Star Trek Voyager characters are the property of Paramount Pictures.
THE YEARNING
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
MARCH, 2379
Sitting before the window in his lounge, the sea outside gray and choppy, Chakotay looked at the sweater Kathryn had made him. Since their return, he had looked at it many times, as looking at it made him feel closer to her, and he wanted to be close to her now. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, so many questions he wanted answers to, but he could not ask her as she was light years away on a planet in the Treza Sector. As well as working at a Starfleet outpost, she was teaching a course at the colony's prestigious university, and would not be back until summer. This news had somewhat surprised him, as working away from Earth had never been in her plans, but when the call to space was as strong in a person's soul as it was in hers, it was perhaps only to be expected. And, looking back, she had told him during their last time together that she was missing space and hoped to venture out there again. By that he'd imagined conferences on starbases or diplomatic missions, not a six month sojourn on a Federation colony, but his own life hadn't exactly turned out like he'd thought either. Never had he planned on returning to space, certainly not for months on end, but in two weeks he would be captaining again. After the success of their last mission, he and his crew had been assigned another planetary archaeological site to study, and the enterprise would last anywhere from four to six months. For the most part, he enjoyed being a captain. While it wasn't always easy, it was easier than life as a freedom fighter, and far less hazardous than life in an unknown, uncharted, part of the galaxy. Over the last few months he'd met a lot of interesting people, some he had come to consider friends, and he'd seen a lot of extraordinary things. But, despite all this, his heart was still lonely.
Still aching for Kathryn.
Putting a distance between them had helped, just as he'd hoped it would, but it would be a long time before he was over her. He still thought about her every day and every day he missed her.
Missed her now.
Needed her now.
Needed to talk.
Needed those answers.
I'm not talking about the serious. It never had to be serious for Kathryn. She never liked the serious. All she wanted was...well, let's just say she would sleep with strangers but she wouldn't sleep with me.
Mark's words, these and the rest, greatly disturbed him. Disturbed and perplexed him.
She probably doesn't remember much about the time at all as she was drunk more than she was sober then. In fact, she almost got demoted for drunken and reckless behavior.
Mark was not the only one to talk of a troubled past for Kathryn. Samantha's sister, Teresa, had talked of one too. But how could they be talking of the Kathryn he had come to know? The Kathryn he knew was disciplined, controlled, and highly moral. She would never behave irresponsibly, would never get drunk while on duty, and would never, by choice, sleep with strangers.
And yet...
And yet there was a thumping in his mind. A banging on the door of his memory. There had been for a long time. First it had been faint, just a distant rapping, but over the years it had got louder. Now it was a pounding.
But still he couldn't open the door.
No matter how hard he tried, the handle wouldn't turn. It was locked. Stuck. Broken.
Broken like his memory.
Maybe you just don't know her as well as you think you do. And I mean that with all due respect. I've known her a lifetime in a personal capacity, you only a few years in a professional.
There was no denying the truth of Mark's words. Even though he felt as though he'd known Kathryn forever, in fact he'd only known her a short time. A few years out of a lifetime. What did he really know about the rest? Not a lot. Not as much as he should. He knew where she came from, he knew of her childhood, he knew of the accident that had claimed the lives of her father and fiancé, and he knew of her career, even to the point of knowing what ship she had served on and when, but he knew little about the woman she had been before he'd met her. Kathryn had rarely talked about her personal life, never mentioned lovers other than Justin or Mark, and he'd just assumed that she had always been the workaholic woman she was now. But she clearly hadn't always been that way. Mark had no reason to lie, not about her past or their engagement, and Teresa had been so sure that the reckless woman she'd spoken of had been Kathryn.
Reckless.
There certainly had been times on Voyager when Kathryn could be called that. The alliance with the Borg, for one. The pursuit of the Equinox, for another. But if she'd gone too far sometimes, either in settling a score or in her quest to get the crew home, her intentions had always been for the greater good. Never had she cast aside duty for personal pleasure. Quite the contrary, she'd sacrificed person happiness for duty. It was hard to believe that a woman so conscious of her responsibilities could ever be drunk and disorderly while on duty. But then, he knew all too well how grief could make a person crazy. Teresa had said the time had been a difficult one for her, following the deaths of her father and fiancé, and from the little Kathryn had told him of the accident he knew she'd had a hard time coming to terms with it. Grief, the great destroyer of the soul, may well have pushed her over the edge and broken her spirit. And yet...
