Chapter 5 – The Gift

"I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go
Is there somewhere you can meet me?
'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings
And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.

I'm sorry that I fell in love tonight.

Could we pretend that we're in love?"

- Ashley Frangipane

=/\=

Safe within her dock, Voyager sighs. She pauses and takes in a sharp inhale as fans engage and her Jefferies tubes fill with refreshed oxygen.

Her warp coil quiets, energy reduced, lighting subdued. Her consoles lie motionless for the first time in seven years, as their lights dim beginning to slumber, and programs dream. Gone is the hustle and commotion and steady stream of directive from her crew. Gone is the warmth that filled her.

An echo of a shudder moves throughout her.

Chairs in her Mess Hall sit at attention, awaiting a new heated debate, a new gathering filled with excitement. But no new celebration is promised. No new delicacies with fragrant spices will grace this room. No celebration is to come. No joy is left to share.

Her holodecks are turned off. No more adventure left to recount. No life to bounce from her walls.

Her hallways remain barren.

She is vacant; her family now departed.

Grief clings to the emptiness, and Voyager creaks lonely in suspension.

From a crew of 146, only two remain.

=/\=

He took a deep breath and entered through the doors.

He found her sitting on the couch in her Ready Room, cup in one hand, head resting in her other palm. She sat staring out the window at the Earth spinning slowly.

She seemed lost in a daydream, her features stressed and tired. Heavy breaths escaped her.

She looked up hearing the doors close behind him. A hand moved to her hair, fingers running through the back of it, and her eyes fell to his feet. "Is it that time already?" she asked with sadness.

"It is, Captain." His hands were behind his back. He straightened, raising his head, his posture straining with formality.

She looked up and raised an eyebrow, and pulled the side of her mouth into a smirk. She turned toward him. "At ease, Chakotay. Before you hurt something." She motioned for him to sit with her. "Coffee?"

"We could." He pulled his hands from behind his back, presenting a glass bottle, tall with fine edges. It held a golden liquid.

Her eyes widened. "Is that-?" she started.

"Antarian cider. The last bottle."

Janeway's face fell back to sadness at his remarks, but she stood and walked to hover by the replicator, requesting two chilled glasses. "So Neelix never did find your stash, did he?"

He gasped playfully. "Wait. Don't you recall the Temporal Prime Directive, Captain?" he questioned lightly.

She turned, two chilled glasses in hand, and looked over to him as he ascended the short stair. She met him at the couch. "Right. What did I say?" She smiled, playing along with his game.

"Temporal Prime Directive or not, the answer is, no, he never did. Lucky for us."

He uncorked the bottle and poured them equal shares.

"When was your shuttle docking, again?" she questioned.

He handed her a glass. "1300 hours."

She took a sharp inhale and raised her glass to him, searching within for words to commemorate the past seven years. She smiled. "To the journey."

"To the experience," he replied.

"To this ship."

"To her crew."

She paused and a wide smile spread slowly. "To the Commander," she said softly.

He tilted his head and returned her soft smile. "To our Captain." He sipped. "And to the future."

She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and he watched as she played with the rim of the glass. It was a moment before she brought it to her lips and sipped again.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice lowered, and he reached forward to place a hand to her elbow inviting her to sit with him. "Tell me."

She shook her head slightly, looking down at the glass in her hands. "I don't know what my future holds, Chakotay," she said honestly. "And it scares me."

"You have your promotion," he added with fervor. "That's something to hold onto."

She laughed slightly. "I'm envious of you," she confessed. "You talk so easily about your path, Chakotay. But I don't know where I'm headed." Her voice lowered, escaped as a whisper. "I don't want this to end."

A rumble resonated gently through the bulkheads above them. A familiar sound they had grown accustomed to. Voyager was settling.

He lowered his head. "You don't have to. Deny the promotion."

"They are calling me in about an hour. I don't know what to tell them."

"Speak from your heart." He smiled reassuringly. "You don't have to accept it today."

"I've already given it a month." She sighed. "That's long enough."

He reached forward to take her hand. It was cold from the glass and he moved his fingers over hers, caressed a digit with his thumb. He shrugged his shoulders. "Let them wait," he said softly.

She looked up at him and he could see the strain on her face; desperation spread across it. Her eyes danced, begging him for assistance.

And he wished he could.

He would fall to her feet and beg her to leave the ship. Stay by his side. Make a home with him. Devoid of her desire for the stars and for a new journey. Strip from her uniform and abandon Starfleet and regulations and protocol and duty.

Climb into his arms and never look back.

But he knew she would have to abandon every aching desire within her. All that made her who she was. He closed his eyes. Surely, he could not be worthy of that.

