Author's note: It's been a long time since I posted. OK, a really long time! Thank you for your patience. I knew I had gotten off track on my last few chapters, and then I had so much going on IRL this last year that I wasn't able to tackle a rewrite for quite a while. Anyway, I have deleted two chapters and will now begin posting the new ones, which are hopefully an improvement over what I had. Enjoy!
Chapter 7
Chakotay draped a towel around his neck and left the locker room. Out in the spacious gym, Starfleet officers of every size, shape and species were working out on various exercise machines. It was crowded this time of day; apparently everyone had gotten the same idea he had, to get in a little workout after a day full of meetings before going home to dinner. Chakotay headed past a row of stationary bikes, turned the corner and walked into the weight room, where he did some warm-up stretching.
"Commander Chakotay?"
Chakotay looked around until he saw a face he recognized: Lieutenant Walter Baxter was standing nearby, dressed in gray shorts and a tank top, doing biceps curls and looking at him curiously.
"I haven't seen you in here before, sir," Baxter said.
"No, I haven't worked out since we got home," Chakotay was embarrassed to admit. He had no doubt Baxter had been here every day. The man was a workout nut and had practically haunted Voyager's gym during the Delta Quadrant years. Chakotay had spent many an afternoon lifting with Baxter on his days off.
Thankfully, Baxter refrained from telling Chakotay what he already knew about losing muscle mass due to irregular workouts.
"What station are you heading for?" Baxter asked.
"Bench press."
"I was going to do that next. Want to spot each other?"
They immediately fell into their familiar routine. First Baxter did bench presses, while Chakotay spotted him. They didn't speak much. Baxter was lifting more weight than he really should, as usual, and the only sounds he made were gasps and grunts as he struggled to keep his form. Chakotay was used to this, knowing full well that Baxter would ignore any hints to lighten his load, so he didn't let his attention waver for a moment, lest Baxter miss a rep and hurt himself.
Then it was Chakotay's turn to lift. He took a few weights off the bar before lying down on the bench. Unlike Baxter, he was looking to build up muscle, not rack up injuries.
Up, down, up, down. Chakotay's arms were a little shaky at first, but it got better as he went on. Up, down, up, down. Now his chest started to burn. Behind him, Baxter was quiet, probably still catching his breath. The only sounds were the clang of barbells and the jokes and laughter of two men who were lifting nearby. Just as Chakotay was lifting the bar up, he heard one of the men call the other "Roberto." Suddenly the bar in Chakotay's hands wobbled, and Baxter quickly reached out and steadied it, and then helped him set the bar on the rack.
"Too much?" Baxter asked. "I can take a little more off."
"No, it's fine," Chakotay said, but his heart was racing as though he had just run a marathon.
It wasn't the weight. It was the name. Roberto. This morning Chakotay had managed to steel himself to read another page of Sveta's letter, the one he'd been foolish enough to ask for. The one that detailed the fates of the Maquis he had known the best. He was afraid to know… and yet he had to know.
Roberto went back to help Sahreen and K'Tarra disable the Jem'Hadar transport inhibitors. They must have succeeded, because the rest of us were able to transport back to the ship. We tried to contact the three of them, but they didn't answer. We waited as long as we could, but when more Jem'Hadar ships arrived, we had no choice but to leave them behind.
We went back as soon as we dared, hoping against hope that they had managed to hide or escape. We found all three of them in the caves. They'd been shot by Jem'Hadar plasma weapons. Sahreen and K'Tarra were killed instantly. I wish I could say Roberto was as well, but he had only taken a glancing blow. You probably don't know this, but the Jem'Hadar incorporate anticoagulants into their weapons. His wound shouldn't have been lethal, but he bled out before we got to him.
"You OK?" Baxter asked.
Chakotay cleared his throat gruffly. "Shouldn't have gone so long without working out."
"I can take a little weight off-"
"No. I'm ready to go again."
Up, down, up, down. Chakotay's arms were shaking again, but he forced himself to push through the pain. It would be easier if he could just concentrate on what he was doing, but he kept seeing their faces flash in front of his eyes. Sahreen. K'Tarra. Roberto. And then there were Meyer and Nelson and all their crew, who Sveta said had been attempting to flee the Badlands when the Jem'Hadar vaporized their ship.
Chakotay was frustrated by his inability to bottle up his grief... and his anger. He'd held it in all day during the debriefing; why couldn't he shake the images now? He could feel the sweat pouring down his face, and hoped Baxter would chalk it up to him being out of shape, and not to the fact that he couldn't control his emotions over people who had died years ago, their memorial services long over, their names and faces already forgotten by all but their families and closest friends.