I'm not talking about the serious. It never had to be serious for Kathryn. She never liked the serious. All she wanted was...well, let's just say she would sleep with strangers but she wouldn't sleep with me.
A brief rebellion of grief would not explain these words. And it would not explain why Kathryn had never told him the truth about her engagement. There was something more. Something he was missing. For every part of him, every feeling and every instinct, told him that he knew Kathryn and she wasn't the woman Mark had described. Perhaps word of her engagement truly was a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding that she'd never cleared up as she hadn't seen the point, and if she had held back from Mark then perhaps it was because Mark was moving at a different pace to her. As to the sleeping with strangers, well, that could easily be the fantasy of a jealous mind. Even after all these years there had been a bitterness in Mark's words and it was not hard to imagine him as the jealous type.
At this reasoning, a reasoning that made perfect sense, Chakotay began to relax. Putting aside the sweater, he got to his feet, went over to a replicator, and replicated himself a cup of coffee. Then he stood before the window and looked out at the sea. It was raining over the ocean now, a gray drizzle that drifted on the wind, and Chakotay watched it for a while. Watched it and tried to silence the banging in his head, the whispering voice that urged him to open the door. An instinct that told him the picture was still incomplete.
Forgive me, Captain. But have we met before? You seem...familiar.
Those words suddenly echoed through his mind and he could only ponder them.
Familiar.
From the very first Kathryn had been familiar to him. Could it be they had met before? Could it be they had met during those two years that were still a blur in his mind? The dreams, the visions, perhaps they were something more. Perhaps they were memories. The missing piece of the puzzle.
And then...
And then in his mind Kathryn was standing behind him. Standing before the fireplace in a gorgeous gown of gold. Slowly he turned towards her and he heard her speak.
I really do love this place. You have such an eye for decor. I've never known anyone with such exquisite taste... This place is regal. And your lodge...magnificent.
Your lodge...magnificent.
The words had struck him then and they struck him now. They were spoken as though she had been there. Had she? In their distant pasts had their paths crossed? Had they spent time together at his lodge like they had in his dream? Had she danced for him on his beach? Had they ridden horses through fields and made pots on his potter's wheel?
Three years ago I didn't even know your name. Today I can't imagine a day without you.
Kathryn's words would say otherwise. Her words would declare they had not met until the Delta Quadrant. But how much faith could he put in those words? Could it be she didn't want him to know of their past connection? The idea seemed ludicrous and yet...and yet perfectly sensible. In his dream they had kissed, kissed over his potter's wheel, and if in the past they'd been lovers, or almost lovers, then that could be reason enough for Kathryn's denial. A past relationship, if he'd remembered it, could have made things awkward in the early days. Perhaps, even now, if things between them had ended badly. But that...that didn't make sense. Or did it? If things had ended badly, was that why Kathryn had held back from him? Was she afraid of history repeating itself? Or had things ended tragically and not badly? Had things ended with his injury? Had it all been too much for her to cope with after the death of her fiancé?
The strawberries.
Suddenly, he remembered the strawberries. The fresh strawberries left for him in a basket in his hospital room. When he'd asked who they were from, he'd been told a young woman. A young woman whose name was unknown and whose description he had not recognized. A young woman with black hair in a bun.
Black hair.
Twice, in visions, he'd seen a younger Kathryn with black hair. The first was a random flashback when he was putting her to bed after her liaison with Ezran, and the second was at the fancy dress ball when she was dancing in Indian costume. In that vision he'd seen her dance across the sand like in his dream, but unlike in his dream her hair was black. Long and black. Black and with a fringe. Was this how she had looked then? If his dream was more than just a dream, if it was a memory, then had her hair been black then?
