a/n: for Ariella884; who had a terrible day and the only thing I could do to make it better - because she's on the wrong side of the Atlantic - was write fic.
thank you to Caledenia for the wonderful beta; and for fixing the fact that I still cannot use tenses correctly.
For the road ahead is anything but simple
"What searching miles did you drag your pain that were for me plain paving,
albeit pecked by the odd, stray historic bullet?"
– Ted Hughes: "Your Paris"
The first time I see him, he is standing beside Kathryn and smiling at me hesitantly through the computer terminal in my kitchen. She introduces him to me only as Commander Chakotay. He offers a polite greeting, tugging on his ear in a way that tells me he is slightly uncomfortable, before excusing himself and leaving the room.
I watch quietly as Kathryn turns her head for a spilt second, her eyes following the commander as he exits the door behind her, before she looks back to me with an amused expression. She then continues our conversation – one of the first we've had since Voyager was lost – as if nothing out of the ordinary has just occurred.
I don't pretend that I know in that moment, though it sparks suspicions that stays with me for the next few weeks and I'm so distracted that I never get around to asking her what is so amusing.
I barely take heed of our discussion, for I am thinking that in all her letters - and there has been a few by now – that she has spoken often of the man who has been by her side for seven years. She speaks of his loyalty, of his unwavering strength and of how he was instrumental in combining their two crews.
Though she never says the words aloud, I can read between the lines; even more so now I have a face to fit with a name. The feelings of mutual respect, devotion and friendship are peppered underneath the rigid tone of the Starfleet-like report structure her letters – and now our video link - have taken on.
It is what she doesn't say that has me curious.
For I know my daughter. And she speaks her mind with everything but her heart.
The first time I meet him, the crew of the USS Voyager have been home on Earth for twenty-three days. This time, he is introduced as "my first officer, Commander Chakotay," and I instantly notice her need to draw a line in the sand.
His rank is a comfort to her, and a barrier to them both. My curiosity is heightened as the man bends down to give me a polite kiss on the cheek and I catch Kathryn gazing at us with the same focus she usually reserves for going into battle.
He is taller than I expect, the small viewscreen through which our communications have taken place until this moment doing nothing to distinguish the height difference between the two of them nor speak of the breadth of his shoulders and the gracefulness with which he carries himself.
"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Mrs. Janeway."
His voice rolls over me, and I grin. "Gretchen," I counter. There is something about the title Mrs. Janeway that makes me feel far older than I care to be. I haven't been addressed by such a moniker in years. At least, not since the days I attended official functions at the arm of my husband.
He inclines his head slightly, accepting my offer to begin our friendship on a more casual basis. Although I am aware of Kathryn's penetrative stare, I am overwhelmed by the need to let this man know just how much I owe him, though I hardly know him.
"Thank you, Commander," I say. I'm not sure two simple words can ever portray enough gratitude.
He looks slightly perplexed.
"For everything you did to help Kathryn," I explain. "Because, I am sure my daughter didn't tell you nearly enough."
The words are out of my mouth before I realise what I've said. It is not a habit of mine to blurt things out so uncontained and something tells me that I have inadvertently stepped on a sensitive point.
He grins, covering up the unease well. "It was my pleasure."
As they move off to speak to other members of the crew's family, Kathryn's look turns icy in a way that tells me I need to let sleeping dogs lie.
Only it is a trait of mine - that's definitely been passed on to my children – to never leave curiosity unsatisfied.
He is not the man I would have chosen for my daughter.
A prisoner. A wanted man. A traitor in every sense of the word to the principles and ideals that my daughter – and her father before her - has upheld so resolutely for her entire life.
He is neither an officer nor an academic.
He is not the man I see her with for a lifetime of companionship. Then again, neither was Justin and Mark satisfied the definition of companion just a little bit too well.
There is little question as to the hardships Chakotay has been dealt throughout his tumultuous life, for they are written all over his face. I see what Kathryn has failed to tell me; I see how he grieves for his homeland, how he tempered his anger long ago but how it still simmers beneath the surface.
I see with the utmost clarity why she has failed to tell him how much he means to her. His resemblance to the ghosts that live in Kathryn's past is not lost on me and it's got me slightly unnerved.