His wound shouldn't have been lethal, but he bled out before we got to him.
Chakotay racked the bar and sat up, panting for breath. Baxter handed him a towel and he gratefully used it to dry his face. He glanced over at the mirror on the wall, and then slowly rubbed the towel over his tattoo again.
Roberto had helped Chakotay procure the Val Jean just days after the tattoo had been carved into his face, when his skin was still red and inflamed. It had been a painful process, getting tattooed - and that night the knowledge that the next day he would be resigning from Starfleet had nearly staggered him - but Chakotay clearly remembered that the primary emotion he felt as he sat cross-legged in the sweltering heat of the temazcal, enduring the scrape of needle against flesh, was not pain or fear, but exhilaration. Maybe he was doing the right thing, and maybe he wasn't, but at least he was doing something. At least his father's murder would be answered by more than impotent grief.
...he bled out before we got to him.
If only he could go and get another tattoo now. If only he could swear some kind of vendetta against those who had committed this fresh atrocity. Scrape up the funds to get his own ship, as he had done before, and go out and force the universe to deliver justice.
But he couldn't. He wasn't even free to leave the planet, thanks to Admiral Nelson.
"Want to do leg lifts now?" Baxter asked.
Chakotay swallowed painfully. He hadn't been working out very long, but he knew he was done for the day. "No. I need to get going. I have to meet someone tonight, and I better get cleaned up first."
Baxter looked intrigued, and was bold enough to ask: "Got a date?"
"No," Chakotay replied, draping his towel around his shoulders. "Just a friend." Baxter looked disappointed on his behalf, but he wished Chakotay a good night and then wandered over to another station.
Chakotay went into the showers and decided to allow himself the luxury of a real water shower. When his soap-slicked hand slipped across the rough line etched across his ribs, he allowed himself a moment of fierce pride that he had kept the old scar. It was a guarantee that he would never forget one of the few times in which he had actually come off the victor against the Cardassians.
Despite cutting his workout short, he wasted so much time in the shower that he ended up needing to rush getting dressed. Despite his annoyance at having last Tuesday night's dinner with Kathryn canceled, he was dreading being alone with her tonight. Suppose Kathryn chose this moment to tell him that she was going back to Mark? In his current state of mind he couldn't imagine reacting to such a development with any kind of grace or dignity.
It was the first time Chakotay had been to Kathryn's apartment at Headquarters. It was several levels up from the ground, and the turbolift deposited Chakotay into an open-air courtyard in the center of the level, lined with doors leading into many apartments. He walked around, reading the nameplates, until he found Kathryn's.
The first surprise came when Kathryn came to door, dressed not in her uniform but in civilian clothing: a lavender short-sleeved shirt with a draped collar, and silky slacks to match. She looked at Chakotay for a long moment with a small smile on her face and then said: "Either I'm underdressed, or you're overdressed."
"We always used to wear our uniforms," Chakotay said.
Her smile faded thoughtfully as she stepped aside to let Chakotay in. "I suppose we did. Funny, I didn't even think twice about changing. I must be in the habit now; I never wear my uniform in Indiana."
He looked around the apartment without really seeing it. "Spending a lot of time in Indiana, then?"
"I think I told you I planned to spend my weekends there."
To see her family? Chakotay wondered. Or to see Mark? But he had resolved that morning not to go fishing for information. To help him resist the temptation, he changed the subject, and made an effort to sound lighthearted. "So, what's on the menu tonight?"
"In the mood for anything in particular?" she asked, briskly walking over to the replicator. "I'm happy to announce that this glorified toaster hasn't learned to hate me, at least not yet, so we should be able to coax something edible out of it." She patted it affectionately.
Chakotay followed her slowly. "Whatever you want," he said.
Kathryn gave him a too-knowing look. "Not hungry?" she asked.
"Not really." He hadn't been able to eat much all day, thinking of the way Roberto had died: slowly, alone, in pain. Chakotay's stomach was aching with emptiness, but the thought of eating made him feel ill.
"Let's just sit and talk then," she said, turning around and leading him over to the couch under the window. Outside, the sun was obscured behind a bank of clouds, but at least it wasn't raining today.
Talking didn't sound any better than eating at the moment. Chakotay sat down next to Kathryn, but already he regretted coming. He should have listened to his instincts and cancelled. Their dinners were supposed to be a refuge from the world, and tonight he had brought the darkness in with him.
