HOME
Part Two

If I should go away,
Beloved, do not say
'He has forgotten me'.
For you abide,
A singing rib within my dreaming side;
You always stay.

"Hello Kathryn," Chakotay murmured. He couldn't trust his voice any further. As soon as he had received her message he had boarded the first available transport. The anger and indignance prompting his haste had long since dissipated, and now he was left weary, to be shaken by the mere sight of her after all this time. He felt so many conflicting emotions that for a long time he could only stand and stare dumbly. He felt wired, as if every muscle and sinew were stretched to breaking point. He wanted to touch her, but he wanted to hate her; he wanted to beg her to come home, but he wanted to protect himself from her, and to punish her, make her feel something of the agony she had inflicted on him. Chakotay stood, arms by his sides, fists clenched, silenced by the raucous mob of emotions engulfing him. When she had first left he had imagined all manner of terrible things, and seeing her here alive and well caused his anger to well up once more. He could see from her expression that this was not lost on her, and so for a while he said nothing.

"You came.....thank you for coming."
He barely heard her quiet words over the roar from the surf.
"Won't you come up to the house?"
Much as he wanted his questions answered, even wanted to be with her still, something inside him revolted against being inside, alone with her. He took hold of her arm as she tried to pass him and she shrunk from the contact. That hurt, and he snatched his hand back.
"Let's stay out here for a while. It's a nice night." His pleasantries were forced, but he knew that on her turf he had a strategy to play. That's if he really knew her any more, his own bitter thoughts interjected. He had thought that he knew her, understood her, better than he did himself. In her he thought he had discovered that missing component that made him complete, and when she had disappeared he had been assailed by such doubts, had had his foundations rocked so thoroughly, that for a while he wondered whether he had ever really known anything for sure, and was certainly convinced that he never would again.

They sat on the cold sand a respectable distance from one another. Chakotay pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms about them, squinting at the moon's reflection on the water, waiting for her to speak. His anger welled up again, and he tried to analyse it, put the tumult into words. He was angry because she sounded no different than when he last saw her, angry that she was alright, angry that she'd called and he'd come running.
"I don't really know where to start. You must be very mad with me." He saw her turn to face him and shook his head. Surely she knew that all he wanted to know at this point was why? He'd had a long time to think about it, and he knew that she suspected he had his own theories. He had slowly come to understand why somebody might have difficulties in their situation, had even understood how somebody might feel, destitute, when they found they didn't really know or even like themselves very much, how debilitating that would be and how they might need solitude. But what he had never been able to do was place his Kathryn in this context. Had never been able to see her beaten by anything.

And yet here she was. She was a pale, washed-out, ghost of a woman, huddled in her pale robes in the cold moonlight. She looked so small. The Kathryn he had known had always been larger than life to him, and he wondered briefly if it were his own grief and the anger he felt that were colouring his perception of her. Was this really his Kathryn? The play of emotions was disturbing him, and he looked away, back out to sea.
"Chakotay please say something."
He looked up at her.
"I'm not mad with you, Kathryn," he said, wondering if it were a lie even as he spoke. "Not really, not any more."
He saw her smile weakly.
"Can you understand at all?"
Chakotay laughed hoarsely, surprised himself. Even now, after so long, after all this, they still had that synergy, she could still tell what he was thinking. He thought about how it used to be, and it hurt. She knew that he was aware of why she had left. Maybe he hadn't figured it out immediately, but he would know now. She knew, however, that his own pride and pain would not let him really understand. Chakotay reflected on this, then spoke,
"I understand.....someone else - but you -" he stopped. It was all coming out wrong. He began again, "I always imagined we......you....." and stopped again. He laughed. "Four years and my first words to you are utter nonsense." He attempted a grin, but settled for a watery smile. Pain crossed his features as he saw Kathryn's expression - joy that she hadn't alienated him completely, relief that they were still basically the same people. Chakotay looked away and shivered.
"It really is getting cold Chakotay. I think it will storm tonight. Come on," she stood, "Let's go inside." She held out her hand to him and he instinctively took it and stood, then quickly let go as he realised. The corners of her mouth twitched in a brief, understanding smile before she turned her back to him and headed up the beach.

They tramped hastily up the beach and up the steps to the verandah of Kathryn's house. He watched her struggle with the slide door, having to throw all of her weight against it to get it to shift in its rickety runners, and was once again assailed by the very smallness of her. He stepped in after her and slid the door closed behind him.

The room was aglow with firelight from the huge stone hearth, and Chakotay looked around, surprised. In her youth, he knew, Kathryn had constantly rebelled against her parents' traditionalist leanings. Yet here was this room, with an open fire, wooden furniture and overstuffed chairs. He could even see, though he had blinked and double-checked just to make sure, through an open door, a kitchen not unlike Neelix's had been on Voyager. Two dogs stirred from their fireside nap and got up, wagging happily at the visitor.
"Can I get you anything Chakotay?" The dogs turned at the sound of her voice, then back to Chakotay as if expectant of his answer.
"I guess you have coffee?"
Kathryn smiled warmly.
"Coming up."

