Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; they belong to Paramount. The idea for this fic came from the song "Beautiful
Goodbye" by Amanda Marshall.
Spoilers: Well, "Endgame," obviously.
Rating: PG
BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE
Chakotay walked slowly through the streets of San Francisco, knowing he should turn around and go back to Seven...Annika. It was
still a little odd to think of her as that; she had been Seven of Nine up until the day they got married. But he didn't want to go home to
their apartment just yet. Instead, he watched as the sun slowly sunk behind another set of buildings. How long had it been since they
had gotten married? Six, maybe seven months...the baby was due any day now.
He looked to his left before crossing the street and immediately wished he hadn't. *Why do I always walk this way?* he asked
himself. This was a street full of memories that belonged to another lifetime, another Chakotay...another woman.
Real alcohol. Neither of them could figure out how the bar had gotten alcohol, but they had enjoyed it. The bottles of wine had
come and gone off the table, then ale, then shots. He drank too much that night, preparing himself for what he had to tell her. She had
only been moderately tipsy. *Always in control, aren't you? Never one for anything but moderation.*
Finally, the bartender had kicked them out at 0200 hours. He'd stumbled and staggered out the door, laughing loudly. She had laughed
too, and the combined sound was harsh bouncing off the tall buildings onto the empty streets. But she had helped him walk, gently
directing him towards his apartment.
Appropriately, Chakotay's walk took him right past the apartment in question. The memories became more vivid as he looked at the
railing, the front light, the steps...
If it had been any other life time, her words would have made him leap for joy. But as they had stood on his doorstep, arms wrapped
around each other, she told him that she loved him. In a surprisingly weak moment, she leaned forward to kiss him. But he had pushed
her away. He had a confession of his own to make, after all. That was why they had come out tonight.
*I wish you had told me sooner,* he thought, even now. Her face had fallen, as he told her the truth. He was going to marry Seven of
Nine; they were expecting a baby. It was the right thing to do.
She had understood. Of all the women in the world, he knew she would understand. She had congratulated him, and given him a kiss on
the cheek before helping him to open the door. She wouldn't be coming to the wedding, she said, but she would definitely send some
baby clothes their way. Another kiss on the cheek, and the words he hated--"Goodbye, Chakotay."
Sometimes, he would catch her on the news. It was late at night, after Seven...Annika had gone to bed. When he saw her walk away
from the podium, or into the ship, or whatever it was she was doing, he would think of that night. He remembered peering out his
window as she took confident strides away from his house, towards her own. He had wanted to call her back, tell her he had always
wanted things to be different. But there had been Seven to think about. He had just gone to bed.
As he rounded the corner, he saw the apartment. In the window, Seven...Annika stood, watching for him. She let him take these walks
because she knew he would always come back. And he always would come back.
With a sigh, he opened the door, placing a smile on his face for her. His wife walked up to him and gave him a gentle hug. "I love you,"
she said. Pregnancy had made her emotional; he couldn't expect it would last much after the baby was born.
"I love you too," he said. He always told Annika...yes, Annika, that he loved her. He spoke words of forever to her, if she asked for
them. He needed to tell them to someone; the woman from that night half a year back would never hear it. Not from him.
He tried that night to record her a message, to write her a letter. But he hadn't been able to say her name, or even to write it out. Long
ago he had destroyed his only picture of the two of them together; now perhaps he could wipe her off his mind by never saying,
thinking or writing her name ever again.
The next day, they received a package from her. No note, just some baby clothes, and a tiny model of the U.S.S. Voyager. Seven...
Annika had smiled at each article, telling him he should hang the model over the baby's crib. He agreed, only half-hearing her
request.
He ran his finger over her name on the box.
"I am so sorry, Kathryn," he whispered when Seven...Annika was out of the room. "I never should have let you leave."
Goodbye" by Amanda Marshall.
Spoilers: Well, "Endgame," obviously.
Rating: PG
BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE
Chakotay walked slowly through the streets of San Francisco, knowing he should turn around and go back to Seven...Annika. It was
still a little odd to think of her as that; she had been Seven of Nine up until the day they got married. But he didn't want to go home to
their apartment just yet. Instead, he watched as the sun slowly sunk behind another set of buildings. How long had it been since they
had gotten married? Six, maybe seven months...the baby was due any day now.
He looked to his left before crossing the street and immediately wished he hadn't. *Why do I always walk this way?* he asked
himself. This was a street full of memories that belonged to another lifetime, another Chakotay...another woman.
Real alcohol. Neither of them could figure out how the bar had gotten alcohol, but they had enjoyed it. The bottles of wine had
come and gone off the table, then ale, then shots. He drank too much that night, preparing himself for what he had to tell her. She had
only been moderately tipsy. *Always in control, aren't you? Never one for anything but moderation.*
Finally, the bartender had kicked them out at 0200 hours. He'd stumbled and staggered out the door, laughing loudly. She had laughed
too, and the combined sound was harsh bouncing off the tall buildings onto the empty streets. But she had helped him walk, gently
directing him towards his apartment.
Appropriately, Chakotay's walk took him right past the apartment in question. The memories became more vivid as he looked at the
railing, the front light, the steps...
If it had been any other life time, her words would have made him leap for joy. But as they had stood on his doorstep, arms wrapped
around each other, she told him that she loved him. In a surprisingly weak moment, she leaned forward to kiss him. But he had pushed
her away. He had a confession of his own to make, after all. That was why they had come out tonight.
*I wish you had told me sooner,* he thought, even now. Her face had fallen, as he told her the truth. He was going to marry Seven of
Nine; they were expecting a baby. It was the right thing to do.
She had understood. Of all the women in the world, he knew she would understand. She had congratulated him, and given him a kiss on
the cheek before helping him to open the door. She wouldn't be coming to the wedding, she said, but she would definitely send some
baby clothes their way. Another kiss on the cheek, and the words he hated--"Goodbye, Chakotay."
Sometimes, he would catch her on the news. It was late at night, after Seven...Annika had gone to bed. When he saw her walk away
from the podium, or into the ship, or whatever it was she was doing, he would think of that night. He remembered peering out his
window as she took confident strides away from his house, towards her own. He had wanted to call her back, tell her he had always
wanted things to be different. But there had been Seven to think about. He had just gone to bed.
As he rounded the corner, he saw the apartment. In the window, Seven...Annika stood, watching for him. She let him take these walks
because she knew he would always come back. And he always would come back.
With a sigh, he opened the door, placing a smile on his face for her. His wife walked up to him and gave him a gentle hug. "I love you,"
she said. Pregnancy had made her emotional; he couldn't expect it would last much after the baby was born.
"I love you too," he said. He always told Annika...yes, Annika, that he loved her. He spoke words of forever to her, if she asked for
them. He needed to tell them to someone; the woman from that night half a year back would never hear it. Not from him.
He tried that night to record her a message, to write her a letter. But he hadn't been able to say her name, or even to write it out. Long
ago he had destroyed his only picture of the two of them together; now perhaps he could wipe her off his mind by never saying,
thinking or writing her name ever again.
The next day, they received a package from her. No note, just some baby clothes, and a tiny model of the U.S.S. Voyager. Seven...
Annika had smiled at each article, telling him he should hang the model over the baby's crib. He agreed, only half-hearing her
request.
He ran his finger over her name on the box.
"I am so sorry, Kathryn," he whispered when Seven...Annika was out of the room. "I never should have let you leave."