Chapter 10

The Doctor released him to his quarters, and Chakotay spent the evening deep in thought. He laid out his things, and called out in prayer. "Acuchimoya. We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers and from the bones of our people. But perhaps there is one powerful being who will embrace me and give me the answers I seek."

"I am with child," he said quietly. "The mother is already far behind us, and does not know of our child. I am unable to go to her, my crew is depending on this ship, on me, to get them home. I have been warned that to carry the child may take my life, and yet I cannot put my needs above the baby. I am honored to carry a life within, I am guilty not to share this joy with its mother, and I am terrified of what the future may hold. I ask for guidance, to bring peace to my troubled spirit, for my sake and for the sake of my child."

Having spoken, Chakotay pressed the smooth stone between his palms and closed his eyes in concentration. He seemed not to hear the chirp of the door alert, or the swish when the doors opened. He sat stone still, seemingly focused on his prayer.

Chakotay broke the silence. "Breaking and entering?" He said quietly, a touch of anger in his tone.

"I was worried about you," B'Elanna said.

Chakotay silently completed his prayer while she stood watching. He rolled up his things and got to his feet, holding the items reverently with one hand. "I'm fine," he said.

"Chakotay, you collapsed."

He put his prayer things away, then turned to her. He gave her a small smile. "Look, B'Elanna, I appreciate your concern. And I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I suppose it was all part of the… illness. Suffice it to say, I'm fine now, and the Doctor has cleared me for work in the morning. Thank you."

"So that's it? You're fine now, and that's it?" She shook her head. "You sure know how to feed the rumor mill."

"People will talk, one way or the other," he said with a shrug.

"Wouldn't you rather they talk about the truth?"

Chakotay sighed. "In this case? No."

"Chakotay," she said quietly. "If there's anything you need, you know I'm always here."

He smiled. "Thank you, B'Elanna."

"He wouldn't tell me. Tom, the man collapsed in front of me, and now he says he's fine."

Paris held her in his arms as she spoke. "Maybe he is. There are a lot of minor things that can add up to make someone get dizzy, lose their equilibrium… maybe the Doc fixed him up."

"Maybe," she said with a sigh. "But, there is something else."

Tom moved closer, waiting for her to elaborate.

"When I went to his quarters, he was praying. Tom, I've known Chakotay a long time. I've seen him pray, and, well… something serious is on his mind."

"You think it's whatever is wrong with him."

"I don't know what else might have him so upset."

"B'Elanna, I didn't want to say anything, but… when we were on the planet… There was a woman down there. Chakotay really seemed to… connect with her. Maybe he misses her. Maybe he regrets something he said, or… something he didn't say."

"Yeah, maybe."

"It seemed like the whole village turned out to say goodbye when we left. She wasn't there."

"Oh," she said, as the plausibility of his theory sank in. "Maybe you're right, Tom."

Chakotay was exhausted in the morning. His sleep had been full of fitful dreams, dreams of Sifa and of the baby and of dying in childbirth. It seemed his prayers had not been answered, and he was full of worry. It was a new kind of worry, too. His hectic thoughts were accompanied by waves of powerful emotion. He cried twice before he even had a cup of coffee. And to top it off, he thought he saw a slight bulge in his belly. He laughed with relief as he donned his uniform, thankful that the black would mask his baby bump. He fought back the raging emotions that seemed to change course as quickly as his thoughts. He had to do his work. He had to keep up appearances.

"Bridge," he said as he entered the turbolift.

T'Lea was concerned about his mother. Since the Others had left, she had hidden herself away, only emerging for communal prayer. She wouldn't even leave to tend patients. Instead, she prepared the remedies and sent him with instructions for their care.

He hadn't seen her in such despair since his father died. He sat at the table as she served the meal, and he determined to find out why.

"Mother," he said.

"Yes, son?"

"Is it Chakotay?" he asked. He saw the pain flit across her face at the mention of his name. He sat back. "He's gone, Mother. There is no purpose to this. He's not coming back."