He could only conclude it had been. And, with that conclusion, came tears to his eyes. It hurt, for both their hearts, to think what might have been, but it hurt especially for Kathryn's to think what was. Had they been lovers? Had they been to each other in the past what he'd always hoped they could be to each other in the future? Was that the real reason she had accepted the mission to capture him? Was it because she cared about his fate? She'd always said it was a mission of mercy. But how much had she cared? What exactly had they meant to each other? Had they lived at his lodge? Had they made love there? Or was their relationship just blossoming when his injury cut it off? For Kathryn's sake, and for his, he hoped that was the case.
Hoped, and yet he didn't even know for certain that they'd ever met. All this was just speculation. Guess upon guess. And yet...
And yet every instinct told him it was true.
True that they had met. True that they had spent time at his lodge. True that Kathryn's hair had been black then. True that she was the woman who had left him the strawberries.
The strawberries.
Another memory. A Voyager memory. A memory of a strawberry soufflé. Kathryn had replicated one for their very first dinner together while he had replicated a coffee cake. Strawberries and coffee, their mutual favorites. At the time, he'd accepted Kathryn's explanation of an out of time experience being responsible, but now...now he wasn't so sure. If Kathryn was the woman who had left him the strawberries, then she'd have known he loved them. And, if they had known each other in his past, then somewhere in the abyss of his memory he'd remembered that she loved coffee cake.
The dinner. The conversation.
The only Kathryn I can ever remember meeting stood me up.
Really? Stood you up as in a date?
Yes. We met at a public lecture and a psychic introduced us. She said we were a match made in the stars.
How romantic. Too bad this Kathryn didn't show up.
Didn't show up. Stood him up.
A standing up for a standing up?
In Kathryn's voice, those words spoke in his mind, spoke through fog, distant like a dream.
And then...
And then in his memory he could see the face of that young cadet from so long ago, the cadet who had stood him up, the cadet whose friend had said she would be an admiral before she was forty...
An admiral before you're forty...
Kathryn.
That cadet had been Kathryn. That Kathryn his Kathryn.
Of this he was now absolutely certain. As certain as he was of the sun having risen at dawn.
That Kathryn, his Kathryn.
A voyage to the stars.
Voyager.
As he turned back to the window, the window that was crying, a tear ran down his cheek. Why had he never realized this before? Why had he never made the association? How could he have been so dense? True, their meeting had been a long time ago, and in his memory that cadet's face had blurred over time, but the truth had literally been staring him in the face. Staring him in the face every day for seven years. He and Kathryn did have a past connection. They'd met at that lecture all those years ago. Met and arranged a date. A date she had not showed up for.
Let's just say I was shy and insecure in those days.
These words, spoken some time and in some place by Kathryn, told him why. She had not shown up because she had bottled out.
Bottled out, but Fate had brought them together again. At some time, during those lost years, they had met and picked up where they had left off. But met where? When? The answer evaded him. Evaded him like the details of a dream on waking.
A dream.
His lodge.
For some reason, by some instinct, he knew the answers lay there. The final piece of the puzzle. The key to unlock the door to his memory.
His lodge.
He would have to go there. Go there and face the ghosts of the past. Go there and walk through his memories.
Resolved, he put down his drink, picked up the sweater Kathryn had made for him, and then put it on. Oregon in March could be cold, as cold as the wind battering the waves outside, so he'd have to wrap up. When the sweater was over his shirt, and a jacket over the sweater, he composed himself for the venture and then beamed out.
When Chakotay materialized in Oregon, he found himself on a cliff top. A cliff top he had stood on many times. A cliff top close to his lodge. Above him the sky was gray, below him the sea was rough, and around him a strong wind blew. Blew in all directions, flattening the grass beneath his feet and swirling the sand on the beach. For a long moment Chakotay gazed out at the sea, at the misty horizon, and then he turned towards his lodge. Turned to where it had stood. Turned and saw...
Nothing.
There was nothing left of his lodge. Not one beam, not one stone.
Nothing.
I had the site cleared, his cousin had told him, it's safe for passers by now.
Cleared.
Erased.
Chakotay had not expected that. He'd expected something to be left. The foundations, maybe, a few stones, maybe. But there was nothing. Nothing to ever indicate that a home had once stood there. A home he had lived in for over a decade. A home he had put his heart and soul into. A home he had torched when his heart and soul had been on fire with grief. And he could see those flames now. Could see them devour his lodge in bitter anger. See them rage and scream and destroy...