Alone in the room now Chakotay tried to feel Kathryn in it, to place her here. Had she really changed this much? Or had this side of her always been there, and he just hadn't seen it? His mind was drawn back to her quarters aboard Voyager and he remembered the things she had surrounded herself with. In her quarters the antique microscope and the little glass vial of mineral-like granules, Janeway the scientist, but this was an old relic. The Da Vinci bust, again a hearkening back to ancient periods of history she seemed so fascinated with. And her coffee cup - not the standard chrome issue of Starfleet, but a classic, elegant porcelain cup. And her silk nightclothes. Yes, there she was. Kathryn had tried to hold onto the essence of herself - the scientist, the Indiana country girl, and the woman - but it had somehow all been subsumed in her Command. The change had been imperceptible to Chakotay during those five years but now, balancing the facts like two snapshots, the difference was stark. The Kathryn who had taken him as First Officer after the destruction of the Caretaker's array, and the Kathryn who had finally brought them home were very different, could almost be different people.

Kathryn appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Standing there in her voluminous white robes, tray with coffee service in hand, Chakotay was again started, was this his Kathryn?
"What?"
"Huh?" Chakotay replied.
"What is it? You were looking at me funny."
"No, really, it's just - I'm surprised that's all. I didn't think this kind of place would be really you."
"You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that." This again was odd. Since when did Kathryn care about such little things? Or had she always? Chakotay's head was swimming, he began to feel like he had just after she'd vanished - confused, assailed by doubts. What was the truth? He looked around the room again, then thought about the clean, sparse apartment - had she ever been happy there? Had he ever really known her? Who had he fallen in love with? Kathryn was still looking at him from the doorway. "I didn't say that," he repeated.
"Oh Chakotay," she crossed the room now, and set the tray down, sitting at the other end of the long grey sofa. "I'm so sorry for leaving, I don't even know whether you'll accept my excuses. And I know it's trite but hurting you was the hardest thing about it."
"Then why did you do it? Why leave me Kathryn? Why not come to me? You owed me that much." His voice was strained.
"Maybe, but it was best for both of us - that I be alone, that I not be with you. Even now I find it hard to verbalise what was going on. I was so afraid Chakotay-" she stopped as she felt herself begin to gabble.
"Afraid? Afraid of what?"
"I - I just needed to be by myself." Her tone seemed to make no apologies and this, she saw immediately, finally produced an effect.
"You needed to-" he shook his head angrily, "Stop saying that!" He stood abruptly, passed a hand over his forehead. "I'm sorry Chakotay," she began to cry, real sobs. "I'm just...."
Chakotay was horrified. Who was this woman? What had happened to her? The Kathryn he knew had never acted like this in all the time he'd known her. Almost as quickly as she'd lost control she seemed to regain it. She stood and took a turn about the room, arms folded in a defensive posture, still holding the shawl tight about her. When she sensed his immediate anger had passed she stopped pacing and, looking at him, tried again.
"You remember how it was don't you? I'd cry myself to sleep every night."
"I remember." He stood at the side of the fireplace in the shadows.
"And I just didn't know why. For so long I just didn't know. I don't know whether I explained it to you." She heard him sigh, then speak;
"You would say that you didn't feel complete, that you felt soulless," his voice had a funny ring to it. "Do you know what that used to do to me?"
"Yes. Well, no, not really, not then." She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. "Chakotay I - left - you," the word almost choked her, "because I had lost myself, that's what was missing." She couldn't see his face. "I don't know whether you can understand."

She took his silence as permission to continue.
"I was the Captain for so long that I just," she gave a hollow laugh, "that I just didn't know how to be me anymore." She shrugged.
Chakotay spoke from the shadows, his voice measured. She could still not see his face.
"Why didn't you tell this all to me -" she could tell there was going to be something after that, a barely veiled accusation. He still hurt. She screwed her face up in response to the guilt that tore at her.
"You want to know why I left? I can't give you one reason Chakotay." She stopped frustrated. Did he understand at all? "But I can tell you the last thing, the thing that finally made me decide."
"I'm listening."
"You were in love with someone else."
"What?! What are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be facetious. It's just....please, you have to understand this is still very difficult for me. I, I'm not the same woman you fell in love with. You fell in love with a persona, but it really wasn't me. Can you understand?"
"Go on."
She did her best to explain the shock of returning to earth, and the emptiness she felt when she tried to lay the Captain of that Voyage to rest; how painful it had been to leave, the crippling depression and the anxiety attacks that had followed. And then how now, she felt she was finally emerging into some kind of light. Chakotay listened in silence. He had sat down, and she had paced to and fro before the fire.
"I'm so sorry Chakotay, and you know that if I could have seen any other way....."
"Come, sit Kathryn," he said gently, "I want to speak to you."
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded quickly and took a seat on the couch, facing him cross-legged.
"Why are you smiling?" her voice was uncertain.
"You haven't changed as much as you think, that's all."
She smiled weakly, she had run out of words.
"What you did, Kathryn," Chakotay began, "was unforgivable." She looked down at her hands. "I thought." Her eyes shot up to meet his.
"You forgive me?"
"I could always forgive you anything Kathryn, you know that. But forgetting hasn't been as easy." He fell quiet for a while, and they both stared into the fire. He continued, "I remember the last night on Voyager. I was so happy that you'd finally come to me that I clung to you like a drowning man, and vowed to myself that I'd never let you go. I felt that you completed me."
She knew what was coming.
"Chakotay I - I never stopped loving you," she said quietly.
"Nor I you, but old wounds run deep Kathryn."

On to Part Three

Lines of Poetry: John Donne (trying to find the reference in all my papers!)