Kathryn started talking about the debriefings, and dutifully Chakotay tried to play along, but the topic didn't really hold his interest. The conversation waned. Chakotay knew he wasn't holding up his end of it, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy required to think of something interesting to say.
He suspected he must have been boring Kathryn, because after this had gone on for a while, she excused herself for a moment and left the room. He could hear in the distance a few beeps from a PADD, and then a minute later she came back to the couch holding a bottle of lotion and sat down next to him again.
Kathryn rubbed a generous amount of lotion on her hands. It smelled good, like almond, maybe. He thought that he had smelled that scent on her recently. Then she looked at him and held her hand out expectantly.
"Let me see your hand," she said.
He stared at her blankly.
"I'm not going to bite it. Let me see your hand."
Reluctantly, he gave Kathryn his hand. She took his hand between hers and slowly rubbed lotion all over it, front and back. Then she laid his hand palm up on her knee and started to slide her thumbs up and down his palm, using firm but steady pressure.
It felt so good it almost hurt, and he didn't want her to stop. And yet it felt very strange to be letting her do this when he was upset, not only about the fallen Maquis but also in part because of her, after the canceled dinner last week and her silence on the topic of Mark. Not to mention, he had no idea why she was suddenly breaking their long-unspoken rule of no massages, which had been standing between them ever since New Earth.
"Nice, isn't it?" Kathryn said. "Joan taught my mom how to do this for me when I'm stressed out. It's amazing how much it relaxes you."
That was the understatement of the century. Chakotay was having a bizarre urge to lay down on the couch and close his eyes and let her keep on stroking his hands until he drifted off to the peaceful oblivion of sleep. He was dismayed at the suddenness of his wish. Apparently it had been much too long since anyone had touched him with this kind of gentleness. Not unless you counted those bikini-clad girls in Voyager's Hawaiian resort simulation who Neelix had programmed to offer shoulder rubs to everyone they passed. But holographic hands never felt quite as good as the real thing.
Seska. Seska had been really good at massages. She hadn't offered them often, though. Usually just when she wanted something from him, and was hoping to soften him up before she asked. It had taken him a while to catch onto that. He had wanted so much to believe that whenever she showed affection, it was motivated by kindness and love. Seska really hadn't been that good of a liar, Chakotay reflected. Truth be told, he had done most of the fooling to himself. There are none so blind as those who don't wish to see.
He wished he hadn't thought of Seska. Chakotay could practically feel his blood pressure rising, and he had a nearly uncontrollable urge to tear himself away from Kathryn's grasp, to stand up and demand that she admit to him why she was doing this, and what she really wanted from him.
"You are really tense," Kathryn said. She rubbed small circles near the base of his thumb.
Chakotay closed his eyes briefly, suspicion making way for guilt. He had been sulking for days over losing his old monopoly on Kathryn's time, and now here he was, comparing her to Seska just because she finally paid him a little bit of the attention he wanted? No. Kathryn was nothing like Seska. She wasn't capable of being so cold and calculating. He hated himself for even thinking it.
"Rough day?" Kathryn asked.
"Rough week." He laughed humorlessly. "Rough month."
She looked at him regretfully. "I think I owe you an apology. I feel like I haven't been there for you this week. Not the way I wanted to be. I'm sorry that I wasn't."
"I know you've been busy," he said quietly. "Tuvok mentioned all the families you've been visiting in the evenings. For the crew members you lost on the crossing. That can't have been easy."
"Not exactly," she said. "But you have been very much on my mind. Do you want to talk about it?"
Chakotay hesitated. He did, and he didn't. A part of him wanted her to know everything he was thinking and feeling, but he didn't want her pity, and he was afraid that was all she had to offer him now.
But still her warm fingers were stroking up and down his hand oh-so-gently, and the sensations were so comforting that it was too difficult to push her away completely, no matter how much his pride wanted him to.
"I knew some things would change when we got home," Chakotay said slowly, "but I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under my feet. Everything has changed, even the things I wanted to stay the same. I don't know anymore what the future has in store for me. I'm not sorry we came home, but I'm feeling a little lost. There are days when I wish we had just stayed in the Delta Quadrant. It wasn't exactly a picnic there, but at least things were simpler."
"What does your animal guide think of all this?"
He was silent for a long moment.
"You don't have to tell me," Kathryn added quickly. "I just meant... I hope your animal guide is helping you find some clarity. Some peace."
Another silence stretched out.
"I haven't gone on a vision quest since we came home," he admitted at last.