A pain beyond pain.
A grief beyond grief.
But he did not feel that pain now, not as rawly as then, and he did not feel the grief. Time had eased both. Always he would miss his family, and always his heart would be angry at how they had died, but the pain and the grief no longer consumed him. Even though his heart still yearned for peace, a peace that seemed elusive, he'd made his peace with the past. Now, as he looked at where his lodge had once stood, all he felt was sadness. Sadness that it was gone. Sadness that he'd destroyed it.
Sad that it was just a memory.
But in his memories it stood tall. Stood as magnificently as it had a decade ago. He could see the verandah, see the stone path leading to it, see the pine walls and windows, the slanting roof and the decorative chimney. Could see it as though it stood now. And, as though it stood now, he walked towards it. Walked towards the verandah. Walked to where it had stood. Stood there and remembered.
Remembered Kathryn.
She was sitting on the verandah, her hair long and black, and she was talking. Her voice was far away at first, distant and muffled, but then it got louder. Louder and clearer.
I've always loved mountain homes, and have stayed in quite a few log cabins, but have never seen one as majestical as this. It's truly amazing. And the location...magnificent. A place where the mountains really do meet the sea...
A memory.
This was definitely a memory. A confirmation. A confirmation that she'd been here. A confirmation that they'd known each other. And then...
And then another memory followed.
You're right. I do have blanks. But I've figured things out. We came back here for...you know...and I passed out. You could have taken what you wanted anyway, and to be honest I couldn't care if you had, but you didn't and I guess that merits a thank you from me. A thank you and an apology for not living up to expectation.
Kathryn's voice, Kathryn's face, and yet...
And yet not Kathryn. The Kathryn he knew would never talk like this. And yet...
She would sleep with strangers but she wouldn't sleep with me.
Sleep with strangers.
Even if that was true, even if Kathryn had once been promiscuous, he had never been. Never would he have picked her up for sex. He wasn't that kind of guy.
Wasn't that kind of guy.
In his memory, a bell rang.
And what is 'that kind of guy' exactly? Just what does that mean?
The words were Kathryn's and she was standing somewhere dark. Dark yet lighted. A place with trees. She was wearing some kind of costume, something white and gold, and her face was stained with tears.
...that's what you men are, isn't it? Beasts of lust that prey on women! So come on, Chakolee, take a piece of me! You know you want to!
Then he heard himself speak. Not all men are like that. If you think so, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that has been your experience.
Sorry? Sorry? I'm sorry that the only decent guy...the only decent guys...I ever knew are dead. Dead while bastards like you live! Do you know how that makes me feel, do you? Do you?
Then she was on the ground, sobbing against a tree trunk.
I hate this life. I hate it. I wish I was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
At her pain, Chakotay felt his heart hurt, felt it like he had that night, felt it anew. And then, in his memory, he was talking again. Talking to Kathryn.
I'm a good listener. If you want, we can go back to my place, sober you up, and chat over coffee.
Chat? Do you suppose we'd just chat?
Yes. As I told you earlier, I'm not that kind of guy.
And what is 'that kind of guy' exactly? Just what does that mean?
And there the scene stopped.
But the rest he could guess. The vision he'd had while putting Kathryn to bed drunk on Voyager helped him to. After this exchange, Kathryn had taken up his offer, beamed with him to his lodge, and fallen asleep while they talked. Not wanting to leave her in his lounge, he had carried her to his guestroom and put her to bed.
It all made sense. Finally the pieces were coming together. After their disastrous first date, they had met again years later, met at what seemed to be a party, something told him a fancy dress ball, and they'd spent time at his lodge.
But how much time? Just what had they been to each other?