A tear fell from her eye, and she turned away. "I know."

The boy's frustration emerged in anger. "Then why are you moping so?! Nothing in our village is any different than it was before they came! You were happy then, why can't you be happy now?!"

"It is not that simple!" she cried. "You- you don't know! You've never shared Enewi—" she stopped speaking. She clamped her mouth shut and turned to the hearth.

"You… I don't believe it." T'Lea rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." The teen marched purposefully out of the house, and Sifa burst into tears.

Enewi was the Imati term for making love. It was the most intimate of all acts of love, and once two people shared Enewi, they were bound together for life. The act of Enewi caused physical changes within the participants, and a period of bonding followed for weeks afterward. There were stories, tragic stories of lovers who were wrenched apart during the bonding period and did not survive the separation.

He worried about his mother. She didn't seem so affected physically as the stories had led him to believe. Then again, Chakotay was not Imati. Perhaps that lessened the strength of the bond. Also, she had first bonded with T'Lea's father. As a young man, T'Lea simply did not know enough about Enewi to know if there were variations in the strength of the bond under these varying circumstances.

He was angry, as well. Chakotay had impressed them all with his kindness, with how easily he fit in. But he was not Imati. He was a stranger. The very fact that he could share Enewi with Sifa and then leave was proof of that.

He muttered the greeting at Morwen's door, wiped his feet, and entered. His Uncle was happy to see him, and greeted him warmly.

"I have questions," T'Lea said. "Questions about Enewi."

Morwen was joyful at first, thinking the boy had chosen a mate. But the troubled look on his face negated that possibility. He offered his nephew, his adopted son, a place by the hearth.

T'Lea struggled for a moment. It was not customary to share knowledge of others' intimate behavior in conversation. He felt he was about to shame himself.

"Mother has been…"

"Without joy," Morwen finished for him.

"I found out why," T'Lea said. "She and Chakotay…"

"He took her joy," Morwen interrupted, sparing the boy from divulging more.

"Uncle," T'Lea spoke again, "The bonding… I am afraid for her."

Morwen nodded, and his forehead creased with worry. "I will speak with her. She may be in need of a healing," he said quietly.

"There is a healing for it?"

"When two people cannot bond afterwards, sometimes the body is deprived of… chemicals it needs to survive. There is a healing that can provide a… substitute for the chemicals. The patient will suffer, but will live."

"She doesn't seem ill," T'Lea said. "Is it because he was the second?"

"I don't know," Morwen answered. There were too many possibilities. Sifa could be healing herself; she was the Master of healing, after all. "I will go to her. Perhaps you should stay here, T'Lea."

"Thank you, Uncle."

Morwen touched the boy's cheek and headed out the door. As he walked to his sister's house, he thought of the other possibility: Chakotay wasn't one of the Others, after all. The Others would know the power of Enewi; would know of the need for bonding. He paused at her door. This was uncomfortable. People should not speak of such things. After a deep breath, he called out his greeting and entered.

She still sat by the hearth, sobbing quietly.

"Sister, I have come to help," Morwen said.

"You cannot help me," she said, her voice as flat as the table behind them.

Morwen struggled with the proper way to frame his words. "Sister, I have spoken to T'Lea."

She sobbed again, and he stroked his stubbly whiskers. "I was foolish," she cried. "I thought he was—"

"It is done," Morwen said, cutting her off. "Now, we must heal."

"I don't want to heal," she admitted. "If I can't have joy, I'd rather die."

Morwen nodded sadly. "You have joy, my sister... my dear Sifa... but you are broken and in need of healing. Let me help you."

"I have been taking the remedy," she said quietly, "but I still feel as though my heart is nothing more than a cairn of broken glass."

Morwen nodded. He touched his hand to her cheek, and she pressed her face against the warmth of his palm. "I know," he said. "I will help you, Sifa."