Disclaimer: Not mine. Eeesh, already. The song doesn't belong to me either.



Chapter Nineteen



The Space Between
The tears we cry

Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain

But will I hold you again?
These fickle, fuddled words confuse me
Like 'Will it rain today?'
Waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games we're playing

We're strange allies
With warring hearts
What wild-eyed beast you be
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain



She slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted, one arm resting above her head and the other protectively across the small body that slept with equal peace on her chest -unconsciously looking for the comfort of it, that tiny presence. She had been awoken for the obligatory "three o'clock feeding" though it had been more like two o'clock. Thankfully she didn't have to make the trip twice, since the twins appeared to keep the same schedule.

Kathryn Janeway had fallen asleep on the couch with Acoya still cradled against her. She hadn't had the energy to do anything but turn him upright against her and arrange herself more comfortably. She had given a fleeting thought that it probably wasn't safe to fall asleep with a newborn in such a fashion, but she'd been too drained to lay him in the bassinet next to his sister.

It was sort of a makeshift arrangement. She had neither cradle nor room prepared for them, and had merely crept quietly into Chakotay's solemn house and effectively stolen the necessaries that Seven had accumulated. It had felt odd, very odd, to be in the house where Chakotay and Seven had lived together. She'd visited them there before, but her borderline breaking and entering now smacked of the sacrilegious to her.

She enjoyed her freedom of movement, her coffee, her lace-up shoes and the heady feeling of being completely and absolutely needed -day and night- by two small people she couldn't seem to stop staring at. She had considered motherhood before, but the reality was far different from vague ideas and occasional oohing over tiny clothes.

Kathryn grieved every day, even as she enjoyed herself.

Every unfocused, myopic look she received from her blue-eyed babies reminded her that they were not entirely hers -that she was usurping the ultimate rights of a dead woman. But she wondered if she could have handled it if Seven had been healthy enough to take care of the children. It was love at first sight, in the purest sense. How had she even presumed to think that she had enough personal strength to hand over two people who had been the focus of nine months of her life, without qualms? What an arrogant thought, to think she was strong enough. It was unworthy of her to be grateful that she didn't have to do that, because it only tied into the fact that Seven of Nine was dead. That was the only reason that Kathryn Janeway had children.

They were Chakotay's children too, but she didn't choose to inflict herself on him at a time like this, and so that effectively discounted the babies as well. Chakotay's children. She had given birth to and now cared for Chakotay's children. Some strange part of her gloried in possessing something so very important.

She loved him, she hurt for him, but that didn't matter. Didn't she feel so worthless now that she had said it? Said it on the day that his wife had died. What kind person was she to put that on his shoulders? She'd never speak it again. God, she was an idiot. Could she even bring herself to look him in the eye now? She felt like the worst kind of home wrecker, throwing herself at a man who was about to become a widower.

Coward, Kathryn Janeway.

She woke up, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Gently, she splayed her fingers across Acoya's back, feeling his rapid breathing as her slept, oblivious, on her chest. So peaceful. She was glad he didn't know.

The task of naming his small, dark-haired sister had fallen to her. It had not been a hard choice. She would remind herself where these children had come from for the rest of her life, and she would remind them for the rest of theirs. And so, Acoya had a sister named Annika. It fit, somehow.

She tried to keep from sobbing as she looked at her -their- daughter, who slept quietly in the bassinet that she had set beside the couch. If she shook, she would disturb Acoya. Couldn't have that. She woke up like this every day, knowing in her heart that she was not the intended mother of these two remarkable human beings.

I never let off, did I? I intrude so much. I'm sorry, Seven. I wonder why you didn't hate me the whole time. God, who am I fooling? You probably did.

She turned her head to look at the clock on the wall. Seven o'clock, later than she had expected. Today was the day. The day she dreaded. She had to go see Chakotay. God, what would she say to him now? The mistress showing up at the good wife's funeral. Wasn't it nearly the same, even if it had only been in their minds? She shuddered.

She picked up the battered pieces of her captain's mask and put it on, her tears ceasing, her guilt mercilessly stamped down in favour of What Must Be Done. She had a plan, didn't she? Something to make it a little better? She hoped desperately that it would, and probably vainly. But the idea stuck with her as sure as anything else. Today, she would ask Chakotay what he thought.

