When Chakotay had first returned from the Delta Quadrant, he brought Seven of Nine to meet his sister. His sister had laughingly accused him of cradle-robbing, but she'd warmed up to Seven quickly enough. His sister was always a perceptive woman, and she could see a good heart under those Borg implants. She'd spent a good deal of time with Seven, helping acclimate her to Alpha Quadrant life. They did things together, the three of them, and his sister would always watch them intently.
One day, she revealed what she was thinking. "You two move like a pair of animals-- always looking for a predator."
Seven had been perturbed by the statement, Chakotay puzzled. His sister went on to explain that they took everything in as though their very lives depended upon it, lingering at the edge of alarm, waiting to spring at a moment's notice. Chakotay laughed and told his sister he'd take her word for it.
As Chakotay grew more relaxed and accustomed to the safety of home, he started to realize how stressful life onboard Voyager had been. Every day, every moment they passed on their journey, there was an underlying awareness of their solitude and peril. Experience had dampened their worries on a conscious level, but unconsciously they always knew, entering a battle, that if their crewmates failed them, there would be no rescue. Every sector of space they entered was new and unexplored. There were no beaten paths, no familiar faces. They had no idea, forging blindly through the darkness of space, whether the next species they encountered would have a desire for their friendship or a hunger for their blood.
Seven years was a long time to feel that strain, and it had changed them. Perhaps they did hold themselves differently-- like animals, as his sister had said. It was an anxiety born of circumstance and perfectly natural. But he discovered that the change in demeanor was not permanent. One day, when he'd been home six months, he found himself relaxing, genuinely relaxing; he realized abruptly that he hadn't darted his gaze around the room as he entered, and his body was not still taut in preparation for danger. The survival mechanism had departed without him realizing it.
And as he grew more relaxed, his infatuation with Seven faded away. In the Delta Quadrant, a lonely man and an emotionally stunted woman had found their comfort in each other. At home, circumstances changed things. He was no longer content with simple comfort. He was very fond of Seven, but he was not in love her, and he knew in his heart that he never would be. He recognized that he still clutched to her out of the fear of parting with the familiar, the last vestige of his time on Voyager. He had to sever that tie if he hoped to move on, and he broke it off as gently as he could.
He found himself confronted by the frightened girl Seven of Nine on some level still was, and he felt a deep regret for hurting her this way. Her terror at the disorienting new freedom didn't alter his belief that he was doing the right thing for both of them. He tried to help her get started, but she spurned his assistance and fled on a transport in the night. He spent a few days in genuine fear for her before he received the welcome news that she was with the Doctor. She'd retreated back to the comfort of her old friend, and Chakotay was immensely relieved.
The last of his anxiety left with Seven. He took a position as a professor, returning to Earth and his intellectual roots. He mixed with the Native American community of New Mexico, and he reconnected with his culture and spirituality. He made peace with himself.
And in one night, Kathryn Janeway swept into his world and utterly shattered that peace.
A gullible fool, he'd believed in that look of love and desire gleaming in her eyes, a look he'd wished to see since the day he met her. He was swept up in pure, vibrant ecstasy. They made love, and it was more astounding than anything a mortal had a right to feel. It was beyond the mere physical, it was spiritual. It was a prayer to the cosmos and a joining of their souls. Chakotay fell asleep holding her with the knowledge that his love for her had never faded, that it was stronger and more potent than he could have imagined. He'd just tasted the first sweetness of the kind of soul-shattering passion he used to think existed only in books, and he dozed off in utter contentment, anticipating the days and weeks ahead with her, knowing that he'd finally found the elusive fulfillment he'd yearned for all his life.
Hours later, he left the hotel humiliated and desolate, tasting the bitterness of her cruelty. The woman who a few hours earlier had been the most beautiful in the universe had lifted the illusion and revealed herself to be the most hideous. The previous night had been a lie. A rotten lie. She was toying with him once more, and this time she'd dealt him a lethal blow.
The days and weeks after the reunion were dreadful, the worst. On Voyager, he always held himself back. Even as he offered her his affection, he'd protected the core of his being. He never gave himself totally to her. But that night he offered her his very soul and she returned it to him in shreds. He spent weeks reeling over that rejection, unable to eat, sleep, concentrate. All he could do was think about her and taste the hurt all over again.
He finally requested a sabbatical from his job, and then he spent months trying to regain his spiritual center, constantly veering back and forth between the desire to hate her for her actions, and the need to find some justifiable motive for them. In time, he came to recognize the need for justification as wishful thinking. He buried the memory of that night, the memory of her, and he found it infinitely less painful to hate her than it had ever been to love her.
And burying it was a much easier task, he realized now, back when he never saw her. The universe was vast, and he hadn't believed the occasion would arise when he'd have to encounter Kathryn again. He'd distracted himself with a renewal of his archaeological roots and a number of mindless flings with anonymous women.