She squeezed his hand lightly. "But enough about me. I didn't ask you here to hear me go on. This is about you."

"About me? I'm shaking with suspense."

She lifted from the couch, excitedly bounding across the floor. "I was going to save this for a celebration on Earth, but I can't wait any longer." She moved to the desk and pulled back a drawer, pulling two boxes; one medium in blue, one small in silver. She handed the medium-sized box to him and placed a hand to her hip.

"Open it," she commanded.

He looked up and smiled, then turned his attention to the blue box in his hands. He lifted the cover. Inside, pressed into molded soft velvet sat a round ancient instrument, marked with the directions North, South, East and West.

"It's a magnetized pointer," she began. "A replica of the compass carried by Robert McCarthy aboard the HMS Pearson where he served as Navigation Officer and later, Executive Officer to Captain Cray." Chakotay raised his eyes up from the compass. She spoke slowly. "Captain Cray's ship never would have made it safely to London Harbour with his entire crew, if it hadn't been for McCarthy."

He smiled. "You did your research."

She lifted her hands and unzipped her jacket, turning one side open to face him. Inside was a small pocket, sewed into the lining of the coat. She reached inside and pulled a silver pocket watch out by its chain. A replica of the very chronometer worn by Captain Cray of the British Navy, and the birthday gift Chakotay had given her some three years prior.

"I've carried it with me daily since you gave it to me," she confessed. "It was my personal lucky charm."

Touched by her words, the lump formed in his throat, and he gingerly reached towards the compass, carefully pulling it from its velvet resting place. "I had no idea."

Janeway turned the time piece in her hand, and ran a thumb lightly over the watch face. "That was a good year."

His brow came together in confusion. "Wasn't that the year the Hirogens took the ship?"

"It was." She tilted her head. "Also the year we took it back."

"And we almost lost B'Elanna to the Mari."

She raised her index finger. "Almost."

"And the Aliens who invaded our dreams?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Your point?"

He smiled wide, teeth showing. "It was a good year."

She motioned toward the compass in his hands. "I've engraved it."

The compass was silver, its outer rim made of gold, and it was light in his hand as he turned it over to see the inscription on the back.

"Not a day without you," he read softly aloud.

He turned the instrument in his hands again. Even with the interference of the ship's systems, the compass needle moved slightly, aligning itself perfectly, and he looked up from the instrument's reading – the arrow pointing directly at her, and he smiled.

The truth was, he didn't need a compass to guide him - not any longer.

"Here," she commanded, pushing the smaller silver box into his hands. "Now open this."

He obliged, reading her excitement, and pulled off the lid. Within it, the official pips for a First Officer; his official rank as a Starfleet Commander.

"Chakotay," she started. "I am proud to be the one to deliver the news. Your official pardon, and full reinstatement into Starfleet."

He held the box gingerly in his hands. Then slowly, he closed it, looking up to her, seeing the confusion spread across her face.

"Wait," she declared, reaching forward. "You have to let me do the honors. I want to see how they look."

He shrugged. "I can't accept this."

"I'm sorry?"

"It wouldn't be right".

"Why?" she scoffed. "Chakotay, you have earned this. They acted off my recommendation."

She was hurt; it was true, and she slumped beside him to take the box from his hand as he offered it back to her.

He reached down and held tightly to the compass. "Because this is it for me. It started and ends with you."

Her composure began to lift from her face, and she looked up at him, and her mouth closed, awaiting his next remarks.

"When I vowed to join the Maquis, I took this uniform off. I swore to myself that I would never wear it again. And then seven years ago, you asked me to wear it, so I did. For you. And I swore I would stand by your side."

"And you did it admirably." She cut herself short. "If this is about Seven, I'm sure we can-"

"No," he interjected, raising a hand. "It isn't Seven. There is nothing with Seven. It was only a distraction." He looked up at her.

"Chakotay…" she started, but stopped herself again with a slight shake to her head.

"I can't do this anymore." He gripped the compass tighter.

"But Starfleet needs you, Chakotay. Regardless of what happens to me."

He shook his head, closing his eyes.

"And what if I deny the promotion?" Panic was beginning to sneak up on her, shaking her voice. "We could request Voyager. You could come with me. We could continue the journey."

He sighed softly. "New Earth? Do you remember it?"

He looked into her eyes, a deepening blue, and her face suddenly changed. The heaviness of his words beginning to grip her.

He remembered back to their time together. To nights on the M-Class planet they called New Earth. There were talks of living the rest of their lives together.

She inhaled. "I do."

"And you remember what I told you?"

She looked to her hands and fidgeted. "Fondly".