Carefully, she moved Acoya, who never stirred as she lay him in beside his sister. His tiny fist was against his mouth, a reflexive attempt at solace. It tore at her, even though she knew it only stemmed for a baby's God-given need to suck on things. Would that comfort was so easy for her -a pair of warm arms to hold her, perhaps coupled with a good meal.

Kathryn chewed on her lower lip, willing herself to forget about it and clean herself up. She took a bath -showers were off-limits because then she couldn't watch the babies. Dressing swiftly, she decided to forgo makeup, because she knew she would be bawling like an idiot before she even got to Chakotay's house.

"Damn," she cursed. In her haze, she had ripped a long run in her pantyhose. Hell with them anyhow, the dress was long. A black dress. She hated black, and for a day like today, it was nowhere near mournful enough. She needed something darker than black.

She dressed the still-sleeping babies warmly, retrieving a thick wool blanket that she had knitted in hopes of giving it to Seven. Taking the babies anywhere proved troublesome. The bassinet was far too big, and she didn't have much else to work with. But they were small, so she often resorted to carrying them in a strange sort of sling arrangement she had received from B'Elanna, because both babies fit in it so easily. A thoughtful, useful gift from her Chief Engineer. Five blocks . . . that was not far. She grabbed a small stack of padds off her table, just in case she got time to work on them. . . .

It turned out to be the longest five blocks in her life, even though nothing she carried was heavy. There was painful dread in each step. She didn't think she could bear to see the lost look in Chakotay's eyes that was sure to be there. How could she even go to his house today of all days? Yet, he had called and asked her to do so. How could she refuse him that?

So she walked with dreadful purpose, the Captain's cold, though muddled psyche dragging the rest of Kathryn Janeway along kicking and screaming that she didn't want to do it, that she couldn't do it. The Captain part of her didn't care, and classed it under What Must Be Done. The fallen mistress at the virtuous wife's funeral, children in tow. She shivered.

She began constructing mental barriers. I will not break down, he needs someone strong, to help him. I will not run away, I promised Seven that I would stay. I will not berate him, he does not need or want the Captain, but I will not break down. I am going to be stubborn as all hell about it. I have to be. But I will not be cold. She wouldn't. She would.

I will not dump my guilt on him, because it is mine.

She knocked cautiously on the door. Disrespect, to be going into her house to see her husband, on this, the day of her funeral. Impious, the devil going into the wake of the saint. Profanation. Chakotay had asked her here. It was What Must Be Done. She though consciously of the padds tucked into the bag she carried. Would that make anything better, would he agree that her plan was good, or would he say that it would only open old wounds? Hell with that defence, the wounds were still open. Would he help? Most of all, would he come with her?

The wretched mistress, on the doorstep of the worthy wife.

The door opened, and she jumped slightly. She looked at the man who stood there. He was not ready to go. He looked haunted. He had just showered, it seemed, in preparation, but was not dressed right. Chakotay wore what he might any day. Not clothes for this day. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, at the barely-awake babies she had with her. He looked at her.

"I . . . I can't do it, Kathryn. I can't go," he said, shaking his head.

She shushed him gently, shaking her head. "Then you don't have to. It's all right, Chakotay."

The padds. The carefully written letter. The plan in her mind. Would he agree?

"Thank you."

"You don't need my permission." For God's sake, you don't. "If you don't want to go, then you can stay here. You don't need excuses. Anyone who even wonders doesn't deserve the time of day from you."

He passed a hand over his eyes. Curiously, they did not look as soulless as she had imagined that they would. I will not break down. "I just can't stand . . . to see her buried. How can she be dead, Kathryn?" He looked like he wanted to weep, but it appeared he had no tears left.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem real, does it?"

"Kathryn . . . will you stay here, with me?"

I promised Seven. "If that's what you want."

Would he agree with what she was trying to do, or would it hurt him? Would he go with her? Would Tom and B'Elanna? Tuvok? Harry? Would they?