Just when Chakotay believed he was getting over her, fate proved a cruel mistress. That shell of a woman, the hardened, emaciated creature he'd seen in Durant's office aggravated a raw wound, and he spent that night in self-loathing, tormented with the knowledge that he still loved her.
* * *
On Deep Space Seven, Chakotay spent the initial press reception torn between the anticipation of encountering her and the dread of it. The thoughts occupied most of his attention. His date, a pretty blonde whom he'd met only this afternoon in the station cafe, was growing impatient with his distraction. After a few failed attempts to draw his attention, she changed tactics and began to irritate him with noises about how many things she had to do tonight.
Chakotay finally turned to her and snapped, "If you want to leave, leave!"
He saw ill-concealed hurt wash over her face, and he was suddenly sorry. He was troubled tonight, but he had no right to take it out on her. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just--" he began.
"Forget it. I'm going," she said quickly, her eyes flashing. She turned away from him and stalked off through the crowd.
Chakotay sighed. That was one woman he'd never coax back.
Why do I do this to myself? he wondered. His love life was tainted by his tangled memories of Janeway. Every woman he encountered seemed colorless next to her, and those who managed to make an impression on him only aroused his mistrust. Seska and Riley had both injured his faith in women, and Janeway had delivered the terminal blow. There could be no relationship if he was incapable of trust, and every fling inevitably ended with some variation of this scene. Better sooner than later, he supposed.
Chakotay circled the room, searching for a familiar face, absently taking a champagne glass from one of the passing servers. He raised the glass to his lips, and had just enough time to relish the sharp flavor before he spotted Durant making his way towards him. Not the familiar face he was hoping for. He forced his lips into a smile of greeting.
"Chakotay, good to see you again," Durant crowed, heartily enough to draw the attention of the reporters eager for a good photo op. Undoubtedly his intention.
"Likewise, Admiral Durant," Chakotay responded politely, grasping the hand Durant extended. He heard the clicks of nearby holo-imagers, and made an effort not to glance their way.
"Are you enjoying the reception, Mr. Chakotay?" Durant inquired.
"Very much, thank you," Chakotay replied. He wasn't enjoying it in the least. Like the majority of the reception's attendees, he was here merely to put in face time.
"I take it your journey here was pleasant."
"As pleasant as could be expected, Admiral. I was fortunate enough to acquire a company ship. No charter troubles."
"That's very fortunate. Space travel these days--"
Chakotay was spared the effort of the stilted conversation when a plump, elderly Admiral approached them. "Good to see you, John!"
"Always a pleasure, Jeff," Durant replied jovially. He turned to Chakotay. "Mr. Chakotay, this is Jeff Roman. Jeff, this is our man of the hour, Commander Chakotay."
"Former Commander. It's nice to meet you," Chakotay put in as he reached out to shake Admiral Roman's hand.
He pulled back to sip his champagne as Roman asked, "You're Janeway's man, aren't you?"
Chakotay raised his eyebrows. That could potentially be a loaded question. "Yes, we served together on Voyager."
"How marvelous. I was talking to her just now. She'll be thrilled to see you. John, where is that pretty little wife of yours?"
Durant was scowling as he distractedly scanned the crowd. "She was with me a minute ago. I'm not sure--"
Acutely timed, Kathryn emerged from the crowd. Her steps slowed when her eyes fell on Chakotay, and she seemed to hang back reluctantly for a split second before she took a few jerky steps forward, as if nudged. Chakotay noticed a tall, powerful man with ash-white hair and cold black eyes trailing closely behind her, and he briefly wondered if he was with her, but as Janeway drew in towards them, the man abruptly veered in another direction and disappeared into the crowd.
"Kathryn, darling," Durant smiled easily. "It's good of you to join us." He reached out and looped his arm around her waist in a proprietary manner. She smiled stiffly as he continued, "We were just talking about you."
"Oh? Nothing too bad, I hope," she said in a hollow voice.
Durant chuckled. "We were just remarking on how inconsiderate you could be to old friends." His tone was teasing.
Janeway looked at him blankly, then suddenly comprehended. She turned to Chakotay, her eyes darting up to his briefly and then away as she shook his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I-- it's good to see you again, Commander."
"And you, Admiral," Chakotay clipped in a perfunctory voice, releasing her hand.
Her expression was blank as she asked, "Are you enjoying the reception?" He knew the Captain's Mask when he saw it.
"Naturally." A part of him was rankled by her cold composure and the memories it brought him. Forgetting their company, he swiped subtly with, "I haven't seen Admiral Paris yet. I assume you invited him to this gala?" He knew perfectly well of the degeneration of her relationship with her old mentor.
