, not who he wishes she could be. He loves her slowly and intentionally, like she did for him, bringing her to climax with careful hands and a skilled mouth—once, twice—until he is ready to love her with the rest of his body as well. By the time they are both completely spent, he feels more than just the temporary relief of sexual release.
He feels known, understood, and accepted.
Chapter 7 of 9