Though I also see something else. I see how he respects and cares for my daughter, far beyond the requirement of a dutiful first officer. I see it in the way he smiles at her, and how he moves his eyes over her face when they speak, lingering just that little bit too long.
I am the wife of an admiral, and the mother of a captain. Command team dynamics are not new to me for I have been around them most of my adult life.
And yet, as I observe the two of them from my quiet corner; the way they stand just that little bit too close, or the way in which he folds down ever so slightly as she reaches up so that their heights are a little better matched - I cannot help but give in to my curiosity as to the true nature of their relationship.
Perhaps that is why, not ten minutes later, I invite him to dinner.
"You invited him for dinner?"
Her words are clear, tinged with a sharp undertone and a thinly veiled warning. I know her well, and that in turn tells me this turn of events has come as a surprise to her. I admit quietly to myself that I hadn't foreseen the possibility that she would disagree.
"Yes," I state assuredly. "His family are still a few days away from arriving and I didn't think your first officer would appreciate more Starfleet replicated food in that place they pass off as reasonable accommodation."
I've yet to refer to him by his given name.
She regards me for a moment, standing on the threshold of the kitchen as she debates internally how far to push this. Five seconds later, and her stubbornness and need to win at all costs prevails.
"It's hardly appropriate for a command team to dine with family."
"Please, Kathryn," I toss airily. "You're hardly a conventional command team. Surely dinner isn't outside the realm of normalcy for you two?"
She tosses me a look that I haven't seen for seven years, a look that tells me instantly to halt my line of thought. I narrow my eyes but say nothing further, turning back to the old-fashioned stove to stir the casserole – vegetarian to cater to his tastes, because I'm sure Kathryn mentioned it once in her letters.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my daughter chewing her lip thoughtfully, lost in a memory I cannot see.
As I turn the vegetables over in the cast iron pot, I wonder what it is about the words dinner and command team that prompt that far off look in her eye, and what it is she refuses to say.
The doorbell rings just as I am preparing the last of the meal. Call me a product of the old days but I happen to like the notion of a bell chiming to signal the arrival of a guest. It's familiar, and grounding in a way that keeps us tied to the past. Not everything has to be about tricorders and technology.
The stove in my kitchen is proof of that, though it's a reminder of my slight disappointment that I was unable to pass on the mastery of such a device to Kathryn. I love her, but the woman can barely use a replicator. The thought only adds another layer to my curiosity as to how she managed to feed herself for seven years, though something tells me her first officer took on that role.
I step toward the front door, pulling it open as I wipe a hand on my apron.
He's rugged up in a thick coat, scarf pulled tight around his neck. Suddenly, it occurs to me that he may not be used to Indiana winters. The temperature in San Francisco a few weeks earlier was considerably milder by comparison.
"Gretchen," he greets, stepping inside as I move to make way. He bends down to politely kiss my cheek again and pressed a bottle of wine into my hands. Pulling off his coat, he fills the entry way in our home, and secretly I like the fact that he has remembered to call me by my first name.
I take his heavy overcoat, balancing it with the wine but still manage to hang it on the hook behind me. As I turn, I glimpse Kathryn coming down the hallway. The doorbell has probably roused her from whatever piece of work she's gotten herself lost in since our conversation earlier in the day. Despite her previous trepidation at our unexpected dinner guest, she's never been one for rudeness.
I am, however, a little unprepared for the reaction that arises the second she steps out into the small corridor surrounding the aged mahogany door. Idling by the threshold, the corner of her mouth begins to quirk up in a small smile and I hear the sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind me.
She stares at him for what seems like an eternity, as though she is seeing him in an entirely different light. He is different in the absence of his uniform; more like a man and less like an officer. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and even I am surprised at the intensity with which he breathes her name.
"Kathryn."
Dinner is, for the most part, a success. The arrival of Phoebe and her whirlwind of a family offers a distraction or two as I hover between the dining room and the kitchen. Kathryn seems to take the opportunity to transform herself back into command mode; ordering her niece and nephew around with a well-meaning directness to her voice.