The remark was aimed to shake that composure, and it succeeded beyond his expectations. Her expression wavered, and she grew very pale. She turned to her husband seemingly for help, saying unevenly, "I--don't--know... John?"
Chakotay looked at Durant to see a flash of suspicion in the other man's eyes before the old warmth reasserted itself. "He was invited, of course, but I understand he had other pressing matters."
"Rumor has it he's been suffering from a bout of ill health," Admiral Roman put in. "Headaches, joint problems. He's been taking it easy."
"Really?" Durant said with concern. "Perhaps he should see my personal physician, if he's in pain."
"How kind of you, honey," Janeway suddenly chimed, her smile unsettling, her sharp eyes flitting to Durant's. "I know you would put a speedy end to all of Admiral Paris's pain if you could."
Chakotay caught the potential double meaning of the words and wondered if it was intentional. Roman clearly missed it. He laughed.
"That's old John for you, always worrying too much about the rest of us."
Durant held Janeway's eye, smiling thinly. "My wife knows how fond I am of the old man, contrary to popular belief."
She tore her gaze from her husband's. "Yes, he's quite fond," she echoed dully. Chakotay watched her look away with unfocused eyes and an empty smile.
"Ah, you two," Roman chuckled, oblivious to the interplay, "Don't worry your heads. Just pretend we old geezers are still vital young officers, and we'll deal with age the way we want to-- through utter denial."
Uneasy laughter from the other three. The conversation continued in that awkward manner for a few minutes before they dispersed.
Chakotay had spent the days after his first encounter with Durant and Janeway reconsidering his initial notion that they loathed each other. He'd wonder whether jealousy had colored his view of their relationship, or if he'd simply caught them on a bad day. As he pondered them now, however, he began to realize that his first impression might not have been purely knee-jerk emotionalism.
And as the night progressed, he began to wonder if the truth wasn't something far more ominous.
* * *
They retired near the end of the reception, Chakotay returning his quarters, Janeway and Durant returning to theirs just around the bend of the corridor.
Janeway's head was swirling pleasantly from a little too much champagne on a near empty stomach, and Durant seemed unusually thoughtful. She paid him little heed as she thought over the sporadic encounters with Chakotay throughout the reception. Just having him nearby had done something for her, heartened her. He clearly loathed her, and he did nothing to hide the fact, but she couldn't hold it against him when that had been her intention. It hurt her on some level, but she knew it would destroy her outright if Durant discovered they were in love and murdered him for it. She could settle with his contempt, knowing the price the other emotion might bring. Just standing in the same room as Chakotay, catching whatever side glimpses she could manage, made for the most cheerful evening she'd had in... God knows how long.
"He was watching you the whole evening," Durant said out of nowhere.
She looked over at him, catching her breath. He was half undressed, seated on the end of the bed, watching her with his clear, perceptive eyes.
"Who was watching me?"
"You know who. Chakotay."
She felt the blood rush from her cheeks, and she turned away from him to look out the view port.
"I think he's in love with you," Durant continued.
Janeway felt a tingle in her chest. Was that even possible, after all she'd done?
"He loathes me."
She heard Durant rising to his feet, and she heard him opening and closing a drawer.
"Love, loathing, they go hand in hand sometimes." He was approaching behind her.
Anxiety slowly crept over her. "So what if he does. I still despise him. Does it bother you?" After everything she'd done to protect Chakotay, if Durant found out now...
"No," he said, and suddenly his arm encircled her waist, hugging her back against him. "It's always good to have something another man wants." His lips tickled the back of her neck as he pressed something against her side.
Janeway went stiff in his arms. "You don't have me," she growled, and almost pulled away before the hypo stung into her hip.
She jerked away in sudden alarm, whirling on him angrily. "What was that? What the hell was that?"
He looked at her coolly, unfazed by her outburst. "A fertility enhancer. It should last about a month. Since you missed our appointment, the good doctor was willing to supply an alternative--"
"You had no right--" she began furiously.
"I had every right!" he roared, taking a menacing step closer to her. "I gave you the chance to conceive the easy way, and you backed out on me. Now we try it my way."
She glared at him. "If you think I'm just going to lie back and let you fuck me, you have another thing coming, mister." She glared him down, willing to bet that the threat of a fight would dampen any impulses he might have.
Her instincts proved correct. His eyes raked over her expression, gauging her resolve. It must not have seemed worth the potential damage, because he backed down.
"We'll see about that," he threatened quietly. He took a few steps away, then whirled back on her. "What the hell's wrong with you today? You're behaving deplorably. From that inappropriate Paris comment to this resistance now." His voice dropped, and his eyes glittered. "You should be very, very careful about pursuing this course, Kathryn. Some of your crew might pay the price for your little change in attitude."
With that parting remark, he turned and retreated to the bed. Shaken, Kathryn settled herself on the couch.