He moved aside from the door, allowing her in. Irreverence . . . what was she doing here? This was Seven's house, where she had lived with Chakotay. What was she doing here? How could he bear it? Wasn't it all just a reminder? Would what she was going to do only remind him?

Seven kept a comfortable house, she though disjointedly, looking about her. She had only been here a few times, long ago. It had changed. She liked it, it seemed like a place that Seven would live, ordered and clean. Aesthetic to a fault. It seemed so empty. Seven belonged here.

"This is nice, Chakotay," she blurted. Idiot, she could have controlled herself.

He gave a small laugh behind her. Laugh? Ye gods, a real genuine laugh. Was he crazy? "What were you expecting?" he murmured. "Blue and green pinstripe?"

Her tongue got away again. "Oh shut up. Don't bring that up, not today." She coloured. Callous idiot, I told myself that I wouldn't berate him. Now I won't, dammit.

He didn't look hurt, instead he looked like he understood. He still looked haunted. "I'm sorry," he said. "Careless of me."

Out of pure impulse, she deposited Acoya in his father's arms. Chakotay looked positively confounded for a moment, staring down at the blue-eyed infant who was somehow already his very image but for that. He visibly shook. It occurred to her that he had only held the babies once since their birth.

"Mr. Chakotay," she said, moving closer. "Your children. Acoya and Annika."

Perhaps, there were still tears in him. He smiled though. "You named her."

"I did. Is it all right?"

He let out a breath, looking at her with so much reverence that it pained her. She didn't deserve it, not from him. "All right? It's more than all right. Thank you, Kathryn."

Acoya let out a small wail, echoed by his sister immediately. She grimaced foolishly, feeling her milk let down. She had been in a rush. It was far past time to feed them again. She moved out of the front hall and into the living room. The babies wailed again.

"Shh, you're getting me soaked. Hold on a second," she muttered, fumbling at the buttons in the front of her dress. "I hope you don't mind, Chakotay."

He entered with Acoya, looking ambiguous. "I don't begrudge them their breakfast."

"Good, or they'd never forgive me. There," she said to their baby daughter, who nursed zealously. "Happy now?"

Chakotay watched her, and she found herself blushing slightly. Couldn't he be a gentleman and just ignore the fact that most of her chest was bared? She did blush, very conscious of herself and the fact that her blush wasn't limited to her face.

"Sorry," Chakotay said, taking a clue immediately for once.

"It's all right."

Chakotay in the chair across from her, looking somehow defeated. Acoya fussed, waving helpless fists in the air. Somehow he always knew when he was being left out of a meal.

Despite her rigidly controlled thoughts, she felt the small pickle of familiarity creep into her. She sighed. Not every fantasy of the lonely Starfleet Captain involved . . . sex, now had it? All right, there! She'd admitted to what had driven her to such excesses of coffee and stress at intervals. Not every time though. Sometimes she'd got on that unwanted train of thought . . . that led to outright domesticity. The familiarness of it wracked her to the core, sitting there with him and their children. She had dreamed this, had she not? No, Seven had not figured in.

She sighed again. This was not as it should be. Nothing was.

It would never be the same.

But could she retrieve some of it? For posterity's sake?

She gestured with her chin towards the bag she had brought, to the padds sticking out the side. "Chakotay, if you can reach them, get those padds out. I have something I need to talk with you about. I . . . realize that this is a very bad time but . . . I need my First Officer behind me, hmm?"

A flicker of recognition lit his eyes. He knew business when it was coming, this was no time to sit and lament even if that's what they both wanted. Today was the day of Seven's burial, yet they did not want to see or think of it. This needed to be let out. Seven wouldn't have dawdled around, now would she? He rose carefully, cradling his fidgeting son. He pulled out the first padd.

"This one?" he inquired, looking at her with slight curiosity.

"Yes," she said, a nervous lump forming in her throat. "Read it."

This time he sat beside her, his eyes scanning the padd carefully. His eyes widened with astonishment, and he looked at her with open stupefaction that was uncoloured by his grief for once. She couldn't help but love it. Chakotay as he should be, untroubled if but a little bewildered by something.

He blinked as if trying to clear his eyes. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. So far so good. "What do you think?"

He shook his head slightly. "Do you even need to ask?"



To be continued

***