The children sit quieter at the table than I've come to expect of them, eating their meal with little protest. It strikes me again in those moment just how naturally command comes to my daughter; that controlling two young children is just "part of the job", although it's probably come from having to deal with Tom Paris as well. It's something that doesn't come easily to everyone, and the ability to have such authority with mere presence is a trait that is rarely learnt.
Chakotay for his part speaks quietly with Phoebe and her husband, laughing politely at their jokes and partaking in conversation. The discussion slowly turns to the adventures of the Delta Quadrant; tales of far away world's that I am sure are tempered down for the benefit of the two young members of the family seated at the table.
If this were one of the romantic novels I'm prone to reading, I'd see him glancing at my daughter, a look of adoration ghosting his features as he speaks of their journey and remembers the moments he started to fall in love with her. She'd look back after his own gaze had faded away, the same look passing over her own face as she remembers the times they shared and the feelings she has long-since tried to bury.
Only life isn't like a romance novel, and no looks of desire pass between them. Their story telling is animated, punctuated with junctures of laughter and tinged with sadness. They speak of exploration, first contacts and the times that almost broke them. Not once do they give any indication of a relationship that extended beyond the realms of command.
It makes me realise what seven years of maintaining the persona of an officer have taken from them both and causes me to doubt my earlier suspicions.
I am not sure what it was that I was expecting to come out of inviting Chakotay to dinner. Maybe it was to get to know him a little bit more, or perhaps it was simply that the commander had played such a big part in Kathryn's life that I feel I owe it to him in some way.
It is for this reason, as I clear away the dishes from our dinner, that I feel as if I have misjudged their relationship entirely and the way he breathed her name an hour or so before meant nothing at all.
Before dessert is served, the conversation has ebbed into something quieter, and I catch small snippets of it as I deposit small bowls containing my galactically famous (according to Kathryn) brownies and ice cream. My granddaughter has made her way onto Kathryn's lap, her head resting on my daughter's shoulder.
The commander's attention begins to drift a little and starts to focus on his former captain reading a book to the little girl. Maybe I haven't gotten their relationship that misconstrued after all. There's always something very romantic that comes seeing a woman with a small child in her arms.
Well, I think so anyway.
Kathryn sips idly on her coffee an reads a children's book to my granddaughter from an old-fashioned book that has somehow mysteriously appeared at the table in my absence, I notice that the commander's attention begins to drift a little and starts to focus on his former captain.
Oblivious to his distraction, she sips idly on her coffee and speaks with quiet exhilaration as she recounts the narrative of a caterpillar and his voracious appetite. It was Kathryn's favourite story as a young child, the morals from the ancient earth tale speaking from the pages of a paperback passed down through generations.
The original paperback that once belonged to Kathryn resides somewhere in the house, stored away for posterity with the hope that one day she will be able to pass it along to children of her own. Phoebe's own copy looks battered and well-worn as Kathryn turns the pages with the help of my granddaughter.
I settle myself down, choosing to forgo the dessert and instead drink a healthy cup of tea. The attention of our small gathering is focused solely on Kathryn and her niece, and I allow the unusually relaxing rasp of her voice to settle over me. It's a sound I never thought I hear again, and my mind begins to wander.
I think of my daughter as the captain of her starship, standing proud in the middle of her bridge with hands on her hips in a pose she adopted as a young teenager long ago. I imagine her, issuing commands with the crack of her voice to officers that are intensely loyal to her. But I also think of the things others wouldn't see; of the intense loneliness she would have felt at having a second fiancé ripped away from her, not by death but by distance this time.
But now I see her as she takes a moment to glace up and offer a small smile to the man sitting opposite. He inclines his head ever so slightly - a gesture so subtle its easily missed – and he returns to his tea with rapt attention.
I stand by my earlier assessment; he is not the man I would have chosen for my daughter.
I realise now that I would have had little say in the matter. Captains always make their own decisions.
It's late, and Phoebe with her husband have long since left with their tired tribe. The weather has closed in, coating the house in a thick blanket of eerie fog. For the most part, I've kept myself busy in the kitchen, pottering around the dining room and giving Kathryn a chance to talk to the commander. I've tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to overhear parts of their conversation as I entertain myself with odds and ends that probably don't actually need to be done at this time of day.