When the lodge could give no more answers, Chakotay walked away from it towards the steps that led to the beach. They were still there, still in use, and were calling him to the shore. The shore that was windy and wild. But the tide, while coming in, was far enough way to make the beach walkable. Slowly, Chakotay made his way down the worn, stony steps, and then he walked across the sand. The surrounding cliffs did much to protect him from the wind and he walked in their shelter towards the cave. As he did, he tried to remember the walk in his dream, the walk he had made with Kathryn, and he found that he could. In his memory he could see Kathryn beside him, her face younger, her hair black, and she was wearing the clothes she had worn in his dream. The flowing blue skirt that had blown in the breeze as she danced. And, as he walked, he could hear their conversation. Kathryn was asking about the steps, how long they had been there and who had made them, and he was telling her their history. Then they were talking about the beach, how delightful and charming it was, and his own words answered the question of where and when he'd told Kathryn that he loved to see the sea in all its moods. Then they were looking at an albatross, a white one perched on a rock, and then they were walking to the cave. Walking through the rocks he was walking through now. And then...
And then he was in the present.
Kathryn's ghost was gone and he was alone. Alone inside the cave. The cave that had been his for so long. The cave that had once lit up as he entered and welcomed him. Now the cave was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the blackness. But, when they did, he saw that his cupboard was still there. Still there and still locked. With tears in his eyes he went over to it and touched it. He hadn't expected it to be there. Even though there was no reason why it shouldn't be, especially as it was weatherproof, somehow he'd expected it to be gone. Torn down by another occupant, perhaps, hacked to pieces by birds. But it was still in once piece and exactly as he'd left it. So was the cave. His seats of rock were still there and, embedded in the rock, were his lights. They were all unbroken and clearly just needed new battery cells. If someone had come here, they'd left everything alone, but Chakotay doubted that anyone had. In all the years it had been his, no one had ever come, so thinking about it logically, it was unlikely anyone had found it in the years since he'd left. Few people used the beach and even fewer regularly.
After looking at the cupboard for a while, Chakotay ventured to open it. The handle was mechanical, with a lock built into it, and the doors designed to open when the handle was turned clockwise and counterclockwise in the right sequence. The sequence Chakotay remembered, it was ingrained into his brain, and the doors, though a bit stiff, opened easily. As they did, Chakotay looked inside the cupboard, and found himself looking at the past. For there, inside the cupboard, were his belongings of yesteryear. There were gadgets and tools, blankets and books, paper and pens, a tricorder, a camera, a box of miscellany, a medkit and a mini replicator. They were all in pristine condition, as though time had not touched them, and while they were just everyday objects, to Chakotay they were special. Almost everything he'd ever owned had gone up in flames with his lodge, and what hadn't had been destroyed with his ship at the Caretaker's array. Nothing, not one single thing, did he have from his life before Voyager. But now he had these. All these. And his camera. The camera he'd had since his Academy days. The camera that had taken thousands of photos over the years. Photos of places, photos of people, photos of his lodge, and photos of his family. Slowly, carefully, Chakotay reached for the camera and picked it up. It was blue in color, his favorite midnight shade, and was lightweight and slim. For a long moment he just gazed at it, hardly believing it was in his hand, then he pressed the on switch. He had no idea if it would still work, or if it did work whether the power cell still held charge, but to his joy it came on. Came on as though it had only been used yesterday. Its viewscreen illuminated, showing an eagle in flight, and then the menu displayed. An amber light flashed, warning that power levels were low, but as they were not critical, Chakotay sat on one of his rock seats and checked the camera's archives. Every photo he had ever taken he had kept in the camera's memory, just as a backup, and if the camera was working properly, then they would be still there. Every photo he'd thought lost forever.
And they were.
They were still in the memory. Every photo. Every album. With tears in his eyes, Chakotay looked through the last album and saw pictures of his lodge just days before he'd torched it. The sun was shining, the skies blue, and a stag with magnificent antlers was on the lawn. Then the pictures changed to stones and statues, the stones and statues of an alien ruin he'd come across on a planet in deep space, and then...
And then to pictures of his family.