"I meant what I said." He reached forward and with a single finger to her chin, lifted her gaze toward him. "You are the woman warrior, Kathryn. I promised to devote the rest of my life to you and this ship. I'd go anywhere with you. Do anything you told me to. But now, if there is no you, there is no me. I can't go on like this. I can't do this anymore." He gestured between them. "It wouldn't be fair."

"And what is this?" Her eyes were dancing now.

"We are home now. I can't keep pretending that we are merely friends. I feel like that would be a violation of how I feel for you. Because I can't rid you from thoughts." He stopped. "I have tried so damn hard."

"Chakotay…"

He put a hand up to stop her. "Seven years ago, you saved me. Gave me back my honor and virtue when I was lost, and you made me look deep within, so I could find myself again. You challenged me. Kept me honest with myself. You gave me purpose." He paused. "I owe you everything."

Her face softened by his words.

"I didn't do this for Starfleet. I did it for you." He removed his badge and his Provisional Commander pip, placing them in her palm and closed her hand around them. "You give me peace within myself, Kathryn. Since the moment I first saw you, it's only ever been you. You have put me back together, and gave me home."

"When faced with the possibility of waiting 75 years on board, my thoughts would go to you. When I would think of the possibility that I would die on this ship, it was you I wanted to go to. But there was always a blockade of your captaincy, or regulations, or Mark, or your duty to Starfleet, a line I couldn't cross. And I would never want to get in the way of those. I knew your respect for this uniform was beyond what I could offer you. And I have too much respect for you to give you some ultimatum, so words were left unsaid." He lowered his eyes. Held her hand tighter. "I tried to clear you from my thoughts. I tried filling the space with others."

"Seven-" she choked

"Yes, Seven. I have apologized, for what it's worth. I'm truly sorry. It was a senseless attempt to kid myself that I wasn't in love with you. That wasn't fair to her." He pulled the box from her palm to hold her hands with his.

"And that's what this is?" she asked. Her brow raised.

"Yes," he took a long, deep breath. "But it never worked. How could it? I would think I was okay, that I was managing. And then you would pull me back with a smile, or a slight touch to my shoulder, or lean against me while reading over some diagnostic on the Bridge."

"Our dinners made it worse, then," she remarked sadly.

"No, they helped. I could escape for an evening while we laughed over the day's mission, or the crew, or that damn replicator." They shared a smile. Tears formed in her eyes, threatened for release. The memories were painted so clearly. Those days now gone.

"If I accept this from Starfleet," he continued. "I could make Captain."

"You would."

"Then what? Get my orders from some Admiral Janeway? Off to explore a distant planet? Some miraculous adventure?"

"It sounds wonderful," she interjected. She let a single tear escape, and he followed it down her cheek.

"Without you, it would be torment." He moved to wipe the tear with his finger tip. "I wouldn't make it very far out there without you. I don't want to try." He moved from her face as more tears began to fall. "I've only ever wanted to be worthy enough for you. And until then, I'll continue to wait."

Her head tilted in sorrow, gripped by his words. He watched her swallow, pushing the lump down her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Chakotay," she choked. "For your pain."

"I'm not." He leaned forward to be near to her and left her hands after one final squeeze. "You are worth the wait."

=/\=

Her Captain closes her computer, her transmission now complete.

Voyager releases a long sigh which rumbles through her belly, settling bulkheads, rivets, and her Captain raises her eyes to the ceiling.

She leans back in her chair, and anguish grips her. Her hands find her face, covering her eyes, as her lips pull tightly together, trembling, and she sobs.

Voyager pushes another low rumble through her belly, shaking her decks and the floor at her Captain's feet. But her attempt is feeble, the Captain continues, sobs quietly safe within the empty confines of her room.

A chirp sounds from the closed computer, and her Captain holds her breath, listens as it beeps again pulling her from her sadness. She pulls a small standing mirror from her desk drawer and checks her face. She runs fingers under her eyes.

She reaches forward to open the monitor and they watch together as the monitor blips, as windows open and close. The Captain's face tightens with confusion. Finally, systems reset and one window remains: the personnel file of the First Officer.

The Captain leans back in her chair. She reaches up for her badge and removes it, turning it in her hands to look down at the symbol. She places it on her desk and stands. Her head bows low.

Voyager rumbles, softer this time, and her Captain watches as the monitor blips again, displaying a previous END TRANSMISSION message.

She looks up from the computer, eyes teary, her lips tight. "All right," the Captain says as she crosses the floor to the door. She stops and looks over her shoulder, allows the frustration to drain from her face. "You made your point."

Coming Soon: Chapter 6 - "Shameless" - Camila Cabello, et al.