The two of them have moved into the sitting room and parked themselves on opposite ends of the large space. Kathryn cradles her third – fourth – cup of coffee for the evening. No wonder the woman never sleeps. The commander holds an empty mug of tea. They speak of crew members I have yet to meet, and some that I never will. She briefly talks about her debriefings, and he mentions something of future plans.
Neither address the resounding, choking tension, in the room.
I stand in the doorway now, about to wish them a goodnight with the hope that perhaps something will come out of my absence, though Kathryn spots me before I have the chance. She gets up immediately and Chakotay – whether by intention or merely habit forged over the years – does the same.
"I should get going, Gretchen. Thank you for a wonderful evening."
I open my mouth to protest, though once again Kathryn beats me to it.
"We've taken up enough of the commander's time, mother."
Knowing when I am beaten, I acquiesce. "Very well. It was lovely to have you here, and I very much enjoyed getting to know you a little bit better."
He comes to stand before me. smiling and I see him about to lean down to offer his customary peck on the cheek. I hold out my hand, stalling him in his progress. "I think we can move past such politeness, commander," I say, moving to hug him instead.
"In that case," he answers, words slightly muffled. "You can call me Chakotay."
He pulls back, still smiling down at me although I can see Kathryn out of the corner of my eye. She is standing off to the side, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully in a way that tells me she is unsure of something.
"Chakotay," I offer. "Please know you are welcome here anytime."
He nods, and Kathryn steps forward. "I'll see you out."
They both move off toward the front door, Kathryn yanking the old handle with a little bit more force than she normally would. I busy myself once again with tidying the sitting room before glancing out the front window to watch the two of them on the porch. The wind has picked up and I see it reflected in the way Kathryn's hair moves about her face.
As I watch them from my quiet corner, I see how she reaches up to kiss him goodnight lightly on the cheek. She lingers for just a moment longer than strictly necessary, and his hand grips hers just that little bit too tight. I can see the pull the moment they step back from each other, both holding a breath that refuses to break the moment.
He swallows thickly, dropping her hand and shoving his back into the pocket of his heavy overcoat. She crosses her arms, folding them over her chest and bracing against the cold. Time stands still, neither willing to say the one word that will end this moment. Though instead of goodbye, I watch his mouth move a second later as he utters her name.
She glances down as she answers him, a sure indication that Kathryn is uncomfortable with what she has to say. Nevertheless, her words are clear enough that I hear them through the glass windowpane.
"Thank you for coming tonight, Chakotay. I know it meant a lot to my mother," she pauses, unfolding her arms and fiddling with a thread on her sleeve. "It meant a lot to me."
He reaches out again, brushing a hand over her face as the dark rumble of his voice reaches me. "I'll always make time for you, Kathryn. You know that."
She looks up at him then and smiles. He steps forward, echoing his earlier movement and although I am sure he is about to kiss her, I choose to leave at that moment and offer them the privacy I am sure they never had aboard their Starship.
I spend a few minutes checking the house before making my way up the staircase toward my bedroom. I hear the front door close downstairs, signalling Kathryn making her way back into the house. I strain my ears, desperate to hear the sound of a second pair of footsteps in the hope that perhaps Chakotay followed her but am disappointed when I hear none.
I listen for a few more minutes but am only greeted by the sounds of Kathryn settling back into the couch with what is most likely another cup of coffee. Their relationship is perhaps more complicated than even they anticipated, and I know it's going to take them a while to find their feet. I am intrigued by it, my curiosity not yet satisfied despite the events of the evening.
I glance out into the foggy front yard, catching a final glimpse of Chakotay's form as he heads off home, and thankfully he isn't staying too far from here. I am a little saddened for them, although I admit that I do not know what I was expecting to come out of tonight.
It is not two hours later, on the edge of sleep, that I am jolted awake by the sound of the front door quietly closing. The noise echoes through the house, and I count Kathryn's footsteps on the icy grass from underneath my window as briskly moves off into the night.
It's not the first time she's snuck out of the house in the middle of the night, though hopefully it's going to be the last. I smile to myself, shutting my eyes and allowing sleep to drift over me once again, secure in the knowledge that I'm going to be making breakfast the same way I have for the last seven years - alone.
I have no doubt that the commander will be making breakfast for two… if they actually make it around to breakfast.
fin