Disclaimer: Et Tu, Braga? Voyager is owned by the lovely Paramount-people...
They sat in the pine paneled breakfast room which, to Janeway, seemed to have considerably reduced in size over the years. Her mother, now a slightly older, slightly greyer version of her former self, had changed merely in those effects which generally accompany age. Yet in age even, her piercing blue eyes still held the same unspoken strength and determination with which her eldest daughter was familiar.
"How does it feel to be back home?" Gretchen Janeway poured steaming mugs of vanilla blend, placing both on the antique oak table--an heirloom passed down through generations of Janeways.
"Not quite as I'd expected." Kathryn answered. "A welcoming banquet, commendations...but none of that matters as much as I'd thought it would."
"How so?"
"They took my crew away." The sigh that was emitted held exhaustion, contempt, and the briefest flash of anger. "My first officer, chief engineer...helmsman. It was Tom Paris, Mama. Owen's son...he'd improved so much over six years."
"That was your mission though, wasn't it?" He mother reached out a comforting hand, covering that of her eldest. "To catch the Maquis, and bring Tom back to New Zealand?"
"Should I choose to accept it, yes." Voyager's Captain quoted the age old saying with a grim, set expression. "And I did...for a while. But as the years passed...it became more difficult for all of us."
"You mean for you."
"Yes, for me." She took a sip of coffee and allowed herself a moment of vacancy, staring past her mother and through the open window. A robin fluttered past, the cornstalks held their ranks in the distant field. Everything was...and wasn't...perfect. "But I wasn't all that mattered anymore."
"Kathryn, sweetheart--"
"Don't say it like that, please." She took another drink, shaking her head in slow insistance. "He used to say it that way...so often...and with that damned sensitivity of his. It was...wonderful when I heard it, and so much worse when he didn't say anything at all."
"Mark? Are you talking about Mark?"
"No."
"Then who?" Gretchen looked down at the letter which Mark had given her prior to his marriage. I'm sorry, Gretchen, for all the inconvenience I may have caused your family...and Kathryn.
"Chakotay." She stood, moving toward the window and lowering the sash, closing out every twitter of birdsong, every burst of chilish laughter. "He was my first officer. The Maquis Captain. It was harder to me to accept my mission when I learned that, indeed, I had fallen in love with him. But you already know that."
"I did." Her mother admitted. "I knew, but I was waiting to hear that from you. Out loud, as you know your father would have wanted."
"Daddy wouldn't approve."
"He would...if he knew how happy you'd be."
"It doesn't matter now." Agitation crossed her features. "They're all with Owen...I'm not sure what happens next, but I can't say that I expect a positive outcome. There are no Maquis left...the threat may be viewed as minor."
"It's not just a threat, honey. Say his name."
"Chakotay." Still came no relief, however, even after returning to the table and sipping at what turned out to be lukewarm coffee. No relief, no release of the tension which plagued her shoulders and poked so irritably into her lower back. It was all suffering, and she'd gladly pay the price until she saved what was important.
He stared out the window. It was cold that night, as cold as Starfleet could allow it to be, before they could be considered in violation of prisoner protocol.
A prisoner, that's what he was. One of Starfleet's prized trophies--a living, breathing Maquis officer, retrieved by the pride and joy of Starfleet...one Kathryn Janeway. She hadn't turned them in herself, hadn't even spoken up when they'd beamed to the surface. Everyone had assumed the assumable--she'd brought the Maquis to justice.
But they were wrong. Everyone was, as they'd failed to piece together what had been laid out directly in front of them. "I love you, Kathryn."
"I love you, too." He glanced up, the moonlight that filtered through his window catching the fine indigo tattoo on his temple. "Chakotay, I've come to get you out of here."
"Kathryn." She stood, cloaked in darkness, by the forcefield that separated him from the world. "What are you doing here?"
"Owen let me have a few minutes." She moved forward, and in the light he saw her haggard expression. "I've pulled in a few favors...just to see you for a short time."
"You didn't have to."
"Yes I did. I've managed to get immunity for everyone, Chakotay, and they're getting out tomorrow."
"That's good." He was pleased for his crew. B'Elanna and Tom would be together, surely, and Gerron was likely to pursue his interests outside of Starfleet. They were free.
"But I couldn't save you." Her regret was evident. "They say you're too important to them...you have knowledge that few other Maquis possess, or are willing to part with. Owen is transferring you to New Zealand...where Tom used to be."
"I understand."
"That's not it." She stepped closer still. "You don't have to understand, Chakotay. I'm not letting you stay here."
His eyes sparkled in amusement. "Always the determined, Kathryn. You can't just break me out of here."
"You forget...I still have a say at what happens around Starfleet. After all, I am the woman who brought Voyager back." The cloak rippled, and from beneath she extracted a metallic cylinder. "Just tell my mother, Chakotay....tell her 'Sometimes, we have to."
"What--" He watched her fire, the smooth amber beam striking her down at close range, the cylinder clattering to the floor, and a lone PADD tumbling to a rest beside it.
He always wondered what the PADD said.
All he knew was that Starfleet released him a week later, and nothing more was said. Nothing until he left to visit Gretchen, and discovered Kathryn's will, recorded and left in her bedroom.
I, Kathryn Janeway, hereby request as my final wishes that each and every Maquis officer be released and cleared of charges...and that Chakotay go free as well. He needs to be provided for...
And an addendum. A last thought, marked for his eyes.
Tell him I love him.