They were sitting around a fire, in traditional Indian costume, and were smiling and laughing. In one, his mother was roasting nuts, in another, his brothers and sisters were gathered for a group shot, and in another, his youngest sister, Treyala, was pulling faces. The twelve year-old girl looked a lot like him and Chakotay smiled through tears at her smile. She had always been so full of life, so bubbly and funny, and that was how he was determined to remember her. For so long all he had felt at the memory of his family was pain. But that was not what they would want. They would want him to remember them with love and laugher. And this, his camera, this he believed was their gift to him. A reminder that they would always be with him. The worlds of the living and the dead, his mother had always said, are not totally separate. The dead still have a care for us. This camera was their gift, and their blessing. Theirs and his father's. For amongst the pictures was one of his father. He was sitting on a rock, a hat on his head, and was smiling. Smiling a smile that Chakotay took as his blessing.
For a long time Chakotay looked through the pictures, reliving the moment they were taken as he did, but then, conscious of the incoming tide, he switched it off and slipped it into a jacket pocket. Then, after deciding to leave the rest of his belongings were they were for the moment, he locked the cupboard and made to leave. The sea was close now, a little too close for comfort, but years of experience told him there was time enough to cross the beach before the tide cut off this part of the bay. At the mouth of the cave, Chakotay looked out at the small patch of sand before it, sand that was windswept but dry, and in his mind's eye he saw Kathryn dance upon it like she had in his dream. Her hair was once again long and black, and she was sweeping across the sand with the elegance and grace of the music that was playing.
Tchaikovsky's Dance of The Sugar Plum Fairy.
Then he could see her sitting behind him, sitting on a rock and speaking.
When I was a child I had a holo-program set in such a place and I spent hours playing there. I'd dress up as a fairy, always a purple dress, and fly with the other fairies over ponds or dance with them in a ring. Every time we danced, elves and pixies would play Dance of The Sugar Plum Fairy on flutes and fiddles...
But then the vision and the memory was gone.
Slowly, Chakotay turned back to the shrinking patch of sand outside his cave and walked out to it. For some reason he was compelled to. Compelled to walk and look at the rocks. Wild waves were crashing against them now, spraying the air with foam, but as he looked at them, Chakotay found himself looking at something else. Looking at a memory, partaking in it. Kathryn, still in the flowing skirt and still with her hair black, was climbing them. Climbing them with a foolhardy confidence.
I wouldn't go that way if I were you, he heard himself say. There's no passageway and climbing the rocks is dangerous.
But Kathryn didn't listen, instead she kept on climbing, and then...
And then she fell. Fell hard against the rocks, smacking her leg and her side. He felt the alarm of the moment, but then Kathryn was on her feet again, on her feet and declaring she was fine.
Fine, yet not fine.
She was hurt, limping, and needing his help. Slowly they walked to his cave, their arms linked, and then...
And then nothing.
The past was once again the present and he was alone.
Alone and back inside the cave. Chakotay sat again, hoping more memories would come to him, but they did not. All he could see was the rock around him and the sea edging ever closer, and all he could hear was the wind and the waves singing their ancient song. Bits and pieces. That's all he had. Bits and pieces of a time that had clearly been one of the most important of his life. And the irony was overwhelming. For so long he had dismissed those lost years as insignificant, yet in them he'd spent time with the most significant person in his life. If only he could remember it all. If only he could remember more than just one day. If only he could paint a complete picture. For pieces were still missing.
And then...
Just as he was getting up to walk back along the beach, he saw Kathryn on the floor. She was lying on a blanket, her head on a pillow, and he was treating her injuries. Treating them and talking. And then...
And then she was crying, recoiling from him in terror, clutching a rock.
Then her ghost faded away and another took her place. A Kathryn who was back on his balcony, sitting beneath the stars, a Kathryn he was talking to.
Someone with a vision greater than ours once said that we are a match made in the stars. I think she might be right. I feel an affinity between us that I've never felt with anyone. Just give me a chance, Kathryn. I know you've been hurt. What happened in the cave...I know someone hurt you...
Someone hurt you...
