"It's not going to be easy for us ... is it?" she says, and the sadness in her voice makes him ache.
"No," he accedes. "We have a lot of things to deal with. But it's going to be worth it." He pauses, gathering his resolve. "First of all, I need to apologise."
"What on earth for?" She shifts her shoulders and turns her head on the pillow to face him.
He reaches up to sweep a hand through her auburn hair – he will never tire of touching her hair ... or any part of her for that matter – then across her naked body to take her opposite hand. "Do you remember telling me about the fireflies?"
She looks at him with curiosity. "Yes. I remember. What about it?"
He nods. "I was never able to get it out of my head. How you chased and chased them. Then trapped them in that jar. How they died."
"I wanted to capture the stars. Even then," she says, and he sees her slip into the memory and away from him for a moment, missing his tone. "I think I must have been two or three? Before I knew about oxygen, at any rate." She laughs softly.
He lets the fingers of his hand twine with those of hers, in the gesture that represents everything to them.
"I have been misinterpreting that story," he says quietly.
"I'm not sure I understand ..." But then she makes a little noise of realisation at the look on his face, and he sees she is aware they are not talking about insects. "Chakotay, I ... didn't mean to hurt them." Her voice has changed, become smaller, more vulnerable, a little miserable.
She half rises, leans on her arm to look down at him, and he is struck by her resplendence in the aftermath of their lovemaking. That wanton look, her dishevelment, her pale skin contrasting against his own flushed burnish make his heart fit to burst. But in her eyes, filled with love, there is also disquiet, shimmers of that fight or flight. This must be overwhelming for her. Doing something to her that she's not ready to admit to just yet, to surrender to just yet. She is not in the same place the Admiral was. He must be gentle. Patient. Himself.
Their fingers are still linked, resting together on his chest, and he rubs his thumb up and down hers in that way. "I know."
"Do you? Do you really? Because, I didn't think I was harming them. I would have set them free, the next day. I just wanted ... to be close to their light. They were ... everything. I couldn't bear to let them go. I was sorry, I was always sorry."
"I know," he says again. "This is not about you saying sorry to me." He smoothes her hair back from her face with his free hand, tracing her cheek. "I've been an idiot these last couple of years. I let you push me away and I just gave in. But, I made myself into that person, Kathryn, not you – I put myself in that jar. We are responsible for our own self-worth and behaviour. I've never been freer than when at your side, and you know that."
Her face softens, but she does not appear wholly convinced. He runs his index finger down her arm and she reaches down to kiss him fleetingly, whisper soft. A strong tug of arousal grips him low down and he is quietly amazed. Even thoroughly spent from their sleepless night of loving one another, all of him still wants her, is desperate for her. Endlessly.
His hand comes back of its own accord to her face. "Kathryn, I love you. Please take my apology, I mean it with everything I have," he says, his voice rough once more with love and desire, and then something more, something beyond words. "And let's get on with our lives, working it all out. Together."
Remembering the Admiral's reaction to a hint of his authority, he rolls her over, taking her wrists and pinning her to the bed, stifling her quick cry of shock with a kiss. She gasps and moans into his mouth, her body curving up to him. He takes his time laying delightful siege to her mouth with his tongue, letting it explore, combat with her own, before claiming her neck and working his way down to that place that is his. When he finally retreats, they have both lost, both won. Her pupils are dilated, lids heavy, chest heaving with want and he is filled with ridiculous, unwarranted pride at her state, which is basically the same as his own.
"All right," she says, catching her breath, "I'll accept your apology. But only if—" Her head slightly askance, her blue-grey eyes narrowing, a slight smirk pulling at a corner of her mouth. "—you take mine too."
He is careful to hold her gaze, to make sure she hears him. "You did what you had to, Kathryn. You had very little choice because of your position. You've held us together. You've got us home. You've only done what you had to do. And those few times you didn't ... you did the best you could. You're only human."
But she does not yield, and he is not surprised. "So are you, Chakotay. So you will take mine too; I have more to apologise for than you." He starts to object, as he knows she needs him to, and her chin juts, voice steeling. "And that's an order, mister. Hopefully my last one to you."
This tiny naked woman, pinioned underneath him, delivering this command, brooking no dissent even in this compromised situation, is the greatest, strongest person he has ever known. He will follow her for as long as he has breath. In any time. He shakes his head a little, gives her a lopsided smile and releases her wrists, whereupon she stretches to caress one of his dimples, gifting him her own smile back.
"Aye, Captain," he gives, tipping his head to kiss at her fingers.
"Now that that's settled—" She wiggles her hips suggestively underneath him, her eyes flashing. "—what was that you were saying about my position?"