"Oh?"
"I haven't really felt like it."
She nodded slowly, and took his other hand and started massaging that one.
"Isn't it strange," he said after a long silence, "that the times in our lives when we most need help, are the times when we least want to ask for it?"
"I know what you mean," she said.
"Do you?" Chakotay asked. "You've been accepting help. You've been seeing your counselor."
Kathryn grimaced slightly. "That's only because I learned my lesson the hard way. Twice."
"Twice?"
"You remember what I told you I did after my father and Justin were killed? I locked myself up in my mother's house for two months and stared at the walls and refused to let anyone try to help me. And then Phoebe got so angry that she literally dragged me out of the house and forced me to face things."
"Yes, I remember you telling me that."
"And then I tried to do the same thing again when we were stuck in the Void. Who knows how long it would have gone on, if the night aliens hadn't shown up and forced me to snap out of it."
"I hadn't realized..." Chakotay murmured, as understanding dawned at last. "I should have dragged you out the way Phoebe did. Shouldn't I have?"
"Maybe. The point I'm trying to make is, in both cases I didn't want help. I wanted to feel miserable. I wanted to punish myself for all my perceived failings. The strangest part was, I thought I was being noble by taking all that weight on my own shoulders. But it wasn't heroism, it was pride. All I did was make things more difficult for the people around me who were worried about me."
"Am I making life difficult for you?"
"Of course not," she said quickly. "But I want you to. I want you to impose on me. If you need anything, I want you to call me anytime, anywhere. In the middle of the night. When I'm in a meeting with some admiral. I don't care. Just don't... don't be like me. Don't shut people out."
They were quiet for several minutes as Kathryn continued to massage his hands gently.
"But maybe you don't need me to tell you all that," she added at last. "You've always been the sensible one."
Chakotay shook his head slightly. "Lately, I haven't been feeling very sensible."
After they finished dinner - Chakotay doing his best to choke down some nourishment, although the food tasted like ash in his mouth - they moved over to the couch, which commanded a view of the greenery of the courtyard outside. Although the evening was growing late, it was still light outside. Spring was transforming into summer, but Chakotay was blind to its beauty. He didn't want to ask Kathryn about Mark, but he had to know, and the sooner, the better.
"Tom said Mark came to San Francisco to see you last week," Chakotay said.
Kathryn frowned ever so slightly, and paused for a long moment.
"Yes," she said at last. "I was going to tell you about that. I saw him on Tuesday, and again over the weekend."
It had to be asked, so he asked it.
"How did that go?" he asked casually.
Kathryn took a long time to answer. "It was fine, I think. A little strange to see how he's changed. I know I've changed over the years, but somehow I expected that he would stay the same."
Chakotay valiantly strove for a sympathy he wasn't quite feeling. "I guess it was probably a rough time for him, too."
And there it was, a flash of worry across Kathryn's face, and the expression spoke volumes more than her words had. So she was worried about Mark.
"Yes," she said slowly. "Although…" She laughed humorlessly. "I'm not sure it's any better now that I'm back. He was just starting to get used to the idea that I was dead, and now…"
"What?" he prompted her, when it seemed she wasn't going to finish the sentence.
She stood up and paced to the middle of her living room, looking small and lost without her uniform. "And now…" She shook her head slightly. "He wants to get to know me again."
She briefly met his eyes with an almost pleading expression on her face.
He wants to get to know her again? Chakotay thought he knew what that meant. It was what he had been fearing since he first saw Mark in San Francisco. But surely Kathryn wouldn't…? They had an agreement, the two of them. As soon as they got back home, everything was going to change. They had planned…
Chakotay stood up, too. Kathryn looked away from him, rubbing her hands slowly together. Chakotay began to feel sick. He had seen that look before, way back when Kathryn had been working through the thought process that led to her decision to destroy the Caretaker's Array out of an obligation to protect the Ocampa. It wasn't a good sign. It meant she was preparing to immolate herself on the flame of self-sacrifice.
"I don't know how to help Mark," Kathryn said slowly. "But I know I have to try."
Chakotay knew he was being contrary, but at the moment, he didn't care, and he wanted to shout it to the skies: Why did Kathryn always have put someone else's needs above her own?
And above my needs?
"Of course you do," he said, because he knew she expected him to say it, and he even tried to make it sound reassuring so that she would know he wasn't upset. But all the time, the angry voice in the back of his head was urging him to tell her exactly how upset he was. But how could he? Who was he to demand that his needs came before anyone else's? He didn't own Kathryn's affections. She could do whatever she chose to do.