Tears filled Chakotay's eyes at the memory. Someone had hurt Kathryn. Hurt her so much that a man's touch had made her recoil like a frightened animal. And, knowing Kathryn, he knew that man wasn't an abusive father. Even though her father hadn't been around much when she was growing up, it was clear from the way she had always talked about him that she had adored him. That could only mean another man had hurt her. Not a torturer, for had she ever been captured and tortured, it would be on her record, so the man had to be a lover, a colleague, an acquaintance, or a stranger. And the hurt...the one thing he had always feared for her in the delta quadrant, sexual assault. Now all the pieces came together and painted a clear picture. And with that clarity came pain. Pain, anger and frustration. How had he been so blind? Even without their past connection, all the signs had been there: the way Kathryn had behaved on New Earth, the night-clothes she had worn; her lack of self-care; her self-isolation; the way she had always blown hot and cold, letting him in so far but not all the way; the things she'd said after the incident with Ezran, and the cutting of her hair; and the way she'd broken into tears that one night they'd started to make love. Couldn't be his lover and his captain, she had said, that a relationship was out of the question. And he, like an idiot, had believed it. Believed everything she'd said, everything she'd wanted him to believe. But evidently she had suffered another flashback that night. In his arms, his loving arms that would never hurt her, she had relived an unspeakable horror. A horror he would die to protect her from. Dammit! Why hadn't she told him? Why had she never told him? If she had, then everything would have been so different. He'd have been there for her, loved her and supported her, and helped her to heal. But instead she had shut him out and suffered alone. Shut him out the way she always did. And that...it angered him. Angered and hurt him. Hurt him for all her needless pain, for his, and for what could have been between them. But mostly he was angry at the man who had hurt her. As angry as hell. So angry that he wanted to kill him. Wanted to make him suffer for the suffering he had caused...
But anger would achieve nothing. Achieve nothing because it would change nothing. Change nothing but him...
Tearfully, he leant against the cave's jagged wall and took deep breaths to calm himself. Calm himself and remember more. Remember everything. Who had hurt Kathryn? When? Clearly a man before Mark, maybe even before Justin. Maybe as a child or...
No, he would not go down that road. He would not try to guess. It could have been any man, any where, at any time. All he could do was try to remember...try to remember if she'd told him who...
But nothing.
Either she had not told him or he could not remember. All he could hear was Mark's words...
She would sleep with strangers but she wouldn't sleep with me.
Sleep with strangers. Now he finally understood. Kathryn, like so many other victims of sexual assault or abuse, had fallen into a promiscuous lifestyle as a way of channeling and numbing her pain. Sex then was just sex, a physical act only, an act without any emotional attachment. A self-punishment, a self-despising, a cry for help unheard. A silent scream in hell.
Drunk.
Kathryn had been drunk that night he'd taken her back to his lodge. Drunk and throwing herself at men. He remembered it all now. Remembered her proposition at the bar, remembered her leaving with another man, and remembered rescuing her from another in the park.
Drunk and reckless.
Teresa's words.
But drunk and hurting. Hurting more than most people could imagine. Hurting so much that all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her tight forever...
But she had never let him. Had never shared her pain. Always she had pushed him away. Pushed him away on Voyager, pushed him away before...
I won't hurt you. I don't expect you to trust my word, trust isn't intrinsic it has to be earned, but I'd like you to give me the chance to earn your trust.
But she hadn't given him that chance. Instead she had walked away. Walked away and out of his life. He remembered now. Remembered their goodbye. And that was why he could only remember one day. There had only ever been one day. One day at his lodge. They had parted with a kiss, and a promise on her part that if she changed her mind, and wanted to see him again, she would get in touch.
Get in touch...
The strawberries...
She had come to the hospital, to get back in touch, only to learn he wouldn't remember her.
Damn the fates for that!
They could have been happy, could have lived the life he'd always dreamed of, the life every part of him yearned for. And that...it was hard take. So hard to take...
But then everything had to happen as it had to happen. A destinty greater than theirs was at stake. They were not meant to know each other then, not meant to be together.
If we're destined, Chakotay, if there really is such a thing, then we'll find each other again.
Kathryn's words came back to him. Came back to him and comforted him. It was true. If they were destined to be together, then somehow, some way, they would come together. There was no point dwelling on the regrets and if-onlys of yesteryear. Those years were gone. Gone forever. What mattered now was the future. And that he was determined to make better.
To make better from this moment on.
Wiping away his tears, he hit his commbadge, requested a beam out, and then dematerialized.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