He took a careful breath. "Maybe it would help if you told me exactly what that means."
Kathryn looked confused.
Again, with every ounce of effort he could muster, Chakotay kept his voice even as he clarified. "Help Mark in what way?"
"I'm... not sure," Kathryn admitted.
"Because you and I have things we need to discuss," Chakotay said.
"And we will," Kathryn said quickly. "We will. But I'm not sure this is the time-"
"I waited for you," Chakotay said. "I told you I would, and I did."
He wasn't sure he should have pressed on with this topic, but Kathryn nodded quickly, looking almost relieved that he had brought it up. "I know," she said. "I waited for you, too."
Chakotay took a slow step toward her. "And now?"
"And now?" Kathryn glanced away, expression pained. "Now, there's been a… an unexpected development, I suppose."
It was like a haze settled down over his vision, dragging him earthward like a physical weight. Suddenly all the resolutions he had made to be measured and calm seemed to fly out the window.
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, words coming out oddly clipped.
Kathryn looked back at him, startled. "No!" she said, her voice quietly vehement. "No, nothing's changed for me. It isn't that. It's just that…"
"He wants you back," Chakotay said. It was a statement, not a guess.
Kathryn closed her eyes briefly. "There's only so much I can explain without betraying a confidence." Her expression turned pleading again. "I suppose what I'm asking for is… a little time. Just a little time. To get everything straightened out with Mark, before you and I settle things between us. Can I ask that?"
"I gave you time," Chakotay said. He hadn't meant to get angry with Kathryn herself, but against his better judgement, he found that he was. He knew damn well what was going to happen during this reprieve she was asking for. Mark was going to try to get her back, and what was worse, Kathryn was going to let him try. And given how long Kathryn had held out for Mark back in the Delta Quadrant, Chakotay wasn't at all certain that Mark would be unsuccessful. "I gave you a lot of time."
Kathryn recoiled from him slightly. "I know you did. I was grateful… I am grateful. I know what a sacrifice it was, and I'm not asking… or rather, I'm not demanding anything more from you." Her voice deepened with emotion. "But I can't break off an engagement all in five minutes, without even taking the time to get reacquainted. Surely you can see that he and I are dealing with some very strange circumstances, and it isn't clear to me how I'm supposed to proceed. They don't exactly write etiquette guides for situations like this." The frustration was evident in her voice, and despite his anger Chakotay felt the old familiar protective instincts flare. Kathryn wasn't doing this to be cruel. He knew that. It didn't take away the sting, but he did know it.
Kathryn softened her tone. "Please try to understand. What else can I do? If the situation were reversed, I would do as much for you."
He knew that too. No one knew better than him just how far Kathryn Janeway was willing to go for someone she cared about. And even though it brought him pain, he would not have her be anything other than what she was.
He took in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Give me a number, then," he said quietly.
"A number?" she repeated blankly.
"How much time do you need? Give me a number. Five days? Five weeks? Five months? I'd like to know what to expect, this time around."
Kathryn stared at him. "An exact number?" She seemed to flounder. "I…" She folded her arms across herself in a protective posture and looked away, eyes distant. Several minutes ticked by as Chakotay waited, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Kathryn turned back toward him, arms going down straight against her sides, slipping easily into her command posture.
"Three weeks," she said decisively.
"Three weeks," he repeated.
"I'll have an answer for you then," she said. "No matter what. In three weeks."
"Good." Chakotay found himself strangely relieved. He had been afraid she would drag it out much longer. Or even refuse to give him a timeline. So many of their arguments had ended with her as the victor that it was hard to believe that she was acquiescing to him for a change.
Hard to believe, but more than a little gratifying.
"I'm going home now," he said, eager to end the evening on a positive note, or as close to one as they were likely to get tonight. And he was tired. More tired than he had the words to explain. "I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow."
Kathryn nodded, and walked him to the door. "There's a debate tomorrow," she said as the door swished open. "About the Maquis."
"The Questor debate," Chakotay said. "I know."
"You're welcome to come, of course," she said. "But there will be journalists there-"
"-and I'm not supposed to talk to them," Chakotay finished. "Attorney's orders. I think it would be better if I just watched from home."
"All right," she said. "And Chakotay," she added quickly as he moved to leave, "I meant what I said. You can call me anytime, for any reason."
His eyes met hers briefly. "I know that, Kathryn. I'll see you tomorrow."
He walked away, and the door swished shut behind him.
TO BE CONTINUED
